“It is not a matter that can be worked out,” he said, trying not to show how touched he was by her anger.
“How can that be? You are not lord and master of Whitby! People may come here as they choose – even Vincent, curse him!”
“It was not the mere fact of his being in Whitby that led me to call him out.”
“Then what? What could it possibly be?” Grace moved back to him, looking as though she did not know whether to shake him or clutch him to her. “Charlie, you don’t know Vincent. He will cut you to ribbons!”
“I think I can handle myself against any enemy,” said Charlie stiffly. Grace shook her head.
“But the risk – the awful risk! What if you are killed?”
“There was nothing else for it,” said Charlie. “His insult… was a grave one.” Not for all the world would he let Grace discover what Seabury had threatened. She was distressed enough already.
“And what if you kill Vincent?” Grace demanded, in a shaky voice. “Is whatever he said truly worth his life?”
“To me, it is,” Charlie answered immediately. Grace turned her face away from him. He could only guess at her expression.
“Well,” she said slowly, “I tell you now that it is not. Vincent must not be killed over a petty insult, and you would be a fool to fight him. Charlie, I insist that you call off the duel.”
“Impossible!”
“Then it is equally impossible for me to marry you,” said Grace, with dreadful calm.
Charlie felt for a minute that he was back on the battlefield, and a cannonball had caught him full in the chest. He gasped. He had never known that words could hurt the way bullets did. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do.” Grace turned back to him, fire and fear mingling in her eyes. “If you duel Vincent Seabury, I will call off our engagement.”
“Grace, you can’t!” A dreadful suspicion rose in Charlie’s chest. He knew it did him no credit, but he was wounded, and Grace was so fearfully calm. “What is his life to you, that you prize it above your own reputation?”
“His life?”
“You are not –” Charlie stumbled over the words. “Grace, tell me you are not in love with that monstrosity.”
The fire went out of her immediately, replaced with an icy chill. “You think I am in love with Vincent?”
“I don’t know what to think,” said Charlie, wishing he had not said anything. “If you felt something for me, you would trust me to prevail against him. You would not doubt my skill! You would –”
“I would be a blind fool to think so,” snapped Grace. “Is that what love is to you, Charlie? Blindness? Abandonment of all common sense?” She lowered her eyes. “How foolish to talk of love. We both know that you are marrying me for Greenfields.”
Charlie was struck dumb. What Grace said was true: regardless of his feelings for her now, he had proposed with only Greenfields in mind. In the normal way of things, they might have been on their way to engagement – but he certainly would not yet have proposed, unsure of her heart as he was.
He did not know that his silence was the most damning response he could have given.
Grace gave a great shuddering breath, pressed a hand to her chest, and said, “So. There it is. Do not trouble yourself. I am well-practised in what comes next.”
Charlie felt it coming too, with a heavy inevitability that seemed to drag them further apart with each passing second. Everything within him screamed to fight against it, but Grace spoke before he could muster his scattered thoughts.
“I regret to tell you that I am no longer able to accept your kind offer. I hope we can remain friends.” This last was said so bitterly that he was certain she did not mean a word of it. Grace made a stiff curtsy. “Give my regards to your sister. Please apologise to her for my leaving so abruptly.”
Too late, Charlie found his voice. He darted forwards and seized her arm. “Grace –”
“Unhand me, Captain Everly,” she said coolly. “I admit that I am sorry for you. I know how you love your old home. Well, if my father can be persuaded to sell it, it shall be done. Now, let me go. I have made up my mind.”
Charlie could not bring himself to hold her back against her will. He relinquished his grip and watched her leave, his heart pounding in his chest, the blood roaring in his ears. He had felt this way in the midst of certain battles, deep in the heart of Spain. To feel the same mixture of terror and pain and madness here, now, in the domestic calm of his sister’s house, was bewildering. There was no enemy to attack. There was only Grace, walking away. Leaving him.
“I heard raised voices,” said Alison, coming back into the room. “Is something the matter? Where is Miss Rivers?”
“Oh, Alison,” groaned Charlie, collapsing into a chair. He let his head fall into his hands and thought perhaps he would never raise it again. “I have ruined everything!”
9
Dawn found Charlie and Henshaw at the top of Cleve Hill, dressed sombrely in black greatcoats against the early morning chill. Henshaw carried a case containing two duelling swords, which he had procured from a friend in Whitby. The doctor arrived promptly, bowed to Charlie, spoke a few words to Henshaw, and withdrew to sit on a nearby log with a grim expression. Charlie let his eye linger on the doctor’s black leather bag, bulging with mysterious equipment. The screams of the wounded in Spain sprung up all too easily in his memory. He could only hope that this doctor was a fast worker, for all his lack of wartime experience.
The sky had been a dull grey when they arrived; not precisely dark, but glowing with an untraceable source of light. Now, slowly, the eastern edge of the sky began to glow, turning shades of pink and gold. Charlie watched it indifferently, quite unable to appreciate its beauty.
“If you like,” said Henshaw, “I will speak to Seabury’s second in very strong terms. He may well be persuaded to withdraw…whatever it is that this is all about.”
Charlie caught the note of disapproval in Henshaw’s tone. “You think I ought not to fight?”
“I think it is not worth losing Miss Rivers over,” said Henshaw.
Charlie privately thought he was right – if it were not for the still greater damage Seabury might do, left unchecked. He gave Henshaw no answer. His thoughts were in too great a turmoil to form a coherent response.
He turned his face back to the horizon, thinking of Grace, and replayed their last argument in his head until he felt dizzy with it. It was hardly the best preparation for a duel, but he could not stop his own words repeating in his mind. What a dashed fool he had been, to ask her if she was in love with Seabury! The natural conclusion was that her concern was for Charlie himself. Why hadn’t he seen it at the time?
He had been so puffed up with manly pride, so set on defending her honour at all costs, that he had forgotten his promise. His first duty was to make her happy.
And the cold way she had reminded him that his only object was Greenfields…
It cut at his soul.
He ought, of course, to have taken her in his arms, kissed away her doubts, and told her that it was no longer true. That she was more to him than Greenfields could ever be. And yet…
Charlie was not given to self-loathing, but he truly hated himself now. Given the choice between Grace and Greenfields, which would he choose? And what did it say of his character that he did not know?
“The sun is well up, gentlemen,” said the doctor. He spoke mildly enough, but his expression made it clear that he was thinking of the hours he might have spent in bed.
“My opponent is not a local,” said Charlie. “He may be lost on his way. Please, stay a little while longer.”
The doctor sat down, muttering under his breath. Henshaw drummed his fingers on the sword case.
“It’s well past dawn,” he said. “It would not be wise to fight a duel in broad daylight, when anyone might pass by on the road. Perhaps he isn’t coming?”
“Don’t tempt me to think so,” answered Charlie. “Ten more m
inutes. By that time, we will be risking arrest if we go ahead with it.”
They waited the ten minutes out. Charlie envied Henshaw his natural calm. He looked as idle as though he were leaning against the fireplace in his own drawing room. Charlie, on the other hand, had begun to pace up and down restlessly.
Before the ten minutes were up, the doctor got to his feet again and gathered up his bag. “Gentlemen, I must insist! It is clear that the other man has cried off.”
Henshaw checked his pocket watch. “We will give him three more minutes. If you do not wish to stay –”
“I have other patients to attend to, you know! Real patients, who did not inflict their injuries on each other for the sake of a young man’s pride,” said the doctor, eyeing Charlie severely.
“Three more minutes, sir, if you will,” said Henshaw easily. The doctor sat back down.
The minutes ticked by.
The sun warmed the air until Charlie was obliged to shrug off his greatcoat.
Seabury did not appear.
Henshaw must have been a little tense, for he counted down the final seconds on his watch. “There!” he said, tucking it back into his pocket. “I think we can leave the field with honour, Charlie.”
“I take it my services will not be required?” asked the doctor acidly. Henshaw paid him for his time and thanked him more profusely than the situation required. He stood with Charlie on the rise of Cleve Hill as they watched the doctor’s carriage roll away.
“What now, my young firebrand?” asked Henshaw, throwing his arm around Charlie’s shoulders. “I myself am in need of a fine breakfast. I must say that I don’t care for all this standing around before sun-up.”
“What a dog Seabury is!” Charlie exclaimed. “I thought at least he might have the courage to stand by his words. When I think of Grace marrying such a cur…” He stopped. “Henshaw, can you bear a detour before you get your breakfast?”
Henshaw groaned. “I see what you’re about. Do you suppose old man Rivers serves bacon at Greenfields?”
Charlie clapped him on the back by way of response and darted off to his curricle, where the two grey horses stood pawing the ground, eager for a sprint.
Henshaw clutched his hat and complained of the speed the whole way to Greenfields, but Charlie paid him no heed. He knew these roads intimately, after all, and there were no surprise twists or potholes to bring them to grief. When Henshaw begged him to at least stop at the Swan so that they might face their task well-nourished, Charlie simply shook his head and told him that Grace was an early riser. They arrived at Greenfields before the sun had climbed much further, and were shown directly into the drawing room by a politely surprised Carlton.
To Charlie’s chagrin, it was not Grace who came in to receive them, but Mr Rivers.
“Disappointed, are you?” the old man asked, rubbing his long fingers together. “I am afraid I must disappoint you further. My daughter is no longer here.”
“Not here?” Charlie asked, looking around as though he expected Grace’s face to appear in the wallpaper. “When will she be back?”
“If I have my way – never!” Mr Rivers sat back in his high-backed armchair, a lemon sourness twisting his mouth. “She has disgraced herself again. I thought my influence might be enough to tame her, but it seems even I cannot bring her to heel. I’ve sent her back to her mother.”
“London!” gasped Charlie. “Henshaw, we must –”
“You are going to ask me to depart immediately, and I am going to refuse,” said Henshaw. He had his eyes fixed on Mr Rivers, a glow of suspicion within them. “There is more to discover here, I think.” He took a seat, and gestured for the impatient Charlie to follow suit.
“So Grace told you that our engagement was at an end?” asked Charlie. He was hardly able to keep still; every muscle in his body was crying out to jump back in the curricle and make the long drive to London.
“You can well imagine my disgust,” said Mr Rivers, looking at Charlie contemptuously. “What am I to do with such a daughter? She could not even keep an Everly!”
“Easy, now,” breathed Henshaw, as indignation flared in Charlie’s chest.
“I don’t know that I like your tone, sir!”
“Very likely you don’t. But we are not on a Spanish campaign now, Captain, and your wild deeds count for nothing against your father’s disgrace.”
Charlie was primed to make a heated response, but caught Henshaw’s eye in time and kept his silence.
“To see my own blood casting herself away on the son of the man I ruined!” sneered Mr Rivers. “If there had been any other option, I would have taken it in an instant. But Grace will be her own mistress, and has no idea of the proper way to conduct herself, it seems.”
“You admit, then, that you ruined my father?” asked Charlie. He thought he had never spoken so calmly in his life.
“If old Everly had possessed a crumb of business sense, it would not have been so easy. But he relied on my judgement, of course. And I saw to it…” Rivers stopped abruptly. “A story for another time, perhaps. You gentlemen are in a hurry.”
“I think we can spare the time for this,” said Henshaw. Rivers laughed.
“There’s no great conspiracy! Only a gullible fool who did not deserve to be the head of the prime family in Whitby.” He gestured mockingly at the walls of Greenfields House. “I may not have much to brag about in terms of family, I admit, but I have assumed my rightful place.”
“You black-hearted thief!” Charlie shouted, rising to his feet. Rivers laughed.
“Thief? But it was all perfectly legal. Your father was even foolish enough to be grateful when he signed his lands over to me. I was his saviour, don’t you see?”
“And his murderer, too!” Charlie took a step towards Rivers, not knowing what he might do if Henshaw was not there to check him. “You drove my father to his death!”
“Poor business advice never killed a man,” shrugged Rivers. If he was alarmed by the violence of Charlie’s anger, he did not show it. “Your father died of his own accord.”
“You will find this Everly less easy to manipulate,” Charlie growled. Rivers looked him up and down, evidently displeased by what he saw.
“I am sure you are right. It matters little, however. I am master of Greenfields now, not you. And I see now that you would have made me a very poor son-in-law.”
“That is between Grace and myself,” said Charlie. “She is of age. I’ll show you the sort of son I’ll be!”
“A better one, I trust, than you were to your father,” said Rivers, smiling thinly. “But I fear you will not have the opportunity to prove it to me, at any rate. Gentlemen, I am tiring of this visit. I have no desire to sit and be insulted in my own home. Carlton! Show these gentlemen out, if you will.”
Charlie was almost overcome with the desire to ask Henshaw for the duelling blades there and then. But he had more pressing business to attend to than Grace’s impudent father.
His business was Grace herself.
He did not at all like what Rivers had implied about his opportunity to marry her. And suddenly, without Charlie fully realising what had happened to him, the need to see Grace and take her back in his arms eclipsed the insult to his family name, the loss of Greenfields, and the smirk on her father’s face.
He surprised the life out of Henshaw when he made Rivers a cold bow and said, “Come along, Henshaw. It is past time for us to leave.”
He had work to do – and Mr Rivers’s treachery could be addressed once his most important task was complete.
10
News travelled fast in society, but it had not yet reached the quiet little sitting room of Mrs Henrietta Rivers’s house in London. Grace knew that her unexpected arrival the night before was a shock to her mother. More shocking still was that her mother would find her quite different from the proud, defiant daughter who had been sent unwillingly to Whitby-on-the-Water. She was doing her best to be cheerful, and had gone through the motion
s of sending a note to all her London friends, but her spirits were as low as they had ever been. Mrs Rivers must have noticed.
On that particular morning, there was an additional source of misery for Grace to endure. Her first morning caller in London was not the amusing Miss Farrowday, nor even the witty Miss Smith, but the one person she had no wish to see ever again.
“I cannot thank you enough for receiving me,” said Vincent Seabury, crossing one leg over the other and making himself quite at home. Grace shot a pleading glance at her mother, who nodded her understanding at once. Satisfied that she would not suffer the indignity of being left alone with Vincent, Grace was able to muster a polite smile.
“I did say that we would remain friends, Mr Seabury. I intend to keep my word.”
“And I am glad of it.” Vincent offered her an oily smile. “I returned to London only this morning, Miss Rivers, in the certain hope that I would be well-received. In fact, I called for my carriage the very moment I heard your sad news.”
“News, sir?” Grace’s heart sank. She had hoped to ease the pain of her disappointment by talking it over with her friends long before she was compelled to assume a brave face.
Vincent leaned in closer. “You have suffered another embarrassment, my dear girl.”
Grace lowered her eyes and made no comment. She knew that if she looked at Vincent’s face a moment longer, she was likely to be rude.
“Fear not!” he said, reaching out for her hand. She carefully moved it away from him. “I have the perfect remedy to your situation.”
“I doubt that very much,” said Grace archly.
“Then I will have the good fortune of surprising you!” Vincent laid his hand back on his knee, unperturbed by her discomfort. “Miss Rivers, let me do you the honour of telling you that my offer to you still stands.”
Grace could not help but look at him then. For a moment she was speechless with amazement. “You – you wish to marry me?”
“I can think of nothing that would suit me better,” said Vincent. “We shall set the date at your convenience.”
The Duke, the Earl and the Captain Page 10