Catastrophe With a Count

by Murdoch, Emily

  His words had ended in a hiss, a whisper not enough to carry his frustration. Nerissa had coloured and her eyes dropped to the floor as she spoke.

  “After…when we reached the clearing after finding the…the cherries. You offered me your protection.”

  Anthony stared at her in horror. There it was; there was the moment that the mistake had been made. He coughed deeply, in part as distraction more than anything else, but knew that he had to say the words that he was about to say.

  “Nerissa,” he said gently, taking her hands in his. “Nerissa, when I said that, I had not actually intended it as…as a proposal.”

  The look of horror on her face was enough to shame him. She wrenched her hands from his and raised them to her face, her cheeks flushed crimson.

  “I care very deeply for you, Nerissa, I swear I do,” Anthony said hurriedly in a low voice, “and I have great respect for you, but I thought – I thought that you understand what I meant.”

  “No,” Nerissa breathed, desperate panic in her eyes. “No, no, Anthony do not say such – ”

  “I meant,” Anthony continued doggedly, determined to clear up the misunderstanding once and for all, “that I was offering you the chance to be…to be my mistress.”

  Her hands moved over her eyes as she cried, “Mistress?”

  Not for the first time that night, and once again due to him, the entire Assembly Room went quiet. This time the musicians laid down their instruments too, as every eye turned to the corner where Anthony stood, alongside the now distraught Nerissa.

  Her hands had dropped to her sides as she glared at him, her eyes wet with tears that had not yet fallen, as she hissed, “Just in case you wished to humiliate me even more, you wanted to offer me the chance to be your mistress?”

  If Anthony could have died on the spot, he may have done so. Every eye upon him was making him feel incredibly hot and uncomfortable, but it was nothing to the discomfort that he felt inside.

  “If you had wanted to seduce me, why did you talk to me about the places that we would go together?”

  Her voice rang out clear in the room and there were now muttered shocked words, and a few shaken heads. Anthony could see Mr Fairchild’s face over Nerissa’s shoulder, and if looks could kill, he would have received his wish and dropped down on the floor.

  “I cannot forgive myself for the misunderstanding,” Anthony said in a whisper, as though begging Nerissa to lower her own voice, “and I apologise for the confusion, I do, but I – I never intended to make you an offer of marriage! Nerissa, I am completely destitute, how could I ever care for you?”

  He had thought that nothing could be as bad as the tears, nor the stares of everyone around them, but the bitter laugh that Nerissa now made was ten times worse.

  “Of course! Of course, this comes down to money, does it not? Everything does with you,” she spat, pain now masking the sorrow in her features. “I should have known. I should have expected that it was all about money for you. Perhaps if you were a little cleverer, Count, you would have agreed to marry me for my dowry!”

  There was not a single person who was not muttering now, and Anthony saw from the corner of his eye that Mr Fairchild was making his way over to them.

  If Anthony had given in to the cowardice he then felt in his heart, he would have run, run from the room and not looked back. But he could not leave her, could not leave Nerissa to face the consequences of his actions, their actions, alone.

  “Am I to understand, then,” barked Mr Fairchild as he reached them, “that there is no longer to be a wedding?”

  It was at that moment, that wild moment that understanding dawned in Anthony’s mind. There was a solution to this, of course there was! Seeing her in pain, seeing Nerissa this night, had he not already considered that he may fall in love with her? Had he not already thought that after a few years, he may wish to marry her after all? So why not now?

  “I am perfectly willing to marry Miss Fairchild,” he said with a slight smile at Nerissa.

  It was not returned. “And yet, despite my deep humiliation,” she said coldly, “I do not wish to marry you. Even if you begged me.”

  Nerissa turned on the spot and without another word, ran out of the room.

  “Nerissa – Nerissa, wait!” Anthony called after her and took a step towards her, but he was prevented in doing so by the rather firm presence of Mr Fairchild.

  “You sir – you dishonour me once more!” There was such fury in Mr Fairchild’s eyes that Anthony blanched slightly. “You disgrace my daughter, and only then decide to offer marriage? I challenge you to a duel, to restore my honour!”

  If Anthony had thought that the mutterings in the room before had been loud, he was proved wrong now, but he did not care what they said. All his thoughts were on Nerissa, and there was an ache in his chest.

  What had he done? What had he done to the most beautiful, the most loyal, and the wittiest woman that he had ever met?

  “Well sir?! Do you accept my challenge?”

  Flecks of spit landed on Anthony’s face as Mr Fairchild scowled at him, and Anthony sighed. There did not seem to be any other course of action.

  “I accept,” he said quietly, finally returning Mr Fairchild’s glare. “But it will for the justice of the catastrophe of the Olympic Shipping Company, and not because of Nerissa. I need to restore that in my own way.”

  9

  All Anthony could hear was the thumping of his own heart, the pounding of his pulse in his ears. This was stupid; he should be looking for Nerissa, trying to explain to her that his intentions, though not entirely honourable, had not been malicious.

  But instead, what was he doing? Striding out of Port Royal’s Assembly Rooms behind Mr Fairchild to duel. To the death?

  There was always the chance to back out, to just leave Port Royal and its scandal behind. But Anthony’s blood was high and so was his temper, and as he stepped out into the cool night air, he knew that this was the first, and likely only chance that he would ever have to bring justice to Mr Fairchild for what he had done.

  “Here you go, lad.”

  A gruff man that Anthony recognised as one of the congratulating strangers inside the Assembly Room thrust something into his hand and he grasped it instinctively.

  It was a pistol. He swallowed and looked down at the finely crafted metal and wood, fused together to become the ultimate way that a man could inflict pain and death on another.

  “Are you not coming, Stratham?”

  A man who was wearing a large gold chain around his shoulders and could only be the mayor was glaring at him.

  “Y-Yes,” muttered Anthony, finding that his feet were too heavy to lift without conscious thought. He followed the mayor, Mr Fairchild, and the four or five others who had left the Assembly Rooms with them out along the street, and crossing it found a field beyond it.

  Nerissa was not here. Anthony did not know why he had expected her to be there, but perhaps it was more hope than expectation. Where was she? Who was comforting her, or was she alone?

  His stomach lurched at the image of Nerissa, sobbing somewhere with no one to console her. What was he doing, walking into this field as though he were some sort of soldier?

  “To me, please,” came the curt voice of the mayor.

  Anthony met the gaze of Mr Fairchild as they stood either side of the mayor, and there was bitterness and resentment in the older man’s features. Of course there was, Anthony thought. Here arrives this man on the shores of the town where you have built your life. He declares you a criminal, pulls you up before a judge, and because he does not receive the decision that he wanted, takes your daughter away from you and seduces her.

  If any man had done such a thing to his sister, Anthony thought as the words of the mayor about the rules of the duel washed over him, would he do any different? Probably not.

  “ – so take your ten paces.” The mayor glared at Anthony, who blinked at him, paying for his inattention. “Now, Stratham!”


  Anthony dipped his head curtly and started to pace out to the left of the mayor as Mr Fairchild did the same to the right. The weight of the pistol in his hand seemed to grow in weight with every step that he took.

  What did he think he was doing? Anthony shook his head in wonder at the bizarre situation that he had managed to find himself in. But an hour ago, he was standing before a looking glass filled with irritation that he could not get a cravat to sit straight – and now he was about to fight a duel with the father of the woman he loved.

  What madness was this? How could he ever face Nerissa again, how could he ever tell her how he truly felt about her, if he was to continue taking his course?

  Because he did love her, he knew that now. Only when she was wrenched away from him by his own stupidity and yearning did he even begin to understand the depth of his feelings for her.

  A warm breeze grazed his cheek, and Anthony sighed deeply as he reached the count of ten and turned around to face Mr Fairchild. He was a fool, and not just a fool for love, but a fool in the worst sense of the world. Was he willing to risk everything for the sake of his pride, of his family’s pride? What was money, really, but pieces of metal?

  Whereas Nerissa…Nerissa was warm and living flesh, soft and welcoming, with a mind full sharp and lovely. She was everything that he could have ever hoped for in a partner for life, and he had lost her before he had even begun.

  “On the count of three then!” The mayor’s voice carried on the air, and Anthony nodded, as did Mr Fairchild. “One!”

  It was only then that Anthony looked at his antagonist properly, and saw the fear in his eyes. The older man’s hand was shaking, and the pistol fluttered in the breeze. Mr Fairchild had likely never done anything like this, a gentleman living in a small town like Port Royal. How could he, the Count of Stratham with years of pistol practice, even think to attack this man?

  “Two!”

  He would not hurt him, then. The duel would be completed, both of their honours retained, and Mr Fairchild would live. And Nerissa, Anthony thought painfully, would not lose another parent. She would have her father, and he would never see her again.

  “Three!”

  Anthony fired his pistol with care, making sure that even with the wind speed and direction, the bullet would just pass by Mr Fairchild about a foot from his shoulder.

  He was therefore filled with horror as Mr Fairchild fell to the ground.

  “No!” Anthony dropped the pistol and rushed towards the older man. “No, no Mr Fairchild, I did not intend to – where are you hurt, sir, where are you hurt?”

  He was not alone in kneeling beside Mr Fairchild, and the two other men who had rushed towards him pulled the man up into a sitting position. There was blood, red and warm, dripping from his left shoulder.

  Anthony felt nausea rise up in his throat but he forced it down, he was not going to vomit here, he simply was not.

  “Let me see it – let me see!” One of the gentlemen pulled gently at the woollen sleeve on Mr Fairchild’s left arm to better examine the wound. “It is I, Marcus, Dr Blythe, and I will thank you to stay still.”

  There was a terrible moment, a terrible moment in which Anthony did not know what to do. Surely he was not welcome here, but he could not leave him until he knew exactly what was wrong with Mr Fairchild.

  “Ohh, my…my arm,” mumbled Mr Fairchild, trying to clutch at it as Doctor Blythe brushed his feeble hand away. “I-I think I fell, Doctor…”

  “And so you did,” said the doctor, and Anthony was astonished to see that he was smiling. “But due to no bullet wound, sir. There was a stone under your foot and you slipped on it and fell, grazing your shoulder on this jagged rock here. You will be quite well with a little cleaning and care.”

  Anthony let out a sigh of relief and felt all the tension and sharp pain in his neck and shoulders release.

  “Thank goodness, sir, I did not wish to – ”

  “Leave us,” interrupted Mr Fairchild coldly. “I think you have done enough damage for tonight.”

  Anthony opened his mouth to retort, to argue, but the frowns of the men around him told him that any argument begun would be already lost. Rising to his feet, he gave them a short bow, and strode off into the darkness.

  His mind was so preoccupied with all that had happened that day, that he barely noticed stepping into his quarters and upstairs to his room. It seemed madness, utter madness that he had awoken that morning with Nerissa naked in his arms, and ended with her refusing to marry him and her father bleeding on the ground after duelling him.

  Anthony laughed bitterly as he threw himself onto the bed. Well, he could have never predicted anything like this. In love, and thwarted in love. Not something that he had ever imagined himself to be.

  There was something crinkled underneath his pillow. With a little digging, Anthony pulled out a small letter, still closed with a seal that he knew very well.

  Samuel. Well, well. It wasn’t like the Earl of Kincardine to send his own letters. Hoping for a distraction away from his own personal misery, Anthony broke the seal and opened up the letter.

  It was short, and it barely made any sense. Even on the second and third read-through, Anthony could make hide nor hair of it.

  Stratham,

  Great danger – do not believe what you hear. The rumours are not true, I am innocent and by God you must believe me, for few others are. I intend to escape to France, emigration is my only option.

  Kincardine

  Anthony blinked away the tiredness from his eyes, but it still made little sense. Shaking his head and placing the letter on the side table, he wondered just how Samuel’s over exuberance had managed to get him in trouble this time.

  Lying back on the bed and shutting his eyes, without bothering to remove his clothes, Anthony tried to put Nerissa out of his mind and fall asleep – but it was impossible.

  When she thought she was going to die, to drown off the coast of Port Royal: “With my shoes off, I will not make it to Port Royal, but – ”

  And when she stared at him as though he had physically stabbed her in the heart: “Of course! Of course, this comes down to money, does it not? Everything does with you. I should have known, I should have expected that it was all about money for you. Perhaps if you were a little cleverer, Count, you would have agreed to marry me for my dowry!”

  Anthony’s eyes opened. The pain of Nerissa’s absence was never going to disappear, he understood that now. Whereas he had easily walked away from the only other woman he had taken to bed, Nerissa was different. She was Nerissa; there was no better way of describing it.

  He had been a fool to think that having her as his mistress would have been enough. It would never have been enough, and until he married her, he knew now that he would never be complete.

  * * *

  “If you do not stay still, then I will give you a real injury!” Nerissa glared at her father, who had the decency to look a little ashamed of his squirming.

  “It hurts, my dear,” he said plaintively. “If you could just leave it until morning, I – ”

  “And leave you to gain an infection?” She shook her head knowingly. “No, this has to be done now. Just stay still.”

  Her father was leaning back in his favourite armchair of his library, flinching each time that Nerissa brought the cloth a little closer to his arm. She sighed, placed it back in the shallow bowl of warm water, squeezed it out, and took a deep breath.

  “I am going to sit here and attempt to do this until you let me clean that wound,” she said severely. “I do not trust that Doctor Blythe, far more interested as he is in the medicinal port that he has than his patients. Now, did he clean this cut?”

  Her father had the grace to smile begrudgingly. “No, my dear.”

  Nerissa rolled her eyes. “Then I will need to do it now, and the longer that you struggle against this, the longer that it will take, and I am tired.”

  As though to emphasise her point, the clock
on the mantlepiece stuck but once.

  “One o’clock in the morning,” she said with a weary smile. “Now, will you let me clean it?”

  Mr Fairchild did wince slightly as the warm cloth touched his skin, but he did not completely pull away as he had before, and Nerissa was finally able to start gently cleaning the soil away from the red wound.

  “And what were you thinking,” she berated, a little more softly now, “duelling with a man half your age?”

  “I was only doing it because I wanted to protect you – protect your honour!” Her father protested.

  Nerissa snorted. “Honour? My honour does not need protecting.”

  But she could not prevent her cheeks darkening slightly as she spoke. She knew full well that her innocence was lost, and lost forever to Anthony. There was no getting that back.

  Forcing the thought from her mind, she focused her full attention on ensuring that every little bit of grit was removed from the wound her father had sustained.

  “And speaking of honour,” Nerissa said quietly, unable to look at her father’s face as she spoke, “what about the catastrophe at the Olympic Shipping Company, hmmm?”

  She could feel him stiffen with awkwardness, even without looking at his eyes.

  “What about it?”

  Nerissa sighed and leaned back, finally raising her eyes to his own, which were sorrowful and a little embarrassed. “You know full well, father. You allowed it to happen, did you not? You are far too good at what you do for the financial ruin to be an accident. You caused it.”

  “Caused it!” Mr Fairchild blustered. “Caused is a strong word, my dear. I saw it coming, perhaps, and did not do all that I could have done to prevent it – ”

  “Which is just as bad,” Nerissa said sadly, shaking her head. “Why, father? Why did you do it?”

  He did not answer her for a moment, but his gaze focused on something a little way behind her. Nerissa turned, and sighed as she saw the engraving of her mother on the mantlepiece.