A Season of Ruin

by Anna Bradley

  Lily wrapped an arm around her sister’s knee. “But you don’t have the dream anymore?”

  “No. It stopped when I fell in love with Alec.”

  Lily stiffened. She knew her sister well, and she knew what Delia was about to say. “It’s not the same thing. You trust Alec. I can’t trust Robyn. Not anymore.”

  “I don’t believe that, Lily.”

  Lil turned her face away. “He lied to me.”

  Delia never ceased her slow caress. “Why do you suppose he lied?”

  Lily remained quiet for a while and concentrated only on Delia’s gentle hands, then replied, “To escape the consequences. He knew I’d never forgive him.”

  But even as the words left her mouth, she knew them for a lie. He hadn’t lied to save his skin. He’d lied because—

  “No, Lily,” Delia murmured. “Perhaps he ought not to have lied—perhaps he should have told you the truth right away, but he did it to protect you, not to hurt you. His lie came from love, not selfishness.”

  A lie of love. Was there such a thing?

  Delia’s hand stilled. “In any case, the lie is not the reason you won’t forgive him, and it’s not because you don’t trust him, either.”

  Lily jerked her head out from under Delia’s hand. “What do you mean? Of course it is.”

  Delia shook her head. “No. You may choose to leave Robyn over this, but don’t lie to yourself about the reason.”

  Thank God they hadn’t lit the lamps. Lily was suddenly grateful Delia couldn’t see her. But even with the darkness to hide her, she pressed her face against Delia’s white muslin night rail. She burned with shame, but she didn’t know why.

  “You wanted Lord Atherton because you don’t love him—could never love him.” Delia twisted a lock of Lily’s hair in her fingers. “Isn’t that true?”

  Lily hesitated, then nodded her head against Delia’s leg. She’d admitted as much to herself already.

  “You do love Robyn. One need only look at you to see that. But with great love comes risk, and you, Lily, have never made your peace with risk.”

  Lily’s breath hitched in her throat. “You believe I left Robyn out of cowardice?”

  How many times had she accused herself of the same thing? Too many to count, but the accusations always ended with an excuse. So be it. Cowards don’t get . . .

  Hurt. Cowards don’t get hurt.

  Then why did she feel as if her heart were being ripped from her chest when she thought of Robyn with his head bowed, on his knees in her bedchamber?

  “Not cowardice,” Delia said. “Fear. You’re terrified, and with good reason, for you’ve seen far too much tragedy this past year.”

  Lily raised her head from Delia’s lap and rose to her knees. Fear. Cowardice. Weren’t they the same thing? Didn’t a fearful person behave like a coward?

  No. One was a coward only when they allowed their fears to crush them. She thought she’d overcome her cowardice, had told herself she had . . .

  Delia reached a hand down to help her onto the sofa. “What you need to decide, my dear, is how much you’re willing to give up to be safe.”

  Lily stared down at her lap.

  “Look at me, Lily.” Delia put a hand on her knee. “You’ve already done the brave thing. You chose Robyn over Lord Atherton. Will you truly give him up now, when he needs you the most?”

  Lily pressed her palms into her eyes. Oh, she didn’t know! Robyn would always be unpredictable. He’d always challenge her. But wasn’t that part of what she loved about him?

  Wasn’t safety an illusion, in any case? A thing of smoke and mirrors? If she’d learned one thing since she came to London, it was that they were all balanced on the head of a pin. No one had any real control over their fate. The best she could do was try and find her way out of the maze instead of crumpling to the ground and giving up.

  Robyn had taught her that.

  Yet to court danger, to taunt death as Robyn would today—that was something else. Something worse.

  Lily shook her head. “But to fight a duel, Delia—isn’t that the very heart of selfishness? His mother and sisters are in agony, and what of Alec, who’s obliged to second him? For pity’s sake, Delia, what of you?”

  “Don’t you mean, what of you? You accuse him of selfishness, and yet he does this for you.”

  Delia sighed when Lily didn’t answer. “Robyn is Alec’s younger brother, Lily. Alec insisted on being his second. And Robyn has no choice in this. The offense is too grave. He could not overlook it without loss of honor.”

  Lily gave a short, bitter laugh. “Honor? No, I don’t believe that. What insult could Lord Atherton have dealt Robyn that demands such a sacrifice?”

  Delia stared at her. “You think Lord Atherton insulted Robyn?”

  Lily cleared her throat, but nothing could remove the lump lodged there. “Didn’t he?”

  Delia shook her head. “I promised Alec I’d say nothing of this to you, but it seems wrong . . . Robyn didn’t tell you anything?”

  Tell her what? “No. He refused to repeat what Lord Atherton said.”

  “I didn’t imagine he’d repeat it, but I thought he’d at least tell you—”

  An awful suspicion took hold of Lily. “Tell me what? Delia, for pity’s sake, don’t keep anything from me.”

  Delia hesitated, then took Lily’s hand. “Lord Atherton didn’t insult Robyn, Lily. He insulted you.”

  Lily swayed as all the blood rushed from her head at once.

  She covered her face with her hands. How could she not have realized it?

  She’d called Robyn selfish. She’d told him she’d never trust him again. Dear God—she’d told him she was leaving him. Everything she’d accused him of, everything she’d reproached him for, he’d done for her.

  At dawn he’d stand motionless while Lord Atherton shot at him, and he’d do it believing she didn’t care for him anymore. If Atherton’s bullet found his head, his heart, he would draw his last breath believing she didn’t love him enough to take a risk for him, even as he risked everything for her.

  Lily’s eyes darted to the window. Fingers of new light streaked across the sky. Dawn, or nearly so. She reached out a trembling hand to clutch Delia’s arm.

  “Take me to him.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  “It’s not too late to accept his apology.”

  Robyn turned away from the window. Alec lounged against the carriage seat with every appearance of ease, but Robyn could see a muscle twitching in his brother’s jaw. The wooden box with the dueling pistols sat beside him on the seat.

  Alec was right, of course. He could accept Atherton’s apology and leave the dueling field with nary a shot fired. He could go back to Alec’s house and throw himself at Lily’s feet. He could tell her truthfully he didn’t break his promise, he hadn’t lied to her. He could beg her to forgive him.

  Such a small, simple thing, to accept an apology. So easy.

  So impossible. “No.”

  “No. I didn’t suppose you would.” Alec twisted his mouth in a pained half smile.

  “Would you, given the circumstances?”

  Alec drummed his fingers on the box at his side. “No.”

  Robyn turned back to the window. “No. I didn’t suppose you would.”

  Both men fell silent. The carriage wheels rattled over the London streets, southwest toward Wimbledon Common. After a while the sound of the wheels became quieter, muffled. They’d passed onto the softer ground of the park.

  Not long now.

  “Alec, if the worst should happen . . .”

  Robyn’s voice trailed off into silence. He should say things, shouldn’t he? Give instructions of some sort. Something. He cleared his throat. “I’ve left a letter for Lily. If the worst should happen, you’ll see she gets it?”


  He’d remained awake long into the night, writing the letter, trying to find the words to tell Lily everything he hadn’t had a chance to say, and everything he’d already said, but not enough times. When he at last retired to his bed, he hadn’t slept. He’d lain awake the rest of the night, inhaling the scent of sun, warm grass, and daisies that still lingered on his sheets.

  “Give it to her yourself when we get home.” Alec gave a casual shrug, but the gesture looked forced.

  “Atherton’s already here, as arranged, and Stafford with him,” Alec said a few moments later. “Archie’s here as well, with the surgeon.”

  The carriage drew to a halt. It was time.

  Robyn opened the door and stepped down onto the ground. He looked into the sky to see streaks of pale pink light filtering through the smog. Would it be one of those rare London days when the air became soft and the coal smoke inexplicably cleared and one could see the sky? What would Lily do with such a fine day? He hoped she’d go outdoors, feel the warm air on her skin, and raise her face to the blue above.

  Archie came around the side of the carriage and lay a warning hand on Robyn’s shoulder. “Atherton’s a wreck. I think he’s still half-sotted from last night. Stafford wants to step in for him, but Atherton won’t have it.”

  “Christ.” Alec descended from the carriage after Robyn. “He’s more dangerous in that condition than he would be otherwise. He may not be able to aim, but he’ll be damned unpredictable. He could shoot wild before you ever reach your mark, Robyn.”

  Robyn gave Alec a grim smile. “I’ll take my chances.”

  “Damn it, Robyn,” Alec began, but Robyn turned away. He rounded the carriages and walked over to Atherton and Stafford. “Gentlemen.” He gave them a formal bow. “I await your pleasure.”

  Stafford returned the bow, all correct politeness, but there were white lines of strain around his mouth. Atherton, who looked rather unsteady on his feet, said nothing, but he did sway forward in what Robyn took to be an attempt at a bow.

  Alec and Archie followed behind Robyn. Stafford exchanged bows with them both. “Your weapon, if you please.” He held out his hand.

  Alec retrieved one of the Manton pistols from the box and handed it over to Stafford.

  “Very fine,” Stafford murmured, balancing the weapon in his hand. “The weapons are comparable.” He handed a pistol to Alec for inspection.

  “One of Purdey’s,” Alec murmured to Archie and Robyn. “Also very fine. May I have your word of honor you’ve loaded in accordance with the agreement?” Alec asked, addressing Stafford.

  “You have my word of honor, and I ask for your word in return.”

  “You have my word. Single shot, smooth.”

  Stafford nodded, then turned to Atherton, who watched the proceedings with an odd smirk, but had yet to say a word. Stafford spoke to him in low, urgent tones.

  Atherton glanced over Stafford’s shoulder and locked eyes with Robyn. He gave an ugly sneer, then turned back to Stafford and jerked his head. Whatever Stafford asked of him, Atherton had refused.

  Stafford hesitated, then pressed the pistol into Atherton’s hand. Atherton looked down at it as if he wasn’t quite sure why it was there.

  Jesus. Atherton was nearly incoherent. Robyn didn’t care to fire on a man who looked as if he could barely hold a pistol, but if the sneer was any indication, Atherton was still filled with rage. Every time Lily’s name came up in company, Robyn knew that same sneer would appear on Atherton’s face.

  Alec handed the pistol to Robyn. “He looks as though he’s about to fall over.”

  “Can he stand his mark?”

  Alec glanced back at Stafford and Atherton, then shook his head. “Difficult to say. What a bloody mess. I’d hate to be Stafford right now. It’s like sending a man to the gallows.”

  Robyn felt his face go stiff. “A guilty man deserves the gallows.”

  “Gentlemen,” Stafford called before Alec could answer. “Fifteen paces?”

  Robyn glanced at Alec, then frowned. “I believe we agreed on ten, my lord.”

  Stafford gave a curt bow. “You’re a marksman, Mr. Sutherland.”

  And Atherton is in no shape to duel. Stafford didn’t say this, but he didn’t need to.

  Robyn returned the bow. “Very well. Fifteen paces.”

  Robyn and Atherton moved into position, back to back, and counted off their paces. When Robyn turned, he found Atherton facing him, his pistol aimed at Robyn’s heart.

  Robyn raised his arm, took aim, and then held, waiting for the signal.

  “One shot only, gentlemen, simultaneous,” Stafford called. He held a white handkerchief aloft. Robyn fixed his eyes on Atherton, his arm steady, every muscle in his body tensed, and waited for the white linen to flutter to the ground.

  Lord Stafford raised his arm, but before the cloth could leave his fingers, a deafening crack thundered inside Robyn’s skull. He dimly registered a high-pitched, terrified scream; not Alec or Archie—a woman’s scream. The smell of burnt powder stung his nostrils as clouds of acrid smoke issued from the end of Atherton’s pistol.

  * * *

  “We’re too late, Delia.”

  Lily sat with her face pressed to the carriage window, panic choking her. The sun continued to rise, and Lily’s despair grew with every inch it crept closer and closer to the horizon.

  Delia sat across from her, her hands in her lap, knuckles white. “We can’t be far behind. I thought perhaps we’d overtake the carriage . . .”

  But they hadn’t overtaken the carriage. They’d entered Wimbledon Commons some minutes ago, but Delia knew only that the duel was to be fought here. Alec, never dreaming they’d follow, hadn’t told her precisely where, and no doubt he’d taken care to choose an obscure spot.

  The carriage rolled aimlessly over the grounds. They were no closer than they’d been when they’d entered the Commons.

  Lily darted a look out the window. “We’ll not make it. It’s dawn even now.”

  Dawn. Robyn could be stretched on his back on Wimbledon Commons even now, lifeless, the dark eyes she loved so well staring sightlessly up at a sky he’d never see again.

  Lily bit down hard on her cheek, and her mouth filled with blood, sharp metal on her tongue.

  It seemed incredible it was only weeks ago she’d worried the ton would gossip about her. She’d thought it the worst calamity to be called a wallflower, or have Mrs. Tittleton sneer at her. Now Robyn would pay, perhaps with his life, to defend a reputation she no longer cared a thing about. What did it matter what Lord Atherton said of her? What anyone said of her?

  Nothing mattered anymore—nothing but Robyn.

  She pressed her lips together to keep a hysterical little laugh from escaping. What a fitting punishment for her folly, and what a bloody taste it had, that bitter irony.

  “Lily!”

  Lily jumped, startled by Delia’s gasp, but just then, without warning, the carriage made a sudden, hard turn to the right and Lily slid across the seat and crashed into the opposite door.

  When she righted herself, she found Delia, who’d managed to hang on, pointing a shaking finger out the window. “There! The driver’s seen them as well. Oh, thank God.”

  Lily scrambled back across the seat to get to the window. Just ahead, through a gap in a grove of tall trees, she could see the first pale shafts of sunlight flash off the roof of a black carriage.

  Please, please don’t let us be too late.

  The driver flew over the grounds at a speed that would have terrified her in any other situation, and yet it felt as if the distant carriage roof only receded, just as the end of the maze had in her nightmare. It drifted farther away with every thump of their horses’ hooves.

  She could close her eyes. She could collapse to the floor of the carriage so she didn’t have to watch . . .

 
Lily threw her shoulders back and set her jaw. No. Not this time. She wasn’t a child lost in a maze anymore. She would reach Robyn in time, and if she didn’t . . . if she didn’t . . .

  She would, because any other outcome was unthinkable.

  Delia pressed her palms to the window. “I see Alec and Archie, but I don’t see . . . oh! Oh, no. Robyn and Lord Atherton have walked their paces. Oh, hurry!” She slammed her fist against the roof of the carriage.

  Lily rose to her knees on the carriage seat. She craned her neck and saw Alec, Archie, and a man she didn’t recognize standing off to the side of a clear patch of ground. One of the men turned at the sound of the carriage as it approached, shock on his face.

  Robyn. Where was Robyn?

  Another man stood at the edge of the clearing, a bit of white cloth in his hand. Just beyond him, in the center of the clearing—there!

  Robyn and Atherton faced each other, their arms extended, pistols gripped in their hands. At this moment, he was still alive. There was still hope. Dear God, please, please . . .

  The carriage screeched to a halt. Lily clawed at the door, Delia right behind her. They wrenched it open and fell to the ground.

  Crack! A sound, a whip slicing through the air, but louder, deafening. Lily had a confused impression of smoke, a burning smell, and then Delia’s voice, shrill, hysterical. “He’s anticipated the signal! Lord Atherton—he’s shot too soon!”

  Lily didn’t hear her own scream. She didn’t feel the dust under her knees as she fell to the ground.

  * * *

  Robyn’s knees shook and a trickle of sweat inched down his face. The air near his left shoulder shifted as the bullet passed.

  Atherton’s shot had gone wide.

  Christ. It had been close—far closer than he’d have thought a man in Atherton’s condition could aim.

  But not close enough.

  Robyn narrowed his eyes on his target and forced his arm to steady. His aim was dead on—he could feel it in every inch of his body. He stroked the trigger with his finger, and yet . . .

  He hesitated. More sweat gathered in the small of his back.