A Reputation for Notoriety

by Diane Gaston

  She wanted to believe him.

  One thing she knew. She’d always been a victim of fate.

  No more.

  If he could make his own luck, so could she. She had no intention of leaving his life to fate. Somehow, she would stop this duel.

  * * *

  It was about noon when he sent her home in a hackney coach. She walked slowly into her set of rooms, passing Tucker in the hall.

  ‘Good morning, ma’am,’ he said in a concerned tone.

  ‘Do not worry,’ she responded to his implicit question. ‘I am well.’

  She walked straight to her bedchamber, but Adele appeared before she made it inside.

  ‘Celia, I must tell you something.’ Adele’s voice was still cold.

  ‘Very well,’ Celia said. ‘Come into my room. You can help me change my clothes.’

  Adele followed her inside. ‘Younie is here somewhere. I’ll get her to help. I only need a minute of your time.’

  Adele would not even help her with her laces?

  Celia stepped into her dressing room and managed to remove her dress by herself. She put on one of her morning dresses. ‘What is it you wished to tell me?’ she asked, walking back out to the bedchamber.

  ‘Ned and I are getting married. As soon as he can procure a special licence. I need you to secure my guardian’s permission.’

  So they were following her advice. ‘I will send a letter today.’

  ‘Good.’ Adele started towards the door, but stopped before opening it. ‘After my wedding, I will be moving in with Lord and Lady Westleigh until Ned and I can find rooms of our own.’

  ‘And your grandmother?’

  Adele lifted her chin. ‘She does not wish to live with you or with me. We are not relations, she says. She wishes to retire to Bath. Ned will pay for her.’

  They both would be free of the woman.

  And Celia would be free to leave London in perhaps a matter of days.

  Unless she agreed to Rhys’s proposal.

  Assuming he lived.

  Anxiety clenched her insides. ‘Will you see Ned today, Adele?’

  ‘No,’ the girl answered mournfully. ‘He sent word that he has business to attend to. He will not see me tomorrow, either.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘I do hope his absence is not due to some trouble you or your lover have caused.’

  Adele’s barb hurt.

  Celia spoke quietly. ‘That was not well said of you, Adele. Nothing I have done was meant to hurt you, but you deliberately wound me.’

  Adele looked chastened for a moment, but she cried, ‘You are going to have a baby out of wedlock!’

  Celia put a hand on her abdomen. ‘I am going to have a baby. What greater happiness could there be for me?’

  Adele’s expression remained obstinate. ‘Why did you ask about Ned?’

  She certainly was not going to confide in Adele. ‘No reason. I merely wanted to know your schedule for the day.’

  Adele opened the door. ‘I am calling upon some of my friends. Younie will accompany me.’ She walked out.

  Celia went in search of Younie. She had decided to make a call of her own and needed Younie to help her dress again.

  * * *

  Younie helped Celia into a walking dress and she soon was off again, walking through Mayfair to the Westleigh town house. She knocked upon the door and was admitted by the butler.

  A few minutes later she was escorted to the second floor and announced to Lady Westleigh. Fortunately the lady was alone. Even her daughter was not present.

  Lady Westleigh remained on her chaise longue when Celia was admitted into a small parlour. The lady’s private sitting room, Celia suspected. It was a very feminine room, with upholstered chairs in blue brocade and gilded tables with white marble tops. Celia immediately felt comfortable. She could not imagine Lord Westleigh setting foot in such a room.

  ‘Ma’am, thank you for receiving me.’ Celia curtsied.

  Lady Westleigh nodded. ‘I confess I am surprised to see you.’ She gestured for Celia to sit.

  ‘May I enquire whether your sons or your husband are at home?’ Celia asked.

  Lady Westleigh raised her brows. ‘They are not. They all went out. I confess they sounded as if in a quarrel.’

  Celia could believe it. ‘I am guessing you do not know of any of this, but your husband has challenged Mr Rhysdale to a duel.’

  ‘A duel?’ Lady Westleigh sat up straight. ‘Whatever for?’

  Celia explained the circumstances. ‘I must stop this.’

  ‘Certainly we must,’ the lady agreed.

  A footman served tea.

  Lady Westleigh said to him, ‘Tell Mason I wish to see him.’

  The butler presented himself shortly. ‘You asked for me, my lady?’

  Lady Westleigh spoke in an officious tone. ‘It has come to my attention that my husband is fighting a duel at dawn. I want you to tell me where it will be held.’

  The man blanched. ‘I am certain I do not know such a thing, my lady.’

  Lady Westleigh did not back down. ‘And I am certain you do. One of the valets will have heard of it and I am certain it was mentioned in the servants’ quarters. It is imperative you tell me.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  At first morning’s light the next day, Rhys and Xavier stood on Hampstead Heath, fog swirling around their ankles.

  ‘I wonder how many duels have been fought here?’ Rhys mused.

  ‘It is popular with those of us with no imagination.’ Xavier, as Rhys’s second, had had to attend to all the details of the duel. ‘It is not too late to get out of this.’

  Xavier had suggested the same thing as Celia. Blame Madame Fortune and have her disappear. But Xavier lacked the imagination to use this duel as an opportunity.

  ‘Westleigh will pay this day. Madame Fortune did nothing wrong.’ He walked the spot where they would take their positions.

  ‘You don’t truly plan to shoot him?’ Xavier asked. ‘He is your father, after all.’

  Rhys turned as he would turn to fire. ‘I intend to finish it here.’

  They heard a carriage approaching.

  ‘They are here.’ Xavier shivered. ‘Blast. It is as cold as winter this morning.’

  Rhys turned at the sound. ‘The coldest summer anyone recalls,’ he remarked.

  A curricle emerged through the mist and a moment later two men climbed down. It was not Westleigh who had arrived, but Ned and Hugh.

  Rhys nodded to them. ‘You came after all.’

  Ned shivered. ‘We said we would.’

  Ned and Hugh had called upon Rhys the day before and discussed the duel and its likely aftermath. They had parted in agreement, which surprised Rhys.

  It also surprised him that he’d come to a grudging respect for these two men with whom he shared a father. Ned might make a cake of himself over Miss Gale, but he took his responsibilities to his family and his people very seriously. Hugh, as volatile as Rhys was controlled, none the less did not suffer fools gladly. Neither of them exhibited the self-conceit of their father.

  ‘Our father is not here yet?’ Hugh asked, his tone contemptuous. ‘Perhaps he will not show.’

  Rhys was probably the only one who knew that their father had fought a duel at least once before. ‘He will show.’

  Sure enough, the sound of a carriage reached their ears. It, too, came through the mist and stopped nearby. Westleigh and his second climbed out of the carriage, the surgeon after them.

  Rhys looked back to where he would stand in a few minutes. The sky was lightening by the minute.

  Time to deal the cards and play the game.

  Rhys and Xavier walked towards the new arrivals, followed by Ned and Hugh.

  His second drew Xavier aside for the final task. Loading the pistols.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Westleigh gave his sons scathing glances.

  Hugh smiled. ‘We would not miss this.’

  Westleigh waved a hand at him as if he were an
annoying fly. He turned to Rhys. ‘Do you have anything to say to me?’

  ‘Only that you are a fool.’ Rhys spoke calmly. ‘Did you not recall that I spent almost a decade in the army? I am very used to killing.’

  Westleigh’s brows knit.

  ‘And I am steadier and thinner than you.’ He looked Westleigh up and down. ‘You’ll make a bigger target.’ He let Westleigh contemplate that for a moment before adding, ‘And since you made the challenge, the weapons are mine. I will be firing a pistol I’ve fired many times before.’

  Westleigh wiped his forehead with his sleeve. ‘All that is to no purpose.’

  ‘Suit yourself.’ Rhys folded his arms across his chest and waited for Xavier and the other man.

  Westleigh tossed the two seconds worried glances. As Rhys had suspected, Westleigh had hoped he would back out. He underestimated Rhys’s resolve.

  Ironically, only Celia and his brothers believed he would truly go through with it.

  The two seconds approached them.

  ‘We agreed the duel will allow for one shot each at thirty paces. No shooting into the air,’ Westleigh’s second said.

  Xavier opened the case containing the duelling pistols. ‘Choose first, Westleigh.’

  Westleigh tossed Rhys one nervous glance and his hand shook as he selected a pistol. Rhys remained impassive.

  ‘Take your positions,’ Xavier said.

  Rhys walked at a brisk pace to the spot he had chosen. Westleigh breathed hard to keep up. They stood back to back and Westleigh’s second counted the paces. ‘...nine. Ten. Eleven—’

  Ned and Hugh sprinted to Rhys’s side and paced with him.

  Westleigh’s second paused, but Xavier gestured for him to continue.

  ‘Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Turn and fire!’

  Rhys, Ned and Hugh turned quickly, as if they were one unit.

  Westleigh turned, as well, but his arm faltered when he faced, not only Rhys, but his heir and his spare, as well. ‘See here! This is not how it is done.’

  Rhys’s arm was raised and his aim steady. ‘You would know precisely how it is done, would you not, Westleigh?’

  Westleigh gestured with his free hand. ‘Get them away.’

  ‘Fire, Father,’ Hugh said. ‘We are not moving.’

  ‘We chose to watch from here,’ Ned added.

  ‘Do not fire,’ his second cried. ‘What if you hit one of your sons?’

  ‘That is the point, is it not, Westleigh?’ Rhys held his aim. ‘To shoot a son? You are bound to succeed, are you not? Who knows? With luck you might even hit me.’

  ‘You are traitors,’ Westleigh cried. ‘Siding with him.’

  ‘Should we side with you, Father?’ Hugh asked. ‘A liar and a cheat? A man who hides his guilt behind a skirt?’

  ‘You cannot shoot your own sons,’ his second cried. ‘The scandal will ruin you.’

  ‘Shoot, Westleigh,’ Rhys called again. ‘Or shall I fire first? I am an excellent shot.’

  Westleigh’s arm trembled.

  ‘Do not do it!’ his second begged.

  His legs began to shake, as well.

  Rhys’s arm did not waver. ‘You can end this another way.’

  Westleigh’s face contorted. As the sun lightened the sky it showed a sheen of perspiration on his brow.

  Rhys was unshaken. ‘Apologise. Confess that it was you who cheated, then leave the country and never return.’ He wanted Westleigh far away. Out of his family. Far from Celia. He wanted her to never see the man again. ‘Or fire so I can kill you.’

  Westleigh fired the pistol into the air and collapsed to his knees. ‘Very well. I did it. I planted the dice and blamed Madame Fortune or whoever she is.’

  Rhys, Ned and Hugh strode over to him.

  From the mist came a cry, ‘No!’

  The men turned to the sound.

  A woman appeared, running towards them. ‘Rhys!’ she cried.

  ‘Celia,’ Rhys whispered. He stepped in her path.

  She came to a halt, then vaulted into his arms. ‘I thought he’d shot you.’

  ‘No one is shot.’ He held on to her. ‘Celia, what are you doing here?’

  ‘I came to stop you,’ she cried.

  He touched her stomach. ‘You should not have exerted yourself. I told you to trust me. It is all over. All over. I have fixed it.’

  Ned and Hugh pulled their father to his feet and another woman appeared.

  Ned peered at her. ‘Mother?’

  ‘She would meddle,’ Westleigh mumbled.

  ‘You sorry creature,’ she spat.

  Rhys released Celia and faced Lord Westleigh. ‘Here is what you will do. You will leave today for the Continent. You will stay there. You’ll have an allowance large enough for comfort, but if you gamble it away or waste it on carousing, there will be no other money. You will leave your family alone, with Ned in charge and empowered to act on your behalf in all matters. What say you?’

  ‘You had better agree,’ Lady Westleigh demanded.

  Westleigh nodded. ‘Yes. I agree. I’ll do as you say.’

  ‘Your word as a gentleman?’ Rhys persisted.

  ‘I give you my word,’ Westleigh said.

  ‘Louder,’ Rhys said.

  ‘I give my word as a gentleman!’ he shouted.

  Ned and Hugh walked him past his second. The man made a sound of disgust and signalled to the surgeon to come with him. They left in the carriage.

  Xavier walked up to Rhys and Celia. ‘Lady Gale, I am not surprised to see you.’ He bowed. ‘I would have expected no less from you.’ He turned to Rhys. ‘Well done. Quite clever, actually.’

  Rhys grinned. ‘I suppose it violated some part of the gentleman’s code, but, as we all know, I am no gentleman.’

  ‘Rhys,’ Ned called to him. ‘We’ll take charge of Father. Hugh and I will take him directly to our solicitor in the curricle. We’ll be on our way to Dover by noon and to Calais on the morrow.’

  ‘Take him in the carriage with me,’ Lady Westleigh said. ‘Rhys can take the curricle back to the stables.’

  ‘I’ll take our horses back,’ Xavier said.

  Before Rhys knew it, everyone had left them, except Ned’s tiger. He helped Celia into the curricle and the tiger hopped on the back.

  ‘Where do I take you, Celia?’ he asked.

  ‘To your house.’ She caressed his cheek. ‘I believe I can trust you at the Masquerade Club.’

  He peered at her. ‘Are you saying you have reconsidered?’

  She nodded and put her arms around him. ‘I trust you will do as you say.’

  Epilogue

  London—April 1820

  Rhys walked through the game room watching the play. The Masquerade Club was as popular as ever—and as profitable. It was hard to believe that so much had happened in under a year.

  Change had come to the monarchy in this year, with the mad king’s death and George IV inheriting the throne.

  But there were even more important changes in Rhys’s life. His friend Xavier was still at his side, but also were his brothers. Ironically, he was now accepted as a Westleigh, after all, but only because his father was gone, still banished to the Continent and keeping his word to leave his family in peace.

  Best of all, Rhys had married Celia.

  At Ned’s insistence, they’d been married by special licence in the drawing room of the Westleigh town house on the same day and place as Ned and Adele’s wedding, very shortly after he’d almost lost Celia because of the duel.

  But he’d managed to rid them all of Westleigh, save the Westleigh estates, and convince Celia that he was a man of his word. In return he’d been given happiness greater than he ever thought possible.

  He glanced towards the game-room door. To his surprise Celia stood there. She never came downstairs during the night’s play, not since she’d grown so large.

  A memory flashed of his first glimpse of her in her mask and deep red gown that now would never contain h
er full breasts and rounded abdomen.

  She braced herself against the door jamb and signalled for him to come to her. He was already heading there.

  He touched her arm. ‘What are you doing down here?’

  She smiled. ‘I don’t want to alarm you, but I think it is time.’

  ‘Time for what?’ he asked.

  She looked him in the eye. ‘Time for our baby to be born.’

  He blanched. ‘Indeed?’

  She nodded. ‘I had Xavier send for Lady Westleigh and the physician.’

  ‘You should not have risked the stairs.’ He took her by the arm. ‘We must get you back upstairs.’

  They’d prepared one of the rooms upstairs for the birth, with a comfortable bed, a tiny cradle and a window for fresh air.

  He helped her up the stairs and stayed with her, letting her grip his hand when the contractions came, wishing he could ensure that nothing went wrong.

  Lady Westleigh arrived and immediately took charge, telling even the physician what he should do.

  ‘You must leave, Rhys,’ she told him.

  ‘Do not waste your breath arguing with me over it,’ he told her. ‘I am staying with her.’

  ‘I want him to stay,’ Celia managed as yet another contraction came.

  * * *

  He endured twelve hours of witnessing Celia in more pain than he could ever imagine, even after being in battle. Finally Lady Westleigh, not the physician, declared that it was time for the birth. Rhys let Celia grip his hand as hard as she wished as she bore down, trying to push the baby from her body.

  Finally, after yet another of her agonised cries, another sound erupted. The cry of a newborn baby.

  ‘You have a son,’ Lady Westleigh announced.

  ‘A son,’ he rasped.

  Celia laughed in relief and reached out for her baby.

  Later when she, the baby and the room were cleaned up and she put the baby to her breast, Rhys sat back and just gazed at his lusty-lunged son and his beautiful wife.

  He made a wager. He wagered this baby would never be hungry or alone, not if Rhys could help it. He would always be loved. Rhys also wagered that Celia, too, would always be loved and that he’d give her the security she had lacked as a child.