“Thank you, Chives,” said Jonathan, taking the proffered correspondence presented to him on an ornate silver salver.
He sat reclined on the settee in the drawing room belonging to the London townhouse he rented for the occasion of his stay in England. It was suitably located in the West End. The interior design that was too pastoral was not to his taste, but it would have to do on such short notice.
Pressing his lips together, Jonathan took a moment to study the ornate cream-colored paper that was thick and obviously very costly. There was a seal of red wax on the front. He sighed. How has it come to this? All I wanted to do was talk some sense into the man – I love his daughter; is that so difficult for him to understand? Now I have to fight him. What will happen should I kill him? Will Amelia hate me forever?
“Ye going to open that?” asked Jake, nipping at a glass of whiskey. He sat opposite him in an elaborate silk-upholstered armchair. “Or just stare at it?” It was his way. Jake was a pragmatic man; he never saw any reason for delaying the inevitable.
Jonathan groaned. “We both know what this is.”
“Sure, we do, but there is no way around it, Jonathan. Ye are just going to have to go through with it, and that is that,” said Jake.
“That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one who has to fight a duel…and maybe kill the father of the woman you love.” Jonathan ripped upon the seal belonging to the epistle as if it were a hateful enemy and began to unfold it roughly.
“Ye are one of the best shots I have ever seen. Wherever ye look, the musket ball follows. Ye won’t be killing anybody; not if ye don’t want to that is,” said Jake. He took another sip of his drink. He was as calm as a man strolling in the park. “What’s it say?”
“Here, take a look for yourself,” said Jonathan, handing him the correspondence.
London, September 1814
Dear Sir,
As you are well aware, you have tarnished my honor with regard to your conduct concerning my darling daughter. In such situations, I would usually demand a written apology and be done with it. However, this transgression to my honor, and within the sanctity of my own home no less, is too great, and a situation I cannot countenance to ignore. This is something I am certain you can understand.
You have given me no other option but to demand satisfaction at your earliest possible convenience. As I issue this challenge, the choice of place, time and weapons are at your discretion. However, may I suggest we conduct this duel on my estate in Berkshire to avoid any unnecessary entanglement with the law?
Sir Arthur Cartwright, 4th Baronet of Wycombe, a close friend and confidant of mine, will act as my second.
I expect your response in writing with the nomination of your second, choice of location and weapons by the morrow, latest noon.
I am, Sir, your Obliged and most humble servant
Sir Thomas Carlyle, 1st Baronet of Windom
Jonathan whistled. “It appears that we have a lot of work to do.”
Jonathan arched his eyebrows. “What is there to do? We tell the man that we agree to fight on his estate and our choice of weapons and so forth.”
“I disagree. I think we should send a letter of apology…”
Jonathan got to his feet abruptly. “Apologize to that man…for what? He unashamedly accused me of seducing his daughter and conducting,” Jonathan pleated his brow as he tried to recollect what Sir Thomas had accused him of, “ah, yes, and conducting a clandestine courtship with his daughter. The man is so full of himself that he would even deny his own daughter’s happiness.”
“Are ye quite finished?” Jake waited for his friend to calm down a little. “I suggest ye pour yerself a large dram of whiskey from the decanter over there and sit down and listen to what I have to say.” Jake chuckled. “I read this pamphlet on dueling decorum a while back. It was a rather interesting read, I must say.”
“When do you find the time to read, Jake?” asked Jonathan, remaining in his seat.
He laughed again. “On board ship when there’s nothing to do – ye know during those long waits when the wind is not up. Well anyway, this booklet was written by a group of Irishmen and they called it the ‘Code Duello.’ In other words, it explains all of the rules concerning a duel. Most countries follow them nowadays.” Jake looked at Jonathan seriously. “Ye still haven’t got ye drink…now, go and get one and I will tell ye what I learned.”
The air hissed past Jonathan’s lips, making a deep gushing sound. Finally, he went over to the liquor cabinet and did as Jake suggested. He returned to his seat and sat down with a sigh. After he had taken a large swig, he turned to look at his friend, “So, what do you have in mind that might get me out of this miserable situation.” Jonathan drained the whiskey in one gulp, smacking his lips to countenance the burning liquid.
Jake cleared his throat. “It is not so much that I will get ye out of yer predicament, but more…how shall I say…how we can soften the blow so to speak.”
“And how do you propose we do that?” Jake was already losing his attention, as Jonathan went to fetch himself another drink. To him the situation was hopeless. He had heard about the famous duel between Aaron Burr and Alexander Hamilton, both prominent American politicians, in the year 1804. It had ended badly with one of the antagonists dead.
“We will write a letter of apology…” Jake lifted a hand to forestall any protest. “And he, of course, will not accept.”
“Then what good is it then?”
“It puts ye in a good light with Amelia. And that is the reason ye are here, right?” Jake’s gaze bored into Jonathan. He needed him to understand what he had planned.
“I suppose.”
“Ye suppose. Ye can do better than that. Ye are here because ye love her and directly accepting this challenge makes ye look like a scoundrel. Ye are a trained seaman and a soldier. Ye have fought in the war and commanded a ship. And what has this man done in that realm? Diddlysquat…that’s what. If ye do shoot him, everyone will say that ye are a killer because of yer credentials as a soldier. With a letter of apology and some other careful tactics I have in mind, ye avoid all of that.”
Jonathan eyed his friend with heightened respect. Jake is right. I am a trained killer and Sir Thomas, though possibly a good shot, is a businessman. He has no chance against a seasoned veteran. I will be vilified if I win. “You mean they will say that I tried to apologize, and still Sir Thomas insisted we continue with the duel?”
“Precisely,” said Jake, feeling extremely pleased with himself. “We will of course drag this on for a while, making doubly sure that it is clear that ye saw yer culpability in the matter, and offered suitable recompense for the alleged transgression against Sir Thomas’s person.”
“How do you mean?” asked Jonathan, becoming more and more intrigued by the minute.
“After the written apology, I will approach his second in person, and we will try to negotiate a suitable outcome. Ye will be very forthcoming with yer apology and I assume he will not,” said Jake.
“How can you be so sure that everything will play out in just the way you envisage?” asked Jonathan, feeling the first slivers of doubt creeping up his spine.
“Did ye see the man? He was fuming. He would not even care if ye were a trained assassin…he wants his satisfaction and that’s it. Think about it; ye ruined everything for him. His former son-in-law was the son of a duke and ye are an American. Now, he most probably will become a laughingstock because of this whole cockup.”
“Thank you for that.” Jonathan gulped as realization dawned on him. “What will happen to Amelia?” He already knew the answer, but he needed to hear it from someone else.
“She will be cold-shouldered throughout so-called polite society in these parts no matter the outcome.” Jake felt for his friend. He hated to tell him this. “What do ye think Lord Templeton French is going to do now? He won’t stand idly by. Such disgrace against his honor is too much for that Nancy Boy aristocrat: his betrothed eloping
with an American – the shame is too great. And what about Amelia’s father?”
“What about him?”
“He has to fight ye to maintain his family’s honor. This will be all over the newspapers in no time. The English love nothing more than a good bit of scandal.”
Jonathan sighed. Jake was right. All he had to do was defend his honor by standing before a man with a gun – it might do something to protect Amelia in some way. He was not afraid; he had done it countless times before and this would be no different. However, for Amelia, it would be societal oblivion. There was no way out for her. Lord Templeton French was probably already spreading the word that his former betrothed was a dishonorable harlot for breaking her word.
“Ye gotta win,” said Jake, coming back from the liquor cabinet. “That would solve a lot,” he concluded with a hearty swig of the fiery liquid.
Jonathan arched his eyebrows. “Win…” He took a moment to think it through. “I see what you are implying. If I win, I take her home with me and her reputation would be intact…at least in the United States, it would be.”
“Precisely. Back home they would applaud ye for saving a woman from such a fate.” He sniggered. “And for beating an English nobleman.”
“All right, Jake. We have some planning to do,” said Jonathan, feeling slightly more animated about everything.
“That’s the spirit, my friend. Let’s start with the letter of apology that I will deliver to Sir Thomas’s second on the morrow.”
“Did ye see him, Amelia?” whispered Anna into her mistress’s ear, while she prepared her for bed. It was the only time in the day that they really got to be alone together. And she was dying for some news on Jake. Amelia had been morose for the rest of the day since her father’s challenge. She had hardly spoken a word, but Anna could hold back no longer.
Amelia was still deep in thought. The day had taken on quite an unexpected turn. One moment, she was walking in Hyde Park with her mother and the unspeakable Lord Templeton French, and the very next she stood in the hall staring into the blue eyes of the man she loved. How she had prayed for that day she had never expected would come. And yet it had – he was here – in London, breathing the same air as she was.
What would happen now? Her father had challenged Jonathan to a duel. Who would kill whom? It was the vilest situation imaginable. Amelia hardly had any time to spare a second thought for the inevitable condemnation of her reputation by her boorish former fiancé. By now, news of the annulment and the reason for it had most probably reached every person in polite society – she was finished. If Jonathan succumbed as well, Amelia would spend the rest of her life a spinster for no man would risk his reputation by marrying her.
Amelia placed her head in her hands. She felt like weeping but she couldn’t. Jonathan was here. How could she be sad no matter her dilemma? She lifted her head and stared at her reflection in the mirror. She looked beautiful despite the heavy burden weighing on her shoulders. But more importantly, she looked strong. Seeing both Jonathan and Jake had proven to her that love was powerful, nothing could hold it back when it was set free.
“Amelia…”
“Oh, dear Anna, I am so sorry; I was just lost in thought. So much has happened that I don’t know where to begin.”
“I did not mean to pry…”
Amelia removed Anna’s hand that had been brushing her hair from her head and held it tightly. “You have every right to know what is going on as I do. I am sorry for being so distant today. It was just that seeing Jonathan again…”
“I know,” said Anna, stroking her hair with her free hand. “But can ye tell me what is going on?” The expression on Anna’s face was one of hope.
“As you know Jonathan and Jake came ‘round the house today and asked to speak with me. My father received them. But his only reason for doing so was to gloat.”
“But how could he have known who they were? Ye didn’t say anything to him.”
“We have Lord Templeton French to thank for that, like so many things. Apparently, he told my father everything and that obviously included their names,” said Amelia, feeling anger well up inside of her. She swore to herself, etiquette notwithstanding, that she would slap Lord Templeton French when she next saw him.
Anna’s hand flew to her mouth. “What happens now?” She swallowed deeply, her eyes agape. “There are rumours amongst the servants that there is to be a duel?”
“Yes, they are true. My father demanded satisfaction and now Jonathan will most probably fight him in a duel,” said Amelia, solemnly.
“To the death?” Anna’s hand was still glued to her mouth.
Amelia nodded. “I think so, should nothing else happen that is. I don’t know much about duels, but invariably they are to the bitter end for one of the participants at least.”
Anna let the information sink in. No matter in which way she put it, it all was bad. “Oh, Amelia…I am so sorry;” said Anna, wrapping her arms around her friend. “This is such a horrible situation for you to be in. I cannot imagine what you must be going through. To have to choose between your papa and the man you love.”
Hearing it so bluntly stated nearly made Amelia cry. But she had been doing enough of that since being parted from Jonathan. Add to that, the looming prospect of being incarcerated in a matrimonial tomb the past months, it was enough to drive anyone insane. “Jonathan and Jake will find a way; I am certain of it,” Amelia said, pushing the morbid thoughts from her mind with the strength she had groomed over the last months.
“I am sure they will, Amelia. Jake is a good man and a good friend to Jonathan. He will find a way to get him out of this mess. And when all of this is over, we will be reunited with our men for good,” said Anna, taking Amelia’s hands in hers. The expression on her face hardened. “Yes, that is how it will be.”
Amelia nodded. She loved Anna’s strength. It was in times like these that she needed it most. “Maybe…yes maybe indeed.” She swallowed. “Thank you, Anna, for always being there for me. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
Anna smiled. “Where else would I be?”
Chapter 27
The Days before the Duel
London, England, September 1814
A response to the letter Jonathan had sent along with Jake the following morning had been returned that very same day in the afternoon with the response they had expected – apology refused, and the duel was to take place. In addition to the refusal, the kind request for the choice of weapons and whether Sir Thomas’s Berkshire estate would serve as a suitable venue had been included in the writing for the second time.
Jake’s plan was not over yet. He had Jonathan promptly respond with the offer that the two aggrieved parties meet in person to discuss other possible avenues. This epistle had been delivered the next morning and promptly refused that very same afternoon. Furthermore, the demand for an immediate response as to location and weaponry had been added – the pressure was increasing.
After that, Jake had written to Sir Thomas’s second, requesting an appointment in person to discuss terms for a possible annulment of the hostilities. A gentleman could never refuse such an entreaty. So, the next day, a letter came, inviting Jake to the White’s Club in St. James, London. The historic club, founded in 1693, was the oldest and most exclusive gentlemen’s club in the entire city if not the world.
That was where Jake was off to now. He had left Jonathan back at the townhouse, brooding. He had donned his best suit for the occasion and obtained a carriage to take him there. Jake was not a nervous man, but Chives, the butler, had described the club to him in great detail. As it turned out, it was a venerable institution where only the elite roamed. Jake was a simple man who never frequented such establishments.
Thinking about his predicament and what he was going to say, he barely heard the coachman calling to him, telling him that they had arrived. So soon? His heart rate increased, pounding a staccato beat in his chest. Come on Jake, ye have faced marauding se
amen that all wanted to kill ye on board a burning ship and ye never wavered. Now, this is not the time to start. With that thought, he slid over the leather bench and stepped out of the carriage.
He told the driver to wait for him because he hardly expected the meeting to last long. He was well aware of the fact that this was only a formality. After this evening, Jonathan’s fate would surely be sealed.
Looking as confident as possible, he walked up to the imposing front door of the building. The edifice was white and made of Portland stone. Jake stopped and looked up to study it more closely. It was impressive. The Palladian façade that adorned so many of the buildings in the city oozed power and privilege.
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