He followed the footman into the upstairs corridor, and observed him make the same request of Gerald. Once the footman had left, he tapped on Gerald’s door, and entered when bid.
“Well, Otford, what do you make of this then? I wonder what has the Duke in a bother this early in the morning? Perhaps he has thought better of his refusal to allow us to question Bentwick and Eggmorton further? Certainly, after hearing their conversation, I am utterly convinced that it is likely an injustice has been done here.”
“I am completely in agreement with you there. I mislike this match between Bentwick and Lady Georgiana. She is obviously not best pleased with it, and Bentwick is colder to her than I have ever seen a man be to a woman he intends to wed. The Duke seems a good man, yet I fear he has sadly misjudged this situation. Still, perhaps this summons indicates that something new has come to light, that has changed his views?”
“I would hope so, m’boy, but I don’t hold too much hope. Rotherhithe can be a stubborn man. This summons to attend upon him may be related to something else entirely.”
“True, regardless, if we wish to break our fast before we speak with him, we’d best be about it.”
Setford nodded in agreement, and they took themselves off to the breakfast room, each pondering the possibilities inherent in the day.
~~~~~
When Setford and Gerald entered the Duke’s Study, they found him seated at his desk, a serious expression on his face and a letter in his hand.
“Gentlemen, I trust you are in good health this morning? Please, be seated – I have need of your opinion and support.”
“I assure you that we are both in far better health than most of your guests who, I fear, rather overindulged in your excellent wines last night.”
Setford chuckled as he spoke, quite certain that most of the young fops were still abed, nursing sore heads from the effects of copious quantities of spirits. The Duke nodded, but his face remained serious. Interesting – Setford wondered what it was that needed their ‘opinion and support’.
“Setford, old friend, I must start this conversation by offering you an apology. When you came to me, after the altercation with Dartworth, and asked to question the situation further, I fear that I was rather pig-headed. I should know better. In all the years that we have known each other, you have rarely questioned my judgement. And never without good reason. I should have listened to you.”
Setford smiled, waving the apology aside.
“Rotherhithe, you need not apologise. You are entitled to your own opinions, and to be stubborn about them. But, in this case, I sense that something has happened to bring you to make this apology? Something beyond a sudden recognition of your own stubbornness?”
“Indeed, you are correct. This is what has happened.”
He indicated the letter, which was still grasped in his hand, and passed it to Setford.
“If you would, gentlemen, please read the contents of that letter, and then give me the benefit of your opinion on it. I am inclined to believe it wholly truth, but I intend to prove that a little later this morning, with your assistance, should you agree.”
For some minutes, there was no sound in the room, beyond the loud tick of the elegant clock on the mantle, as Setford read the missive, then passed it, without comment, to Gerald. Once Gerald had read it, and passed it back to the Duke, Setford spoke.
“I am unsurprised, Rotherhithe. And, in fact, I believe that Otford here, and I can corroborate what’s said in that letter for you. The night before last, in the salon after dinner, we happened to overhear a conversation between Bentwick and Eggmorton. A conversation in which they discussed the events of the altercation. I believe that Bentwick’s exact words to Eggmorton were: ‘And really, the hide of him. He had no claim to the girl, and was never likely to, so who does he think he is, to be objecting to what we said. Hmmph, those colonial commoners have addled the man’s brain. He has no idea how to behave in society!’ Words which, I believe, make it rather clear that what Dartworth has said in that letter is likely the whole truth.”
“Setford, you always have had the most astounding memory! I have no doubt that is exactly what you heard the man say. Otford, do you agree with Setford’s memory?”
“Indeed, I do, Your Grace.”
The Duke nodded with satisfaction.
“Then, gentlemen, may I ask you to attend upon me here, a short while from now, just before the hour of ten. I have summoned both Bentwick and Dartworth here. I will have the truth of it from Bentwick’s own mouth, and I would appreciate you being witness to the whole conversation, that, later, none may doubt what I do or say.”
They both stood, and bowed.
“As you wish, Your Grace – we are at your disposal. I do, however, faced with that prospect for the morning, feel the need for another cup of your excellent coffee to fortify myself.”
The Duke, feeling rather lighter of heart than before the conversation, laughed aloud. Setford had the reputation amongst his friends as a connoisseur of coffee, with the magical ability to ensure its availability in any circumstance – so his complimenting the coffee was a considerable honour. Philip would have to remember to tell Juan of the accolade to his coffee making, once the house full of guests had departed.
~~~~~
The mantle clock ticked quietly and revealed the hour at two minutes to ten. The Duke consulted his gold pocket watch as he sat calmly behind his carved and inlaid desk, his hands steepled and a glass of madeira at his side. Setford and Gerald sat quietly to one side, where they would not immediately be obvious to a person entering the room. There was a light knock at the door and a servant bowed as he made way for the Earl of Bentwick.
“Your Grace, I am most honoured by your invitation to attend upon you, but in faith, it is an uncommonly early hour to be up and about.”
The Duke detected the odour of stale wine upon the Earl’s breath and grimaced, nodding slowly.
“We have matters to discuss, Bentwick, and the hour will not wait.”
“if it is about Lady Georgiana’s dowry, I have already made preparations to place one of my men as overseer and make sure that the land is exploited to the utmost. There are too many idle hands on the estate and I aim to see a handsome profit from better farming and fewer mouths to feed. You would agree with me, I assume, Your Grace?”
The Duke pursed his lips, finding the blatant greed inherent in the man’s words rather tasteless.
“That is not the subject of our meeting, Bentwick. We have more serious matters to examine. Questions of honour.”
He left the word hanging in the air between them as the young Earl shifted uneasily in his seat.
“Honour, Your Grace? What in heaven’s name has my honour to do with this invitation to meet, a courteous gathering of men of breeding and nobility?”
“Everything. And nothing. We shall soon see.”
As the clock struck the hour of ten, there was another gentle knock at the study door and Dartworth, with muddied boots and flecks of horse sweat on his tail coat, entered the room, standing tall above the two other men. Bentwick had not yet noticed the presence of Setford and Gerald.
Dartworth, obviously a more observant man, noted their presence, and simply raised an eyebrow in their direction, enquiringly. Setford shook his head, and indicated that Dartworth should concentrate his attention on the Duke and Bentwick.
Oliver turned back, to see the Earl of Bentwick sit back in surprise and stammer, some anger in his tone, “What is this rogue doing in this house, Your Grace? He has no business to be here. Did you not cast him forth, bidding him not return?”
The Duke studied the two men before him carefully.
“The Marquess is here at my invitation, Bentwick. At this moment, he is my guest.”
The Duke invited Oliver to sit, indicating a comfortable chair, opposite the Earl near the Duke’s great mahogany desk.
“Now, gentlemen,” the Duke leaned forward. “Let us discover the truth of what took pl
ace in my house. Let us see who speaks the truth and who has spoken lies under my roof. I will have the truth of it, gentlemen, so help me God.”
Carefully unfolding the letter, the Duke began to read its contents, looking up occasionally at the two men seated before him. The Earl was looking distinctly nervous, visibly squirming in his seat. Oliver was calm, impassive, coolly appraising the Earl and clearly prepared to administer another blow to the man’s foolish head if the occasion demanded it. He was not certain of the Duke’s intent, but, if Lady Georgiana had willingly entrusted the letter to him, surely there was some hope of a fair outcome. It seemed unlikely that the man would have invited him here, like this, if he intended to disregard the contents of the letter.
At length, the Duke reached the end of the letter and pointed at the Earl.
“Now, my Lord, what do you have to say?”
“It’s all nonsense! This man is a liar, a cheat, a thief and a rogue. You cannot believe a single word that he says.”
Oliver leaned forward in his chair, his hands still on his knees.
“You besmirch my honour, my Lord, as you have besmirched the honour of a Lady whom I esteem far beyond the value of your miserable life.”
A terrible silence fell upon the room as the words sank in. This was not some idle tavern insult over tankards of ale.
Oliver continued. “I do not demand an apology from you, my Lord, for your words are quite meaningless. I demand the satisfaction of your blood to wash away the stain of your insults.”
The Earl blanched. The Duke was visibly shocked. This was entirely unexpected. He quickly gathered his wits.
“Pray, gentlemen, we do not need to come to such a remedy. We have not had a duel in these parts for some five years and I would not countenance such an event today. My wedding day is nigh upon us and I will not have the ceremony blighted by the spilling of blood!”
“Honour has its price, Your Grace, and this gentleman has called mine into question, as well as the honour of Lady Georgiana. His words have created a debt. Now he must settle his account.” There was an ominous pause as Oliver stared hard at the trembling aristocrat. “An account that must be settled with me.”
“Now stay your words for a moment, Dartworth. Let us not act in haste.” The Duke turned towards the visibly shaken young Earl. “Think hard before you speak. I ask you again - what have you to say for yourself, Bentwick?”
The Earl stammered. He was perspiring around his lace collar and beads of sweat had appeared on his forehead.
“Look here, Dartworth. I did not mean any offense to you or the good Lady.” He wrung his hands in a nervous display of obvious concern for his personal safety. “We were joking. Perhaps we’d had a little too much brandy. In heaven’s name. It was a jest. A poor jest. Nothing more.” Oliver continued to stare at him, his expression hard. “Dartworth, you must believe me when I express my regrets. Please, my Lord, accept my apology, let us shake hands like good sports and be done with the matter.”
The Duke nodded gravely.
“So you admit that Dartworth is telling the truth here?”
“Well, errr, I may have said a few of those things, but, as I said, it was only meant in jest.”
“You described Lady Georgiana as a headstrong mare that needed to be whipped into obedience?”
“Heavens above, Your Grace. I cannot remember every foolish quip and comment I might have made!”
“This is a most serious matter, my Lord, and your answers cannot be couched in vague half-truths and deceptions. It is either a yes or a no, and I demand that you speak plainly.”
The Earl fell silent as the mantle clock ticked quietly in the background.
“I favour the sabre as a duelling weapon,” said Oliver quietly. “I have used it on many occasions and would deem it the best means to accept redress from a man.”
The Earl’s head shot up.
“Sabres, you say?”
He could not help but take stock of the Marquess’s powerful build, the muscled shoulders and strong arms that would wield a blade so cruelly and effectively.
“Yes, my Lord. The sabre. The perfect means to flay your hide and carve fillets from your limbs.”
To the Earl’s horror, Oliver smiled at this point and the wide grin sent chills down his spine. Setford fought to repress a laugh at the sight of the man’s face. Dartworth was doing an excellent job of acting the ferocious and dangerous killer.
“Very well! If you would have me confess, I admit it. I spoke those words. It is all true. Lady Georgiana is unmannered and not worthy of my family name. I accepted the betrothal only for her prize of her estate. There! Now you have it. Are we done now?”
Oliver shook his head slowly.
“No, Sir. We are not done. You still owe me a full measure of your skin for the dishonour that you have cast upon me, as well as upon the Lady Georgiana, I will have it tomorrow at dawn upon the heath, and there you shall learn the price of your treachery.”
“For pity’s sake, my Lord!” whined the Earl. “You cannot press this demand for vengeance. I am an Earl and I will not be trifled with!”
“Then you shall be buried as an Earl and your lands and titles will not save you upon the morrow.”
“No!” screamed the Earl. “It cannot be!”
The Duke sighed.
“I am afraid it can, Bentwick. The rules of honour give the Marquess the right to demand satisfaction. I do not approve of it, but you must choose a second to accompany you and prepare yourself to meet Dartworth at sunrise tomorrow. May God have mercy upon your soul.”
The Earl broke into tears and sobbed, sinking to the floor and imploring Dartworth to forgive him. The sight of a grown nobleman grovelling so quite turned the Duke’s stomach – had this man no courage at all, no sense of honour? Of a certainty, choosing this man as a mate for Georgiana had been one of the worst decisions of his life. Thank God, he had discovered the truth in time.
“So, my Lord, your honour has come to this?” Oliver looked down at the man crying at his feet. “You would prefer to live in shame and disgrace than die as a man defending your honour?”
“Please, my Lord. I beg you. Have pity on me. I do not wish to die.”
Oliver stood and moved to the wide fireplace, which held a glowing pile of small logs which spread warmth into the Study. He considered the situation for a few minutes without speaking. Setford and Gerald watched with interest. The Duke remained silent, contemptuous of the Earl’s appalling lack of courage and character. The arrogant whelp certainly deserved a whipping, but the Duke did not feel that he deserved to die.
Oliver finally turned towards the young man, who was still weeping and grovelling on the rug before him.
“Perhaps we can put a price on your honour after all, Bentwick.”
The Duke considered the Marquess with shrewd eyes.
“What are you proposing, Dartworth?”
“A private arrangement. An equitable resolution. Since the Earl has far more money than honour, I propose that we put a fair price on this day’s business and let him weigh out his worth in gold pieces.”
“You mean blood money, Dartworth? Rather an unconventional solution for a matter of honour between gentlemen, but, as Bentwick has proven himself to be somewhat lacking in conventional honour, perhaps that is outstandingly appropriate.” The Duke struggled to keep a straight face as he spoke. This was better than he could ever have hoped for. “A bargain in return for the Earl’s honour and reputation?”
Oliver nodded in agreement.
“Yes, Your Grace. My father squandered my inheritance and, through no fault of my own, I have been reduced to labouring and toiling to keep body and soul together, to have some hope of restoring my estate and doing right by my tenants. I would as soon put an end to this miserable dog’s life with my sabre, and know that honour had been duly satisfied, but this may be Providence’s way of putting my affairs to rights.”
The Duke nodded.
“What do you ha
ve to say, Bentwick? Will your father’s money be sufficient to keep that fine hide of yours securely upon your back, or would you prefer to take the gentlemanly way out, and meet Dartworth at dawn upon the morrow to take your chances with a sabre?”
“I’ll pay! By heaven, I’ll pay!” squealed the Earl. “And let not a word of this spread beyond this room, I beg of you.”
Oliver asked leave to write a note of agreement with the Duke’s fine quill pen and the Earl of Bentwick was only too happy to add his signature to the contract that was duly witnessed and sealed with the Duke’s own hand.
“Setford, Otford, if you would. I would have you witness this too, that there is no doubt of what has been said, done, and agreed here this day.”
The Earl spun around in horror at realising that his spineless behaviour had been witnessed by others. He dropped his face into his hands as the other two men stepped forward, and signed as witness to his contract.
“This agreement is both legal and binding. I can assure both of you that, should you try to question it, the ruling will always go in favour of the Marquess. I am well connected in the highest levels of the legal profession, and beyond. I suggest that you do not consider anything other than full compliance with what has been agreed.” Setford’s voice was cold, and his piercing grey eyes held the Earl’s until the younger man looked away.
“Bentwick, you have thirty days to deliver the agreed sum to the Marquess or you have my pledge that you will be exposed in public, and in private, as a scoundrel and a rogue. Now leave this chamber, pack your bags and leave my house.”
As the Earl departed the Study, the Duke beckoned Oliver to a chair.
“You will take a glass of madeira with me, Dartworth?”
“It would be an honour, Your Grace.”
The two men sipped their small glasses of the sweet wine and soaked in the warmth of the crackling logs. This year, the spring was late arriving, the frosts were still unseasonably thick, and the warmth was welcome.
“Dartworth? I must ask you something of a personal nature and I would value your candour.”
Redeeming the Marquess: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 6) Page 11