The Hero Least Likely

by Darcy Burke

  Having shut the study door, Bittlesworth wasted no time on pleasantries. "How can I help you, sir?"

  "You've gathered this isn't a social call?"

  Bittlesworth remained silent at that, waiting politely.

  Quince realized he was glancing around the room and being in general more awkward than was his usual mien. Taking a deep breath he consciously forced himself to relax. "I'm being blackmailed."

  "I see," Bittlesworth said, pausing. "Brandy?"

  "That would be lovely," Quince agreed. Bittlesworth indicated a comfortable set of matching leather chairs near the fireplace and Quince sat while the drinks were prepared. Shortly, Bittlesworth sat next to him, handing him the glass of sweet liquor.

  "Sir, you can tell me as much or as little as you're comfortable saying and I will help you in any way that I can."

  It was then that Quince became clear on why Bittlesworth was so valued in his position. Bittlesworth was seated there, polite, attentive, and giving the impression that no matter the trouble that he was the man to solve it. That combined with the fact that he was set to inherit a viscountancy, and therefore implicitly trustworthy to any lord of the empire, was enough to give anyone in Quince's position a profound sense of relief. Perhaps he really had found someone who could help him with this most delicate of problems. He found himself relaxing more naturally into the chair. "Well, as you might imagine, it started with my father..."

  Sabre marched on the front door of the Harrington townhouse but was deprived of giving the door a solid, satisfying rap by the butler, Dibbs, opening it before she had even gained the last step. The austere butler bowed her in, gathered her bonnet, gloves, and pelisse, and then silently led her to Jack's morning room. With Jack in the morning room that meant her husband Gideon was already at his office. The Harringtons had only been in Town for just over a week and it seemed to Sabre that Gideon was always at the office, sunrise to long after dark. The fact that her best friend was still misty-eyed over the new husband that was obviously ignoring her struck Sabre as ridiculous.

  "Miss Bittlesworth," Dibbs announced in a quiet tone, then withdrew from the room. Jack rose from her settle with a delighted smile that faded rapidly. The countess was gowned in a pale green muslin that set off her dark golden hair well, and the empire waist served to make her appear even taller than she was. Since she towered over Sabre by better than a head, it wasn't an effect that the darker-haired girl appreciated.

  "Oh my," the countess said. "Who did what, and what are we going to do with them?"

  Sabre held the sides of her skirt out, like a fashion plate. "How do you like my dress?"

  Jack smiled carefully, "I like it quite a lot. Just as much as I did when we looked at all your new dresses the day after I came to London."

  Sabre turned once and then settled the skirts again, twitching them into place. "Then you wouldn't look at me and perhaps offer to make me your private whore?"

  "Oh." Jack's expression sobered considerably. "Well, now we have the what, I assume what we are going to do with them will be horrible indeed. So who was it?"

  Sabre stalked over to a tiny damask chair and sat. She fingered the red silk of her skirts as she smoothed them out. "I don't know."

  "Well that's certainly-"

  Jack's voice was interrupted by the door clicking open again as the countess's young companion Emmy Hobbes stepped in. No more than eleven, the young Miss Hobbes was Jack's current project. "Miss Bittlesworth," the girl said, dropping a passable curtsy.

  "Emmy," Sabre said with a polite nod.

  Jack sighed. "Emmy, I'm afraid that today is not a social call. Sabre and I will need some privacy."

  "Oh!" the young girl said, backing away. "My apologies, I didn't mean to intrude."

  "Not at all," Sabre said, relenting her bad humor over the girl's apparent concern. "You know I adore you. Who couldn't love a child that takes to the sword so quickly? But this is... family business, and likely to be quite boring to you."

  Jack nodded. "It's all right. Take a free morning. Perhaps practice your French?"

  As Emmy nodded and pulled the door closed behind her Sabre leaned back in the chair. "Luds, Jack, do you even know what a free morning is?"

  Jack's brow furrowed. "That's what I would do on my free mornings as a child."

  Sabre laughed. "You were never a child. You were once smaller and you knew less, thank God, but a child? No."

  "Tea?"

  "You don't have anything stronger?"

  Her friend raised a questioning brow and Sabre blew out her breath in a huff. "Yes, tea would be lovely."

  Jack pulled the bell and then seated herself on the small couch that faced toward the chair Sabre was in. "And?" she prompted.

  Sabre sat up straight again. "I need your promise, your vow as a Haberdasher, that you will not share this information with anyone."

  "Except George, I assume."

  "Yes, you may share it among the Haberdashers. If George should finally get herself back from Scotland you can certainly discuss it with her."

  "But not with Gideon." Jack said it more as a statement than a question.

  "No, not with Gideon." Sabre agreed.

  Jack grimaced but nodded. "You have my pledge."

  Sabre nodded just as a discreet knock announced a maid. The girls didn't speak again until the tea had been settled and Jack was prepared to pour.

  "I assume three sugars today?" the countess asked.

  Sabre smiled again. This was the comfort that she knew old friends could provide. Someone who knew that stress made her want sweets. Sweets that she regularly avoided since so much as an extra lump of sugar seemed to go straight to her hips. With her tiny stature it took diligence to maintain her figure. "Yes, three sugars today. And that tart if you don't mind."

  Jack smiled sardonically. "I wouldn't think you would want to be seen consorting with tarts."

  Sabre merely snorted. That was the other thing about old friends. They had absolutely no respect.

  "So," Jack ventured, after handing Sabre the cup and saucer. "Where did you meet this man? In the street?"

  Sabre nibbled at the tart. "I'd rather not say."

  "Well, how are we supposed to find him?"

  "He's a duke," Sabre ventured.

  "Oh. Well. That certainly cuts the list down substantially. Are you sure he's a duke?"

  "I have it on the utmost authority."

  Jack narrowed her eyes, obviously wanting to question her friend further in a direction that Sabre didn't want to go.

  Sabre sipped her tea and said, "Let's start with what we do know. He's a duke, about your height I would say."

  "Many men are," Jack noted drily.

  "Robert's age or a little bit older. Fair haired, almost as light as Charlie's," Sabre said, referring to her second oldest brother, the ever affable and horse-mad Charles Bittlesworth. "Cut in that fashionably tousled style. And his eyes are green. A very light green, a spring green George would probably call them. You would expect such innocently colored eyes to house a more wholesome soul." Sabre realized Jack had become suspiciously quiet and looked over at her friend. The countess had one hand clasped over her mouth, eyes wide with horror.

  "You know who it is," Sabre accused.

  Jack closed her eyes and let the hand fall away. "Oh Quince, what did you do?"

  Sabre slammed down her teacup with a crack and jumped to her feet. "You're telling me the obnoxious toad that propositioned me this morning is the Duke of Beloin?"

  Jack nodded, "I think so, yes."

  "The same Duke of Beloin you have been raving about since I came back from Italy? That you have been bragging I will meet at your ball?"

  Jack shrugged helplessly, "Are you sure you didn't misinterpret what he said?"

  Sabre loomed over her seated friend and hissed, "Do you want to know what he said? It was, 'Whatever he's paying you, I'll double it. Triple it. You'll never want for anything again in your life.' Do you think I misinterpreted that
Jack? Really?"

  Her friend gasped in shock. "That's terrible! I can't believe he would say that."

  Sabre stalked off to stare out the window. "Either it was the Duke of Beloin or he has a twin. Who is also a duke."

  "And who was the 'he' that the duke was referring to? I'm confused, Sabre. Did this happen this morning? Where?"

  Sabre turned back to her friend. "I've said all I'm going to say on that matter. Thank you for providing the information I needed."

  Jack launched to her feet as well. "Sabre, I don't like that look. What are you planning to do?"

  Sabre tilted her chin up. "I'm planning to defend my honor."

  TWO

  Quince felt surprisingly good after sharing his burden with Robert Bittlesworth. Enough so that his step was lighter as he headed toward the front door to exit the house, but then the scene of his meeting with Bittlesworth's sister stopped him short. Gods, how could he have been so stupid? With one impulsive offer he had insulted a young lady and perhaps, if she decided to confide in her brother, ruined the chance that Bittlesworth would help him with this issue. Yet, glancing up the stairs to the landing where he first saw her, he had to admit that the vision of her in that dress would be with him for the rest of his life. Knowing that simply seeing him again would probably cause more offense to the lady, he accepted his coat from the doorman and departed.

  "Oh Sabre..." Jack said. "Surely you don't mean to challenge Quince to a duel?"

  Sabre nodded. "Of course I do. It's his just desserts. And didn't you say that he believes in women's rights? Why shouldn't it be my right to defend my own honor?"

  Jack sighed. "There is a sad symmetry to it."

  "You'll be my second?"

  Jack scowled but nodded. "Of course."

  Sabre nodded again. "Good, that's settled. I shall send a message to the duke informing him that his second can meet mine." Sabre searched her mind for an appropriate location that wasn't a men's club. "At the private room in the back of the George and Vulture?"

  "The George and Vulture?" Jack asked. "Are you sure you can stand the idea of me wearing breeches and having Welsh rarebit without you?"

  Sabre pouted. "You have a point. Perhaps I could come with you?"

  "Don't be ridiculous, you know that's not how it's done. Perhaps Twinings would be a better option?"

  "The tea and coffee house? Now who's being ridiculous? The duke's second would laugh all the way home." Sabre looked up at her friend with a bit of disgust. "Stop thinking like such a girl."

  Jack just laughed and shook her head. "Considering there's more than a fair chance that the person I'll be meeting is my husband I am simply trying to head off his complaints."

  Sabre knew she was frowning as she felt a shudder of disapproval run through her. She had been at first delighted that her prudish, intellectual friend had married Lord Lucifer. Based on the stories from Robert and Charlie she had expected the earl to help Jack loosen up a bit. Instead it seemed the lord was even more reserved than Jack herself. Meanwhile, the freedom-loving and headstrong woman Sabre thought she had known was now content to submit to her overbearing husband. It was enough to make Sabre swear off the idea of marriage forever. "No," she said, "I think the George and Vulture. I don't wish to tip our hand too early."

  "Tip our hand?"

  "He has to believe the challenge comes from my brother or he won't even show up to the field."

  "Won't the game be up when Giddy sees that I'm the second?"

  "Not if you convince him to help us."

  "Sabre, that's not very likely."

  "I have every faith in you."

  A full day had passed since Quince had visited Bittlesworth. He hadn't expected immediate results, of course, but now that he had initiated a solution he found himself impatient to get on with it. Instead, he was spending his mid-morning reviewing correspondence. One of his least favorite activities. None of the duties of a duke were particularly appealing to him, but reading all these invitations and solicitations ranked lower than low. And these were only the remaining letters after his secretary had already parsed through the majority. Blessedly it seemed the torture was coming to the end for today. There was only one, small missive left on the tray. Cream colored heavy stock. When he turned it over he saw "Duke of Beloin" in a heavy, flowing script and a blank seal that had been broken, he assumed, by his secretary. Something about the letter made him uneasy and he regretted that his man had opened it first. Unfolding the paper he saw the dark script inside.

  Your proposition yesterday was unconscionable. I will have satisfaction. Your second shall meet mine this evening before nine at a private room of the George and Vulture. – Bittlesworth

  Quince felt his body go cold. Not only would Bittlesworth not aid him, the insult to his sister had driven the man to challenge a duke to duel. Apparently even a man with a reputation for reserve could be pushed too far. Numbly pulling out a blank sheet of paper the duke considered how to best phrase the request to his second.

  Sabre had been pacing in the front hall much of the morning, waiting for Jack. Finally hearing a familiar knock on the front door she schooled her expression and opened it. Jack stood on the steps, eyeing her friend critically.

  "I don't like that look," the countess finally announced.

  "What do you mean?" Sabre countered, but she could feel the grin beginning to tease at the side of her mouth.

  "You did it. You sent the challenge."

  At that, Sabre's eyebrows drew down. "Shh!" she admonished. She pulled her friend into the front hall and looked around to see if any servants were present to have overheard them. Not seeing anyone she hustled Jack up the steps to the sitting room.

  "Sabre!" Jack admonished in a fierce whisper. "If we can't talk here then perhaps we should go elsewhere?"

  "We've had a predictable pattern since you've been back to Town," Sabre responded, also in a whisper, "changing it now could be disastrous.”

  Jack settled herself onto a love seat and smoothed her skirts. "Your definition of a disaster might be quite different from mine," she said, but still kept her voice low.

  "No, I'm sure that inspiring my brother's suspicion rates fairly high on your list of disasters."

  Jack raised a brow but remained silent.

  Sabre sat in the chair opposite her friend and spent some time fussing with her own skirts.

  "And?" Jack finally prompted.

  "And what?" Sabre asked calmly.

  "And what? And everything. What did you send? Did he send anything back? What is the plan?"

  Sabre could feel the frown tugging at her lips. "I sent a short letter this morning. Of course he hasn't sent anything back. The plan continues with you at the George and Vulture tonight, as we already discussed."

  "Then why am I here?"

  "Because every other morning you and I have a mid-morning chat in this sitting room."

  Jack threw her hands up in the air in exasperation. "So you're going to leave it all to me to explain this to my husband?"

  Sabre knew a true frown was marring her expression now. "Do I need to be concerned? You act like you're afraid of him. You've never been afraid of anything."

  A poignant stillness enveloped the room as the two young women eyed one another. Jack finally set her jaw in a mulish expression that Sabre recognized and quite honestly, it was a welcome relief.

  "Of course I'm not afraid of him," the countess said vehemently. She looked down and traced the pattern on the arm of the love seat and after a pause added more softly, "Some things are just not worth the trouble of arguing about."

  Sabre felt a rush of blood that made her head swim. She stood up abruptly. "Well, if my honor isn't worth the trouble then I can certainly look elsewhere for a second."

  Jack looked stricken. "Oh, Sabre, no! That's not what I meant! Not at all. It's just, well…" Her friend looked up at her with tears in her green eyes. Jack was never scared and she never, ever cried. Now Sabre didn't know whether to be angry or
frightened herself.

  "It's just what?" she prompted.

  After a moment Jack bit her lip and gave a watery chuckle. "Oh, never mind," she said, shaking her head. "You'll find out for yourself one day. Or you won't. I'm not sure you're the type who will marry for love."

  "You didn't marry for love."

  "Yet I found it all the same. Funny that." Jack shrugged. "And I must apologize once again for letting my pregnancy get the best of me. My moods of late have been quite abominable. Of course I will be your second. I will handle Giddy."

  Sabre didn't know whether it was the pregnancy or the husband that was having the worse effect on her friend. All she knew was that she wanted neither affliction for herself.

  Quince heard heavy boots in the hallway and knew the earl had arrived. He hadn't asked Giddy to come in his letter. Had asked him quite specifically to appear at the G&V at the appointed hour, in fact. But that was Giddy for you. Managing. Had to come see everything for himself.

  "The Earl of Harrington," Larkins intoned from the door.

  Harrington strode across the room with his usual air of purpose and then stood looming over the duke's chair as though a question had already been asked and he was impatiently waiting for the answer. Unlike the duke's own impeccable appearance, the earl looked as though he had been out riding in a stiff wind.