Duels & Deception

by Cindy Anstey

  “Not injured or dead, Mama.” Lydia ignored the chin query. “I had a bit of an adventure—” She wanted to start slowly, a calm pace to allow her mother to digest the information in small pieces. But rather than create an awareness that she was about to impart what had happened, the words fanned her mother’s indignation.

  “An adventure? Lydia Whitfield, I believe even your father would have been disappointed in you today. I was ready to have a fit. Can you imagine? And had I suffered an apoplexy, it would have been on your shoulders.” Before Lydia could say another word, her mother took hold of her skirts, lifting them high and her chin higher. “I hope you are satisfied.” She stalked to the stairs and climbed them with exaggerated grace. She did not look down.

  Standing and staring after her mother for some minutes, Lydia swallowed her disappointment. Why was it that she and her mother never seemed to understand each other? There was no doubt that her mother wished to know what had occurred, and Lydia had wanted to explain. And yet they had not found a manner to answer either of these wishes.

  Perhaps this was the better way. Her mother was annoyed; however long that lasted, it was a familiar reaction, easier to deal with—a normal situation. Yes, an inconsiderate daughter would not overly tax her nerves—an abducted daughter who had escaped certain ruin was an entirely different concern.

  “Might I suggest, miss, that you inform your mother that Mr. Dunbar-Ross did come by last eve?” Shodster had soundlessly approached to allow a soft conversation—though still at a respectable distance. “She need not know there was no message. You could imply that I didn’t think the news worthy of disturbing her rest.”

  Lydia sighed. “I appreciate your offer, Shodster. But I would not see you in discord with Mama. I am well used to her frustration. It will pass soon enough.” Then turning to face her butler, Lydia noticed a gray tinge to his coloring and deep circles under his eyes. “Are you all right, Shodster? You do not look up to snuff.”

  Shodster was not a young man, though likely a decade away from retirement, of medium height and build and an unremarkable appearance—other than styling his silver hair in a way that it winged out over his ears. He was quiet and calm, a trusted and reliable man who had been with the family since before Lydia was born.

  “Yes, Miss Whitfield, I am fine. Though I did have some difficulty sleeping last night. My own fault, as I stayed up past the usual hour, waiting for Mr. Kemble’s return.” Likely seeing Lydia’s brow folding, he hurried on. “I was fairly certain that something was amiss. Expected Mr. Kemble to explain but … when he did return, he was in no state to elucidate. Until Mr. Dunbar-Ross’s message this morning, I thought you might be … in difficulty.”

  It was Shodster’s attempt to underplay his disquiet that Lydia found most touching. Her mother had not been the only one troubled by her absence. “Thank you, Shodster, for your concern. I was in some difficulty, as you surmised. However, with Mr. Newton’s help, I was able to escape.”

  “Escape?” Shodster swallowed visibly.

  “Yes, there was an abduction yesterday. I know that sounds excessive, but I know not what else to call it—seized, taken, nabbed … they all smack of melodrama—”

  “Seized? Are you all right, Miss Whitfield?” His gray tinge was now suffused with red. “Are you hurt?”

  Reaching out, Lydia lightly placed her hand on Shodster’s arm. “Please, do not fret. It’s fine. I’m fine. Do not be concerned. I spent most of the night riding—trying to get back to Bath. And then we discovered that Villers Manor was nearby. I must say, I will be heartily glad to resume my routine tomorrow.” Lydia knew her conversation to be disjointed, but she was somewhat taken aback by the intensity of Shodster’s reaction. “Might you consider resting until dinnertime, to recoup some of your energies?”

  “Not with guests in the house, miss.”

  “No, of course not. Silly suggestion.” She frowned, trying to recall what it was that she required of her butler. “Oh, yes. Might I ask that all mail or messages go through me first, Shodster, for … let us say, a week or more?”

  “Of course, Miss Whitfield.”

  “Thank you.” Lydia turned and then pivoted back, realizing that their discussion was not quite complete. “Pardon?”

  “Mr. Newton? Your solicitor’s clerk? He was the one who came to your aid?”

  “Yes, Mr. Lynch’s apprentice-in-waiting.” Lydia heard the pride in her voice, though she was not entirely certain whence it was derived. “He helped me escape and accompanied me to Pepney.”

  “Impressive. A fine young man.”

  Lydia laughed. “Indeed.” He was most certainly both impressive and a fine young man.

  Lydia’s mind wandered over the face and figure of her new friend, appreciating the way Mother Nature had formed him. Appreciation for his lips had to be added to his other exceptional attributes—a new discovery. She had found them quite fascinating as they had stared at each other in the half-light of the moon, to the point that she had even wondered what they might feel like pressed …

  “Indeed,” she said again, trying to hide her distraction. “Mr. Lynch could not have found a better apprentice.”

  Heading up the stairs to join the others in the drawing room, Lydia hesitated on the first step. Had Shodster made a parting remark? No, she must have been mistaken. It had sounded like “a better man than Aldershot will ever be.”

  Lydia glanced over her shoulder to see Shodster heading toward the back of the house. There, she was mistaken. Her butler had said no such thing.

  Unfortunately, that meant the critical comment had come from the less than helpful voice in her head.

  Chapter 12

  In which a carriage should not have been ordered and an apology has unseen consequences

  Despite occupying three floors, Lewis’s was not a large gentleman’s club. Certainly not anything that would rival Brooks’s or White’s in London. Still, its address could not have been in a better part of Bath, close to the river and—more important—within a stone’s throw of two gambling dens should any gentleman prefer much higher stakes. The labyrinth of rooms was comfortable and suited to those of a young and foolish nature; Cassidy was well known there.

  Robert had arrived later than expected—by several unfortunate hours. His meeting with Mr. Lynch had not gone as anticipated. There was plenty of dithering and wringing of hands, but not of the confused kind. That in and of itself was part of the problem. Mr. Lynch was clearheaded and rife with anxiety when Robert crossed the threshold of the law office. The planned excuses could not survive the scrutiny of a coherent Mr. Lynch.

  “Only this morning, this morning,” Mr. Lynch said after a remarkably effusive greeting. “Only then did I recognize the name of Miss Whitfield’s friend. Oh, I have been beside myself, quite beside myself.” He shook his head and pointed to the chair in front of his desk for Robert to rest his weary bones. “I began to think that I had made a mistake, that Miss Shipley had the right of it. Said you were made off with … in a coach—seized, seized!” He lifted a quizzing glass to his eye, squinting at Robert. “Thought it might be true, after all. Especially when you did not arrive as usual and no message as to why you were not here on time.” He paused, giving Robert the opportunity to explain.

  Robert stared at his employer, trying to decide how best to handle this situation. While there was no doubt that Mr. Lynch was declining in acuity, it was not all the time and in varied degrees, depending on the day. Anxiety seemed to be his worst enemy. Robert had noticed it before. Perhaps now was not the time to offer Mr. Lynch a full account of his curious adventure, not when the gentleman would be required to manage all their cases for the next few days.

  The truth was rather fret-worthy.

  “Yes, Miss Shipley was correct in part,” Robert said slowly, thinking his way through the maze of pitfalls. “The horses bolted and … the driver was flung from his perch. We were well out of Bath before they could be brought to a halt. Miss Whitfield suggested
that we detour to Pepney … as it was closer—where she had friends. Mr. Dunbar-Ross drove me back this morning; Miss Whitfield stayed a little longer to visit.” Robert bobbed his head with finality and sighed in relief. He had found an acceptable story within the bones of the truth.

  Robert’s relief was mirrored in Mr. Lynch. The old gentleman’s smile erased his furrowed brow and squinty eyes. He scratched, absentmindedly, across his bald pate and huffed a breath; it was almost a snort. “Knew it, knew it. Capital. Well done, Mr. Newton. Though I don’t envy you Miss Whitfield’s company. Poor little thing must have been scared witless.”

  The words to disabuse Mr. Lynch of this ridiculous notion were on the tip of his tongue, but Robert stayed his comment and nodded yet again. He then launched into his need of a few days respite. The excuse of family obligations was flimsy, and Robert was certain that Mr. Lynch knew it to be a pretext. Still, pretending that all was on the up and up meant that the man was under no obligation to do anything.

  After dashing off some letters and compiling various contracts for signatures, Robert set off for Lewis’s. But not before he had inscribed, As agreed, will be back in a few days, on a piece of paper and placed it in the center of his desk. It was a nod to Mr. Lynch’s ever-vacillating awareness, should he forget their arrangement. Robert had purposefully left off a date—there was a possibility that it would take longer.

  Lewis’s was not overly busy, as it was still afternoon when Robert arrived—albeit late afternoon. The first sitting room, with large, comfortable wingback chairs, was almost empty, and the second likewise. However, the gaming tables of the third room were half full, and that is where Robert found Cassidy surrounded by friends and IOUs, ironically referred to as vowels, and deep into whist. As he approached the card table, there was a great guffaw of laughter and several thumps on the back shared among them.

  Robert paused, observing the easy comfort of the men, their colorful waistcoats, overly styled hair, and unrestrained mannerisms: idle young gentlemen of Bath’s upper society. They had no obligations and no responsibility. Not long ago, Robert had resented the fact that he could not stay within their ranks—for he knew them all well. They had been at Eton together. But, like Cassidy, each of these pups was a firstborn. Their futures were secure—fortunes and estates were a given, though in varying degrees. Cassidy alone looked forward to a title as well.

  When Robert had been forced to choose a profession, he had done so by eliminating those of no interest, such as a career in the church or the army. In the end, the law was all that was even mildly intriguing. Not an auspicious beginning. And yet the more Robert learned about the law, the less he yearned to be back with his fellows. He found that he had a talent for the complicated terminology and a great ability to memorize. Robert’s day had form and function; what he did affected people’s lives. In short, he quite enjoyed being a solicitor’s clerk and greatly looked forward to his apprenticeship. Something he never expected.

  In fact, something that he rarely, if ever, articulated, either. And would not have done so at this point in his life had he not walked into Lewis’s and seen what might have been. The tableau before him was … well, for want of a better word, boring.

  “Smiling to yourself, Newton? Not a good sign. Been around Mr. Lynch too long, I’d say.” Cassidy, it seemed, had broken away from the group while Robert had been woolgathering. “And, to top it off, you are late again.”

  “Not for the same reason.”

  “I certainly hope not. But be that as it may, I have good news.” Gesturing toward the gamers, Cassidy brought another friend into the fold. “It just so happens that Byng, here, has a complete recollection of the night in question.”

  “Excellent. We have a name, then.”

  “Except that.”

  “Ah, not quite everything, then.” Robert glanced toward Byng, nodding a greeting. The sandy-haired fellow was flying his colors in a rich red shade of discomfort. Robert looked back at Cassidy and wondered at his friend’s giddy smile. “Rather important missing detail, don’t you think?”

  “Perhaps, but we can learn to whom I must go hat in hand easily enough. It seems that we were down the street at The Gammon.” His grin grew as he casually mentioned one of the most notorious of the gambling Hells in Bath. “More to the point, I have discovered my offense. It truly was a misunderstanding, and I have been fashioning an apology. What say you to: I did not mean to cast aspersions upon your honor. I have no doubt of your ability to cover your vowels and am quite prepared to say as much officially—such as placing an apology in the newspaper. Or what about this: I apologize most profoundly for our misunderstanding. I was too much in my cups to attend my tone of voice. There was no mockery intended, nor doubt on my part that—”

  “Might I hear what occurred before we choose an apology?”

  “What occurred?”

  “Yes, what happened, Cassidy?”

  “Oh yes … well.” Looking around, Cassidy swept his arm back toward the second sitting room. “Come, let us make use of the fire.” And so saying, he crossed the threshold and plunked down on an overly stuffed chair near the glowing embers.

  Robert joined his friend; Byng trailed behind as if unsure of his participation.

  “Is something wrong, Byng?” Robert chose a seat farther from the fire in a position that allowed him to study both his fellows at the same time.

  “I’m not certain that an apology will be accepted. The umbrage seemed contrived—as if the man wanted to take offense. In fact … if I remember correctly, all Cassidy asked was if he—whoever he is—was sure he wanted to increase his debt. The man’s losses were significant already; Cassidy held most of his vowels—poor brute was having a run of bad luck. Here … wait, what about those vowels. His name would be on them—his signature at least.”

  “Lord Rennoll,” offered a new voice, and they all looked up.

  Another of their comrades, by the name of Peterson, stood above them, leaning against the back of the unoccupied chair in the group. His countenance was serious, no hint of his usual devil-may-care attitude.

  “You’re not likely to get around Lord Rennoll. He’s a crack shot who likes to show off—actually enjoys the high stakes. He’s winged a couple of opponents so far—with nary a scratch on himself to show for it. Just a matter of time before he … well, I wouldn’t want to test his odds.”

  “But … I didn’t insult him. The cards were against him; I simply asked if he was sure he wanted to continue. Meant to be helpful, not insulting.” Cassidy swallowed visibly and turned to Robert. “What should I do?”

  “Return his IOUs.”

  Shocked silence reverberated around the room. Robert clenched his jaw to retain a serious bearing in face of the gaping, fishlike expressions of his friends. He was well aware that he had just suggested committing the most extreme of blunders. But it was a possible solution and, therefore, should be addressed.

  “Return his vowels? That would be an even greater insult,” Cassidy eventually huffed. “Might as well measure me for the undertaker right now; he’d shoot me on the spot.”

  “He can’t. That would be murder.”

  “Justifiable, if you ask me,” Byng said disobligingly.

  Robert thought of the many tomes lining the walls of the law firm that would disagree, but he kept that knowledge to himself. The issue had nothing to do with legalities.

  “How can you even suggest such a thing? Nothing’s more important than a debt of honor to a gentleman.” Cassidy’s indignation continued to climb.

  “Oh, I don’t know, I’ve found that money can smooth over many a disagreement.”

  “You have been in the company of the entirely wrong people, Newton. Perhaps the lower ranks would see nothing untoward in such a suggestion—but really, it is outside of enough. I’d rather participate in the duel.”

  “As you might have to.”

  Cassidy snapped his mouth shut, swallowed, and then returned to his original question. “What
should I do?”

  “Well, you are back to fashioning the best apology you can devise. Better than the ones you were suggesting earlier. Less grinning and more humble pie. But you will not have to do it on your own; I’ll come with you. If your apology doesn’t do the job, I’ll discuss the legal ramifications with Lord Rennoll. After all, dueling is illegal. Worry not, this duel will never take place.”

  Robert spoke with extreme confidence. If all else failed, he had every intention of locking up Cassidy on the fateful day of the duel. He knew of a barn well suited to that very purpose.

  * * *

  Seated at her escritoire, finally alone in the morning room, Lydia sealed a long letter to Shelley. With all that had transpired the day before, they had not had an opportunity to discuss the particulars of the ball arrangements. Shelley had offered to help, but without instructions, her friend would be stymied.

  Lydia would post the letter in Spelding herself if she thought she could slip away without Cora’s being aware of her intent. While Lydia greatly enjoyed Cora’s company and was pleased to find her friend buoyant and at ease once again, she was less than pleased with the other results of their adventure.

  Cora had taken it upon herself to accompany Lydia anywhere and everywhere beyond the confines of the manor. That had included Lydia’s lovely solitary walk just after luncheon, which had been neither lovely, due to the rain, nor solitary, due to Cora’s presence. Worse still, Lydia was now peeking around corners in anticipation of seeing Les or Morley peeking back. Left to her own devices, Lydia would have put the whole incident behind her, but returning to the subject continually was a bit wearing: whispered recollections at breakfast, speculation on the culprit in a quiet conversation in the drawing room … and then throughout her daily promenade. If this continued, Lydia would soon be shrieking in utter frustration—with the delicacy and grace insisted upon by Miss Melvina, of course.

  Still, if Lydia was fair, the adventure had been but two days previous, and Cora was only being protective. It might take as much as a week before the high emotions faded completely … for all three of them. Lydia counted Robert in this select group. And as she allowed her mind to drift in his direction, yet again, Lydia became aware of a commotion just beyond the door of the morning room. Standing in anticipation, she was unexpectedly disappointed when Shodster announced Barley.