Lord Will & Her Grace

by Sophia Nash

  Mr. Farquhar gestured toward a willow tree, its long tendrils of leafy branches hung motionless in the still air. A group of three men and their horses stood beside it, examining something. The gentlemen looked up, as if sensing her gaze, and began collecting their affairs.

  "Oh, believe me, Miss Somerset, there will be," said Mr. Farquhar. "For when it comes to dueling, our Lord Will here has a natural inclination toward inducing these nasty affairs wherever he goes."

  "Farquhar," William said with an edge. He took her hand gently in his own while his valet toweled his face and began stitching the cut. "Sophie, my darling, you must go. It's getting light, and there may be other witnesses. You cannot let your name be sullied further by association."

  He moved his index finger to her mouth to quell her arguments. His expression was as serious as she had ever seen it. He winced with each stitch to his brow. "Go. I shall come to you very soon and then—well, we'll talk of the future." He stilled her lips again. "I promise to come directly."

  His gaze transferred to a small thick glass Mr. Farquhar held, filled, quite obviously, with spirits. "For the pain," the valet ordered dispassionately. "And to regain your nerve." William rose with their help and tossed back the contents of the glass. "Now go, Sophie."

  Sophie shook her head slowly and Mr. Farquhar made a sound of annoyance.

  The group from the tree strode toward them. Mr. Mornington, Lord Drummond and Jemmy joined them.

  The largest, and eldest, of the strangers addressed William. "You're not going to try and cry off, are you?" the man asked gruffly.

  Sophie had the strangest sensation he wanted William to answer in the affirmative.

  There was an awful pause.

  "As a matter of fact, sir," Sophie interjected, "I'll not let anyone fight in my honor. I refuse to allow a senseless spectacle over a pointless cause."

  The man looked at her brazenly. "Well, you're a fancy piece of work, aren't you? Trying to claim my daughter's honor as your own. Or did this rake tell you he was fighting for your honor, my dear? He's as wild and unscrupulous as they come."

  "What?" Sophie's hand grasped her neck in shock.

  "I hope you haven't let him sample the goods. But then, I suspect he has." The fat man leered at her bosom. "But I shan't cast the first stone. This rutting buck seduced and ruined my poor sweet daughter of only six and ten under my own roof not more than two months ago. And he'll be marrying my Penelope if I don't kill him today."

  The blood drained from Sophie's head and pooled in her fingertips.

  "Lord Tolworth," William said, while choosing a pistol from the carved wooden box Mr. Farquhar brought forth, "I've rarely encountered a man so willing to sully his own daughter's reputation. Are you planning to tell all of London your version of recent events or are you reserving these tidbits for my acquaintances only? By the by, I assume your affairs are in order, sir, to hand down to this unlicked cub nephew of yours?" He motioned to a level piece of ground nearby. "If so, let us get on with it."

  "Well!" Lord Tolworth sputtered in outrage. The slightest bit of fear blemished his countenance. The stout man's relations placed the second dueling pistol in his hands and urged him to the starting ground.

  "Sophie—" William turned to her. Despite his bruised face, and stitched brow, he looked every bit the charming, roguish scoundrel he ever was, if not more so.

  Sophie raised her hand to interrupt him. "No. Don't try to weasel your way out of this—this outrageous affair. I'll just ask you this—did you or did you not seduce the sixteen-year-old daughter of Lord Tolworth?"

  William reached for her hand. Sophie snatched it away from him. "Was this young girl in your bed or not, sir?"

  His intense gaze searched hers.

  "Well?" She paused; her body felt eerily light.

  "Yes," he said, quietly.

  "It would seem you are even more depraved than I imagined."

  "So it would seem," he said.

  "I have now only to be even more ashamed of my naiveté." Sophie stepped away and William grasped her wrist. She looked down at his hand and he released her instantly.

  "I shan't defend myself. I'd thought you knew me better or you wouldn't ask these questions." He looked at her with a cool expression.

  "Know you better? Why, I think I know you better than anyone, sir. More's the pity."

  "All right, my dears, I hate to intrude on this scintillating conversation but there is the slight matter of paterfamilias Tolworth over there. And I do believe the man is unhinged enough in his fear to shoot in this general direction if you"—Farquhar nodded to William—"do not make haste over there to kill him in the proper fashion."

  "Right," William said, never taking his gaze off Sophie.

  "And you," Farquhar said, grasping Sophie's arm. "If you have any grain of intelligence, you will return to your home to allow us male barbarians to pursue our bloodthirsty sport in peace. That is—if you know what is good for you, and Romeo here."

  Sophie was still reeling from the revelation of William's debauchery when Mr. Farquhar whistled to Lord Drummond. "Escort Miss Somerset from here, for God's sake. I'll take care of Coddington along with his man."

  It was only then, in the eerie morning light, that Sophie noticed Jack Farquhar was wearing the subdued clothes of a proper gentleman.

  William had the violent urge to retch for the first time in his life.

  "Steady," Jack said. "She's almost away."

  William opened his eyes and peered over his shoulder to watch that young blood, Lord Drummond, toss Sophie's tall and slender form into the saddle.

  "Did you remember to leave me something in your will, dear? Your new paisley waistcoat perhaps?" Jack said, tightening the bandage around Will's waist.

  It was difficult to breathe, let alone form a retort.

  "I shall be wearing it to your funeral if you don't pull yourself together, man."

  William raised his one good eyebrow.

  "That's more like it, duckling."

  "Farquhar…"

  "Ah, yes. Back to normal. Very good. And here comes Mr. Mornington, looking—well, not quite the thing."

  Mornington approached, one sleeve covered with Coddington's blood. "I think the cur just might survive, if he is lucky that is. But I doubt he'll be up to fighting anyone else for a long time." His friend's face was as white as a virgin's gown at Almack's.

  William made a decision and nodded to Farquhar. "You're my second this go round."

  Mornington opened his mouth to protest, thought the better of it and snapped it shut again.

  "Mornington, will you start us?" Will asked to help his friend regain his pride.

  William tried his legs and found they worked relatively well, considering. His head was an altogether different story. A wave of dizziness and pounding pain pierced his skull. At least his hands were steady. He had looked down to check. Tolworth would be a lucky man, then.

  "Don't embarrass me again, William," Jack Farquhar said quietly as they walked.

  "The insolence I endure knows no bounds, mon vieux."

  "I love it when you chastise me, my lord."

  He turned to stand back to back with the shorter man. William cocked his pistol, closed his eyes and raised his weapon to shoulder height, all the time breathing calmly, slowly, as deeply as his bandage would allow.

  Mornington's voice rang out. "Gentlemen, you shall take ten paces, turn and assume a position. I'll ask if you're both ready and you shall respond. Only then shall I count from one to three. At any time during the count you may fire. Whatever the outcome, honor shall be deemed to have been served."

  William opened his eyes and recognized the familiar calm, cool detachment he embodied each time he faced possible death.

  Tolworth's shoulders trembled. It served the bugger right.

  "Gentlemen, commence," Mornington said.

  The count rang out and at the requisite number each turned and their seconds moved aside, just out of range.

&
nbsp; William stood sideways, making the thinnest possible target. He closed one eye and looked down the length of his arm and pistol. Tolworth's girth made a fatal shot easy enough for even a child.

  "Ready?" shouted Mornington.

  Each man answered in the affirmative.

  "One…" said Mornington.

  With his half-closed eye, William watched Tolworth pull the trigger without a shot piercing the air. In panic, Tolworth tried the trigger again quickly. In his fear, it seemed the buffoon had forgotten to cock the pistol.

  The portly man lowered his weapon, his eyes filled with terror. William held his arm steady and refocused down the length of the barrel. Tolworth looked as scared as an aristo facing Madame Guillotine. Idiot.

  William lowered his gun. "Perhaps you would like to reconsider the choice of weapons, Tolworth? Or would you like me to allow you to try again, this time, of course, you would cock the pistol?"

  The man creaked in outrage, abruptly cocked his weapon and fired at William without taking time to aim.

  The ball screamed past, missing Will by many yards.

  "For shame…" Mornington shouted.

  "Dishonorable sod," Farquhar added.

  William narrowed his eyes in disgust, and suppressed the nearly irresistible urge to kill the man. His arm flew out to his side to keep Farquhar from firing.

  Slowly, William raised his arm and pistol to eye level and delighted in watching Tolworth squirm. After nearly ten seconds, he lifted his arm and discharged his shot into the heavens.

  Sophie settled herself onto the thin, high-backed wooden chair and looked about her aunt's elegant sitting room. An awkward silence hung in the air while the servants departed the room after dismissal. For the first time Mrs. Crosby was without her embroidery.

  "I've asked you here as I've something of importance to say, my dear." Aunt Rutledge looked her most formidable, half reclining on her dull blue velvet divan. "It has come to my attention that an apology is in order."

  That made Sophie sit up. Her aunt owning to the necessity of an apology? Oh—perhaps she was requiring an apology from Sophie. She slid back down. It was to be expected. Lord Drummond had warned that a scandal of gargantuan proportions would brew after yesterday's show. It triggered his second impassioned plea for her hand during the ride back to Mayfair.

  She had almost capitulated. Almost. In fact, she would have if only he had, for one moment, had a certain humorous gleam in his eye.

  Oh, it was ridiculous. She was ridiculous.

  "Sophie," her aunt continued, "it has been brought to my attention there was a duel, or rather a pair of duels, fought yesterday, at least one of which was to defend your honor. I must say, I'm not surprised given the outrageous nature of your antics and the young, hot-blooded scallywags inhabiting town these days. But I had warned you—"

  "I realize it was my fault, Aunt," Sophie said.

  "I'm not in the habit of being interrupted, miss," her aunt said, stony faced.

  Silence and impending disinheritance loomed large.

  Mrs. Crosby cleared her throat.

  "I'm getting to it, Gladys," her aunt said. "Your impatience is insupportable. I don't know what has gotten into you of late."

  "Trying to change the subject are we?" Mrs. Crosby said softly.

  Aunt Rutledge blustered and Sophie had the urge to giggle. One simply did not quarrel with Aunt Rutledge.

  "As I was saying…" The grand dame actually blushed and halted.

  "Yes?" asked Mrs. Crosby.

  "Well, I suppose I'll waste less time if I just go directly to the heart of the matter. I've decided to leave all of my considerable fortune to you when I die, Sophie, as it seems improbable you'll attain the requirements for inheritance of the Cornwallis dukedom by the date of the final disposition."

  "What?" Sophie half rose from her chair.

  "It's also in my power to grant you the title to Villa Belza, according to the terms of my brother's will, as it is unentailed property built during his lifetime. But the late duke made it clear that if you did not marry a member of the aristocracy, approved by me, the villa and a small stipend to support you and the residence would be the only portion I could bestow."

  Dazed, Sophie sank back onto the uncomfortable chair. "But, Aunt, I don't understand. I thought you'd be furious and would disinherit me. Why haven't you ordered me back to Wales?"

  "My dear," the old lady said, her eyes softening, "there have been some misunderstandings and I wish to set everything to rights before I die."

  "Why, you will outlive us all," Sophie said and grinned at Mrs. Crosby.

  Mrs. Crosby cleared her throat again.

  "Oh, all right, Gladys. I know I'll not have a moment's peace until I say what you've determined must be said."

  Mrs. Crosby smiled and nodded.

  Her aunt sighed heavily and pleated her plump, jewel-encrusted hands. "Lord Coddington's father called on me this morning. It seems… well, it seems the young cub—"

  "The bounder, don't you mean, Agnes?" Mrs. Crosby interrupted.

  "Quite right. The bounder made some despicable comments about you and overstepped himself during the masquerade. It's all the talk at the gentlemen's clubs, along with the duels. It also seems he lost a small fortune while gaming at cards. His father, with whom I have a—a longstanding acquaintance"—and here the old lady paused in embarrassment—"felt it his duty to inform me and to apologize for his son's behavior. He promised a call from Lord Coddington who will make known to you his apologies once he has recovered sufficiently. His father has decided to send the boy to East India until… well, as he put it, 'until the sun cooks the ugliness from his soul.' "

  Her aunt looked miserable.

  "Don't despair, Aunt. I'm sure I deserved whatever he said about me."

  "No, I shan't be made to feel better. It was I who tried to force the match, and I who failed to see that the boy was not as he should have been. Not at all like… Well, it doesn't matter now."

  Mrs. Crosby picked up her embroidery bag and fished for her needlework. Only the sounds of carriages driving past the townhouse and a distant door being shut filled the silence.

  "Does this mean I may leave London?" Sophie asked. "That I won't have to marry?"

  "Well, yes. Although you'll have to choose a companion to live with you after your cousin marries." Her aunt glanced at Mrs. Crosby. "I would prefer you find happiness in a marriage, my dear, although I shan't force the issue. Perhaps you'll choose to wait a year until this latest piece of madness is replaced by a new on-dit. What we need to turn the ton's attention is a little kidnapping…"

  Sophie almost choked.

  Her aunt cleared her throat and began again. "Perhaps not. But I hope you'll reconsider the idea of an eventual marriage. Perhaps you have someone in mind—"

  "No."

  "Lord Drummond? Or perhaps the Marquis Dalrymple, the Duke of Isleton or even, Mr. Hornsby?"

  At the mention of each name, Sophie shook her head.

  "I'd thought as much, hence my decision," her aunt said. "I want to see you happy again, my dear. It's the least I can do."

  Sophie looked down at her hands before meeting her aunt's contemplative gaze again.

  "I never approved of the family's decision to ostracize your father over his marriage. You know—he was my favorite. And Lord knows I admired his courage in going against our parent's wishes. I only wish I'd had the same.… Ah, well, never mind "

  Sophie couldn't get her mind and mouth to function.

  "I tell you this because I don't want you to make a mistake that will affect your happiness forever. Don't deny your heart, Sophie." Her aunt looked at her shrewdly. "I understand Lord William was your ardent defender."

  At Lord Will's name she regained her tongue. "That man is a greater scoundrel than Lord Coddington."

  "I hadn't known Lord Will was in town," her aunt continued. "You couldn't have found a more elusive catch. His father, the Marquis of Granville, holds one of the oldes
t and most respected titles in England. He was quite the social arbitrator in my day, a stickler of the first order. The marquis's strange disappearance cast a pall over his family's name to be sure. The elder son has grown rather wild, I hear. I know little about the younger."

  "The older brother's indiscretions couldn't possibly surpass those attached to Lord Will's name." Sophie paused. "I wouldn't have him if he were… Well, suffice it to say I became acquainted with the man in Burnham-by-the-Sea and hope never be forced into his presence again."

  "Thou protest too much, my dear," her aunt said with a wicked gleam in her watery eyes.

  Sophie forced herself to smile.

  "I'm sorry I never met your mother, Sophie. If she possessed half your fortitude and beauty, I understand now your father's willingness to exile himself from the rest of us."

  Sophie tried to lighten the mood in the room with a change of subject. "Well, it seems we've a happy event to plan, one my mother would have enjoyed. Shall we retreat to Villa Belza to prepare for Mari's wedding? And through your generosity, Aunt Rutledge, I'll live not five miles from my cousin for the rest of my life. I couldn't have envisioned a more contented future for myself or for Mari. We shall be everything happy, always. And the best part of all is that I can stop this odious search for a tonnish husband and revert to my true nature."

  It would be heavenly to drop her mask—although maybe not quite so simple to slip back into the skin of the sweet, gullible girl she had been. No, she felt rather half-dead to the world truth be told. She glanced down at the impressive display of her bosom. Karine had spent the better part of a half hour corseting, powdering and displaying it in all its ample femininity. How wonderful it would be to go back to loose-fitting dresses with fichus. The ladies and gentlemen of London had seen their fill of Cornwallis flesh and would see no more. She pulled the ends of her shawl about her shoulders.

  Chapter Twelve