by Head, Gail
Richard met the disingenuous civility with cool disdain. “My principal cites Rule 23.” Richard's blunt words made clear what everyone already knew; that the offense was of such a nature that no apology or explanation could be received.
“Very well, we shall begin.”
Turning on his heel, Richard returned to Darcy as Grissholm came to position and waited. Grissholm and Bonham's obvious confidence confirmed what he had feared. Darcy would need every skill he possessed – and more – if he was to come out of this alive.
“Remember to keep your promise,” Darcy murmured quietly. “If I should fail, you must keep your promise.”
“I will Darcy. Georgiana will be safe with me.”
“And Elizabeth.”
Richard hesitated.
“And Elizabeth. Give me your word you will look after her, Richard. It is the least I can do for her if things go badly. She would have had a safe and peaceful existence in Hertfordshire if I had never entered her life.”
“I will look after Georgiana and Miss Bennet if it goes badly, but you must think of succeeding! Have faith!” Richard's encouraging smile faded to sober concern as soon as Darcy turned and moved onto the field opposite Grissholm. With a brief, formal salute, they both dropped into the en garde from which only one would emerge alive.
“I have waited a long time for this,” Grissholm purred. “You will finally pay for your actions at Cambridge.”
“Lies and innuendo, that is all you had. I was barely acquainted with the lady, and you know it!”
“So you say. But you cannot deny I have had the pleasure of Miss Bennet's intimate acquaintance.”
The leering smile ignited Darcy's fury and he sprang to the attack, instantly forcing Grissholm back a few steps. Darcy's thrust was quickly blocked and parried. They separated, and circled, each looking for the advantage.
Then Grissholm lunged, delivering a succession of maneuvers that grew with lightening rapidity into a hard-pressed assault. Darcy battled fiercely to meet him stroke for stroke. The almost musical ring of the dueling swords sounded through the grove as they clashed rhythmically again and again. Each man was now fully engaged in the brutal pursuit of their own personal justice. Richard watched with grim silence, his lips pressed together in an earnest, silent prayer for his cousin.
There was another brief separation before Darcy again advanced on Grissholm. His attack was met by a fluid retreat and riposte which sent Darcy back. Grissholm then pressed relentlessly with a rapid series of lunges, forcing Darcy further back, step by step. With expert form, Darcy parried and thrust only to be reversed again, as Grissholm lunged forward, his tip catching the fabric at Darcy's elbow and slashing the sleeve open to his wrist.
A spasm of panic shot through Richard at the near hit. They had counted upon Grissholm having given up his training, having lost some of the speed and skill that he had displayed at Cambridge. Clearly that hope had been a vain one, for Grissholm still moved with all the sinuous, lethal grace of a master swordsman. His blade flickered in a blur almost too fast to be seen, and it was requiring all Darcy's efforts merely to keep the lightening-quick blade from piercing his body. Tiny beads of sweat were already starting to gather on Darcy's brow as Richard watched him stumble backwards, desperately parrying yet another confident advance.
Dread seeped into Richard's veins as he watched the fatigue grow in his cousin's every movement. He was outmatched. Darcy was going to die today.
And there was absolutely nothing Richard could do about it.
After a brief, fierce exchange of right-of-way, Grissholm lunged with a final, forceful thrust toward Darcy's heart. Darcy countered quickly, but it was not enough. Grissholm's sword plunged deeply into Darcy's side.
With a dissatisfied growl Grissholm pulled back, his retreating blade drawing a line of dark red blood that blossomed on Darcy's stark white shirt. A low grunt of astonished pain came from Darcy as he clutched his side and staggered, then sank to the ground.
Richard rushed forward, pulling anxiously at the bloodied shirttail. “Darcy! How bad is it?”
“Lay him back so I can see,” Dr. Lawrence commanded brusquely. With quick, efficient hands, Lawrence worked to stem the bleeding and assess the injury. He looked over to an impatient Grissholm and reported, “He needs dressing.”
Giving Richard a concerned frown, he set to work. The wound was a clean cut, but deep – and they both knew deadly infection thrived in such injuries. Grim-faced, Lawrence poured a pungent solution over the laceration causing Darcy to stiffen and hiss viciously through clenched teeth.
“Wrap it well, Lawrence. Grissholm is waiting.”
“Oh, no – not today! Anything I do now will not hold for another round.”
“He is right, Darcy,” Richard added. “Let me talk to Bonham – ”
“No! Do the best you can and stand aside, for I will have this business done here and now.”
“This is madness, Darcy. You must have time to recover.” Dr. Lawrence struggled to win what he knew to be a battle already lost. “Your honored father gave you good principles, sir; but I do not believe he meant for you to end your life in this manner. If he were here, he would – ”
“My father is not here, Doctor; and you are here as my physician, not my conscience. Kindly confine your advice to the subject of medicine.”
Lawrence could say no more and Richard looked away from Darcy's fierce expression, caught up in his own private skirmish with reason and honor. The defense of Elizabeth Bennet's reputation was a noble cause, indeed; but the thought of Darcy's death and the far-reaching effects it would bring was unbearable.
How could he continue to honor Darcy's express wish that the duel proceed unopposed, no matter who prevailed? Darcy would certainly be no match for Grissholm now that he was injured. All the determination in the world would not be enough.
His mind made up, Richard rose from Darcy's side, ignoring the angry objections that followed him, and signaled a meeting with Bonham.
Swallowing back the bile that rose in his throat as Grissholm's second swaggered arrogantly toward him, he kept his voice even. “Will your principal acknowledge first blood and consider the challenge satisfied?”
“But, Colonel, yours is the challenger, not mine!” Bonham scoffed contemptuously. “He has invoked the rule which refused any reconciliation. Has Lord Grissholm's display of superior skill inspired a sudden change of heart?”
Richard's jaw tightened at the implication of cowardice. “As we are playing by the rules, I would remind you of numbers five and twenty-one. Blood has been shed and a reconciliation must be attempted.”
“Yes, it has,” Bonham's lips quirked smugly. “Very well, I shall consult with my principal.”
With a heavy sigh, Richard returned to report the meeting. Lawrence's ministrations were all that kept a livid Darcy from flying at him.
“What do you think you are doing?!”
“I am trying to save your life.”
“Do not interfere, Richard.”
“You cannot win and you know it. The odds were not in your favor before it began, and with this injury, you shall not last another five minutes. Be reasonable, Darcy. What good will you be to Georgiana – and Miss Bennet – if you are dead?”
“The Colonel has a point,” Lawrence added. “You have a deep wound and a damaged rib, at the very least. If the pain doesn't stop you, the loss of blood will.”
“I cannot concede. You saw what he did to her, both of you! Would you have me absolve him of it? No, it is too great an offense to let stand.”
Richard shook his head sadly. “Convention allows you to be a chivalrous fool, but do not let it make you a dead one. Which do you think your dear Elizabeth would prefer you to be?” The impropriety of mentioning Miss Bennet's Christian name and in such an intimate way grated against his nature, but he was trying to save Darcy's life. The look he saw in response told him he had succeeded in breaching his cousin's intractable determination.
“Even if I agree, what makes you think Grissholm will relent? And if he does, do not imagine it will come cheaply.”
Within a few minutes, Bonham returned to the center of the field and Richard went to join him.
Bonham's voice was intentionally loud enough for all to hear. “Lord Grissholm is feeling generous today and can be persuaded to consider the quarrel resolved.”
Richard could not help the sigh of relief that escaped him.
“However,” Grissholm's second continued with a gleam in his eye, “as specified under Rule Five, his lordship expects Mr. Darcy to beg his pardon and acknowledge that the viscount's behavior was entirely honorable and proper as concerns the young lady in question.”
Richard started in dismay and Darcy's murderous growl instantly filled the air in answer.
“Of course, if these terms are not acceptable, Lord Grissholm stands ready to continue the duel just as soon as Mr. Darcy is able.” Bonham gleefully raised his brows to Richard, and then returned to Grissholm's side to await the decision.
Despondently, Richard turned back and rejoined Darcy. Grissholm had left him no choice.
“The devil take him!” Darcy snarled at Richard as the doctor continued to work. “I will not sacrifice Elizabeth! If I accept his terms, she will be branded an outrageous flirt who willingly dallied with her employer, and got what she deserved. It would ruin her and her family forever. I cannot do that. If I die defending her, then at least her honor will be preserved.”
Lawrence finished the last of the bandaging at a snail's pace and then slowly tied off the wrapping, attempting to postpone the coming tragedy for as long as possible. Finally unable to do any more, he looked to Richard and they both helped Darcy up.
Richard's hold lingered to support Darcy's unsteady stance. It only lasted a moment, and then he was curtly shrugged off. The cool, defiant look in Darcy's face twisted his stomach into anguished knots. The humiliating demands had re-kindled his cousin's sense of honor and justice, which, once ignited, could not be extinguished until Darcy was satisfied. It had been this way since their childhood.
“You are certain, then?”
“I would rather die with courage and give Elizabeth her life back than live knowing I doomed the woman I love, and her entire family, to a life of degradation and ruin. Can you understand that at all?”
“Yes, Darcy, I can.” Richard's heart grew heavy with acceptance of Darcy's coming demise and the waste of a good life, but Grissholm had truly left him with no honorable alternative. “And I would not have you do anything different, Cousin. It is Grissholm who is the coward.”
Feeling a sorrow almost too great to bear, Richard stepped back, giving Darcy a parting bow. Darcy pressed his lips into a grim expression of affection and slowly, painfully retrieved his sword from the ground. Without another look back, he walked away and joined Grissholm in the center of the field.
“I reject the terms!” Darcy spat contemptuously. “Your outrage against Miss Elizabeth Bennet is unforgivable and I shall defend her honor to the death, if need be.”
“I was rather hoping you would feel that way about it,” replied Grissholm softly, his face widening into a broad, confident smile. Giving only the briefest of salutes, he raised his blood-stained sword and lunged at Darcy's heart.
Chapter 27
Lord Grissholm lunged forward, driving his blade towards Darcy's chest with lethal speed. Darcy parried desperately, narrowly escaping the viscount's thrust, but Grissholm's blade darted around instantly for another attempt. Wrenching away from the gleaming steel, Darcy nearly doubled over in pain as a hot rush of blood began to saturate the bandages at his side.
Panting in tortuous breaths, Darcy rushed in, striking with a flurry of rapid strokes that were too-easily repelled. He was forced to fall back out of Grissholm's reach, and searched desperately for any opening he could use to his advantage. It was a race against time. If he could not force an error before his strength bled out of him, it would be over. But even as hopeless as it seemed, he could not give up. He would not fail Elizabeth again. If it took his last breath, he would not fail her.
“You disappoint me, Darcy. I have been imagining this day for a very long time and I expected more from you.”
“I am not done yet!” he growled fiercely.
“Very well, then, let us see what you have left!”
The thirst for revenge shining in his eyes, Grissholm attacked, driving Darcy backward as he slashed again and again, the impact ringing against Darcy's defending blade.
The two men were focused wholly upon their struggle, their entire existence consisting only of two deadly blades glittering in the sunlight, the ringing tones of parry and riposte, and the explosive movements of lunge and retreat. All else faded away, leaving them in their own private world of violent conflict. They did not see the observers scrutinizing every blow as it fell. Nor did they hear the rattling wheels and pounding hooves of an approaching carriage as it flew across the meadow, drawn by two lathered post-horses.
“Stop the duel!” Richard cried when he caught sight of the oncoming coach. “We have company.”
Bonham eyed the equipage suspiciously. “How convenient. Darcy could not stand to lose, eh, Fitzwilliam?”
“In spite of what you think, I am as surprised as you are; but in any case, we had better stop the duel. The last thing we need is an uninvited witness to this affair.”
“A bit of luck for Darcy, I would say,” Bonham muttered sourly, walking away. He approached the two combatants just as Darcy blocked, parried, and with a shrewd feint, brought his sword about on Grissholm's right.
“Gentlemen, you must disengage.”
Bonham's announcement distracted the duelists for only an instant, but it was enough to slow Grissholm's reaction as Darcy's thrust carried through, piercing Grissholm's arm just above the elbow. The injured arm spasmed in response and a trail of blood stained the white sleeve.
“Bonham!” Grissholm roared furiously. “What the devil are you doing?”
Bonham looked at the bleeding arm in surprise. “My apologies, Grissholm, but the contest must be suspended. We have an unexpected guest.”
Grissholm's physician came running to examine the injury and was brusquely shrugged off as the carriage came to a frantic halt directly in front of the men.
Suddenly released from his battle for survival, Darcy's knees trembled, then gave way. Richard was next to him in an instant, helping him to stand as they both faced the unfamiliar coach. Their curiosity turned to astonishment when the carriage door flew open and Charles Bingley tumbled out.
After giving a quick glance to Darcy and Grissholm, Bingley anxiously turned back to the open door, extended his hand into the carriage and drew forth a hesitant young woman bundled in a heavy winter coat and bonnet.
Darcy's mouth dropped open in shocked amazement.
“It cannot be!” Grissholm's own look of surprise instantly hardened into bitter disdain. “What is the meaning of this, Bingley? Is this some sort of joke?”
“It is no joke, my lord,” the lady whispered tentatively. Hesitantly, she raised her eyes to look at him and then reached out as she saw his bloodied arm. “Robert, you are hurt!”
Grissholm's countenance remained cold and indifferent. “Do not presume to address me in that manner, madam!”
The woman's expectant face fell dismally at his rebuff and she turned tearfully to Bingley. “I told you it was too late, sir. I am sorry. I will wait in the carriage.”
Bingley stayed her efforts to escape from Grissholm's contemptuous glare.
“No, please! Wait a moment!' he cried desperately. “Perhaps I have done this rather badly, but Lord Grissholm, I think the lady deserves more courtesy than this after travelling night and day to get here. Do you not know her?”
“I know who you would like me to think she is, but you are woefully mistaken. Catherine Monroe died ten years ago – thanks to Darcy's courtesies!”
Darcy's low growl was
ignored as the woman stepped hesitantly in Grissholm's direction, hopeful once more.
“Not so, my lord. I am Catherine, and quite alive. Am I so altered you do not know me?”
In spite of himself, Grissholm's eyes were drawn to her face. A flicker of hope crossed his face for an instant, then was abruptly extinguished.
“It is not possible. I do not know who you are, madam, but this gentleman has wasted your time in bringing you here. Doctor, I am ready now.” Turning on his heels, Grissholm stalked away.
Darcy gazed with wonder at the woman, his fatigue held at bay by the shock of Bingley's astonishing arrival. It was indeed Catherine Monroe! She was older now, but the years had not diminished the striking combination of lustrous golden hair and deep blue eyes that he remembered. He looked to Bingley for an explanation, but found his friend's attentions wholly engaged in comforting the distraught woman.
Catherine's tear-filled eyes followed Grissholm's retreat, an array of painful emotions playing on her face. She watched despondently as the doctor bandaged Grissholm's arm with quick efficiency, then packed his medical bag and returned to the carriage. The viscount remained where he was, alone in the clearing.
Much to Darcy's surprise, an expression of indignation began to grow on the lady's face and she wiped briskly at the tears on her cheeks. Squaring her shoulders, she took a deep breath and resolutely made her way to Grissholm's side. Her somber words carried in the still morning air.
“It is clear my presence offends you, sir, and so I will take my leave; but before I go, I must tell you that you are mistaken. This journey was by no means a waste of time; for I am glad to know at last what has become of the man I have loved all these years. You have not the slightest resemblance to the one I remember. I fear he was an imaginary being that only existed in my mind. He was kind and loving and gentle. The cold, unyielding man I see now releases me from the acute regret I have suffered these many years, and I shall not waste another minute mourning what I thought my choices cost me that day I left Cambridge.”
For a long moment, they stood facing each other, caught up in a private memory known only to them. As Catherine turned to go, Grissholm caught her with his words.