by Mary Nichols
`Miss Martindale, a successful outing, do you not agree?'
`Yes, indeed.'
`Perhaps you would consider a ride in the phaeton. I would drive very carefully, I promise you.'
`If Mama consented, then I should like that,' she said, favouring him with a dazzling smile, which Mr Devonshire was meant to see.
`Then may I call for you tomorrow afternoon? We could take a turn in the park, very sedately, of course.'
`Mama?' She turned to her mother. Lady Martindale appeared to be daydreaming. Hearing Juliette's voice she pulled herself together.
`Yes, yes, but I think Thomas should ride alongside.'
There was no room in the phaeton for three people and agreeing to ride with a gentleman, even on a crowded carriageway where everyone could see them, almost constituted a declaration. It was not exactly an offer but it would be tacitly assumed that one was inevitable and would be accepted. Juliette was aware of this and she had no idea why she let it happen. Thomas's presence on the cob would be no more than a fop to convention. It was folly to agree, but Mr Devonshire had just dismounted and was standing beside the carriage watching them, and she certainly did not want him to think he had upset her. It was an act of defiance, of self-defence.
`I shall expect you at two o'clock,' she told James, then turned to bid Philip Devonshire goodbye in the coolest voice she could manage, a gesture which apparently left him unruffled but caused a smirk of satisfaction on James's face.
James arrived with the phaeton in good time the following afternoon, boyishly eager, and in less than fifteen minutes they had turned in at the park gates. Juliette felt quite regal sitting in the phaeton high above everyone else; though the ride was not exactly comfortable, it was invigorating and James was at his charming best, keeping the horses to a walk and bowing and smiling to everyone they met.
`I am the envy of the ton today,' he said, turning to look at her. She was dressed in a gown that had a powder-blue bodice of jaconet and a skirt of white muslin over a blue silk slip. A little jacket of matching blue velvet and a bonnet whose underbrim was trimmed with tiny blue flowers, set off her pale complexion and silvery hair to perfection. Beneath her silk parasol she looked like a goddess.
`Thank you.'
`Would you care to drive?'
Juliette, who had been wondering if she dare ask him to let her take over the ribbons, turned to face him, her eagerness undisguised. `Oh, may I?'
`Naturally, you may.' She closed her parasol and laid it on the seat beside her. He handed over the reins, though he kept his own hands over hers. 'Gently, see, they are high-spirited beasts and respond to the slightest pressure.'
`Yes, I understand. I had a pair like that once, at Hartlea, though I did not have a high-perch phaeton, but a curricle. I had no difficulty managing it and used to drive all round the estate until one of the horses injured himself in his stall and Papa was obliged to shoot him. Then we found the other would not go with any of the other horses and he was sold. I still miss them.'
`Then you shall have these.'
She turned to him in delighted astonishment. 'A gift?'
`Of course.'
Sanity returned almost instantly. 'No, it is not possible. I cannot accept such a gift, it would be misconstrued and...'
`There is a solution, you know,' he said, noticing the colour flare in her cheeks. 'You could call it an engagement gift.'
`But...we are not...'
`That is soon remedied. You have only to say yes to make me the happiest of men.'
She took her eyes from the road to look at him. He was gazing down at her with every appearance of sincerity, his glance flickering over her face from eyes to lips to the top of her head and a throat which had suddenly become dry.
`Mr Martindale!' She affected surprise, which was dishonest of her and made her ashamed of herself. It had to come sooner or later and she should have had her answer ready. But after that first exclamation she found herself unable to speak. Her mind was filled with the image of another man, a tall, enigmatic man whose dark eyes seemed to see into the very core of her and yet had missed the most important thing of all; her love for him.,
`You must have known I would ask you,' he went on. `I have only delayed for propriety's sake.'
`I hardly know you,' she said, finding her tongue at last. 'And you know nothing of me.'
`Are we not cousins?'
`Yes, but that makes no difference. We are strangers to one another.'
`Miss Martindale - Juliette - I have spent several weeks trying to remedy that. You have to admit I have been most attentive. Everyone expects an announcement...'
`Do you think I am swayed by what everyone expects?' she demanded sharply.
`No, that was stupid of me. But your mama has been kind enough to look favourably on my suit.'
`And Papa'?'
`I am not so sanguine as to imagine he favours me wholeheartedly, but no doubt he will be guided by her ladyship; after all, ladies know best when it comes to such matters, don't you think?' He will come about. He has not forbidden you to see me, has he?'
`No, he would not. He has said I must make up my own mind.'
`And have you?'
`No. I cannot.' And that was certainly true.
`Cannot marry me or cannot make up your mind?'
`I meant I will make no decision until I am sure of my feelings. And of yours.'
`If you need more time, of course you may have it,' he said, so complacently she felt like striking him. 'But I beg of you, do not delay too long, there are arrangements to make, things to be done. I had planned a journey abroad in a few weeks' time, but if you do me the honour of accepting me, it will not be necessary.'
`Have you spoken to Papa about this?'
`No, but I will do so as soon as you tell me you wish it.'
`I do not wish it, not yet,' she said, relinquishing the reins to him.
He appeared to accept that and smiled. 'Shall we go a little faster? This pace is too slow for these cattle; they are bred for speed, you know.'
`I am not sure it is...'
Before she could finish, he had whipped up the beasts and the walk changed to a trot that took them away from the main carriageway on to a little-used road. From a trot they moved to a canter, from a canter to a full gallop. The horses were fresh and obviously needed the exercise; they fairly flew over the ground, bumping her up and down in the high seat.
It was exhilarating and she had to admit she was enjoying the sensation of speed and the control he had over the horses. Folly it had been to come, folly it was to encourage him, but she was in no mood to be sensible. She clutched at her bonnet to stop it flying off and turned in her seat to see Thomas, struggling to keep up with them. It was unfair on the poor groom who was undoubtedly terrified; if she was thrown out and killed or injured, he knew he would be blamed. `Mr Martindale!' she cried. 'Please slow down, this instant.'
`You are afraid?'
`No, but my groom is.'
He laughed and the whip cracked again. 'I think I shall carry you off, then the decision will be taken out of your hands - the tattlers would see to that.'
`I beg of you, no!' She was truly frightened now.
He turned to look at her, then pulled the horses back to a walk, still laughing. 'No, it will not serve, will it? I must be patient.'
`I do believe you are a little mad,' she said, looking behind them. Thomas was once more in attendance, though his horse was blowing badly.
`Mad for you, my dear Juliette,' he said, turning to rejoin the promenade of carriages and resume their stately progress. She was convinced that everyone had seen them go and was busy with conjecture.
`Now you are being absurd,' she said. 'And I do not remember giving you permission to use my first name.'
`But we are family already, soon to be even closer...'
His arrogance left her almost speechless. She should never have come, she should have known he would take it for granted that she would welcome a
proposal. It infuriated her. `Mr Martindale, I never met such a conceited, overbearing man as you are. What makes you think I would consider such a proposal, if proposal it was meant to be? It was more an insult.'
His eyes flickered over her face, as if considering a rejoinder and then he smiled. 'I beg pardon. Please put it down to over eagerness on my part. I will not err again.'
Not wishing to give him a. put-down in so public a place, she did not answer but sat stiffly beside him, not speaking, until Philip Devonshire appeared beside the rail and put her composure completely to flight.
His horse was standing quite still, but its lathered neck told them that it had recently been galloping. 'Miss Martindale, good day,' he said, then leaning forward, presented her with her own parasol. 'I do believe you dropped this.'
She stared at it. 'Yes, but where did you find it...?' James understood how it had happened. Philip had been following them and seen the parasol fall from the carriage. 'Look here, Devonshire,' he said. 'Can you not see you are not wanted? If you follow us once more, I shall be obliged to call you out. It is insupportable...'
`Why should I follow you?' Philip queried. 'I was out for a ride and saw the parasol on the ground. I recognised it as the one Miss Martindale was using at the picnic.'
`Oh, please do not quarrel on my account,' she said, accepting her property, but annoyed to think Mr Devonshire had witnessed what had happened. 'It is quite unnecessary. Thank you; Mr Devonshire.'
Philip bowed and took his leave, leaving a bad-tempered James to take her home.
Two days later, when Lady Carstairs and Lucinda called at Mount Street, Juliette was dismayed to learn that there were strong rumours that Mr Martindale and Mr Devonshire had quarrelled violently and a duel was to be fought.
This piece of information was conveyed to her as the two girls sat in Juliette's bedroom, talking about the gowns they were going to wear for her fancy dress ball the following week. Lucinda was to be escorted by Arthur Boreton who, not particularly handsome himself, had decided that there was more to a wife than a pretty face, and offered for her. Lucinda's joy was only matched by her mama's, who had been beginning to think she was unmarriageable.
`I do believe they are fighting over you.' Lucinda, whose appetite for romance was fed on novelettes borrowed from the lending library, was deeply thrilled. `How romantical!'
`It isn't at all,' Juliette said, dismayed that James had been rash enough to carry out his threat. She had thought it was all bluster, meant to impress her. 'it is foolish in the extreme, besides being unlawful. If they are caught, there will be the most dreadful fuss. They could go to prison.'
`Fustian! Who do you suppose is going to get up at the crack of dawn to arrest them? It will all be over before any justice of the peace can be roused from his bed.'
`But supposing they kill each other?' Her mind was in a turmoil, picturing the scene so vividly, the two men, their jackets discarded, standing facing each other with loaded pistols, or perhaps drawn swords, prepared to kill or die. It was horrible, barbaric. It could not be over her, it just could not. She was not worth fighting over. 'Are you sure you have not made a mistake?'
`No, Arthur told me. He is to be Mr Martindale's second.'
`When? And where? Tell me quickly.'
Lucinda shrugged. 'I do, not know. Arthur would not say.'
`Then you must find out. It must be stopped.'
`You are making a deal of fuss,' Lucinda said, peering into her friend's face. 'Which one are you concerned about? I thought at first it might be Mr Devonshire, but you have seen more of Mr Martindale this last week.'
`Neither. Both. Oh, don't you see, how impossible it is?'
`I think Mr Devonshire is the most handsome, but he has a brooding look about him, as if he were weighed down with troubles. But I suppose he would be, having no fortune but what he can make for himself, considerable though it seems to be. On the other hand, Mr Martindale is so amusing, so galant. You may insult him to your heart's content and he never minds it.'
`That's because he is too insensitive to mind.'
`Oh.' Lucinda was silent for all of thirty seconds before she added, 'It is Mr Devonshire you favour then?'
`No it is not,' she snapped. It was as if her friend had touched a raw nerve. 'Oh, I do wish you would not refine upon it, Lucinda. I am too worried to play silly games.'
`I am very sorry, I am sure. I would not have told you about it if I had known you would be so crotchety about it.'
`Oh, Lucinda, I am not cross with you, it is those stupid, headstrong men who have angered me. Please forgive me.'
`Of course.' Lucinda was nothing if not good-natured. `But what are you going to do?'
`I don't know, but I must do something. Do you think you could persuade Mr Boreton to tell you the details?'
`I will try.'
`Send me a note when you know when and where it is to be. Make sure whoever you send has instructions to hand it to me personally. I do not think Mama should know of this.' She paused, realising there were other ways that Lady Martindale might learn of a duel. 'Does your mama know?'
`I don't know. I shouldn't think so.'
`We had better go down and join them or they will wonder what we are up to.'
They stood up, straightened their muslin skirts and went down to join their mothers who were so absorbed in their plans for the ball and the things which had to be done in preparation they had hardly missed them. But Juliette could not stop thinking about the duel and was so silent after their visitors had left, her mother declared she must he sickening for something.
Two days later, Juliette was woken in the early hours by someone throwing stones at the window of her bedchamber. She lay for a moment, unable to tell what had wakened her, until the sharp patter came again. She rose, padded in bare feet across to the window and threw up the sash.
Lucinda, dressed in a riding habit, was standing on the flower bed below her, about to gather up another handful of stones. 'What on earth are you at?' Juliette called down to her.
`Come on,' Lucinda hissed in a loud whisper. 'Get dressed and come down. Or we shall miss it. Arthur left about half an hour ago.'
`Do you know where?'
`Hampstead Heath. Hurry, we have to be there by dawn. I left my horse tethered to the gate.'
`I'll meet you at the kitchen door.'
Juliette pulled her riding habit from her wardrobe, found underwear and stockings and scrambled into them. A quick comb through her hair, her riding hat jammed on top and two minutes later she was creeping down the stairs with her boots in her hand. Lucinda was waiting outside the kitchen door, where Juliette stopped to put on her footwear. Then together they ran across the yard to the stables and saddled Juliette's mare.
Five minutes later they were on their way, walking their horses between the houses, half afraid to breathe and ready to jump at the least sound. There were gas lamps at intervals along the main streets and flambeaux at the doors of some of the big houses, left to light the late-night reveller home, but as they moved away from the better-class districts, the lights became fewer, the shadows longer and deeper, making their flesh creep.
They had not been going very long before Juliette wished she had not been so foolhardy as to come. Anything could happen; they could be beset by footpads, murdered, abducted, become lost. If she had been sensible she would have told her father of the duel and left him to deal with it. At the very least, she should have confided in Thomas and asked him to accompany them. But Thomas would never have agreed.
`Are you sure you know the way?' she asked her companion, still whispering.
`Yes, I have done it any number of times. We come this way when we travel north by coach.'
`Not in the middle of the night. Not on horseback.'
`No,' she admitted. 'But Arthur can't be far ahead.'
A cat sniffed a pile of garbage on the side of the road, a drunkard rolled homeward and stopped to watch their passage. Juliette held her breath until they
were safely past. 'How did you find out? Did Mr Boreton tell you, after all?'
`No. He spent the evening playing cards with Papa and Lord Hart and I crept down to listen outside the door, thinking he might mention it.'
`And he did?'
`Yes, it got very late and they were still playing and then I heard Arthur say it wasn't worth going home to bed, he might as well stay until it was time to go. They asked him the time and place and he told them. I went upstairs and dressed and then I heard him leave. It took me ages to saddle my horse and then I couldn't find anything to mount from. But we shall catch him up soon, I am sure.'
They were riding in open country now. The moon, which had been lighting their way ever since they left the town behind, disappeared over the western horizon and a faint grey and pink light was growing to the east. A carriage passed them. 'How much further?'
`Half a mile or so.'
And then they were on the heath, making for a stand of spindly saplings where stood the coach that had overtaken them. Three men stood beside it, two of whom were holding the reins of riding horses. They looked up at the approach of the girls.
`Good God!' Arthur exclaimed. 'Lucy, what are you doing here?'
`We came to put a stop to this duel,' Juliette said, flinging herself off her horse and running over to them. `It cannot take place.'
One of the other men laughed, a young man whom Juliette did not know. 'We thought it was the protagonists and it's nothing but a couple of petticoats. Have they sent you in their place? What sport, eh?'
`They are not here?' Juliette was so keyed up, she could not believe that frightening ride through the night had been for nothing. The seconds were here, to be sure, but the duellists were absent.
`No, but there is time,' the third man said. Although older and plump, he was dressed as they were in unrelieved black.
At that moment the sound of a horse's hooves sounded loud on the still air. They turned to see James Martindale riding into the clearing. Juliette's heart sank.
`Good God!' he said, repeating Arthur's exclamation at the sight of the ladies. 'What are you doing here?'
Juliette took a deep breath. 'Mr Martindale, you must not fight. It is wrong. He may kill you. You may kill him.'
