On any other day, she would have enjoyed watching the brilliant colors of the morning begin to light the sky. But today the coming dawn meant she was running out of precious time.
They could be mortally wounded. It was far too easy to imagine one of them with a gaping black bullet hole in his chest, lying in the grass, still and silent as his life’s blood stained the ground a shocking crimson red.
It could be any of them. Jasper. Or Jason. Or Trevor. Meredith closed her eyes and shuddered, then firmly repressed the pain she felt.
At long last they reached the park. As they rounded the corner, Meredith craned her neck out of the window, desperate for a better view. Her eyes darted across the horizon, as swirls of fog and mist obstructed her sight.
“There!” she shouted. “On the edge of that secluded stretch of lawn. Do you see them?”
“Aye, my lady,” the coachman grunted. “Hold fast.”
Meredith gripped the edge of the seat as the coach lurched awkwardly to one side. Pulling herself up, she straightened and looked out the window. Hope stirred within her breast. There was a group of men milling about on the crest of the hill. All were standing upright—for the moment.
“Let me out here,” she called, fearing it would take too long for the cumbersome vehicle to gain the top of the knoll.
Gradually the carriage began to slow. Giving no thought to her own safety, Meredith leaped from the still moving vehicle, landing upon the soggy grass with a loud thud. The moment her feet touched the earth, she picked her skirts up above her ankles and broke into a run.
Eight
Trevor Morely, Marquess of Dardington, was in good spirits as he stood on the damp grass in Hyde Park. The dawn was just beginning to appear on this cool, slightly wet morning and the brilliant colors of the day reminded him of his favorite painting, a pastoral landscape done by a unknown artist more than a century ago.
There were ten other gentlemen convened with the marquess on the grassy knoll. Most were conversing in quiet, civilized tones—except for the two youngest men, who were engaged in a serious and often times ear-splitting discourse over which of them would be granted the privilege of defending their sister’s honor.
“I am the elder. It falls to me to preserve the family position and reputation.”
“Yes, you are the elder, Jasper. And the heir. Therefore it should be I who risks his life. My death would have a small impact upon the family.”
“Don’t be an idiot. Meredith would never forgive me if anything happened to you. Besides, I have no intention of getting killed or wounded—yet another reason why I should be the one to fight. You shall be my second, Jason.”
Jason responded with a jeering noise. “I put forth the challenge to Dardington.”
“You did not!”
“I did so!”
Jasper paused for a moment and flexed his fingers. “Even if that were true, it makes no difference. I have decided I will be the duelist.”
“You have decided! ’Tis not your decision to make.”
The bickering between the two brothers continued at an even higher volume. In the gray half light and swirling mist, Trevor had difficulty telling the twins apart, yet it was clear each was filled with passion over the rightness of their cause.
“Perhaps it would be best to let the two of them duel with each other first,” Julian Wingate observed. “Then you could challenge the winner. I fear we shall miss breakfast and luncheon if we wait for these two young pups to make a decision.”
“I am in no great rush.” Trevor took a step back and frowned at Wingate. He was not certain how the man came to be a member of the party, for he had not invited him along. Yet as Trevor took a closer look at the throng of interested male spectators, he realized that aside from Viscount Aarons, who was acting as his second, he knew only one other gentleman in attendance.
“If it were me, I’d prefer to face the younger brother, Jason,” Wingate added. “He is rumored to be a keen shot, but his emotions are clearly riding high. With a steady arm and careful aim, you could hit him the moment the signal is given to fire.”
Trevor’s lips curled in distaste. “You have been too long on the battlefield, Wingate. ’Tis well known that in a duel, honor can be served without killing someone.”
Wingate shrugged. “Honor is only a part of this ritual. Equally important is the need to prove one’s superior manhood.”
The last comment was apparently heard by the twins, for they ceased arguing with each other, turned, and gave Wingate a nearly identical cool, arrogant stare. Trevor had to bite his lip to keep from smiling. The two brothers were filled with a vibrant, self-possessed attitude clearly reminiscent of their sister.
“Now that they have ceased fighting for a moment, let me see if I can do anything to expedite this matter,” Viscount Aarons said.
Taking his duties as second most seriously, the viscount strode off purposefully to confer with the twins. Trevor watched as the viscount’s solemn expression changed to one of impatience and then finally annoyance. This time Trevor could not suppress his smile when the viscount sighed heavily before withdrawing a coin from his pocket.
“Is it finally decided?” the marquess asked, when the viscount returned.
“At last,” Viscount Aarons answered with a bit of impatience in his tone. “I forced them to flip a coin. It was the only solution I could contrive. Lord Fairhurst will duel and Mr. Jason Barrington will act as his second. I assumed you would not be inclined to issue an apology, so I’ve already rejected Barrington’s suggestion. All we need to do now is load and inspect the pistols. Then we can finally get started.”
“Splendid.” Trevor smiled, then handed the viscount the engraved dueling pistol he had just finished cleaning.
Though the other men in the gathering were clearly annoyed by the many delays, Trevor had found it most amusing. He had been impressed by the heated discussion between the twins and wondered how much of it had been real and how much had been for the benefit of the crowd.
For, unbeknownst to any of those in attendance, the outcome of this morning’s duel had already been determined.
The brothers had been genuinely distressed over their sister’s disgrace and the part they had played in it. They had approached the marquess last night in hopes of finding an agreeable solution.
Previously, Trevor had thought them to be a rather reckless, irresponsible pair, but he had been moved by their devotion to their sister and their determination to somehow set things to rights. After sharing several glasses of fine French brandy, the marquess surprised himself by revealing that he had in fact asked Lady Meredith, on that very afternoon, to become his bride. But she had adamantly refused his offer.
“Does not shock me at all,” Jason had replied. Though his words were slightly slurred, the marquess had understood them. “Merry would never agree to the obvious and easiest solution.”
“Goes against her nature, I think,” Jasper added.
With a commiserative shake of their heads, all three men poured another round of spirits and discussed an alternative solution. Thanks to the strong drink and lateness of the hour, the marquess could not remember which twin had suggested a duel.
Yet once mentioned, the idea was seized upon with great zeal. If nothing else, a duel between the marquess and one of the brothers would shift the focus of the scandal. It might even garner Meredith some much needed sympathy from the female population. And it would certainly put an end to the unwanted male attention that now plagued her.
The impatient grumbling of the crowd of spectators quickly fell to a hushed silence as the duel at last began. The marquess nonchalantly accepted his now loaded pistol from his second and took up his position, his back toward his adversary. He refrained from looking at either Jasper or Jason, knowing at this point he needed to keep his full focus on the business at hand.
His glance fell momentarily upon the surgeon, medical bag in hand, who was present. If all went according to plan, the man’s
services would not be needed. After a lengthy, private discussion, the marquess and the twins had agreed it would not be necessary to draw blood in order to preserve Meredith’s reputation.
Even a well-placed shot in the leg or arm could fester and cause unbearable pain, or possibly fatal consequences. No, ’twas far safer for each duelist to take fair aim and shoot wide, missing his opponent by a clear margin.
Trevor straightened his spine and strode carefully as Julian Wingate called out the regulation number of steps. Then he turned, stood sideways, raised his arm and took careful aim. Knowing his opponent had no intention of harming him made it a bit easier to stare down the end of the opposing pistol barrel with a steady glare.
He was relieved to note that Jasper looked equally calm. Trevor cocked the hammer of his gun, awaiting the signal to fire. The silence among the spectators became an almost tangible thing, as they waited with respectful quiet for the battle to begin.
The marquess’s concentration was so focused that he did not at first hear the distraction on the sidelines. He turned his head and saw Julian Wingate hold up his hand in a firm staying gesture. Then Trevor heard a voice, high, breathless and female.
“Stop! For the love of God, stop this madness at once!”
Under his breath, Trevor swore colorfully. He knew that voice could belong to only one female, one headstrong, obstinate woman who had a knack for picking the most damnably inconvenient times to show up.
The marquess saw his opponent waver for a moment, an expression of incomprehension on his young face. Trevor relaxed his stance, but did not lower his arm. For some perverse reason, he did not want to deprive Lady Meredith of the full effect of the duel.
“Deuce take it! What are you doing here?” Julian Wingate called from the sidelines. “You are an unwanted and inappropriate distraction, Lady Meredith. Please return to your coach and leave the premisses at once.”
Wingate’s voice was joined by those of several other spectators, all jeering the untimely interruption of the morning’s fun.
Lady Meredith silenced them all with a single withering glare. Trevor observed that her cheeks were flushed with emotion, but they had paled noticeably when she had reached the top of the knoll and saw clearly how close he and Jasper stood, pistols drawn and aimed.
That momentary look of an uncontrolled frenzy was now gone, replaced once more by the calm, collected air that announced to all Lady Meredith was once again in charge of herself.
“Have you all lost complete control of your senses?” she shouted, her eyes glinting dangerously. “This will solve nothing.”
“Wingate is right, Merry,” Jasper declared. “This is no place for a lady. ’Tis men’s business. You must go home immediately.”
“I will leave only if you and Jason accompany me,” Lady Meredith retorted, planting her feet firmly in the grass.
“Meredith, please.” Jason strode toward his sister.
Her chin rose. Trevor felt a jolt of sympathy for Jason, knowing there would be little chance the man would succeed in getting his sister to do his bidding.
The marquess slowly lowered his right arm. He could feel the tension lock along his shoulder; the strain of keeping his arm raised was too much. He noticed Jasper doing the same, a silent acknowledgement there would be no duel this morning.
After shrugging into his waistcoat and coat, Jasper joined his twin at Meredith’s side. The men stood close together, their bodies shielding her from the questioning eyes of the crowd. Unfortunately they could do nothing to modulate the volume of her voice. Her words rang out loud and clear for all to hear.
“I told you repeatedly that the marquess offered me no insult, but you would not listen. If you felt it necessary to defend my honor, could you not have settled upon a less lethal manner?” Lady Meredith asked. “You boast constantly of your sparring skills, honed to near perfection at Jackson’s boxing salon. Would not landing a blow to the marquess’s jaw or nose have appeased your inflated sense of honor?”
“What? Are you suggesting I should have planted a facer on him in the middle of White’s?”
“That is certainly preferable to a bullet through the heart.” Meredith hmmphed. “Of course, little damage would have been sustained if the shot struck you in the head. There is naught between your ears but a lot of empty space, Jasper.”
Trevor smiled inwardly. Though he suspected he might make this volatile situation even worse, he found it impossible to hold his tongue. “Perhaps this discussion would best be continued in private,” he suggested, coming forward until he was standing almost toe to toe with Lady Meredith.
Meredith jerked her head around and gave him a glare that could wilt a hothouse rose on a winter’s day. “Your opinion is not required, my lord. This is a family matter. It is most inappropriate for you to interfere.”
“You are hardly one to be speaking of propriety,” Trevor said. “It might amaze you to know this, Lady Meredith, but there do exist women who know their proper place in the world. Women who know how to be submissive and obedient.”
“I shall say a prayer for these unfortunate souls in church next Sunday,” she retorted, before turning her back on him in an obviously dismissive gesture. “If you will kindly excuse us, I shall escort my brothers home before any other idiotic male ideas for preserving our family honor are presented.”
“ ’Tis not completely our fault,” Jasper sulked as he trailed languidly behind his sister. “Dardington gave you an opportunity to end this without bloodshed, yet you refused him.”
Meredith stopped walking. A wary look passed through her eyes. “I do not know what you mean.”
“Have you forgotten our conversation yesterday afternoon already, Lady Meredith?” Trevor closed the distance between them and placed a hand on her shoulder. “I am crushed.”
Her head swung around. “He told you?” she asked her brothers. “About yesterday?”
“Yes,” Jasper replied.
She turned completely around and faced the marquess. For an instant her face looked naked and vulnerable, her eyes haunted with doubt and confusion. “Why?”
“They wanted to know what my opinion of you was, so I enlightened them,” Trevor replied. “I saw no harm.”
“You are speaking in riddles, Dardington,” Julian Wingate interjected. He had come, unnoticed, to stand beside them all and apparently eavesdrop on their conversation.
Trevor ignored Wingate. The marquess had not taken his eyes off Meredith. She stood very still and very straight, her hands clasped against her cloak. He wished he had some idea of what she was thinking, but her expression gave no indication of her inner emotions. Trevor wisely kept his mouth shut and waited.
“If you must know, the marquess is referring to the proposal of marriage he made to me yesterday afternoon.” Lady Meredith waved one careless hand. “Not that it is any of your business whom I marry, Mr. Wingate.”
“Devil take it,” Wingate said, scratching the side of his head. “If you are going to marry Dardington, why are your brothers dueling with the man?”
“Why indeed?” Meredith gave an irate sniff and pointed her nose in the air. “It is, I grant you, a most peculiar way to welcome someone into the family. But surely you must have heard that we Barringtons are an eccentric, unconventional lot.”
The twins turned and looked at the marquess with identical expressions of shock and incomprehension on their faces. Trevor imagined his own face contained the exact reaction.
For it appeared Lady Meredith had just announced, in a most forthright manner, that she was going to marry him. Fancy that!
It was a most unusual wedding, considering the stature and rank of the bride and groom. A hastily contrived service, taking place in the bride’s home, with only her brothers and a handful of loyal servants as witnesses. There was no one in attendance on behalf of the groom.
The special license had been obtained by the bride’s brothers, who had a rather busy day by any gentleman’s standards: a near duel
in the morning; rushed, secretive wedding preparations until noon; and a private late afternoon nuptial ceremony for their only sister.
As Meredith watched her two brothers share a toast of fine French champagne with her new husband, she told herself she had made the only decision possible. Marrying the marquess would keep the twins safe from duels defending her honor. Accomplishing that task alone justified the sacrifice she had made.
She had never known greater fear, nor felt such a depressing sense of helplessness as she had early that morning, witnessing Jasper and the marquess standing so straight and calm, their pistols pointed at each other’s hearts. The sight was mesmerizing, in a terrifying, helpless way, and she had nearly fainted when she first viewed it.
To think her careless actions had brought the twins to such desperate measures was a somber, heart-stopping realization. She knew in that moment she would have to concede, would have to marry the marquess to save them all from the possibility of grief.
Meredith looked down at the nosegay of violets in her hand. The simple bouquet had been a gift from the marquess, presented with casual sincerity just before the wedding ceremony began. The romantic gesture had pleased her greatly, and she had felt the faint warmth of a blush creep on the back of her neck when she accepted the flowers and then stammered a quiet word of thanks.
“Come join us for some champagne, Merry,” Jasper called out gaily. “Dardington had a case of the stuff sent over, and we’ve only polished off one bottle.”
“Yes, join us,” Jason insisted. “If we cannot put a respectable dent in the case we shall we forced to bathe in it. Just like Brummel.”
“You’ve got that wrong,” Trevor interjected. “Brummel does not bathe in champagne, but ’tis said he has his boots cleaned in it.”
“Really?” Meredith smiled and moved forward. “That seems like a ridiculous waste of good wine.”
To Protect An Heiress (Zebra Historical Romance) Page 12
