by Jane Lark
He flicked the straps.
As they travelled out of London and the sky began to turn from a very dark blue to a lighter shade. Harry spoke of their cousins and the things they had all got up to in the last few days since they’d been in town for the wedding—mostly racing, drinking heavily and attending brothels.
It was probably the first time Rob had been glad to hear of their nonsense, but Harry’s tales of lechery kept Rob’s mind from the task, until he turned off the road and drove out into the flat meadows by the wide, meandering river.
Kilbride’s carriage was there, emblazoned with his coat of arms, shouting Rob’s folly to the world. If they were found out Rob would be thrown into gaol, but Kilbride would probably find some way to pay someone and walk free. Again it was that mark of rich against poor.
Yet oddly Rob was relying on the one thing that had been his former sin. Pride. He hoped Kilbride would continue with the duel honestly because his pride would shame him if he did not stand up to the challenge of a younger man, and that afterwards, when Rob had won, Kilbride’s pride would hold him silent because he would not wish to admit to anyone that a younger man had beaten him.
“Hold fast,” Harry said when Rob flicked the straps. “Do not rush. Make him wait. Make him sweat.”
Rob glanced sideways and smiled at him. Harry was the right companion for this task.
When Rob pulled his curricle up, the sky was a sapphire blue.
Kilbride stood on the far side of his carriage. He looked as though he had been practising with his pistol, warming the gun up. Of course, he would not have warmed up both pistols.
Harry leapt down easily as Rob set the brake and tied off the straps. He climbed down then, forcing his leg to look as normal in movement as he could manage.
The birds sang in the trees near the river. It was a raucous sound of hundreds of high- pitched trills.
“Two boys come out for a game of pistols!” Kilbride called.
The truth hit Rob in the face as Kilbride handled the pistol he’d already selected. The man might have tampered with his guns, or he might even simply be a bloody good shot. If either thing was true then Rob might be dead within the hour. Caro would not thank him.
This was reckless.
Last night he’d shed tears for fear that he might lose her and lose his child, and today he had come to the meadows before the sunrise, on his wedding day, to offer up his own life like a fool.
Yet someone had to teach Kilbride a lesson, and if anyone was to avenge Caro it ought to be Rob. He did not have armies of servants or thousands of pounds to force Kilbride into submission, but he did have himself and his strength of will.
Sunlight spread across the sky from the east.
The only person Kilbride had brought with him was a groom.
“May I see the pistols?” As the man who’d been challenged, according to the old custom, it was Kilbride’s right to choose the weapons, but Rob had taken a set of duelling pistols from John’s last night and they were stowed beneath his seat on the curricle, in case Kilbride tried to play him false.
The groom opened the lid of a wooden box and offered Rob the gun, which laid on a bed of velvet.
“Thank you.” Rob took it and held it up, looking down the barrel and then he opened the mechanism and scanned it, looking for any sign that the metal had been filed to put the shot off. He handed it to Harry who checked it too.
“May I see the other?” He would not lose his life through lack of care.
Kilbride handed it over with a smirk, pulling at his lips. “You do not trust me?”
“You beat a woman black and blue and murder your unborn children and have men attack me from behind in the dark. No I do not trust you.”
If it kicked Kilbride when Rob mentioned the children Kilbride had wanted and lost, he did not show it. But there was a tightness in his jaw, which inferred some emotion. Perhaps he’d never considered the fact that his beatings might have killed the children he wanted. But then he had his son now and perhaps he’d never cared for a child, only an heir.
Rob checked the pistol Kilbride had held. It was identical to the other, only warm. Rob gave it to Harry to look at too.
“Give me powder and a bullet,” Rob ordered the groom as Harry gave Kilbride his weapon back. “I wish to test that the pistol fires, and warm the gun so that we are on equal ground.”
Harry charged the pistol for Rob. Rob took it, aimed at a blade of grass and squeezed the trigger. The fingers of his right hand were still stiff, and it was as if they took a moment to obey the command of his mind. But when the pistol fired and the flash and the puff of smoke declared it, the shot was true, and the bullet raced through the air and sliced through the thin piece of grass.
The bitter smell of the smoke from the pistol burned Rob’s throat, as the birds in the trees behind him called out their alarm at the sudden, sharp sound.
He looked at Kilbride. “I am happy with the pistols.” He had only ever gambled with money once in his life, and yet now he was about to gamble with his life. Caro would be screaming at him if she knew. But for his sanity, for justice, for his sense of right and wrong, he had to do this.
Harry filled Rob’s pistol with powder, then replaced the shot, while Kilbride’s groom did the same for his.
Rob took off his hat and gloves and threw them on the ground.
“I will call,” Harry said to the groom when they were done. “You may watch and ensure I do it right.”
Kilbride walked a few paces further out into the field and Rob followed, the long grass swiping at his boots, while his heart raced, swiping at his ribs.
He would not lose.
Harry had them stand back to back, and Rob felt his greater height against Kilbride’s broader frame. Rob had the easier target.
“Take ten paces out.”
Rob counted out his strides as Kilbride’s groom watched him walk. The sun broke over the horizon. The tip of a golden orb, peeking at the world, sending out rays of red and gold. He counted ten and turned.
The birds were now singing out a greeting to the day. The sound escalated in a huge swell of jumbled noise. Rob hoped he would be alive to see it end. It was his wedding day.
“Lift your pistols and aim,” Harry stated, as though he’d carried out this deed a hundred times before. He’d always been theatrical.
Rob faced sideways, looking over his shoulder, holding his body as straight as it was possible to do. A breeze swept his hair from his brow.
“Let my man drop a handkerchief to begin the match!” Kilbride yelled. “When it touches the ground, we fire.”
There was no precise way to ensure they fired at the same time; it made little difference how the duel was called. Rob nodded at Harry, who delved into his pocket for a handkerchief and handed it to the groom.
“Prepare!” Harry yelled.
Rob straightened his arm and his right hand held firm, but his fingers were stiff on the trigger. They became stiffer as he waited, the day was cold, and the cold was seeping into his healing bones.
The groom dropped the white square of cloth, and Rob turned his head from the groom to look as the echo of a shot rang across the field. Damn, Kilbride had shot early. Of course, the man would cheat.
A burning whip of pain struck across the side of Rob’s head, but Rob had learned pain in the months after the assault. He took aim. He could shoot the man through the heart—Kilbride had not turned well enough to guard it. Or he could shoot him through the head and watch him fall like a wooden puppet. Or he could shoot and let the man live and know that he had been bested by a man he’d called a child. Rob lowered his arm and fired. Kilbride fell.
“Ah!” His scream of pain echoed about the fields, competing with the birds’ cries as they took to the air for fear of the gunshots. “You bastard, child.”
Rob walked towards Kilbride as the groom ran to help him. “Take his neckcloth off.”
Kilbride was writhing on the floor, gripping his right leg
, where Rob had shot through his thigh and most likely broken his bone. Certainly that had been his intent.
“You bloody bastard!” Kilbride yelled.
“I would not shout too much,” Harry stated, staring down at Kilbride while the groom unravelled his neck cloth. “You will have everyone come running to see exactly how you were shot by a child.”
Rob knelt and took the neckcloth from the groom’s hand, before tying it about Kilbride’s thigh to stop the flow of blood. There would be a lot more pain when the bullet was dug out of his leg, and still more as he recovered and tried to walk again. “If you think this is in revenge for what you did to me, it is not. It is in revenge for the harm you did to Caro.”
“She lost my children. She was a useless, barren wife,” Kilbride breathed in a bitter voice.
“Because you kicked half of them out of her. You are no good to live on this earth, and from now on you will cease your threats towards me and my wife and keep away from us.”
“If there is one thing my brother is good at,” Harry stated, “it is shooting. He never misses a shot. I would not shoot against him in a duel, and nor would any of my cousins. It is a shame you did not bother to find that out. But then you were so busy calling him weak, I should not think you contemplated that he had the power to kill you today. You are lucky that my brother has such high morals. Otherwise…” As Rob stood again, leaving Kilbride on the floor, Harry lifted his booted foot. “He would have shot you here.” Harry’s heel pressed down on Kilbride’s forehead, pushing his head into the ground.
They turned then and walked away. Rob’s heart thumped hard in his chest.
“You know, you are bleeding,” Harry stated as they climbed up into the curricle.
Gripping the straps with his left hand, Rob saw blood on his hand. Yes, he’d known his wound was bleeding. He’d been ignoring it. “Did you pick up that handkerchief?”
Harry passed it over.
“The bullet only skimmed me.” But head wounds bled a lot. The bullet had grazed his cheek and nicked his ear. He pressed the handkerchief against the wound as Harry slid across the seat.
“I’ll drive.”
If the shot had been a half an inch further over, Rob would have been dead. If he had not turned his head… Kilbride had not aimed to wound, Kilbride had aimed to kill.
Rob leaned back, pressing the handkerchief hard against his wounds.
At least if Kilbride did decide to admit his shame and call for a magistrate, Rob would have evidence that he’d been fired upon too and evidence that Kilbride had attempted murder.
The sky flushed pink as the sun rose higher, but it was clear and bright. “Go to Uncle Robert’s. You may get ready with me there. I wish you to stand at the altar with me.”
“Me—not one of your friends…”
“I have too many to choose one. I would offend the others.”
Harry smiled, “Thank you, I accept that as the honour it is from my righteous older brother.”
Rob laughed. “You can hardly call me righteous now.”
Harry looked over and laughed too. “True, I take it back. It is no honour at all.”
Rob rested a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “One day you will understand what it means to have feelings for a woman, and then you will change too and understand what honour means.”
“If I change, it must be for the better. Papa would have an apoplexy if I became worse. But I will not marry anyway. I am happy as I am.” He glanced at Rob. “But I do think marriage is right for you. I hear them all moaning that Caro is too old and yet I see that she is different and you are different and obviously the two of you are good for one another. I am happy to be your groom’s man, and I will celebrate your wedding as if it were my own because I will not have one.”
Rob laughed again.
It was nearly nine when they pulled into Bloomsbury Square, where Uncle Robert’s town house stood. It was far less ostentatious than John’s.
The head groom came around from the mews at the side of the house and stared at the blood on Rob’s coat. But then he checked himself and moved to take the horses’ heads. “Sorry, sir.”
“It is nothing, James, just a nick.”
“A nick, a tear, a chunk out of your ear, it is all semantics, it would bleed the same,” Harry said as he jumped down, “And you have not seen it in a mirror.”
“Are you saying I have lost my ear?”
“No, but a chunk rather than a nick, perhaps.”
They left the horses to James and walked towards the door. Rob had left it unlocked when he’d gone out; there was no constant watch, unlike at John’s. He turned the handle and went in.
The hall was a dark square, with an oak staircase winding about its edge.
“Let us go up to your room and ring for Uncle Robert’s valet. He will know how to stop your wound bleeding.”
Archer had been in Uncle Robert’s employ for years and he clucked and fussed over the tear in Rob’s ear. Harry was right, it was not a nick, it was more like a chunk, and his ear was red. Although Archer succeeded in stopping the blood flow, Rob was not going to be able to hide it. Nor would it be wise to wear a hat—in the church no one would be wearing a hat. He needed only to get there first.
Once he’d cleaned up and changed, and Harry had swapped his morning coat for a clean one borrowed from Rob, they went downstairs to take breakfast with their uncle’s family.
“Harry!” Their cousin Henry stood as they entered.
“I did not know you were here, Harry,” Uncle Robert stated.
“I came to help prepare Rob for the shackles.”
Henry laughed as he sat again. He was of the same ilk as Harry. He normally paid little attention to Rob, yet today… “You have hurt your ear, and your cheek.”
Uncle Robert and Aunt Jane looked as Rob walked about the table to take a seat, and his cousins’ heads all spun.
“How did you do that? You did not have an injury last night,” Henry pushed.
“Scissors. I was having my hair cut.”
Harry laughed, and then everyone looked at him as he sat down, as if they expected him to explain. He brazenly passed a smile about them all and then smiled at Rob to pass the baton back over.
Rob sat. “What is there to eat? I am starved and I am about to walk to the altar.”
“You look nice,” his cousin, Julie, leant to whisper.
“Thank you,” he whispered back in a conspiratorial way.
“Apart from your ear, though. It is a bit red,” Harry said from across the table.
If Rob could have reached he’d have kicked him.
Julie smiled as the footmen surrounded him with different bowls of steaming food. He had an hour left before Caro would approach him along the aisle, and there had been no note received to say he should not meet her there. The doctor would have come and gone, with plenty of time to send word.
Rob helped himself from the bowls held out to him. It looked as though he would be a married man today.
He hoped she was truly well.
When he looked up, after filling his plate, his uncle was still looking at Rob’s injured ear. Rob smiled, then returned his attention to his meal.
Chapter 48
Caro’s heart played a wild drumbeat as Drew came into her room. “It is time for you to make an honest women of yourself and give your child a legitimate name.”
Mary and Rob’s mother had helped Caro dress in an ivory gown covered with Belgium lace. It made her feel feminine and beautiful, despite the fact that it had been a struggle to dress without rising, and now Drew had come to carry her down. There had been no more blood and the doctor had said that the heartbeat was still strong and so he’d agreed that she might go to the church. However, he said that she ought to stay off her feet and lie down as much as possible—so everyone was determined to keep her prostrate.
“Rob would have married me months ago, and our daughter would already have her father’s name, if you had not deterred us.�
� She lifted her arms and wrapped them about Drew’s neck when he bent down.
One of his arms slipped beneath her knees while the other braced her shoulders.
“Ready?” he asked, as she clung about his neck.
“Yes.”
“About me deterring you,” he said as he carried her from the room, “I am sorry for that. I know now I should have kept my advice to myself. Rob is not me, or like anyone else I have known. You were right, he does not feel trapped or seduced or—”
“But he would not know that, would he? It worries me that he will grow tired of me.”
“Rob… No, not Rob.”
His eyes smiled at her as he carried her out of the sitting room onto the landing.
“I still fear it, though.”
“Then you may enjoy the next fifty years discovering you are wrong. Have you looked at this family? When they marry they commit, and Rob is the most moral of them all.”
“But he might stay with me and not love me…” She was speaking from experience.
“Is this what you are thinking on your wedding day, about how in the future he might let you down?” He walked slowly along the landing.
All the former Pembroke Dukes stared at them.
“When I married Mary, I made a meal of it, you know I did, and that was because I spent so many hours expecting Mary to let me down that I was the one who let her down. Do not do the same. Trust him. You know he loves you. It was visible even in the summer. I thought he would grow out of it, but I had forgotten he was half Pembroke and half Marlow. He will love you all your life, you need have no fear.”
Caro smiled. “I hope so.”
The hall was clear apart from the servants—everyone was already in carriages on their way to St George’s.
“My Lord, my Lady.” Finch opened the door.
Drew carried her outside. The sky was blue and the day bright, and it was not overly cold.
A carriage waited for them and another footman held that door open.
