Willowswood Match

by Gayle Buck

A few weeks before, Captain Daggett had formed the pleasant habit of holding court at the local inn during the late afternoons. It gratified him that the young gentlemen, and some of the older ones as well, gravitated to him in the informal surroundings to solicit his opinion on everything from politics to agriculture. He held forth on every topic, shrewdly drawing out his listeners to discover their leanings and then feeding back their own beliefs to them. As a consequence, most of his listeners nodded contentedly and with awe spoke among themselves of the naval officer’s extraordinary intelligence. There were a few here and there who did not share the general opinion of Captain Daggett’s worth, but their cynicism and snorts of derision were whisperings in the wind.

  Surprisingly enough, one of the stronger dissenting voices was that of Mr. Willoughby, who had gradually become disillusioned with his guest. Little by little the captain’s activities had begun to impinge on Mr. Willoughby’s chosen isolation. He found within himself a growing dislike for Captain Daggett that both surprised and distressed him. But he had come to the conclusion that the fault did not lie in his own character, but rather in Captain Daggett. The last straw for Mr. Willoughby was the discovery, quite by accident, that Captain Daggett had seduced Miss Mary Alice Burton, and that the assignation had taken place in his own garden, which revelation scandalized him to a shocking degree. He had been at work on his roses, hidden between the hedges, when he overheard the conversation between Captain Daggett and Miss Burton. Though he was quite aware that Miss Button had freely chosen her course, he blamed Captain Daggett the more for not having enough strength of character to deny his lust and thus protect the lady from hers.

  Mr. Willoughby had given the situation considerable thought and he had concluded that in all honor he could not condone his guest’s actions, so he had requested that Captain Daggett leave his roof. The naval officer had laughed with contempt. “Assuredly I shall, Willoughby. Your company has always been deadly boring. But I’ve used your hospitality, such as it was, to good advantage. I suppose I must at least thank you for that much,” he said.

  “Pray spare me such mouthings, sir. I have no need of hypocrisy. I am only sorry that I allowed such a one as yourself into my house,” said Mr. Willoughby. “You have brought disrespect and licentiousness to my home and the homes of my friends and neighbors. I urge you to leave our district behind.”

  Captain Daggett looked coldly at his former host. “Never fear, Willoughby, I have no intention of rotting much longer in this backwater. I will soon have my ship returned to me and then—” He realized by Mr. Willoughby’s altered expression that he had let drop more than he intended. He waved a thin hand. “My plans can be of no possible interest to you. I shall take myself off to the inn in the morning. I trust that will satisfy you?”

  Mr. Willoughby bowed stiffly. “Quite.” He turned on his heel and strode away, leaving Daggett looking after him with an unusual feeling of defeat. But he was quickly able to shrug it off and went upstairs to pack his belongings. The gentlemen did not speak at dinner that night but maintained a mutual stony silence. At daybreak, Captain Daggett removed himself to the local inn where he took rooms.

  The break between Mr. Willoughby and Captain Daggett was obvious and thorough. It was observed that Mr. Willoughby did not vouchsafe the naval officer so much as a nod when they happened to meet on the street, but rather stared at his former guest with a sternness of expression that was positively astonishing. As a witness of one such exchange put it, “For a pleasant, vague sort of fellow, Willoughby is exhibiting extraordinary hostility. I wonder what happened between the two? I’ll warrant it was a rare falling out, given Willoughby’s easy nature!”

  Mr. Willoughby was not one to betray his own counsel and so the curiosity of his friends and neighbors went unsatisfied. He was aware that he was attracting notice, however, and he discovered that he was not adverse to the increased social interaction that his decision to break with Captain Daggett had caused. However, he did not forget that there was one other person involved in the breach with his former guest. His reflections on Miss Mary Alice Burton would have appalled that young woman if she had been privy to them. On the day that Lord Townsend was told of the rumor regarding Miss Wainwright’s character, Mr. Willoughby came to his decision. He borrowed a friend’s gig and set out for Stonehollow to call on Miss Burton.

  When Miss Burton reached home, she was in a flying temper. The confrontation with Viscount Wythe had gone completely awry. More than that, she had betrayed herself with her reckless speech. She could only hope that Lord Townsend was so wrapped up in his precious Miss Wainwright that he had not caught her stupid reference to herself and Captain Daggett.

  By the time that she had bathed and changed, Miss Burton felt more in control of herself. But the conversation with Lord Townsend ran around and around in her thoughts, occupying her so unduly that when the butler announced a visitor it never occurred to her to wonder why this particular gentleman had chosen to call on her. Miss Burton had long ago dismissed Mr. Willoughby as not worth the effort to entice into her court. As far as she had ever discovered, Mr. Willoughby had never shown the least interest in anything beside his doves and roses.

  Miss Burton greeted Mr. Willoughby graciously, inquiring if he had had tea. Mr. Willoughby declined tea and came directly to the point of his visit. “I have come on a matter of grave importance to you, ma’am, as I am certain you will agree when I have divulged it to you,” he said soberly.

  Miss Burton put up her delicate brows. “Indeed, Mr. Willoughby?” She waved her hand in dismissal of the butler. When the door had softly closed, she turned to her unexpected guest. She bestowed an encouraging smile on him, her violet eyes warm with curiosity. “We are quite private now, Mr. Willoughby. You may feel free to unburden yourself.”

  Mr. Willoughby tugged at his cravat. It was one thing to make a decision based on one’s code of honor and quite another to follow it through when the lady in question sat across from one, he discovered. “A fortnight ago I requested Captain Daggett to remove himself from my house,” he said abruptly.

  Miss Burton sighed, her smile fading a little. “Yes, Mr. Willoughby. The entire district is aware of the breach between you and Captain Daggett. What can this possibly have to do with me?”

  “It has everything to do with you, ma’am. It was on your behalf that I ordered Captain Daggett’s removal from my house,” said Mr. Willoughby.

  Miss Burton was taken aback. Then she threw back her head in a peal of tinkling laughter. When she glanced again at Mr. Willoughby, her eyes were coy. “Why, Mr. Willoughby! I did not know that you harbored a jealous streak. I am flattered, truly I am. But there was no need to throw Captain Daggett out in the streets on my account! He is but one of my several admirers, you know.”

  Mr. Willoughby reddened. “You mistake me, Miss Burton. I am not a jealous rival for your favors.” He was appalled by the word he had chosen and hastily tried to retrieve himself. “I intend no disrespect, I swear! I meant to say— Oh, the devil with it! Miss Burton, the sum of it is that I overheard the conversation between you and Captain Daggett in my garden. In view of that intelligence, I could not in all honor allow that gentleman to remain in my house.”

  All color was driven from Miss Burton’s face. She attempted a light laugh that fell dismally short. “Why, I do not know what you are referring to, Mr. Willoughby. Captain Daggett simply showed me the lovely roses you cultivated,” she said with desperate calm.

  But the expression on Mr. Willoughby’s face showed him unconvinced. He slowly shook his head. “I am sorry, Miss Burton. I was between the hedges and as close to you then as I am now. I did not mistake a word of that shocking exchange, believe me.”

  Miss Burton jumped hastily to her feet. Her cheeks blazed a poppy pink. “You are a filthy eavesdropper! I despise you, sir!” She picked up a vase handy to her hand and threw it in Mr. Willoughby’s direction. It missed his head by a good two feet to crash against the wall. She stamped a dainty foot and
hurled shrill insults at her open-mouthed, astonished guest.

  Mr. Willoughby rose. Quite deliberately he slapped the beautiful Miss Burton across the face. She was shocked into silence. Her widened gaze fastened on his calm countenance. “Now I will continue, Miss Burton. I know what took place in my garden between you and Captain Daggett, for it was quite obvious from your conversation with him. His ghastly lack of honor cannot have come as anything but an unwelcome surprise to any lady, let alone one as beautiful and willful as yourself. I have given the matter considerable thought. You should not have to bear such dishonor even in the privacy of your thoughts. I am therefore prepared to offer for your hand in honorable marriage. I do not pretend to love you, nor even to like you overmuch. I think that for the most part I have ignored you; but then you have done much the same by me. It is perhaps not much to base a marriage upon, but I believe that we could learn to deal well together.”

  The door to the drawing room opened and the butler tentatively put in his head. He kept hold of the door as a precautionary measure in the event his appearance provoked some flying missile. He had had too much experience with Miss Burton’s tantrums to be overly anxious to expose himself to her capricious temper. “Do you wish anything, miss?”

  Miss Burton stared at the servant with a strangely blank expression. Then she shook her head. The butler was happily surprised by his mistress’s unusually placid manner and retreated, gently reclosing the door.

  Miss Burton turned to look again at Mr. Willoughby, but still she did not speak. He understood that she was in shock. “I shall not press you for an answer now, Miss Burton. A decision such as this needs time to be considered. I wish you good day,” he said. He bowed to the still immobile lady and strode out the door.

  When he had gone, Miss Burton sank once more onto the sofa. She was shaking. She could not believe the interview that had just taken place. Her eyes wandered about the familiar drawing room. Nothing had changed and yet everything had. She had received a proposal of marriage from a gentleman who knew of her foolhardy assignation, her intimacy with Captain Daggett. The gentleman wished to salvage her honor, but in the same breath had announced that he did not like her overmuch. “How dare he,” she murmured, but there was not much fire behind it. She was still spellbound by Mr. Willoughby’s unsuspected strength of character and felt a dawning respect for the gentleman. For the first time in her life someone had done something for her without being first biased by her beauty. She thought about Mr. Willoughby for quite some time.

  * * * *

  Lord Townsend found Captain Daggett at the inn. He strode inside the taproom, pausing just long enough to allow his eyes to adjust to the darker interior smoke. He did not reply to the greetings that his appearance engendered but went directly over to the naval officer seated negligently at a round table in the middle of the room. “Stand up, Daggett!” The general buzz of conversation abruptly died. Every face turned, expressing its owner’s astonishment at the viscount’s harsh voice.

  Captain Daggett stiffened instinctively. He met Lord Townsend’s gaze and a frisson of shock went through him at the patent rage in the gentleman’s eyes. “What can I do for you, my lord?” he asked with outward calm.

  “I ordered you to stand, Daggett,” said Lord Townsend through his teeth. He flexed his gloved hands, the twist of leather sounding loud in the suspended silence.

  Daggett’s attention was captured by the movement and he saw that the viscount carried a small whip. His expression when he looked up was perceptibly warier than before. “I do not pretend to understand your obvious agitation, my lord. But I am a King’s officer and I will not be browbeaten, even by a gentleman of your social standing and exalted birth. Therefore I request that you state your grievance without these histrionics.”

  Lord Townsend put his hands on the table and leaned toward the naval officer. His voice was quiet and measured, but was heard quite distinctly in every corner of the taproom. “I have learned that there is a distasteful rumor circulating about concerning my sister-in-law’s cousin, Miss Miranda Wainwright, and that you are its author. I take exception to such fictions being woven about a member of my family, Captain Daggett. I demand satisfaction.” He slowly straightened, never removing his gaze from Daggett’s face.

  Captain Daggett rose from his chair. He knew from the rapt faces around the taproom that his erstwhile companions waited to see how he would handle Viscount Wythe’s challenge. He affected an arrogant pose, one hand cocked on his hip. He eyed Lord Townsend with calculation. “I fear that you have been misinformed, my lord. There is no fiction, as you so delicately put it. I suggest that you apply to Mistress Wainwright regarding the assignation between her and myself.”

  There was a gasp of disbelief at the naval officer’s open admission of responsibility for the rumor. Lord Townsend smiled but there was no amusement in his expression. “I have known the truth from the day that the incident occurred, Daggett. Do you think that Miss Wainwright would not immediately inform her cousin and me of your attack upon her? You forced your attentions and she retaliated by striking you in the face. You could not hide the mark, Daggett. I saw it myself two days later when I met you at Burton’s hunt.”

  There were murmurs about the room and Daggett saw a few nods of agreement at Lord Townsend’s statement. He could see his position slipping and quickly said, “If what you say is true, my lord, why have you waited so long in confronting me? I find that vastly peculiar.” His face took on a sneer.

  “It was only Miss Wainwright’s intervention that saved you then, Daggett. The lady assumed that you would not again be so bold. She did not count on your incredible lack of honor. But you prove yourself a scurrilous dog, sir, unworthy of the King’s uniform that you hide behind!” said Lord Townsend, raising his whip.

  Captain Daggett flinched away, throwing up an arm to protect his face. But the whip did not strike. Daggett saw the viscount’s derisive smile, the utter contempt in his dark eyes. There were snickers about the taproom. Deep color stained Daggett’s cheeks. He was neatly trapped, he realized. He was compelled to accept Viscount Wythe’s challenge if he were to salvage any part of his dignity. “You have insulted me unpardonably, my lord. Name your seconds,” he said hoarsely. Lord Townsend swiftly named two of the gentlemen present, who agreed to accept the duty. Captain Daggett looked about him, only to read the uncertainty in the faces of his former admirers. Several pairs of eyes slid away rather than meet his gaze. His thin lips tightened. “Ned Olive, will you stand for me?” he asked brusquely.

  Mr. Olive appeared startled, then dismayed, to be singled out. He threw a wild glance about him, but he received no help. He squared his shoulders. “Very well, Captain Daggett. A gentleman must have a second, after all.”

  It was not an enthusiastic response, but Daggett was forced to accept it. He turned back to the viscount. “My second will call upon yours to set the time and place, my lord!” He strode out of the taproom, his boots beating a hard tattoo on the wooden plank floor.

  Captain Daggett took dinner in his rooms that evening. There was nothing unusual in that, he told himself. But he knew that it was more his usual custom to descend to the taproom. There he had always been assured of convivial company and the opportunity to smack the ample bottom of the serving wench. She always squealed in mock protest, but there was a distinct invitation in her eyes that he had rarely passed on.

  With the thought, Daggett threw back his brandy in a single swallow. He saw now that he had wasted his time. He had been obsessed with the beauteous Miss Burton to the exclusion of all others. He should have taken all that the district had to offer and not counted the cost if whispers had reached Miss Burton’s fair ears. She might have repulsed him at first, but his understanding of her character would still have won her in the end. His thoughts recalled for him their interlude in that fool Willoughby’s garden. A smile formed about his mouth. For the first time since his fateful confrontation that afternoon with Viscount Wythe, the tension that C
aptain Daggett had been experiencing began to dissipate.

  There was a knock on the door. Captain Daggett stood up, once more all too aware of his situation. “It is open,” he said. He was relieved to see that his visitor was only Mr. Olive, who entered almost reluctantly. “Close the door, Ned,” said Daggett with a note of impatience. He could feel his muscles tensing again. He gestured at the bottle of brandy on the table, but Mr. Olive shook his head.

  “I won’t stay but a minute, Captain Daggett. I’ve come to tell you of the arrangements made for the duel,” said Olive unhappily.

  There was a sinking reeling in the pit of Daggett’s stomach. “I take it that the viscount did not wish to call off the unfortunate necessity,” he said coolly. He uncorked the bottle of brandy and made a show of pouring himself a glass.

  Mr. Olive stared at him queerly. “No, sir, he did not. In fact, his lordship was adamant that the duel take place at once.”

  Captain Daggett nodded, still retaining his expression of calm. The weight in his guts grew. “Quite admirable to wish to have the affair done and over with as soon as possible. I agree with Lord Townsend on that count. When is it to be?”

  “Tomorrow morning.”

  The bottle jumped in Daggett’s hand, clinking against the wineglass. “Tomorrow! But that is preposterous,” he exclaimed.

  Mr. Olive shrugged. “I fear that Viscount Wythe was insistent, sir. The place is to be the small meadow back of the churchyard cemetery. You naturally have the choice of weapons since it was his lordship who challenged.”

  Captain Daggett’s mouth twisted. “The meadow back of the churchyard cemetery! How incredibly practical of his lordship. One or the other of us shall not have to be carried far, that is certain.” He laughed shortly and tossed back the glass of brandy. He picked up the bottle again and slopped another drink into his glass.

  Mr. Olive eyed Captain Daggett with misgivings. He thought the naval officer must be quite mad to accept the communication just relayed with such abandonment. He knew that if he had been in the same shoes, he would have been quivering with fear. Mr. Olive edged slightly toward the door. “What weapon shall I tell his lordship’s seconds that you favor, sir?”