Carrie Bebris - The Matters at Mansfield

Darcy took the weapon from him, but did not give him the reserve pistol. “You cannot face him in this condition. If his shot does not hit you, your own might.”

“The viscount insists on settling the matter this day.”

“It will end today. I shall stand in for you.”

“No,” he said vehemently. “I am the one who issued the challenge.”

“And I agreed to serve as your second knowing full well that I might be required to take your place.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam looked over at Anne. Her face was pale, her expression grave. “This is my fight.”

“You have fought it bravely and honorably. Now stand down.”

After some minutes’ further argument, the colonel finally agreed. Darcy deliberately avoided looking in Elizabeth’s direction. Likely she was so displeased by this turn of events that if the viscount did not kill him, she might. Colonel Fitzwilliam remained on the field but out of firing range.

Darcy stripped to his shirtsleeves and met the viscount in the center of the field to count new paces. Lord Sennex nearly spat with rage. “Now the colonel will not face me at all? Very well. We shall see whether his second is more manly than he is.”

Darcy cocked his pistol and counted his paces.

And turned to face the viscount’s fire.

Lord Sennex’s shot missed.

Darcy heard the ball whistle past. Then he lowered his pistol, pointing it at the ground.

The viscount stared at him, at first uncomprehending. Then he exploded.

“You refuse to fire at all ? What is the meaning of this? You call this a duel? This is a farce! I command you to fire!”

Darcy stood still. “My lord, I decline.”

“I said fire, damn you!”

Darcy bowed to his lordship and started to leave the field.

“This is not to be countenanced! How dare you insult me in this manner? This is supposed to be a contest of honor !”

Darcy met Colonel Fitzwilliam and they continued walking together toward the others. The viscount walked faster. He rushed over to the open case, threw down his discharged gun, and grabbed the small pistol.

“Stop!”

Darcy halted. The viscount had the pistol aimed straight at Darcy’s chest.

He had not foreseen this, and regretted that he had moved so near the spectators. Elizabeth was somewhere behind Lord Sennex — he could not quite see her — but Anne and Colonel Fitzwilliam both stood within the viscount’s range. As, of course, did he.

“Put the weapon down, Lord Sennex,” he said calmly. “The duel is over.”

The viscount was so angry that tremors seized him. He reached up and fully cocked the pistol.

“There were to be four shots fired today.” His hoarse voice quavered. “If you will not take the fourth, I shall.”

“My lord, I will not.”

“Very well, then.”

The viscount pulled the trigger. There was a spark as flint struck frizzen, snapping open the pan.

But no explosion.

The pan was empty.

The viscount’s astonished expression rapidly transformed to one of rage. He looked from the useless weapon to Darcy accusingly. With a cry, he advanced, raising the pistol as if to strike Darcy with it.

He stopped suddenly at two sounds from behind him.

A hammer being cocked. And Elizabeth’s voice.

“Hold, sir! I am armed.”

While Darcy dealt with the viscount, Anne hurried to Colonel Fitzwilliam.

“Are you—” Anne extended a hand toward the colonel, but stopped short of actually touching him. “Are you seriously injured?”

“I am not.”

She released a shaky breath. “Good — that is — that is good. I was so…” A soft cry escaped her. She looked away, struggling to regain her composure.

The surgeon came over to assess Colonel Fitzwilliam, insisting that he sit down. Anne knelt beside him. As the doctor cut away the colonel’s sleeve to better access the injury, the patient had attention only for Anne.

“Are you well? Please tell me that Lord Sennex did not—”

“I was quite frightened, but he did not harm me.”

At her assurance, he relaxed, making it easier for the surgeon to tend him. With Anne’s assistance, the doctor staunched the flow of blood and wrapped the arm in a bandage. The wound was in need of stitching, which he preferred to do in his office if the colonel felt himself capable of walking there. Fitzwilliam sent him ahead, saying he would meet him presently.

When the surgeon had gone, he searched Anne’s face. “If any harm had come to you…”

“If significant harm had come to you …” She lowered her gaze. “I–I do not know how I…” Her hands moved nervously in her lap, gripping, then releasing, the fabric of her gown.

He regarded her in silence for a long moment.

“Marry me.”

She drew in a sharp breath and raised her head. “Oh, James, you cannot mean that.”

“I most certainly mean it. Marry me.”

She blinked and brought one hand to her chest. “I am so astonished, I do not know what to say.”

He reached for her hand and took it into his own. “Say ‘yes.’ ”

Emotion played across her features as she looked into his face. She nodded. “Yes.” A smile formed, and spread until her eyes were alight. “Yes,” she repeated.

Delight overtaking his own countenance, he gathered her to him and held her tightly with his good arm. “You should know that I already sought your mother’s permission, and she refused it. But now that marriage to the viscount is impossible, perhaps—”

“It does not matter. I am over one-and-twenty. I can make my own choice, and I choose you.”

“She threatened to withhold your funds.”

“I am content to live without them, if you are.”

“I would much rather live with you.” He reluctantly released her. “We will not starve, you know. My father hardly left me destitute. But it is a smaller income than you likely looked forward to.”

“The only person disappointed will be my mother.”

“Can you be happy as a soldier’s wife?”

Another smile overcame her countenance. “I do not deserve this much happiness.”

“Why not?”

Her expression became more sober. “The terrible mistake I made.”

“It is in the past.”

“You say that now.”

“I say it for ever.”

“But Mr. Crawford and I lived together as man and wife, and that cannot be undone. What if I am—”

“Anne.” He took both of her hands in his. “I hope we have a house full of children. And every one of them— every one — shall bear the name Fitzwilliam.” He paused. “In fact, marry me now.”

“Before we know?”

“Right here. Today. Unless you would rather not have another Scottish wedding?”

She laughed. “My mother will be furious.”

“I shall defend you. I am now in practice.”

Elizabeth, certain the couple had utterly forgotten the presence of everyone else, tried to discreetly leave the field. Colonel Fitzwilliam, however, stopped her.

“Where are you going?”

“I thought to grant you some privacy in which to continue making your plans.”

“Do not stray far,” Anne said. “It seems that I, too, require a second this day.”