The Brooding Duke of Danforth

by Christine Merrill

  Benedict sighed. ‘I was...elsewhere. I would rather not discuss the details.’

  ‘Because the honour of another lady is involved,’ Comstock said, with an annoying amount of certainty.

  ‘That is not a matter I care to discuss. But I can assure you that the presence of my handkerchief in the Elmstead rooms is nothing more than a coincidence.’

  Comstock gave a dismissive huff. ‘It is a small scrap of fabric to base such accusations on. But I do not expect Lady Elmstead will admit to the truth, now that her husband suspects her of infidelity. She would much rather he think you were to blame than to know the truth. And the story is easily believed because of your reputation as a libertine.’

  ‘A libertine,’ Benedict said vaguely. In the depths of his mind, his father’s voice announced that someone should remind this upstart American that a glass of whiskey and a house-party invitation did not entitle him to lecture his betters. But he was able to dismiss the thought without too much effort. It seemed that the blow and subsequent challenge had cleared some of the fog of rage from his mind. ‘A libertine?’ he repeated.

  ‘It shouldn’t surprise you, Danforth,’ Comstock said, not even bothering to soften the criticism with an honorific. ‘From what I am told, you have been running around with the Marchioness for years. Then, out of nowhere you decided to marry the lovely Miss Prescott, who promptly threw you over. No one knows the reason, but it is commonly assumed to be some dastardly behaviour on your part. A tryst with another lady would hardly be out of the realm of possibility. And now, with this fresh scandal...’

  ‘I never listen to gossip,’ Benedict replied. Though he had been using it for years, it was a surprisingly unsatisfying answer. After today, he should not be surprised that everyone was likely to assume the worst about him in the future.

  ‘Perhaps you should begin to pay attention,’ Comstock suggested. ‘If you had made any effort to protect your reputation before today, then this situation would not have happened.’

  It was annoyingly logical. ‘I will take it under advisement,’ he said, pressing the lump of ice a maid offered him against his bruised face to prevent the reoccurrence of his newfound temper.

  ‘For now, I would like to know your plans for tomorrow,’ Comstock said, still as reasonable as if they were trying to decide on lawn tennis or croquet. ‘Though the rain seems to have stopped for the day, I can offer no guarantees on what dawn might bring. Even if the skies will be dry, the fields are muddy. But as I have said before, the house is large. If you intend to duel inside, I can supply you with swords.’

  Until illness had rendered his right arm useless, his father had been ready to grab a sword over the smallest offence. With such a poor example, Benedict had vowed to avoid doing any such thing. It had taken only a single lapse of judgement and he was trapped.

  ‘Swords will be fine,’ he agreed, thinking they were the lesser of two evils. A sabre cut was more easily cleaned than a pistol wound, but either could be deadly. ‘It is not my place to choose,’ he added.

  There was a moment of silence from Comstock, as if praying for strength. ‘The Code Duello. Of course. Not being a gentleman until recently, I’ve never had cause to read it. The challenged chooses the weapon to prevent the challenger from picking a fight, then using his strongest skill.’

  Benedict nodded.

  ‘I will apply some gentle pressure to Elmstead’s second to make sure he chooses what we want him to,’ Comstock said. ‘And I make no claims as to the quality of the weapons. I will ask Charity to choose the best two of them, since she played with them as a child.’

  ‘Played with swords?’

  Comstock shrugged. ‘The Stricklands are a most unusual family. Speaking of seconds, have you given thought to yours?’

  ‘Seconds,’ Benedict said numbly. The position should fall to his best friend. His best male friend, that was, for he could hardly expect Lenore to test weapons and negotiate for his honour. Now that he thought about it, he did not have a best male friend. He could think of damn few acquaintances that might do the job and no one at all in this party that he considered himself close to.

  But Comstock had been helping him to recover from the blow and working to minimise the mess he had made in issuing a challenge at all. He looked at the Earl. ‘You, I suppose.’ He thought for a moment. ‘If you will accept the job, that is.’

  ‘It will be a new experience for me,’ Comstock admitted. ‘But I will try to do my best. I suppose it is too much to hope that you will apologise to Elmstead and end this before it begins.’

  ‘I have nothing to apologise for,’ Benedict said.

  ‘An explanation, perhaps?’

  ‘Several,’ he admitted. ‘None of which I plan to share.’

  ‘A convincing lie?’

  ‘I never lie,’ Benedict said.

  ‘Your relationship with Lady Beverly?’

  ‘An omission of facts. Since I do not listen to gossip, I have no reason to correct it.’

  ‘You draw a fine line between truth and falsehood, Your Grace,’ Comstock said, with another shrug.

  ‘Probably true,’ he agreed. ‘But it is there, all the same. I will not apologise for something I did not do and I doubt Elmstead is going to take my word of honour that I did not bed his wife. I am afraid I will have to go through with it.’ Then he added, ‘I am sorry to be spoiling your party.’

  ‘I would not call it ruined,’ Comstock allowed. ‘Many of the guests are insisting that this is the most diverting week they have had all Season.’

  Ghouls. Abby had been right about the vicious nature of the people around them. He had ignored her and she had been right all along. ‘Then I hope I do not spoil their fun if I do not kill Elmstead,’ he said, as Comstock refilled the glass in his hand. ‘No matter how far this goes, I will not murder a man over a mistake.’

  ‘And if he decides to kill you?’

  It was an excellent question and one he did not yet have an answer to. As he took his first sip and considered it, there was a knock at the door.

  ‘That will be Miss Prescott,’ Comstock said with a smile. ‘I suspect she will be eager to speak to you about this.’

  ‘I would prefer to avoid that,’ he said, finally recognising his duty to protect her from the public gaze now that it was too late.

  ‘And I would prefer that my guests not draw each other’s blood. It appears we are both to be disappointed today, Your Grace,’ Comstock replied, finally out of patience. ‘You wish me to orchestrate mayhem and conceal it afterwards to protect the combatants from the law. But I will not settle your love life for you. You must do it yourself.’

  ‘Apologies,’ he said and held his glass up in a silent toast. ‘Let the lady in and send my regards to Elmstead.’

  ‘Of course.’ Comstock opened the door and, after a brief conversation, Abby entered and shut and locked it after her.

  * * *

  Was it a sign of how much she loved him, or simply an indication of excellent breeding that, bruised and bleeding, he was no less poised and elegant than he had been in London? He was sprawled in an armchair, glass in one hand, ice bag in the other, staring blankly out the window.

  It was an improvement on his earlier mood, for Benedict had been positively belligerent since he had come down to breakfast. After years of living under the tyrannical rule of her father, she did not find him all that fearsome. Then she reminded herself that it did not matter if she could live with his moods, since she had declared herself free of him just a few hours ago.

  ‘If you have come to tell me what an idiot I am, you needn’t have bothered. Comstock has done it already.’ Benedict took a sip from his glass without bothering to turn towards her. Whatever it contained was potent enough to make him wince as it touched his damaged lip.

  ‘You are not foolish,’ she said, forcing herself to remember that it was not
appropriate to kiss his wounds to soothe them, when she had been partly responsible. ‘You are simply too noble. All you must do is tell Elmstead what you were really doing last night. He will withdraw his accusation, apologise for the insult and the matter will be settled.’

  Benedict tried to laugh and winced again. ‘Put that idea out of your head this instant for it is not going to happen. Despite what you might feel about me, I...care far too much about you to do such a thing.’

  Had it been her imagination, or had he been about to say he loved her? It was unreasonable to expect such a thing after the way she’d treated him, but she could not help hoping. ‘If your life is in danger, what is the point of protecting something as flimsy as my reputation?’

  ‘Do not be so melodramatic. My life is not at risk,’ he said gruffly, taking another drink. ‘I do not intend to let Elmstead kill me over something I did not do, nor do I mean to kill him.’

  ‘And when you got up this morning, I doubt you meant to challenge someone to a duel,’ she snapped. ‘Accidents happen. Mistakes are made. You cannot predict the future and promise me that nothing will happen.’

  ‘I did last night,’ he reminded her.

  ‘And I did not believe you,’ she shot back. ‘But that was another matter entirely.’

  ‘Our future,’ he said. Though his expression was as stoic as ever, the lost tenderness had returned to his voice.

  ‘We are not talking about that,’ she said. ‘We are talking about right now. And I am not going to allow you to risk your life to protect my honour.’

  ‘Then we are at an impasse,’ he said, managing a gentle smile with his damaged mouth. ‘I will not ruin your life to protect my own. Especially since it has been pointed out to me that you were right all along.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘I should not have ignored the rumours that were spread about me, for they were what led to this circumstance. If people thought me above reproach, then I’d never have been accused.’ Then, his expression softened. ‘More importantly, I would not have lost you.’

  You did not lose me, she wanted to argue. I am right here. And yet, though she was only a few feet away from him, it felt like a distance of miles when she thought of how close they had been last night.

  ‘You would not have lost your temper if it weren’t for me either,’ she reminded him.

  ‘Do you blame yourself for your father’s outbursts?’ he asked.

  She considered for a moment. ‘No. His flaws are his own.’

  ‘Then do not take credit for mine,’ he said. ‘I thought that controlling my behaviour was the same as controlling my reputation. I thought that if I could control my emotions, they would not cause me trouble. It seems I was wrong on both counts.’

  ‘Your sudden self-awareness does little good at this point,’ she said, ‘if you are not willing to find a way out of this mess you have made.’

  ‘I have a way,’ he said, equally firm. ‘I will meet with him at dawn. We will exchange a few passes with the sword, I will draw a small amount of blood and honour will be satisfied.’

  ‘But if something goes wrong, you will die,’ she insisted.

  ‘Does it really matter so much if it does?’ He seemed surprised.

  ‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘Because I love you.’

  ‘And yet you will not marry me,’ he reminded her, his emotionless expression returning an hour too late to do them any good.

  ‘Love and marriage have very little to do with each other,’ she said. She had only to look at her parents to realise that.

  ‘And yet, for us, I had hoped it might be different.’ There was a softness in his voice as he said it, that made her want to crawl into his arms and never leave.

  ‘It still can be,’ she said, sitting on the divan beside him, so close that their legs were touching. ‘If you promise me that you will go to Elmstead and call a halt to this, I will accept your proposal. We will go to the village, just as you offered last night. Or Gretna. Anywhere you wish.’ Her skull throbbed at the thought of what the future might be. But if she had to, she would hide in whatever great house he took her to and never face society again. She would find a way to manage if only he were safe.

  He reached out to her, covering her hands with one of his. ‘Much as I appreciate the offer, I do not think it is possible to escape from the house. The least reason being that I tried to run away from you just this morning and could not manage to get to the end of the drive for all the mud.’

  He had been trying to leave her. If he did not want to be with her, what did she have to offer? ‘Tomorrow, then,’ she said. ‘We can be together.’

  He shook his head. ‘You cannot bribe me into crying off this duel. I was a fool to lose control when provoked, but neither can I apologise for something I did not do. Even if I could, the things you feared last night would still be present tomorrow. I have tainted our future with my carelessness, Abby, and I cannot for the life of me think of how to put it right.’

  ‘Suit yourself, then,’ she said, pulling her hands away from him. ‘If you truly loved me, you would know how precious your life is to me and would be less careless with it.’

  ‘It will be all right,’ he said again. It was neither a lie nor the truth, but the statement of a man who did not know what might happen, but had grown tired of arguing about the inevitable.

  * * *

  Her next visit was to the room beside the Tudor bedroom, the one she was sure must belong to Lady Beverly. If that woman was surprised to find her knocking at the door, she did not show it. She simply opened it and allowed her to enter.

  ‘Benedict is being an idiot,’ Abby said, pacing the rug in front of the bed and fighting the urge to rush back downstairs to find the Earl and demand he help.

  ‘All men are idiots over something,’ Lenore replied. ‘And Danforth is a fool for you. You are the reason he cannot explain himself. You know perfectly well where he was on the night in question.’

  ‘So does Lady Elmstead,’ Abby reminded her. ‘She knows he was not with her. Yet I did not hear her denying the affair.’

  ‘Her husband would not believe her if she did,’ Lenore replied. ‘And if he were to find out who she was really with, it might go even worse for her than another of his endless rages. Men sometimes respond with violence when they realise that their rival is a woman.’

  ‘You,’ Abby said.

  Lenore nodded. ‘I doubt Elmstead could call me out should she try to explain the matter. But it would be far more scandalous than duelling with a duke over her.’

  ‘Then how else can we keep them from fighting?’

  But the woman who had tricked her way through life and took great joy in thumbing her nose at convention had very little to offer. ‘Elmstead shows no sign of withdrawing, since he is sure he’s in the right. And you do not know Danforth very well if you think he will lie and apologise for something he did not do. Nor will he betray a confidence,’ Lenore added. ‘Your reputation is safe with him, whether you want it to be or not.’

  ‘Of course,’ Abby said, surprised to find that the thing she had most hoped for came at such a high price. ‘And if they do fight, what might happen?’

  ‘I doubt that anyone will die,’ Lenore replied, parroting the same hope that Benedict did. ‘Danforth is more than fair with a sword. He will not allow himself to be seriously injured. But he might be forced to defend himself.’

  ‘And if Elmstead dies?’

  ‘Duelling is illegal. And a peer can only be tried for murder in the House of Lords.’ Lenore considered for a moment. ‘But it would probably be easier if he decided to flee the country indefinitely.’

  ‘Flee?’

  ‘He might think that gossip does not matter. But the scandal will be such that he will not be welcomed in polite society. He will be blackballed from his clubs and his friends, such as they are,
will turn their backs on him.’

  Abby had already reconciled herself to the fact that she would not be seeing him again after the party had ended. But she had never imagined that he would not even be in the same country. ‘What are we going to do?’ she whispered.

  ‘Does it really matter to you so much, what happens to him?’ Lenore looked at her with surprise. ‘He has given you what you want: a future free from scandal. I doubt that anyone will notice you for the rest of your stay here, nor will your names be linked afterwards. No matter the results of the duel, it will be assumed that his lover was Lady Elmstead.’

  ‘I did not want my reputation restored at his expense,’ she said. ‘Or hers.’

  ‘Then you had best get used to your success,’ Lenore said, annoyed. ‘I cannot think of a single thing that will not make the matter worse.’

  ‘That has never prevented you from acting before,’ Abby stated. ‘He is in this mess because of your selfishness, just as much as mine. He is protecting your reputation as well. And now you mean to abandon him.’

  ‘As if you have not,’ Lenore retorted. ‘You have left him twice already, you know.’

  ‘Because I am not the one he wants,’ she blurted. ‘He needs someone stronger. Someone better. He needs a duchess.’

  ‘It is a pity we do not have one here to talk sense to him,’ Lenore said, eyeing her coldly. ‘But I doubt he would listen to her, should the perfect woman appear. He has been yours since the first moment he laid eyes on you. You are the only one who has the power to stop this. If you cannot, tomorrow, he will be totally alone. There is nothing the rest of us can do but wait for it to be over.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  It was Benedict’s understanding that duels were fought just after sunrise, in a field far from the prying eyes of one’s friends and neighbours. But he had no actual, practical experience on the subject. Until yesterday, he had been far too sensible to be involved in one, even as a second.