To Write a Wrong

by Jen Turano

Thomas arched a brow. “Do you really think a fight between us would be fair, Jack? I’m decidedly outnumbered. Five to one.”

  “And you think what you obviously were trying to do to Daphne was in any way fair?”

  “As I said, she was more than willing.”

  Herman’s rage increased, and it took a Herculean effort to control it, but as he drew in a deep breath, the perfect solution to deal with Thomas sprang to mind, one inspired by an unlikely event at his house party. He nodded to Jack.

  “Thomas has a point. He is outnumbered, and we, unfortunately, are gentlemen, born and bred to adhere to certain rules, if you will.” He began stripping one of his dress gloves from his hand. “Obviously, as gentlemen, we need to proceed with an air of civility.” He strode directly in front of Thomas, smiled, then slapped Thomas across the face with his glove. “I demand satisfaction.”

  Thomas took a step backward. “Are you challenging me . . . to a duel?”

  “Indeed.” Herman looked to Cooper. “You’ll be my second?”

  “It would be an honor.”

  Thomas rubbed a hand over his face where a red mark had already begun to form. “Duels are illegal.”

  “True,” Herman agreed. “You’ll need a second as well.”

  Thomas blinked before he nodded to Jack. “You can be my second.”

  “Are you out of your mind?” Jack demanded. “You tried to ruin my sister. The last person on earth I’d stand in for would be you.”

  Thomas turned to Arthur. “You can do it, then.”

  “He really has taken leave of his senses,” Arthur said. “My answer is the same as Jack’s, a resounding no.”

  “And don’t even bother asking me,” Frank said. “Although I think Herman is going to have to stand aside, because Daphne is my sister and I demand satisfaction for her honor.”

  “But since I’m the eldest brother, Arthur, you’re going to have to stand aside because it should be me who meets him at dawn,” Jack said.

  “It’ll be me,” Herman said, stepping closer to Jack. “I was the one who caught him trying to dishonor Daphne, and because I intend to . . .”

  “Intend to what?” Jack asked when Herman stopped talking.

  “I can’t say more about that, not now, but I’ll be the one to meet Thomas at dawn.” He caught Jack’s eye. “You may arrange the particulars, and I’ll need someone to find me a rapier.”

  “A rapier?” Thomas repeated.

  “Seems a fitting weapon of choice, although I believe I’m supposed to allow you to choose the weapons, at least according to research I did on duels for a previous book. However, because duels aren’t a usual event these days, I don’t believe I’ll allow you to choose the weapon, so rapiers it’ll be.”

  Thomas eyed Herman up and down. “We seem to be of a size, but I warn you, I’m an expert on the fencing field.”

  “How delightful. So am I.” Herman inclined his head. “We’ll duel until first blood.”

  “Not death?”

  “There’s no guarantee with duels, Mr. Sibley, and rapiers, after all, are deadly weapons.” Herman turned to Jack. “Cooper can help with arrangements. But now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get to Daphne.”

  He headed for the door, looking over his shoulder at Thomas, who was looking pale, as well as wary, probably because he was being stared down by all three of Daphne’s brothers, as well as Cooper. “At dawn, Mr. Sibley. Don’t be late.”

  CHAPTER

  Twenty-Five

  Readjusting the cool cloth her mother had placed on her forehead, Daphne summoned up a smile for Lydia, who’d been holding her hand when she’d finally come to and had not let go of that hand since. “I’m fine, Lydia. Truly.”

  “You don’t look fine. You look pasty.”

  “Lydia, what a thing to say to your sister,” Clara said, hurrying into the room with a fresh basin of water, which she promptly set down on the floor beside the fainting couch Daphne was resting on. She plucked the cloth from Daphne’s forehead, plopped it into the water, then slapped it over Daphne’s face, giving her a bit of a drenching in the process.

  “Forgive me, Mrs. Beekman, but I’m afraid you’re going to drown your poor daughter,” Eunice said from her position at the end of the fainting couch.

  “It’s fine, Eunice. The water’s actually rather refreshing, and I much prefer water to smelling salts,” Daphne said, lifting the cloth from her eyes and then squinting as the blurry face of her mother met her gaze. “And while I appreciate the fussing, Mother, I get the distinct impression you’re about to suffer from your own case of the vapors. As I told Lydia, I’m fine. You should get comfortable in your favorite chair, put up your feet, and try to collect your nerves.”

  “You know I always fuss when I’m distressed, and that state isn’t going to go away until you’re able to tell us what happened to you.”

  “She only just came out of her swoon fifteen minutes ago, Mother,” Lydia pointed out. “I wouldn’t think Daphne will be up for an inquisition on your part for at least another hour.”

  “I think it will be best for everyone if I explain what happened now, Lydia, although if you could locate my spectacles for me, I’d appreciate that. It’ll be difficult enough for me to explain what happened without wondering what type of expressions my words are garnering.”

  A blink of an eye later, Lydia was putting Daphne’s spectacles on her, and a second after that, the room came into focus. It came as no surprise when Daphne found her mother, sister, and Eunice, who’d abandoned her veils, gazing back at her with clear concern on their faces.

  “Perhaps I should keep the spectacles off,” she muttered right as her father stepped into the room, his hair in disarray, which spoke volumes regarding the state of his nerves.

  Burton moved to kneel beside her, taking hold of her hand. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m much better, Father, thank you—so much so that I’m ready to tell you what happened to me, which resulted in what I have to think was one of my more spectacular swoons to date.”

  “Are you certain you’re up for talking about it?” Burton pressed.

  “Frankly, I’d prefer never to speak about it, but that would hardly be fair to any of you.”

  Clara sent a pointed look to Lydia. “I’m afraid, my dear, that you’re going to have to repair to your room now.”

  Lydia raised her chin. “Absolutely not. Daphne’s my sister. I want to know what happened to her.”

  “I’m sure you do, but you’re a young lady barely out of the schoolroom. I’m quite convinced that what your sister is about to disclose is not appropriate for you to hear. You’ll repair to your room, and I’ll hear no argument about that.”

  “Fine,” Lydia said, leaning forward to give Daphne a kiss on the forehead before she dipped her head closer. “I’ll be right outside the room if you need me.”

  “There will be no eavesdropping,” Clara said, earning a huff from Lydia before she rose to her feet and marched out of the library.

  “I’m not sure it’s in Lydia’s best interest to be ordered out of the room,” Daphne said, struggling upright on the fainting couch before she leaned against the frame, the cloth her mother had slapped over her face sliding down to her chin. She pulled it off and caught her mother’s eye. “What happened to me could, regrettably, happen to Lydia someday. She’d be better prepared if she weren’t kept in the dark about such matters.”

  “And I’ll speak with Lydia about what happened to you later, but for now, I need to concentrate on you, not on Lydia, who would certainly become distressed over what I fear you’re about to disclose.”

  Daphne inclined her head. “In the interest of making this easier for you, Mother, I suppose it is for the best that she’s not here. However, I don’t believe young ladies are well served being sheltered from the realities of life. It leaves them far too naïve and vulnerable to what can happen when a young lady least expects it. Lydia needs to understand the dangers that are lurking
just around the corner for her, dangers she might be better prepared to handle and react to if she’s not kept in the dark because of the assumption that it’s indecorous for young ladies to know what can occur at the hands of unscrupulous men.”

  “And, again, I’ll speak to her. You may even join us if you’re worried I won’t be direct enough.”

  “I think I’ll take you up on that offer,” Daphne said, blowing out a breath. “And now, I suppose this is where I begin a story that I, even as a storyteller, have no desire to recount. Before I begin, though, I’m going to say that I have to thank the good Lord above for Herman, because if he’d not been at the ball tonight, I fear my reputation—not to mention my life—would now be in tatters.”

  “My intervention would have been timelier if I’d reached you sooner.”

  Daphne’s attention shot to the doorway as Herman strode into the room. Her first thought was that he looked dangerous, with his tie undone, his hair decidedly messy, and his eyes glittering with what seemed to be anger. As he strode closer, the glittering softened, and by the time he reached her, concern was the only emotion left in his eyes as he knelt by the side of the fainting couch, her father having removed himself to stand beside Clara. He took her hand and gave it a squeeze.

  “Nice to see you awake,” he began. “Dare I trust you’re all right?”

  “It’s nice to be awake. From what I’ve been told, I was out for quite some time. As for how I am, as I’ve stated to everyone numerous times, I’m fine. Annoyed with myself for fainting because I thought I was getting over that pesky business, but fine just the same.”

  “You shouldn’t be annoyed over fainting, Daphne. You experienced a traumatic incident,” Herman said, surprising her when he raised her fingers to his lips and gave them a kiss, one that left her feeling light-headed, or more light-headed than she’d been feeling, until she caught a glimpse of his knuckles.

  “Why are your knuckles bruised?”

  “They came into contact with Thomas Sibley’s face numerous times.”

  “Did they really?”

  “I’m sorry, but did Herman just say he hit Thomas Sibley?” Burton asked before Herman could do more than smile at her again.

  Daphne pulled her attention away from Herman’s face, quite the feat because he was regarding her warmly and she had the strangest feeling she could actually drown in his eyes, and not drown like what she’d experienced on the Hudson or how she’d felt when her mother had slapped that cold cloth over her face.

  “Am I correct in thinking that Daphne has yet to disclose what happened to her?” Herman asked, drawing Daphne from her thoughts of drowning, and eyes, and Herman—well, not really because it was difficult to not think about Herman, given that he’d just saved her once again.

  She cleared her throat. “I’ve not told them yet, but before we get into that nasty business, I need to thank you for saving me once more. You seem to make that a habit, even though I’m the one who was supposed to save you from a murderer.”

  Herman gave her fingers another kiss. “It’s my pleasure to save you, Daphne, although I don’t believe I’d mind if you’d avoid troubling situations for the foreseeable future. But as for you saving me, that’s not what you were supposed to do at all. You were supposed to figure out who wanted to murder me. Cooper was then supposed to save me from being murdered.”

  “That’s just semantics.”

  “It’s not, and I’m not certain you’re actually using the word semantics properly, although I might be wrong about that.”

  Daphne frowned as she considered the matter. “No, you might be spot-on, but I won’t know for certain until I can consult my dictionary.”

  Eunice gave a bit of a snort. “Is this really the moment for the two of you to descend into a conversation regarding words and their proper uses?”

  “There are no wrong moments to discuss words,” Daphne argued. “Although I suppose we could delay that particular conversation until after we explain what happened this evening.” She returned her attention to Herman. “With that said, though, did you just challenge me over the use of semantics as a way to decrease the level of anxiety I’m feeling over having to talk about the events of this evening?”

  “Did it work?”

  Her lips began to curve. “Surprisingly enough, it did.”

  “Good.”

  Once again she found herself in danger of drowning in the cool depths of Herman’s eyes, even as the curious thought sprang to mind that if she continued thinking in terms of drowning in a person’s eyes, she might have to consider trying her hand at a romance novel. Romance novels always seemed to have the heroine drowning in the hero’s eyes. They also usually included somewhere in the pages such things as the hero becoming very dear to the heroine, and there was no question that Herman had become very dear to her. But more importantly, he didn’t seem bothered by her many quirks and idiosyncrasies, which could surely act as a source of inspiration for her if she decided to change genres.

  “Perhaps she’s still suffering effects from her swoon,” Daphne heard Clara say. “She’s acting quite unlike her usual self. Her eyes seem somewhat unfocused—or perhaps dreamy would be a better way to describe them.”

  Daphne tore her gaze from Herman. “I fear I’m not quite myself just yet, but I’m sure I wasn’t looking dreamy. However, that has nothing to do with the situation at hand, and all of you must be waiting on pins and needles for an explanation.” She nodded to Clara. “It may be for the best if you were to take a seat. You as well, Father.”

  As her parents settled themselves on a settee, Daphne gave Herman’s hand a squeeze. “Will you help fill in the places I’m a little fuzzy about?”

  “Of course.”

  Gripping his hand tightly, Daphne drew in a breath and began to speak. No one interrupted her as she told her tale, although Clara’s face turned concerningly pale. Eunice pulled her pistol from her pocket and began eyeing the door, as if she were longing to go in search of Thomas herself, and Burton rose to his feet and began pacing around the room, his expression turning more and more thunderous.

  “What could have possibly possessed Thomas to do such a thing?” Clara asked a mere second after Daphne finished disclosing what she knew about the evening.

  Daphne was spared a response to that puzzling question when Herman sat forward on the chair he’d pulled up next to the fainting couch.

  “Thomas appears to be a man who doesn’t understand rejection,” Herman began. “He, from what I’ve been able to conclude, told Daphne he was still willing to marry her. I believe that after Daphne told him rather forcefully that she wasn’t going to marry him, Thomas lashed out.” He shook his head. “I know men like Thomas, men who believe it’s their right to treat women however they please, whether those women are receptive to their advances or not.”

  He took hold of Daphne’s hand again. “I learned something else tonight that I’m uncertain whether you know. It seems that Thomas was what, or rather who, frightened you all those years ago on that Fourth of July night.”

  She stilled, taking a moment to let that settle. “I think there’s always been a part of me that knew it was Thomas, but another part of me wouldn’t let myself remember the details.” She closed her eyes for the briefest of seconds. “The memories are still hazy, but I can remember some of it now.”

  “What happened on the Fourth of July years ago?” Clara asked as Burton returned to sit beside her.

  Daphne closed her eyes again, queasiness settling in her stomach as she forced herself to remember. She opened her eyes. “I don’t recall all the details, but I believe Thomas snuck up on me when I had returned to the carriage to fix my hair.” Daphne closed her eyes again, shuddering as memories assailed her. She opened her eyes, her vision blurry due to the tears stinging her eyes. “He grabbed me from behind, then spun me around to face him.” She shuddered again. “It was dark outside, but I could see his face from the light cast in the distance from the carriage. The expr
ession on his face terrified me. I think I might have let out a little shriek, but then he might have told me to be quiet before he began dragging me toward the forest.”

  Herman pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped away tears that were now trailing down Daphne’s cheeks. “But you fainted, or at least that’s what Thomas told us, which stopped him from seeing through what he’d intended to do to you. I believe your coachman heard your shriek and alerted Jack and your brothers.”

  Daphne thought about that for a moment. “I distinctly remember Thomas dragging me, and I remember struggling to get free. As he was dragging me, he said something about my never mentioning anything about this to anyone. He said if I did, he’d tell everyone it was my fault. I think that’s when I began struggling harder. He didn’t like that so he stopped, and . . .” She bit her lip. “The last thing I really remember is his face coming closer to mine and then . . .”

  “You fainted,” Herman said when Daphne stopped talking.

  She caught his eye. “You don’t think he did anything to me after I fainted, do you?”

  Herman shook his head. “Thomas is a braggart at heart, Daphne. He would have made certain to mention his prowess with women or some such nonsense if he’d done more than try to kiss you. Besides, from what I understand, Thomas was unsuccessful getting you into the forest, and a coward like Thomas would not have wanted to chance being caught out in the open by your brothers.”

  “You call him a coward, but I’m far more cowardly,” Daphne said, shaking her head. “I panicked tonight when I found myself alone with him. I could barely get a squeak out of my mouth when he dragged me into that room, my less-than-courageous spirit once again leaving me feeling more helpless than I’ve ever felt in my life.”

  Eunice returned her pistol to her pocket before she sat down beside Daphne on the fainting couch. “Over the time I’ve known you, you’ve often claimed that you’re not a courageous woman. I’m going to suggest that way of thinking ends tonight because you’ve proven time and again, tonight included, that you possess more than an ample amount of courage.”