Mary Nichols - The Viscount's Unconventional Bride

The whole thing was getting out of hand and Jonathan wanted to bring it to a speedy conclusion, but he had been insulted and he was not in the habit of letting anyone, least of all a green bantling, get away with that. He hesitated. ‘Go on,’ Charlie Burrows urged him, while Louise held her breath. ‘You are not afraid of that skinny young cub, are you?’

Frowning inwardly, Jonathan took a deep breath and addressed Louise. ‘You give me no choice, sir. I must call you out.’ It was either that or be accused of cowardice, which was unacceptable to him.

How on earth had she got into such a pickle? Louise asked herself. She wanted to turn and run all the way back to Barnet. Never, in her wildest dreams, had she imagined something like this. The teasing and banter that went on when she played her brothers for pennies and shillings had not schooled her for such a situation. She should never have started to play either yesterday or today. Now what was she to do? Admit herself in the wrong and take the ridicule of everyone in the room, not only the other players but everyone else who had stopped whatever they were doing, to listen and wait. And she would have to abandon her winnings. She had been counting on those.

‘You give me no choice either, sir,’ she said. ‘I accept.’

‘You accept?’ he asked in astonishment, then to give the boy a way out, added, ‘I will take a simple apology in lieu.’

She was nothing if not stubborn. ‘Would that not be tantamount to admitting I am in the wrong?’ she asked.

‘Yes, but you are.’

‘Stop beatin’ about the bush, Linton,’ Williams said. ‘Mr Smith, as Mr Linton’s representative, I ask you to name your second and choose your weapon.’

‘Swords,’ she said without hesitation. Unless Mr Linton was particularly cruel and determined, he would not deal more than a glancing blow, just enough to draw blood, before saying he was satisfied. A pistol shot could kill without him meaning it to. Why she thought he did not want to kill her, she did not know. And in the last few days she had become more than a little reckless. As for a second…She looked round the room. ‘Will anyone here stand by me?’

‘I will,’ Joe said, at a nod from Jonathan.

‘I’m not having duels on my premises,’ the innkeeper said. ‘If you must fight, take yourselves off somewhere else. There is a field on the other side of the river just outside town. Go there.’

‘It’s too dark now,’ Bill Williams said. ‘We will meet there at dawn.’

‘I will take charge of the pot,’ the innkeeper said, scooping it up. ‘You can have it back tomorrow.’

Louise went up to her room to find Betty taking up most of the bed and snoring her head off. Should she wake her and insist they leave at once? Where would they go if she did? And did she really want to be branded a coward? Would they come after her and exact their pound of flesh anyway? Why, oh, why had she been so foolish as to start this escapade in the first place? If her parents had not been out when she returned to the house after the shock of hearing what she had, if she had been able to speak to them there and then instead of being alone to stew over it, she might not have done what she had. Now it was too late.

She sat on the edge of the bed and let the tears roll down her cheeks. They were the first tears she had shed since sitting alone in the arbour. She had been so determined to find her lost mother, she had given herself no time for tears, no time for reflection or considering where it was all going to lead. If only she could have confided in Luke, he might have come with her, kept her safe, let her be herself, not some mythical Mr Smith. And on top of all that she felt responsible for Betty.

In a few hours the sun would come up and everyone would gather in the field on the outskirts of the town to wait for her and Mr Linton to appear. To the onlookers it would be an entertainment, like a play, to be watched and applauded. She dreaded it and wondered how to get out of it without making a complete cake of herself. She could say her sword was broken, but they would find her another and she needed a weapon she was familiar with. She rose and went to the hook on the back of the door where she had hung her belt before going down to supper. She withdrew the sword and made a few practice moves. It felt comfortable and balanced in her hand and reminded her that she had always enjoyed fencing and been good at it. She had to go through with this charade of a duel or lose all credibility as a man of honour.

Jonathan had no intention whatever of killing the lad. He would not hurt a hair of his head. He had killed once before in a duel and the sight of the man’s bloodied body being carried away had been a terrible shock and one he would never forget. Ever since then he had avoided getting into situations that called upon him to defend his honour. So how had it happened this time? He was annoyed with himself for handling things so badly. He had only to declare he did not fight children and everyone would have laughed and there would have been no challenge.

But how could he have done that? The boy would have been humiliated, made a laughing stock and he did not want to subject him to that, but he was of a mind to teach him a lesson. One simply did not go about accusing people of cheating at cards without a shred of evidence. He wondered why the pair had embarked on the adventure in the first place—could it have been for a jest, or a wager? Or was there something deadly serious behind it all? Once or twice he had caught an expression on the young man’s face that hinted at sadness, and a softness to those extraordinary eyes that belied his confident strutting. Jonathan found himself changing from being annoyed, to sympathising and wanting to help. But that did not extend to failing to appear at the duel himself. Honour had to be satisfied.

He thanked his fencing master that he was proficient enough to pretend to be fighting with a will, to defend himself while holding back from dealing a fatal blow. He wished he had learned it before he had killed that last time. He did not know why he was thinking like this; his adversary would not show up. He would be gone by dawn. Sighing, he sat down to write his log, making it sound dull and uneventful; he certainly did not mention he was to fight a duel.

Louise watched the dawn come up, heard the ostlers and grooms busying themselves in the yard and wished herself anywhere but where she was. There was a knock at the door and Joe’s voice called, ‘Time to get up, Mr Smith. You have half an hour. Shall I order breakfast for you?’

‘No, thank you,’ she called back. Food would choke her. ‘No breakfast. I shall join you directly.’

She heard him move away and his footsteps going down the stairs. She left the bed and dressed herself. It occurred to her that if her coat were to be torn, she did not have another. She was shaking with nerves as she pulled on her boots and buckled on her sword belt. She turned, intending to shake Betty awake, but changed her mind and left her sleeping.

Downstairs the dining room was empty; there was no one eating breakfast, nor even any waiters. She went outside. The yard was deserted; the people who had been working there earlier had disappeared, but Joe came from round the side of the building to join her. ‘Where is everyone?’ she asked.

‘They’re all at the field, waitin’ for you.’

Her heart sank. There would be a huge crowd to witness her humiliation. Would they be baying for blood? She wanted to dawdle and delay her arrival, but what would that avail her? Putting her hand on the hilt of her sword, she fell into step beside Joe, their footsteps echoing on the cobbles. In her mind she rehearsed all the moves she had been taught and wondered if she would be given the opportunity to execute them or whether Mr Linton would pierce her defence before she could make any move at all.