Chapter 16
It never failed to amaze Cameron. One might think one thing of a man and he could surprise you completely.
A brave man might stun you still by showing even greater courage.
A coward could stun you by showing even greater cowardice than you thought possible.
Which was why Cameron was now looking towards the rising sun.
The site for the duel was a flat piece of terrain just past the lake. Far enough from the manor that none of the guests would, hopefully, hear the impending shots.
The earl had arrived and promptly stationed himself with his back to the east. He had not budged from that strategic position. Clearly he expected Cameron to face him…with the rising sun full in the duke’s face, blinding him as he aimed.
Yet this was precisely what Cameron, stubborn to the bone, had done.
He glanced around. His second had not yet arrived. If he had, knowing the tenacity of the man, he would likely have argued enthusiastically about the blatant unfairness of the earl’s selected position.
The earl’s second was already there. A middle-aged russet-haired man by the name of Albert Drummond. Cameron had spoken to him only once or twice over the course of the house party.
Now he watched as Drummond carefully opened a wooden case and began to inspect the contents.
The dueling pistols.
Cameron looked around. His own second should have been there by now to inspect the pistols right alongside Drummond, checking for any irregularities.
“Nearly 4 o’clock,” the earl called.
The duke frowned. Surely Windermere knew it would be most irregular to begin without both of their seconds present.
Still, he would not begrudge the earl his pleasure at seeing Cameron stood up.
He looked over at a nearby grove of trees where a petite woman stood twisting her hands together.
Why on earth Windermere had invited his mistress to be present at the duel was beyond Cameron. The dark-haired woman’s face was pale and troubled.
Yet he found it difficult to pity her. Horatia Fairchild was not innocent in any of this.
Still, there was a chance she would see the man she loved die today before her eyes. A duel was no place for a lady.
Drummond was walking over now, a pistol laying flat in both his hands, held out for Cameron to accept.
Cameron lifted the weapon, checking the weight and balance.
“We’ll wait a few more minutes,” he said shortly. “My second will be here soon.”
Drummond nodded. The man looked nervous, making Cameron wonder if this was the first duel he had ever attended. “I say, Tulloch. Can you and Windermere not discuss this civilly like gentlemen and search for a solution that does not involve violence?”
Cameron looked into the man’s face. Drummond had asked the question with genuine sincerity.
Drummond lowered his voice. “Whatever has happened with Windermere’s wife… Well, I’m sure the earl is prepared to forgive and forget. A well-worded apology might avert all of this.”
Cameron frowned. Evidently the earl had informed Drummond of his side of the story–and a very one-sided version it no doubt was.
“I shallna be apologizing when I’m not in the wrong,” was all he said. “I’ve longed for this moment and ye may inform the earl of that. One way or another I look forward to ending this, in the sight of God.”
Drummond paled but he nodded.
After all, Cameron thought as the earl’s second walked away, trial by combat was an ancient ritual. Originally the outcome was believed to be divine.
Cameron could not say he believed that now. Still, if he did come out of this unscathed, he would say extra prayers in the kirk upon his return home.
And in the end, was this not a gesture of chivalry? He tried very hard to tell himself he was not doing this out of a desire for vengeance or out of bloodlust. And he found it was true.
This was not for him, no matter what the earl or even June herself might believe.
This was for her.
At least, Cameron conceded, June was not here. When he had sent the letter to her room, he had known it was an ill-advised measure that would alarm her. Still, he had believed she had the right to know.
He had left out the details–the where and when of it. The letter had in fact been rather… terse. He had said he was doing the only thing left to do and that he would have no regrets regardless of the outcome.
He had not said he loved her. He’d found he could not.
Not because he did not. But because he knew that if he died today, fighting June’s husband, he would not only have failed to improve June’s lot but have made it significantly worse.
She’d be left in a living hell. And it would all be his fault.
Still, the chance was there. A chance to free her from these unbearable chains. A chance for justice.
“Ahoy there, Your Grace!”
A man’s voice called from across the lawn.
Sir Montague. Cameron shook his head as he watched the man walk briskly across the lawn.
The baronet was dressed spectacularly for the occasion in a deep emerald green tailcoat, expertly tailored to fit his trim frame. Beneath it his waistcoat, a rich brocade in shades of burgundy and gold, gleamed in the early morning light.
Cameron sighed. The man was not only late but he looked as if he were preparing to attend a garden party, not a duel.
Still, he was the only man at the house party who had cultivated Cameron”s acquaintance. And while the man might have somewhat off-putting tastes in women, clearly preferring them much younger than Cameron approved of, he had shown himself clever and stalwart enough that the duke had decided he would do.
There was a leather satchel strapped across the baronet’s back, Cameron realized. Had Montague brought a picnic?
“Ahoy there, I say!” The baronet was waving his hands in the air. “You must stop this nonsense at once.”
Cameron frowned and caught Windermere’s eye. The earl looked as baffled as he felt.
The baronet reached Cameron’s side and yanked the satchel off his back.
“There’s no need for any of this,” Montague announced to Cameron, loud enough for the others to hear.
The baronet was pulling an item out of the satchel. A leatherbound book.
Cameron read the words written across the cover. Parish Register. Windermere Parish.
“I dinna understand,” he said.
“I know you don’t,” Montague said in a lower tone. “But you shall. Soon.” He held up the book. “Do you see this, Windermere?” he called across the field. “Do you know what this is?”
The baronet caught sight of Horatia standing beneath the trees and his eyes widened. “Aha! She certainly does.”
Cameron glanced at Horatia. The woman looked disconcerted. But then, she had looked unsettled even before.
“What’s the meaning of this, Montague?” Cameron demanded. “This is neither the time nor the place. A second is supposed to…”
“A second is supposed to ensure a final attempt at reconciliation between the two parties has been made,” Montague said firmly. “Which is precisely what I am doing, I assure you.”
“I have no idea what book that is, but I promise you no book could remedy the animosity that lies between Tulloch and myself. Or is that all it takes for you, Tulloch? Do you wish to withdraw and go and read a book?” The earl’s tone was mocking and tinged with something Cameron couldn’t quite put his finger on at first.
He had been drinking, Cameron realized. Liquid courage. No doubt the earl had needed a great deal of it. Well, that was his prerogative. He wouldn’t have been the first man to get drunk before a duel.
“Nay, I wish to end this,” Cameron growled. He pulled out his watch. “‘Tis just past 4 o’clock by my watch.”
“Oh, put that blasted thing away,” Montague said impatiently. “I assure you, you will wish to read this book more carefully than you have ever read anything in your life. Your very future rests upon it.” His eyes suddenly lit up. He pointed across the field. “As does hers.”
Cameron followed the baronet’s gaze.
A woman was running across the grassy lawn towards them.
His heart sank. June. She must have come straight from her bed. Her golden tresses fell loosely around her shoulder. As she ran, the diaphanous material of the robe she wore splayed behind her like a queen”s train. Her nightgown hugged her body, a pale confection of white and blue. The exertion of her run had made her skin glow with radiance. A few stray tendrils of damp fair hair played about her face.
She was a breathtaking sight. A cross between a queen and a wood nymph.
But she should not have been there.
“Bloody hell,” Cameron swore.
Montague only smiled.
Despite every intention and expectation of staying awake all night long, June had fallen asleep.
When she had awoken, still curled on the window seat, the sky was already a rosy pink. Dawn was well on the way.
For a moment, she had stared at the sky, horror-struck.
Then she left the room without even pausing to change, pulling only her robe around her.
The servants in the halls gaped at her as she ran past but she didn’t spare them a backwards glance.
For all she knew, the duel would be fought at sunset not sunrise. But she doubted it. Cameron was not the type to put things off.
No, the duel would happen that morning. She felt certain of it. Moreover, it would happen as soon as there was enough light by which to shoot. And that meant within the hour.
Somewhere, out on the manor grounds, two men were preparing to battle to the death.
One was the man who was her everything.
And she may have only minutes to find him and stop this madness.
There was no time to fetch Mrs. Pembroke. She must have fallen asleep as well or surely she would have come for June.
She raced from the house, then paused on the steps. The estate was large. There were so many places the two men might be.
She might easily never find them. Not until it was too late. She knew this. Still, she had to try.
She looked off in the direction of the lake and that was all it took. If Cameron had chosen the location, perhaps the memory of what had passed by the lake would have swayed his heart.
She ran towards it.
As soon as she approached the path leading around the lake, she could see the four men on the other side.
She quickened her pace, ignoring the tug of pain in her muscles and the trickle of sweat running down the crevice between her breasts.
She could see John. He had a pistol already in his hand. He stood with his back to the rising sun.
Even from this distance, it looked as if he were smiling. He appeared very sure of himself. Not like a man facing death at all.
But of course–the sun. It was to John’s back. He had an unfair advantage. One which would force Cameron to shoot into the glare of light.
June felt a surge of anger. Of all the juvenile things to do. But of course, John would cheat. He always had.
Under a grove of trees, June spotted Horatia. The dark-haired woman’s expression was tense. She was taking this more seriously than John then.
She glanced at Cameron. He was speaking to someone, his face animated. Sir Montague. Of course. Cameron must have chosen him as his second.
She felt a rush of joy mixed with terror as she took in Cameron, standing there so steadily. He wore a kilt in his family colors. He had already removed his jacket. It lay beside him on the grass. Beneath the coat, he wore a plain linen shirt and a fitted black waistcoat.
A dueling pistol was in his hand.
Everything shimmered and shook. A wave of dizziness overtook her. The moment was so near.
“Stop,” she heard herself shout. “Please. Cameron, John, stop!”
They all turned towards her.
She ran. Not towards her husband but towards where Cameron and Sir Montague stood.
She was breathless as she reached them. “Please, Cameron. Stop this.”
Sir Montague was looking at her with a curious expression. There was something in his hand.
“My dear lady countess, you have no need to fear for your husband or the duke,” he assured her. “The duel must be called off. I believe you’ll recognize the book I hold now in my hands?”
June stared at the book he held. The parish records book. The one she had seen on Horatia’s desk. “I’ve seen it before,” she admitted. “Only recently.” She glanced towards where Horatia stood.
Sir Montague gave her a knowing look then held the book aloft.. “Windermere, I have a book in my hands that the esteemed lady standing beneath the trees is sure to recognize. On its cover there are written the words ‘Parish Register. Windermere Parish.’”
There was a muffled shriek from the grove of trees and when June looked over Horatia’s hands were covering her mouth.
“The book contains records of births, deaths, and marriages for the years 1800 to 1803,” Sir Montague continued. “By rights, it should have gone up in flames on the night your brother, Reginald Fairchild, died in the parish chapel, thirteen years ago. And yet here it is, in my hands. Do you know why that is?”
The earl was frowning. “I have absolutely no idea. Nor do I see nothing untoward. It is a mere book.”
“Nothing untoward?” The baronet feigned astonishment. “Nothing untoward in a single book surviving a blaze which destroyed the entire church and took the lives of the vicar and your own elder brother in the process?”
“It was a long time ago,” the earl said, sounding more annoyed than angry. His words were slightly slurred. “Why shouldn’t one bloody book have been recovered from the ashes?”
Why, he was drunk, June realized. The significance of what the baronet was saying was still lost on him.
But when it sunk in…
“Ah, but there is no trace of ash upon this tome,” the baronet pointed out. “No signs that it survived a fire anywhere upon it. It must have been removed from the parish before the blaze began–or, and this is my theory, just after it started. Can you not think of anyone here today who might have had cause to take it and to preserve it all this time? Have you no questions about where it was discovered?”
The earl’s eyes darted towards Horatia but neither of them spoke a word.
Nevertheless, the sharp-eyed baronet caught the look. “Ah, very good. You’re beginning to catch on. The parish fire occurred on the day your dear cousin married your brother Reginald, did it not?”
“You sound as if you already know the answer to that,” the earl sneered. “Obviously. My cousin is my brother’s widow. That fact is well-known.”
“Quite well-known. Indeed. Yet it is a lie.”
June could not help it. She gasped.
The baronet turned to her. “Oh, yes, dear lady. A fabrication. For it was not John Fairchild’s brother who married Horatia Fairchild that day in the parish church but rather John Fairchild himself.”
There was a ringing in June’s ears. The world started to spin.
“I am no magistrate,” the baronet went on. “But if I were to conjecture as to what went on that day, I might surmise that your brother objected to your plan to marry your cousin, Windermere. Both sets of parents being dead, your brother evidently was trying to take their place and prevent a marriage that your family frowned upon. He went to the church intending to stop you, only to find he was too late. Perhaps harsh words were spoken. Cruel things which could not be unsaid. Perhaps the vicar attempted to intervene. There was a violent struggle. Candles were knocked over. A fire broke out.”
“Absolute rubbish,” the earl spat, his face flushing. “The words of an insane person. Why, you ought to be committed to an asylum, Montague. I tried to save my brother and the vicar that night. Everyone knows this.”
The baronet ignored him. “In the midst of it all, with the fire beginning to burn out of control, one person kept her head. She looked to the future and in the midst of the fire, she slipped the parish records book out of the church and has carefully safeguarded it ever since, unbeknownst to anyone–even her own lover.”
June flinched and there was a gasping sound from the vicinity of the trees at the sound of this stark word.
“The records book held a common marriage license which recorded a marriage between John Fairchild and Horatia Fairchild.” Sir Montague opened the book to a particular page and pointed to an entry. “Clearly marked for all to see.”
He lifted his head. “Yet somehow, after that day, all believed it was not you who married your cousin, Windermere, but your brother. A man who tragically died the very night of his own wedding. Not, mind you, before he had sired a son on his bride. The timing of that, of course, is not something most would dare to question. Which, of course, you were counting on.”
June understood the baronet’s meaning. Many babies were born just a few months–or even weeks–after a wedding.
“Why would I do such a thing?” the earl demanded angrily. “It’s rubbish. Complete rubbish. Who would go to the trouble to orchestrate such a ruse? Of course, Horatia was Reginald’s wife. What you’re suggesting is ludicrous. Worse, it’s monstrous. I shall sue for slander.”
“Why would you do such a thing?” the baronet said, paying no attention to the rest. “Why go to all the trouble of such an elaborate hoax? Well, I’ll admit, it is a complicated bit of business which took me some time to unravel. But in the end, it was so that you might be free to marry again, of course. Free to find the richest wife you possibly could–one who could save both you and your cousin, not to mention your children, from the financial burdens you had inherited from your father and brother. And thus, I presume you and your cousin colluded in this together. After all, she made a very great sacrifice, did she not? Agreeing to play the part of your brother’s widow when by rights she was your wife. All so you might marry again–to a young and wealthy woman who held the means of saving, at least for a time, the beleaguered Windermere estate. Of course, you could never have a child with this new bride. I presume that key point was a term of the agreement you made with your real wife, Horatia Fairchild.”
June reached out a hand, searching for something, anything that would support her before she fainted dead away. A strong hand gripped hers. An arm wrapped around her waist, holding her upright.
Cameron. He was still there. And steady as a rock as always.
Was it true? Was what Sir Montague said really what had happened?
The words were only beginning to sink in.
If all this was true, then John had been married before she had even met him. He had been married to Horatia this entire time.
Horatia was not John’s mistress. She was his lawful wife.
John had never wished for June to bear a living child–for he had already had a son with Horatia. William was not Reginald Fairchild’s offspring but neither was he a bastard. Nor were any of Horatia’s children. They were legitimate.
It was June who was not. June who had never been married, not really.
Her head spun.
She was not married. She was free.
John was finally beginning to lose his composure. She was surprised it had taken this long. His face had shifted into a vivid shade of scarlet.
“You have no proof of any of this. That book might easily be a forgery. The vicar was visiting from another parish that month. He may have mixed up my name with Reginald’s easily.”
“A forgery?” The baronet’s tone was mild. “A mistake? And yet the Dowager Countess has held onto the book for thirteen years. It was found in her house. Why would she keep the record of such a mistake? One which could so easily be misconstrued?”
“I have no bloody idea. Sentimentality, no doubt.” The earl threw Horatia a killing look. “But besides that book, there is absolutely no proof. No proof whatsoever.”
“No proof? Perhaps you are forgetting, Windermere, that every marriage requires the presence of two witnesses.” The baronet stroked his silver goatee and looked down at the page. “Why, yes, look at this. Two names are listed here. Mary Clark and Donald Smith. Their occupations are listed as ‘housemaid’ and ‘footman.’ Presumably they were employed right here at Windermere Manor. After all, they did not die in the fire, now did they?”
“I have absolutely no idea. The manor has had many servants over the years. Those names are not familiar,” the earl retorted.
“Well, they are certainly not employed with you now. I’ve already inquired into that. But thirteen years ago? They were indeed.”
“How could you possibly know that?” the earl exploded.
“Why, I spoke with your staff. You have such wonderful, helpful people employed here. I truly commend you. And, as it turned out, there are many servants still at Windermere who remembered Mary and Donald. After which, I tracked them down. Rather hurriedly for the hour was late, but I managed. You see, they had married after leaving Windermere. They had been young and in love, just as you doubtlessly were at the time. To a reckless degree, but we will not judge. Not yet, in any case.” The baronet smiled ironically but no one else did. “It was past midnight when I arrived at their pleasant little farm, but when I told them I was a distant relative and representing your estate on an urgent legal matter–a little white lie, I’ll admit, for I am no solicitor–they explained how you gave them a sum of money so they might leave Windermere and set up a home on their own. Not too far from Windermere though. They wished to remain in the area and close to their families.”
The baronet shrugged modestly. “It took a little prodding, but eventually Mr. and Mrs. Smith admitted to being present at a marriage between you and Horatia at the Windermere parish church thirteen years ago which they were sworn to secrecy about.”
The earl swore loudly. “Coercion and lies. The court will take your deceptions into account.”
The baronet tilted his head, a satisfied gleam in his eyes. “Not all lies. Though I am somewhat loath to admit it, you and I are, in fact, distantly related. This may come as a shock to you but I am next in line to inherit Windermere.”
“Next in line? I bloody well think not,” the earl exclaimed.
“John!” Horatia had not spoken until now. Now panic filled her voice. “What does he mean? William is to inherit. He is your heir.”
“I have no damned idea what the man is on about,” the earl snapped. “After William, the next in line is my second cousin, Percy Harrington.”
“Ah, yes, William. We shall speak of him in a moment. But for now, allow me to explain. Poor cousin Percy is dead, you see. An apoplexy. I was meant to accompany him here, you know. I’m told it was very fast. We are neighbors and our daughters are close friends, you see, and so I found out nearly as soon as it happened. But as it occurred almost a week ago, no doubt your solicitor has a letter on the way informing you of all of this. That letter will confirm that I, Edward Montague, am next in line as it now stands. Third cousin, in case anyone was wondering,” the baronet clarified, looking about. “My father was the grandson of the second son of your grandfather. But, of course, none of this matters.”
“Oh?” The earl’s voice was cold. “Doesn’t it?”
“Not at all. William may easily still inherit Windermere. That is, if you stop your dashed short-sightedness and simply acknowledge that you are a bigamist and that your marriage to the countess here was completely unlawful. In that case, William is your son and stands to still inherit everything.”
June watched as Hortatia closed her eyes, as if in relief.
“Of course, if you refuse to acknowledge your marriage to your cousin, then William must be considered a bastard,” the baronet said cheerfully. “For your cousin did not marry you and your brother both, now did she? The records book shows one marriage and we have the two witnesses alive and at hand to provide further evidence should it be required.” The baronet shrugged. “All of this would be easier still if you and the dowager simply acknowledged what occurred. It’s been thirteen years so a case of murder…”
“Murder?” the earl interrupted. His face was a rigid mask of fury. “Murder?”
“Why, yes, murder,” the baronet said, his voice taking on a greater gravity. “I’m surprised the local magistrate didn’t raise the matter at the time, but then, I suppose your family has always had a great deal of undue influence in the region. Your brother and the vicar both died the night of your marriage under mysterious circumstances. The two witnesses who were present at the actual marriage ceremony had already departed. Mary and Donald told me they were not present when the fire broke out. Donald regrets this greatly for he feels if he had still been there, he would have been able to help you save the vicar and your brother. A very good man, Donald. In any case, you and your bride were still there. The survival of this book I hold proves the latter.” He looked across at Horatia thoughtfully. “It would be very interesting to hear what the dowager has to say about that evening. Well, I suppose she isn’t the dowager any longer though, is she? Pardon me, Countess”
June shivered. Countess. The baronet was not speaking of her. She had never been the Countess of Windermere. Not really.
She looked at where Horatia stood beneath the trees. The woman”s face reflected the same shock June felt.
Horatia was not crowing or gloating now. No, she was staring in John’s direction with a distinctly frightened expression.
June slipped out of Cameron’s grasp and moved towards Horatia.
“Horatia,” she said softly as she approached. “Is this all true?”
Horatia looked at her as if in a daze.
“Say nothing,” John shouted from across the field. June looked up to see the earl glaring at them both. “She’s not my wife, I tell you. She’s never been my wife.”
The words came out as a scream. June didn’t think anyone believed them.
John’s gaze moved back to June and Horatia. Something flared in his eyes. June had seen it many times before. It was the same expression he had when he raised his hand to strike her. She winced, already anticipating his outburst.
“You whore,” the earl shrieked, his voice unnaturally high and shrill. “You’ve always been a whore. Now look! Just look at what you’ve done!”
He was drunk. Perhaps he didn’t know what he was saying. Though this was probably too charitable. And had he been addressing her or Horatia? Later, June would always wonder about that.
John made a movement with his hand.
June’s pulse quickened as she saw it was the one holding the dueling pistol.
Her feet were already moving. Carrying her to stand in front of Horatia, shielding her from her husband’s wrath.
A cry escaped her lips.
The shot rang out.