A military man appeared with a very attractive Lady on his arm. Roger introduced them to Dahlia as Sir Geoffrey Carter, and Mrs. Carter. They were followed by a flurry of minor nobles, most of whom Dahlia had not met.
Then a most unexpected visitor arrived. Scarlett towered over a man in uniform. Her glossy black hair was done up in a towering chignon, and her billowing black bombazine was most fashionably correct and crisply clean, unlike the garments she had been wearing the day she rescued “Daisy Smith.”
Roger introduced the military man as Major Tomlinson, who, in turn, introduced his companion as Georgina Scarlett “from the islands.” Scarlett winked at Dahlia but did not otherwise betray the slightest recognition.
They were followed by an odd assortment of people who could almost be described as commoners, including a stout fellow that Dahlia was fairly certain was a member of the Watch.
When the ballroom was so full that it could scarcely hold another person, the outer doors were closed and the doors onto the balcony were opened to allow a little air to circulate. Between the blazing fireplaces and the crush of people, the room had become quite warm.
The Duke stepped up on the dais beside the band member, drawing Dahlia with him. He tapped a fork against a crystal glass to gain attention, then spoke. “Ladies and Gentlemen, good people all, we are here tonight to celebrate our approaching nuptials. Lady Dahlia has done me the honor of being engaged to be my wife.”
Somewhat at a loss for words, Dahlia swept a gracious curtsey to the assemblage. Apparently, that was sufficient response for there was a round of applause and no little cheering. Then he turned to Dahlia, bowed and extended his hand. “Would you join me in the first dance?” he asked.
“Of course,” she replied placing her hand on his. They descended the steps from the dais, but before the band could strike up a single note, there was a terrific commotion in the hall and six pikement marched in followed by the Duke of Cottleroy, Lord Goldstone, and a stout man dressed in gray fustian.
“Place that man under arrest for kidnapping!” Lord Goldstone shouted.
“No!” Dahlia cried out, clutching Roger’s hand. “I have not been kidnapped, I am here of my own free will!”
“Arrest her for willful disobedience and running away,” spoke up her father.
“Father, that won’t wash either,” Aaron spoke up, “Nor can you cry that her reputation is at stake, for she is here under my protection and as the guest of Mrs. Garrity, a woman of impeccable dignity.”
“Ungrateful pup, I shall cut you off without a penny,” the Duke of Cottleroy roared.
“That’s very interesting, Father,” Aaron commented, “but far from effective. As I told you when you drove us from your house, I have been taking care of my own bills these two years and more. Since shortly before I reached my majority, in fact.”
“Your sister,” The Duke of Cottleroy fumed, “is not yet of age and you have too few years to properly chaperone her no matter how you dignify this mad venture.”
“Perhaps you could trust in me to dignify her presence here,” Aunt Garrity glided forward and dropped a punctiliously correct curtsy, “Your Grace.”
“Who are you?” Dahlia’s father demanded, not dignifying her courteous approach.
“I am Mrs. Amelia Garrity, widow of the late Deacon Aloysius Garrity, and the Duke of Shelthom’s aunt.”
“That is of no moment!” The Duke of Cottleroy flapped his hand dismissively. “She is my daughter and she is here without my permission. I have promised her hand to Earl Goldstone, and she needs to come home and start planning her trousseau at once!”
“I must have misheard,” Roger said. “The marriage banns between myself and Lady Dahlia have now been published for three days. If Lord Goldstone is claiming my betrothed, he is going to catch cold at that.”
“My claim precedes yours,” Goldstone burst out, “I challenge you!”
“Yes, yes,” Roger studied Goldstone coldly, “You already did that. I have received your seconds, and I shall meet you at ten of the clock tomorrow.”
“A paltry round of fisticuffs!” Goldstone ground out. “I challenge you to meet me with the sword, a gentleman’s weapon. Indeed, I call upon you to meet me here and meet me now!”
“Are you sure you wish to do this?” the Duke of Shelthom asked calmly, as if he were reproving a child or a restive horse.
“Yes, meet me as a man should, not as some backyard brawler.” Goldstone snarled, his teeth bared and a wild look in his eye.
“No!” Dahlia cried out, “Your Grace, he will kill you. He is a bloody murderer.”
Roger spared a glance for Dahlia, then gently brushed her cheek with one thumb, before kissing her gently before the assembled company. “All shall be well, my dear. Sometimes one must cleanse the vermin from the hall. Go with my aunt, now, so that you will be safe.”
“She can come with me!” blustered her father.
But Aaron stepped in front of him. “Nay, let her go with the other ladies. This is no sight for a gentlewoman of any age, much less one of such tender years as my sister.”
Dahlia allowed herself to be drawn away to a corner of the hall, but there she stopped and refused to go any farther. The other ladies, including the towering Scarlett, clustered about her.
Assessing the mood of the moment, Peter quietly enlisted the footmen and the maids to quietly whisk the refreshments away to an adjoining room, and to pull the table back.
On the other side of the room, the musicians seemed to be in a debate as to what they should do. The drummer seemed to win the argument, and they simply moved to the back of the dais, bringing their instruments with them.
Roger again spoke very gently to Goldstone, “Are you very certain that this is what you wish to do? Can you not wait until tomorrow morning to settle this matter with a feat of physical prowess?”
“And let the banns be posted unchallenged?” Goldstone sneered. “No, I think not. I shall have Lady Dahlia or no one at all shall have her. She is a high-bred filly, but I shall break her to hand.”
Roger looked upon Goldstone very coldly. “If you can speak so of such a fine lady, then you are a cad and a bounder, as devoid of finer feelings as an earthworm. Herbert, will you fetch my dueling swords, please?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Herbert said with a respectful bow, and he quickly withdrew.
As he went there was a little scuffle near the group of intruders, and suddenly the six pike men were divested of their weapons and hustled to a side of the room well away from the ladies. The rest of the men quickly shifted the furniture to create a ring, further clearing the already cleared dance floor.
Herbert reentered the room, carrying a long, ornate box. He went down on one knee before Roger and presented the box to him.
Roger flipped open the lid, revealing what appeared to be two very plain cavalry swords. “The finest Spanish steel,” he said, gesturing to them. “Please, select your weapon, Goldstone.”
“I prefer my own swords,” Goldstone blustered.
“You have already usurped the choice of weapons, Goldstone,” the Shelthom said. “We shall use my own good swords, British military issue, or we shall use none at all. At which point you can be escorted from my house and remanded to the Watch.”
“Here, now,” said the stout man who was dressed in fustian, “I’m the captain of the Watch.”
“Is that right?” commented the fellow Dahlia had noticed earlier. “That would be very difficult, since I am the Captain of the Watch.”
“Whose Watch are you captain of?” demanded the stout, fustian clad man.
“His,” replied the other, jerking a thumb toward Roger.
“Well, I’m the Captain of his Watch,” said the man in fustian, indicating the Duke of Cottleroy.
“And both of you are lackwits,” said Major Tomlinson, as he, Sir Geoffrey and four other fellows took charge of the rival Watch captains. “As an officer of the British army, I bid you stand down. One duel at
a time is enough.”
While this altercation was going on, Duncan Carlyle and Cooper Dayton had appeared out of the crowd. Mr. Carlyle looked white and a little frightened, and even Mr. Dayton seemed a bit subdued. They inspected the swords that Roger had produced and found them unexceptional.
Aaron looked them over and shot Roger an assessing glance. “Fine work, Duke,” he said.
“Thank you, Lord Bochil,” Roger replied. “I rather thought so, myself.”
“Enough talk,” Goldstone snarled. “The sooner we get this done, the better. Then I shall take my bride home to her father.”
Duncan rattled off a list of instructions that included items such as “no feinting toward the eyes or privates, first blood,” and several other items that neither of the combatants acknowledged. They faced off. Goldstone, having set aside his coat and cravat, was revealed in a fine linen shirt and knee breeches. He looked extremely elegant as he took upthe classic en garde pose, sword extended in the right hand, left arm and hand curled above his head. Roger had also laid aside his coat and cravat. His simple linen shirt and blue knee breeches were modest compared to Goldstone’s attire.
Roger stood calm and relaxed, d, with his sword point down. “Don’t hold back,” Goldstone growled at Roger, “I’m going to break you.” Roger cracked a smile and maintained eye contact.
Goldstone moved his sword in a series of figure eights that shifted into a beautiful lunge designed to skewer an opponent in the midriff. The Duke sidestepped, swung about and came up behind the earl, now in an en garde position. “Impressive sword work,” he said calmly, “but you are feathering your outside pattern. It goes more like this.”
Roger then demonstrated the figure eight motion while gliding around Goldstone like a prowling lion. It looked like an effortless dance. Goldstone pivoted, keeping his face toward Roger. Goldstone then feinted in tierce, as if he were going for a disabling shoulder strike, but at the last moment flicked his blade up and brought it down intending to inflict a vicious headwound.
Roger’s blade flicked up in a lightning fast parry, forcing Goldstone’s blade aside. There was a harsh sound of steel on steel, and Goldstone spun away to the left, out of reach of Roger’s riposte as he returned Goldstone’s opening move.
They withdrew a bit from each other, circling now, each looking for an opening. Goldstone stamped, the sound of his boots ringing loud on the dance floor. Roger chuckled and grinned. . “Did you think I would fall for that old chestnut, Harry?”
Goldstone snarled and withdrew a step or two. Roger balanced on the balls of his feet, waiting. The earl advanced in a blur of motion, again using the fluid series of figure eights. At the last moment he lifted his sword sharply, sprang upward and was suddenly airborne, a human lance with the saber’s point flying straight for Roger’s throat.
Only Roger wasn’t there. He let Goldstone sail past him, and using the flat of his blade, smacked the Earl on his rump.
Goldstone whirled about and advanced on Roger in a series of lightning foot moves, culminating in a wicked cut in quarte, designed to catch Roger’s sword arm. Roger dropped below it, catching himself himself with his left hand on the floor in a flawless passata sotto, while the sword in his right flicked out and pinked Goldstone in the calf. “First blood,” he said calmly, bounding to his feet, grinning as if it were all a great joke.
“But not last blood,” Goldstone snarled with a wild lunge. “I shall prevail. You shall go to your coffin this day.”
“I think not, but if you wish, we can fight on,” Roger acknowledged the challenge, and caught the earl’s blade upon his. Roger’s blade spiraled around Goldstone’s, then as Roger withdrew, blood began to seep from the earl’s wrist.
“Second blood,” Roger said. “Where is that mighty prowess of which I have been hearing so much?”
Goldstone’s enraged face clinched in a rictus that seemed scarcely human. He swapped his saber from his right to his left hand. “I will kill you,” he swore. “For the insults you have given me, I will kill you!”
“Oh, we are fighting with a handicap now, are we?” Roger teased, swapping his blade from his right to his left.
Goldstone roared with rage and came at Roger, feinting with a wild fury of cuts. Again, Roger lightly stepped away from the onslaught, forcing Goldstone to turn in order to face him. As he did so, it seemed Roger momentarily had left his side open, and Goldstone lunged for the perceived weakness. Roger smirked, then gave him an apologetic shrug, to say ‘sorry” for what was coming next.
Goldstone put all his weight on his forward foot and went for a powerful lunge. Roger spun gracefully away on his right foot came down on his left foot, corkscrewed his blade around Goldstone’s, and flipped it into the air.
The Duke watched the blade turn end over end, then reached up with his right hand carefully judging the saber’s fall and caught it as it plummeted hilt first.
He then turned to the Earl and asked politely, “Will you yield, sir? Or shall I return your sword?”
“I will kill you!” shouted Goldstone, charging forward with his bare hands upraised.
“Herbert,” Roger said, handing off the pair of swords to his friend, never taking his eyes off Goldstone.
Goldstone charged like a maddened bull, arms flailing wildly with no science at all.
Roger sighed, neatly sidestepped the charge, and tapped Goldstone on the jaw as he passed. Goldstone fell as if dropped from a tower.
The entire room fell silent. The tension in the air broke as if time itself was holding its breath and now exhaled.
The Duke then knelt on one knee and checked the fallen man’s pulse. “I did it right this time, Herbert,” he said. “Pulse is strong. He should be up and about in a few minutes.” Then he beckoned to both captains of the Watch.
“Gentlemen, I know you can’t hold him, but would you please take him home? Then, when you have seen to his wounds, you are welcome to return to the party.” The Duke of Shelthom then turned to The Duke of Cottleroy. “As my future bride’s honored father, could we persuade you to join the festivities?”
Chapter 30
“Let me speak to my daughter,” The Duke of Cottleroy said. “Let her tell me in her own words what she wishes to do.”
Roger looked around, but before he could speak, Dahlia was there at his elbow. “I wish to continue the entertainment that has been assembled in our honor, Father,” she said. “Roger’s Aunt Amelia has been most kind and has seen to it that everything has been done properly.”
“You have compromised your reputation, Lady Dahlia. No doubt this will reflect badly on your sisters as well. Have you no shame?” The middle-aged Duke seemed tired and grieved rather than angry.
“Father, I want to marry Roger, the Duke of Shelthom. Not only has he taken me in at a moment when I despaired of my future, he has been everything that is kind and good.” Dahlia clung to Roger’s elbow, making no move to approach her father.
“Then I wash my hands of you,” The Duke of St. Cottleroy said, “You can have your empty title as his wife, but do not come crying to me when your children’s bellies are empty and so are your coffers.” With that, he turned and stalked out the door.
Dahlia’s gulp wrenched at Roger’s heart. “Patience,” he said softly. “By and by, when he has had time to think about it, we can ask for his blessing. Have no fear. You are just the medicine I have needed to get my life turned about. Will you dance this dance with me to show our guests that all is well between us?”
Although the face she turned up to him was wet with tears, Dahlia pronounced, “Gladly”
“Do you know the waltz?”
“Yes, but I’ve only danced it with Aaron or my sisters.”
“Just follow my lead, my lady Dahlia, and we shall do famously.”
Roger nodded at the musicians, and they struck up the Duke of Kent’s Waltz.
As Roger led Dahlia to the front of the music stand, Aaron quickly picked up on the mood and intent. He gallantly
turned to Aunt Garrity, inviting her onto the floor, forming a set. Other couples quickly followed, supporting the Duke and Lady Dahlia in their efforts to rescue the evening.
When the music ended, Roger drew Dahlia to a seat and went to procure refreshments for them both. As the musicians struck up a country round dance, Roger returned to her, followed by Peter who was bearing a small table that he quickly set up for them. Betsy followed with a plate of sandwiches and the dainty hors d’oeuvres.
Dahlia bit into one of the bite-sized treats and smothered a laugh. “Oh, my, pickled herring made socially presentable.”
“Do you like it?” Roger asked anxiously.
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