Benjamin bowed his head toward him. “At dawn it shall be. I look forward to that moment, my lord.”
“Please, Marcus, be sensible. I don’t want you to fight a duel,” she said, trying to remain calm in the hope that they would.
“This no longer has anything to do with you,” Marcus said.
“Listen to Daniston, Regina,” Benjamin added.
Regina wrung her hands. They both had lost any sense they might have once had. Surely this had to be some sort of hideous nightmare. She only wished she could wake up before both of them were dead.
Seventeen
Regina tapped her fingers on the arm of the chair in her bedchamber as she watched Marcus pace. Although he was grumbling, she was taunted by the niggling suspicion that he was enjoying the whole of the upcoming duel.
“Do leave off,” she said in the midst of his tirade against Benjamin Sheldon who dared to kiss Lady Daniston. “Marcus, if you say even once more that you are preparing to fight this duel to salvage my honor, I swear I shall screech.”
“Someone must think of it.”
“Then let me do so.”
“How?”
“I have given Benjamin his congé. The matter is closed.”
“It will be by the time dawn colors the eastern sky.”
Leaping to her feet, she jabbed her finger into the center of his waistcoat. “Why don’t you own up to the truth? You are doing this for you. It amazes me that you spoke of duels with such disparagement only a fortnight ago. Now you cannot wait to draw blood.”
“I shall protect what is mine.” He folded his arms in front of him and scowled.
“I appreciate that, but from what are you protecting me?”
“Your own moonshine.”
She clenched her hands and struggled to keep her voice serene. No matter where this conversation led, she would not let his words make her lose her composure. If you show that you are unsettled, nothing will be settled. As always, Papa’s advice was sound.
“If it is moonshine to wish not to see you injured,” she said, “then I own to being want-witted.”
“Want-witted?” The dowager duchess’s question intruded, and she bustled after it into the room. Pecking Regina’s cheek with a quick kiss, she asserted, “I have met few people less want-witted than you, my dear. Now if you were speaking of my grandson—”
“Grandmother!” Exasperation spilled into his voice.
She patted him on the cheek before seating herself on the chair as if it were a throne. “Do not try to prove me wrong, my boy, when I was about to say that you have been showing a remarkable amount of good sense of late. It pleases my old heart to discover you two together talking like this. This marriage is destined to be one of the great ones.”
Regina turned away, knowing that her face would betray her. When she heard Marcus clearing his throat, she wondered if he was trying not to laugh. She could not fault him when effervescent laughter bubbled in her chest.
“I have to come to tell you,” the dowager duchess continued, “that your wedding is set for Saturday next. So much to do!”
“I thought all the plans were in place,” Marcus said.
His grandmother’s eyes widened as she wagged a finger in his direction. “You can be as opaque as your father. Of course, the plans are not all in place. Dear me! So much to do!”
“Regina will be pleased to help you on the morrow,” he answered. “We are speaking of … of other important matters now.”
“What can be more important than your wedding?”
Regina said, “Benjamin Sheldon and Marcus—”
“Oh,” interrupted the dowager duchess, “I had heard Mr. Sheldon called this afternoon. Not that I can understand why you count him among your friends, Regina, for I find him a bit too obsequious. However, I think it wonderful that your friends feel free to call.”
“I doubt he will call again soon.”
“Of course not! Not with all the wedding plans we have to finalize.” She gave Marcus a beatific smile. “Certainly that does not preclude you and Mr. Sheldon finding something to do before then, if that is what you wish.”
“We have already made an appointment to meet,” he said darkly.
“How excellent!” She pushed herself to her feet and held out her arm. “Now, dear boy, walk with me to your father’s book room. I want to speak with him about a few matters, and you know he listens much more closely to you than to me. I don’t understand why.” She squeezed Regina’s hand. “Sleep well, my dear. We shall begin work on the last of our plans for the wedding party on the morrow.”
“Yes.” She took a deep breath. “Your Grace, if you would talk to Marcus, mayhap you could persuade him—”
“Regina, Grandmother is not interested in any of that right now when she has so much to think about,” Marcus interrupted sharply.
“You cannot know unless you let me ask.”
The dowager duchess said, “Marcus is correct. My mind can concentrate on only one item at a time, and now I am thinking about what color flowers to order for the tables. Think on that, if you will, Regina, and have a suggestion for me in the morning.”
Regina started to reply, but Marcus herded his grandmother out the door. Frustration gripped her, and she fought to think clearly. Marcus would not listen to her, nor would he allow her to include her grandmother in the conversation, for he knew the dowager duchess would be as furious as Regina was.
Would he listen to no one?
Although she did not want to concede it, she knew only one person might have enough influence on Marcus to persuade him to give up his cockle-brained determination to fight this duel. She closed her eyes and took a steadying breath, then rang for Beatty.
She must swallow her pride before Marcus destroyed himself and any chance they might have for happiness.
Regina ignored Beatty’s mutterings, which she suspected were prayers to protect them from any demons that might lurk within these walls. Regina knew exactly who had decorated this lacy home, and Jocelyn Simpson was no demon.
She rubbed her hands together, risking the lace of her gloves. Where was that woman? Nearly an hour had passed since a glum footman had opened the door and escorted her and Beatty to this sitting room. If Mrs. Simpson thought that Regina would grow tired of waiting, the brunette would learn her lesson. Regina would stay here until dawn if necessary.
Mayhap Mrs. Simpson came to realize that as well, because shortly after another half-hour had passed, she came to the door of the sitting room. With her hair loose about the shoulders of her pink wrapper, she offered only the most terse greeting.
Regina was glad when Mrs. Simpson did not suggest the courtesy of refreshments. Such hypocrisy would only complicate this call.
“I appreciate your seeing me at this hour,” Regina said when she heard Beatty begin to mumble again. Sitting next to her abigail, she gave her a withering look.
Beatty subsided, but stared in candid horror at Mrs. Simpson, who lowered herself gracefully into a chair across from them.
“Lady Daniston, if you think you can put an end to my long relationship with Lord Daniston with such an outrageous call—”
“I have come to ask you a favor that, if you do not grant it, may put an end to any calls Marcus might wish to make here.”
Mrs. Simpson raised her chin even as she brushed the ruffles on the front of her wrapper nervously. “Threats have little effect on me.”
“I did not come here to threaten you. I want you to speak with Marcus.”
“Speak with him?” Her eyes, which were lined with kohl, slitted. “About what?”
“He has challenged Benjamin Sheldon to a duel on the morrow.”
Mrs. Simpson sat straighter, a smile pulling at her rouged lips. “A duel? Can I hope it is over me?”
Regina set herself on her feet as she snapped, “What does it matter what it is about if he could be killed?”
She doubted if Mrs. Simpson had heard her, for she went on, “How swe
et of him! Although I must own that I do not know anyone named Sheldon.” Leaning her chin on her hand, she mused, “And I thought he was losing interest.”
“Mrs. Simpson!”
The brunette looked up, startled.
“How can you be so blasted self-centered when two men could die?” cried Regina.
“But they are fighting for me—”
Beatty burst in, “They are fighting over Lady Daniston, you fat-pated woman!” She held her fingers over her lips as she flashed a guilty look at Regina.
Patting her abigail on the shoulder, Regina said, “It matters little what they are quarreling about. What matters is that both of them could be killed.”
“I do not see,” Mrs. Simpson said, “why you have bothered me with what is clearly your concern.” Her mouth settled into a pout.
“I thought Marcus might heed you if you asked him not to go to the duel.”
“And why would I do that?”
Regina sat again and folded her hands on her lap. She must be cautious now, or she would lose what little chance she had of making Mrs. Simpson her ally on this matter. “I collect that you depend on my husband for maintaining this house.”
“That is my business.”
“Which tells me I am correct.” Leaning forward, she held Mrs. Simpson’s eyes as she asked, “And what will you do if you no longer can depend on my husband to maintain this house and your way of living?”
“I told you, My Lady, that I will not be moved by threats. If you think you can come between me and your husband—”
“The only threat is Marcus dying. Then, Mrs. Simpson, his share of his father’s estate would be mine.” She paused to allow the other woman to digest the fact that should have been, in Regina’s estimation, apparent from the outset. “I am sure you can understand when I say that I would not see all of Marcus’s obligations as my own.”
Mrs. Simpson rose and wandered around the room, touching many of the knickknacks on the tables. Anguish compressed Regina’s heart as she wondered if each of the small pieces had been a gift from Marcus. None of her pain must be displayed on her face.
“This Mr. Sheldon,” said Mrs. Simpson without looking at her. “He is a good shot?”
“He served with the military for nearly ten years.”
“That does not answer my question.” She whirled, her eyes bright with rage. “Is he a good shot?”
“I believe, from stories Papa has told me of their hunting expeditions beyond the walls of Algiers, that Benjamin is better than most.” Standing, she asked, “So will you speak to Marcus about this?”
“As a favor to you?”
Regina swallowed slowly. She did not want to be indebted in any way to this woman, but she knew she had no other choice. She had known that before she came to Mrs. Simpson’s house. “Yes,” she whispered.
“My favors do not cheaply.” A smile curled along her lips.
“I suspected as much.”
“Very well, I shall convince your husband not to fight this duel.” She combed her fingers back through her lush curls. “Then, Lady Daniston, you shall owe me the duty of repaying me.”
“Only if you convince him not to take part in this duel.”
“I can persuade him.” She laughed lightly. “It is not difficult.”
Beatty jumped to her feet. Tugging on Regina’s arm, she whispered, “Let us be gone from here and this evil woman. Do not agree to what she might ask of you. You can convince his lordship to listen to sense.”
“But I have not been able to,” Regina said with a sigh. Raising her voice, she added, “Very well, Mrs. Simpson. If you can persuade Marcus to step aside from this duel, you may ask of me whatever you wish.”
Motioning for Beatty to follow her into the dusky hallway, Regina walked out of the sitting room without saying more. There was, she must be honest, nothing more to say. She had sold her soul to the devil in exchange for Marcus’s life, and at the moment, the bargain seemed like a fair one.
She hated the hot tears that were filling her eyes. She would not cry. Not here. Not when Mrs. Simpson must be exulting in her control over Regina’s husband. Bending her head, she rushed toward the stairs.
Beatty gave a shocked gasp just as Regina plowed into a hard form. Rocked back on her feet, Regina stared up into Marcus’s face.
His surprise faded quickly into a frown. “What are you doing here?”
Before Regina could answer, a purr came from the sitting-room door. “She came to ask me to speak to you about that worthless duel you have arranged for the morrow,” said Mrs. Simpson.
Marcus glanced from Regina to his mistress. “Jocelyn,” he said tightly, “I shall speak with you later. Right now, I will escort my wife home where she will stay.”
Hearing Mrs. Simpson’s amused titter, Regina squared her shoulders. She would not knuckle under his orders like a beaten dog when he was risking his life for no good reason, but she would not get into a brangle here in front of his convenient. If she had an ounce of sense, she would let Marcus fry in his own grease. She might have an ounce of sense, but her heart did not.
Beatty rushed into her lady’s bedchamber as soon as Regina lit a lamp. Although she wore a frightened expression, the abigail did not hesitate when Regina asked for a simple dress. Even while she was helping Regina dress, Beatty was silent.
Only when Regina tied her white poke bonnet under her chin, did Beatty cry, “You cannot go anywhere. Lord Daniston said—”
“Do you really think I would listen to such a ludicrous order?”
“But he is your husband.”
“Exactly.” Pulling on her gloves, she said, “That is why I must make one last attempt to halt him.”
Regina gasped as she heard hoofbeats in front of the house. Running to the window, she pulled aside the drapes to see Marcus mounting his horse in the light of streetlamps poking through the mist. As her heart thudded against her breastbone, she rushed to the door.
“You must not go out alone, my lady,” Beatty said from behind her. “I shall go with you.”
“There is no need for you to get yourself in trouble.” A reluctant smile pulled at her lips. “You were there when Lord Daniston gave his order. I will take Timmy with me. He was not a witness to that skimble-skamble edict.”
“Timmy?” Her mouth became a straight line of disapproval. “The lad doesn’t have the wit to caution you when you take a notion into your head. You need someone with more sense.”
“Bother, Beatty! I shall not risk your position in this household.”
“My lady, I beg you to rethink.”
With a sigh, because pulling caps with her abigail was the very last thing she wanted to endure this morning, she nodded. “Very well, but please do not keep telling me that I should remain here. I must be there.”
“Of course, my lady.”
Hearing Beatty’s sorrowful tone, Regina was instantly flooded with remorse. She said nothing, for an apology would convince the abigail to resume her chatter about listening to good sense and obeying Marcus’s orders.
She could not.
The Park was oddly empty as the birds began to stir with the first gray light of dawn. Damp scents were splashed up by the horse as Regina steered the carriage toward the Serpentine. She hoped they would meet no one. She was not prepared to smile at one of Marcus’s tie-mates who was here to cheer him on in this insanity.
In the dim light, the bushes and trees took on a macabre appearance. Her hands tightened on the reins. She tried to see through mist, but she could see little past her horse’s nose.
“I do not see them, my lady,” Beatty said. “Are you sure they were to meet here?”
“Marcus said the duel would be by the Serpentine.”
The abigail shivered as she drew her knotted shawl tighter to her shoulders. “The Serpentine runs the length of the Park, my lady.”
“But we have driven almost its full course and have not seen them.”
“Mayhap they came to their
senses and decided not to meet for grass before breakfast. We should go home ourselves.”
Regina looked at the eastern sky. The first shell pink light was brushing it. She shuddered as she realized it was the same shade as the wrapper Mrs. Simpson had been wearing. Mayhap Marcus’s prime article had induced him to listen to reason, and he had been on his way to her bed instead of coming here to the Park.
What a sap-skull you are! she chided herself. Before she had dashed out of the house, she should have checked Marcus’s room to see if he had taken the dueling pistols with him. Then, she realized, that might have told her nothing. He had fought a duel before, so he must own another set.
“How can he so want for sense?” she whispered.
Beatty patted her hand. “My lady, our chances of finding them are so small. Why don’t we return home? Then you can wait for Lord Daniston to come to you there.”
“And if he doesn’t come to me?”
“I pray he will, my lady, but you must show good sense now. If—”
“Look!” Regina cried. “There is someone there!” She slapped the reins on the back of the horse.
The carriage slowed by a short man who was wandering along the path. His clothes showed heavy wear, but his step was jaunty as he raised a pipe to wave to them.
“Have you seen some gentlemen here?” called Regina. “Gentlemen that looked ready to fight a duel.”
“Can’t say I have, but there.” He pointed with the chewed end of his pipe. “That be where the gentlemen do their killing.” His forehead rutted. “Or to the left there. Sometimes they be having to choose another spot when they fight over some light-skirt.”
Regina hoped she was not blushing, but warmth oozed along her cheeks as she said, “Thank you, sir, for your help.”
“No place for a lady. Stay away from them fools who be wrapped in warm flannel after a night with a bottle of brandy.”
She nodded as he continued to walk toward the far side of the Park, but said, “Beatty, you look to the left. I shall check beyond that grove of trees.”
“My lady, if you were to come within the line of their fire, you could be killed.”
An Undomesticated Wife Page 18
