by Cindy Anstey
“This is all water under the bridge, Newton. We have come to terms—monetary terms. Let’s get on with it.”
“I was not present for any discussion of monetary terms, and as this challenge was offered to me, I see my lack of involvement in said discussion as a great oversight on your part. Therefore, the agreement is invalid.”
“What! That cannot be. It was the very purpose of this exercise. If you do not agree to the payment, then I will have to shoot you.”
“Sounds more like murder than a duel.”
“Call it what you will. Pay me or you shall suffer deadly consequences.”
“I don’t believe that even you can kill with my choice of weapons.”
“Do you think to best me at swords, Newton? Really, while you were grubbing about in books, I was learning from a fencing master. No, the only way for you to survive unscathed is to provide the funds that were discussed with Miss Whitfield.” Aldershot snorted a laugh of great derision.
It curdled Lydia’s stomach.
“Still, as the one challenged, it is my choice of weapons.”
“Fine, Newton. I see that your brain is a featherweight. You don’t seem to know the meaning of deadly consequences. Choose away.”
“Thank you.”
Lydia gasped. “No, Robert.” Thrusting her shaking hand into her reticule, she stepped forward. Before she had a chance to pull the banknotes free, the shrubs around them shook, and several figures stepped out of the trees.
Chapter 20
In which life hangs in the balance of five hundred and ninety-three pounds
The shapes solidified into three young gentlemen of various girths, heights, and facial hair. They, in turn, were followed by two more, and then more again. In all, nearly a dozen young gentlemen sauntered out of the woods and over to the staring combatants. The newly risen sun added a pink glow to the tops of their felt hats and caped shoulders. Their walking canes left pockmarks in the soft ground.
“Welcome.” Robert smiled to the newcomers; he offered a general bow.
There were murmurs of greeting and a fair amount of smiling—accompanied by a guffaw or two. The atmosphere was carnivalesque, as if the whole affair were some sort of lark. They collected along Mr. Cassidy’s paced-off arena on either side of Lydia, and when it became somewhat crowded, several skipped across to the other side. Jockeying for position, they all wanted to see.
Macabre. Lydia was repelled by this morbid fascination. She straightened, lifted her chin, and drew a deep breath, preparing to give them all a proper set-down and send them on their way.… But she hesitated.
What was Robert about? For it seemed evident that he had brought this horde, this large group of witnesses, with him. It was dangerous—a very dangerous tactic. Should any of them mention this gathering, Robert would find himself incarcerated, without a career. He was not a cavalier young man.… There must be a purpose.
“What are you about, Newton? This is not the way of it.” Aldershot sounded indignant, but there was a tremor to his words. He glanced around nervously, and sweat formed at his temples.
“You and Miss Caudle took it upon yourselves to besmirch Miss Whitfield’s good name. When called on it, you feigned insult. I have never considered truth to be an insult; it is simply the truth.”
Lydia recognized the sentiment, of course. Robert had stated the same to her uncle a week or so past. Still, she cared not a whit about truth at this juncture; she cared about Robert. Opening her mouth to add her objection to that of Aldershot, Lydia felt a touch on her arm.
“It will be all right; worry not,” Mr. Cassidy whispered over her shoulder.
Only Cora and Lydia heard the request. They shared a look, and while Lydia didn’t try to mask her confusion and fear, Cora tried a facade of false composure.
Lydia’s frown deepened; she turned back—lips pursed. She took a deep breath and then another. She swallowed against the bile that clawed at her throat and then clenched her jaw.
“And now before all these witnesses, I accept your challenge. My weapon of choice”—Robert paused dramatically—“is wit: a duel of words.”
“Words!” both Lydia and Aldershot exclaimed at the same time.
However, while Lydia smiled and felt knee-buckling relief, the same could not be said for her greedy neighbor. Aldershot scowled and shook his head in short jerks.
“Words are not a weapon,” Mavis Caudle entered the fray with a sneer. “This is trickery, nothing else.”
“Indeed? Words have great power, Miss Caudle. Of all people in this company, you more than any would know that they can be used in deeply harmful ways—the damage can be catastrophic.” Robert turned back to Aldershot. “Wits will have to be your pistol, old man, though I fear you to be unarmed. Bearing in mind that this is a somewhat unusual tactic, I will give you leave to choose what manner of words we will use: riddles, poetry, or insults. Our friends here”—he swept his hand, gesturing toward the strangers—“they will be our judges. Three each—an extra if needed to break a tie.”
“What asininity is this? Are you demented?”
“Aha, insults it is.” Robert grinned and looked quite gleeful.
The crowd laughed and clapped—though it was more in amusement than appreciation for such a weak volley. Aldershot would have to do better than that if he was going to lock horns … or wits with Robert.
“As insults go, that was nothing more than milquetoast. We shall have to call it practice or the game is already won. Hardly fair to make you concede so soon—unlike some present, I believe in honesty and fair play.”
“Was that your first insult?”
“No, no, not at all—we shall call that slur practice as well—or truth. Either will work.”
“Mr. Newton, you are not playing by your own rules,” Mavis said. “Every word out of your mouth is an insult.”
“I do beg your pardon, there is just something about your lover’s weak chin and lackluster discourse that brings it out of me. I shall endeavor to behave.” He nodded with finality, though his grin showed exactly how heartfelt was his apology.
Walking past Lydia to the far end of the designated area, Robert planted his feet and bent his arms as if readying for a fight. “All right, Lord Aldershot. I thought you to be bird-witted and cow-handed. Now, I have discovered you to be the opposite.” He stretched his arms out, paused, and then delivered the last line. “You are bird-handed and cow-witted.”
He looked toward the crowd, and while acknowledging the mild applause, Robert nodded at a thin figure half hidden in the shadows. Lydia squinted; she could see the newly risen light glinting across a row of brass buttons. She smiled to herself—if she had a propensity toward gambling, she would have bet that the figure wore a blue overcoat and the top hat of a Bow Street Officer.
“Was that it?” Mavis Caudle asked. “You are not as clever as you thought.”
“No, no, Miss Caudle. My game of words is with Lord Aldershot. You might have a lifetime of manipulation on which to stand, but derision is not an insult, and you were not invited to speak.” Shifting his eyes to Aldershot, Robert addressed his opponent. “Do you wish to concede? I will not be insulted by you both.”
“No, no. Mavis-dear, best let me handle this.”
“What does this accomplish? Nothing!”
“As much as any duel.” Robert sounded bored, though Lydia was fairly certain it was a feigned tone.
“There is no point to this, Manfred. The outcome is immaterial; we were playing the game for a different reason, if you remember? For profit.” Lydia watched Miss Caudle’s stance become taut. “We have already lost.”
Glancing at what amounted to an audience, Aldershot swallowed roughly. “I cannot walk away, Mavis-dear. How would it look?”
“Like you were manipulated into a pointless duel of words.”
“Perhaps Lord Aldershot prefers that to being shamed before a group of his peers.” Lydia stared at Miss Caudle.
Miss Caudle sent Lydia a
withering look—well, she attempted to do so; Lydia stood steady and firm, not wilted in the least. Then Mavis stepped back behind Aldershot. The conniving young woman continued to put distance between herself and Aldershot until she was some three or four feet from the baron.
Was Mavis Caudle deserting her lover? Lydia smiled. The allure of his position in society was only of interest if it came with a big purse. Returning her attention to the battle, Lydia continued to watch Mavis Caudle from the corner of her eye as the woman slipped slowly and deliberately around several boisterous spectators.
“Ah, yes, well, hmm … yes.” Aldershot scratched at his ear, oblivious to his abandonment. “Hmm, yes. Have you had your head examined? I fear the physicians will find it quite empty.”
The onlookers were less than impressed. A voice shouted out, “You can do better than that,” while a fair number of gentlemen shook their heads and clicked their tongues. All eyes returned to Robert.
“Your insults barely register, Aldershot. How did you learn to be a dullard in so many different ways?”
Lydia smiled. Momentarily distracted, she glanced around for Mavis Caudle. Frowning, she leaned closer to Cora. “Did you see where Mavis went?”
Cora shook her head, still watching the duelers.
Slipping behind the group, Lydia craned her neck to look down the hill. The upper portion of the meadow was visible now, the sun was slowly climbing the sky.… And yet there was no fleeing figure.
“You have your own category in entomology you are so beetle-brained.”
This time, the crowd laughed at Aldershot’s words.
Shifting so that she could see down to where the carriages waited, Lydia was startled by a sharp tug on her reticule. It jerked her sideways, away from the group, and snapped one of the two drawstrings attaching the bag to her wrist.
“It is senseless to mock you; it will take you the rest of the day to take my meaning.” Robert’s insult drifted through the crowd.
Lydia’s gasp of surprise was lost in the echo of the laughs and jibes that followed. She tried to draw her arm back, but the solid hold on her reticule pulled her forward instead. Once again, she was nose to nose with Mavis Caudle.
“Miss Caudle! What do you think you are doing? This is out-and-out thievery. I would not think that even you would stoop this low.”
“This money is mine. You brought it to give to us, and I want it.”
“This money was to free Mr. Newton from a grave threat. The threat is gone—so you do not get any of these funds!”
“Give it to me now, or I will force you to.”
“Miss Caudle, you are stepping deeper and deeper into illicit water. Do you not realize that you can be arrested for all your attempts to extort money from me?”
“Manfred is a peer. You cannot accuse him of anything.”
“Lord Aldershot is a baron … not a prince. A fellow peer can easily be found to assist in the course of justice. I am not without my resources, you know. That being said, you, Miss Caudle, would not be treated likewise. You would not be given any leeway no matter how intimate your relationship with Lord Aldershot.”
“Unless I were his wife,” Mavis Caudle smiled in a manner that made Lydia want to step away … far way. “We were married by special license two months ago.”
“If that were true, then why would you not be open about it? Celebrate your joyous union with the neighborhood. No—”
“You, you are the reason we have had to wait. You are the reason for all our woes.”
“I don’t see how—”
“Everyone believes that you will marry Manfred. As soon as his creditors know the truth, they will be on us like locusts. We will have to retrench. You owe us this money.”
Lydia spurted a laugh. “Really? That is your excuse. Your husband ran up his debts, and I am to blame? That is the most illogical justification that I have ever heard.” She tried to yank the reticule free but stopped upon seeing the glint of steel. “What? Mavis … um, Lady Aldershot, what are you doing?”
In a flash, the knife came down, severing the last string on Lydia’s bag. Mavis shoved Lydia with such vigor that she fell backward, landing with a jarring thump on the cold ground. Mavis Barley, Lady Aldershot, picked up her skirts and ran toward the waiting carriage—stepping carefully around the mounds of mole dirt as she raced away.
“Lydia!” Cora cried out, and in doing so silenced the crowd behind them.
Suddenly lifted to her feet, Lydia turned to find Hugh at her side. Jeremy stood next to him, holding firmly on to Barley’s stubby-nosed groom.
“Beggin’ yer pardon, miss. We was distracted. Thought you might be interested in talkin’ to this here fella.” Hugh looked crestfallen. “Never expected herself to be given ya trouble. You want we should go after her?” He nodded toward the fleeing figure.
Before she could answer, Robert pushed through the crowd. “Lydia, are you all right?” He nudged the footman aside and grabbed her about the waist as if she were about to fall again … which she wasn’t—but she leaned ever so slightly nonetheless. “What happened?”
“What is going on?” Aldershot joined them, glaring at Lydia and then turning his gaze to the far side of the field.
“Your wife stole my reticule, Lord Aldershot.” Ignoring his look of astonishment, Lydia continued. “I do not know what nonsense she has been feeding you, but neither a baron nor his lady can act with impunity.”
“That is the truth of it, Lord Aldershot.” Mr. Warner stepped out from the shadows. “Kidnapping, assault, blackmail, and now thievery—all very serious crimes. Perhaps we should explain the realities of life to Lady Aldershot.”
They all glanced toward the figure that had now reached the carriage at the bottom of the hill. The driver, throwing back his blanket, jumped down from his perch, revealing the uniform of a constable.
Rolling back on his heels in a studied casual manner, Mr. Warner continued to address Lord Aldershot without looking his way. “I thought you might try to make a getaway, my lord, once you saw that the jig was up. But I see that I underestimated your lady. Fortunately, my constable is quite capable of assessing the situation.”
In silence, they stared for some minutes as the scene at the bottom of the hill dissolved into a drama of shouting, kicking, and some very surprising language.
“Yes, well, I think we should probably offer assistance to poor Constable Johnson.” Mr. Warner turned and nodded a bow to Lydia. “I will return your funds forthwith,” he said, and then turned to Hugh and Jeremy. “Bring the groom along, my good fellows. He can languish in jail with his inept cousin Morley Goode and his cohort in thievery, Les Niven. Come, Lord Aldershot, let me be your escort.” Though his words were light and frivolous, his tone was anything but. Silently, Lord Aldershot started down the hill.
Lydia turned to Robert, though disappointed that in doing so, he was forced to release his hold on her person. It had been a great comfort. “Poor Barley, what a mess he has made of his life.”
“Indeed. But I believe he had help. His wife?”
“You noticed that, did you?”
“It was hard not to.” Robert gently touched the side of her chin and then turned to watch the men as they reached the bottom of the hill.
The anxiety, the fear, and the tension that Barley and Mavis had brought into her life faded away. And yet there was no sense of exhilaration or even simple satisfaction—just a great sadness for lives gone miserably astray.
* * *
Bath, as promised, was rife with distractions in the spring—chief among them was Miss Lydia Whitfield. Robert found that on every day leading up to her birthday ball an excuse … er, reason … could be found to spend time in her company. Occasionally, he could label the encounter a meeting, but in most cases it was an outing. And a pleasurable one at that—despite including various family members, there was always a moment when they could stare at each other without censure. They partook of such opportunities as often as possible.
One meeting, which truly was a meeting, occurred just days after the dawn adventure. Lydia had decided that a formal arrangement should be set up for the security of her aunt and cousins upon her marriage or reaching the age of majority. Knowing that this monetary compensation would also aid her uncle gave Lydia little pleasure, but she knew that she could not destine her family to his frantic schemes. The Kembles’ manor had to be repaired and the estate brought back to snuff if they were ever going to be self-sufficient again.
The meeting went well. Mr. Kemble put questions to Mr. Lynch, but he was not caustic or belligerent in the asking of them. His bloodshot eyes demonstrated how much he continued to appreciate a nightly overdose of port, but there were no hitches to his speech, and he was clear-thinking. After all the papers were signed, he stood and bowed formally to his perplexed niece.
“I believe it customary for a show of appreciation under these circumstances, and as such I will express some gratitude. However, before I do so, I would like to state that had I not been required to vacate my own estate to assist in the running of Roseberry, there would have been no need of your generosity. Still, my excellent management and husbandry of your property has provided the means to rebuild my estate, and with that in mind, I thank you.”
It was a convoluted acknowledgment at best, but more than Robert had expected.
Lydia nodded with as much solemnity as her uncle and sighed deeply, very deeply.
The night before the birthday ball was purposefully unexceptional. Resting up for the celebration was the purpose of a subdued evening, though Robert found that he was still included in the company. He was more than pleased, as he had news to impart—but not to all.
After the meal, the family adjourned to the drawing room—a long room with two seating arrangements, one clustered by the fireplace and the other by the windows at the far end. Most of the family chose to collect near the fireplace, so Robert gestured invitingly toward the windows. Lydia immediately veered to where he indicated, though she looked mildly disappointed when he included Miss Cora in his solicitation.
