He refused to discuss it, refused to let me explain, refused to listen to my pleas. He was calm—cool, even —and that had only made me feel worse. Finally, unable to help myself, I had cried, and that hadn't moved him, either. After almost an hour, I had finally come to my room. Four more hours had passed, and soon he would be leaving. The candles had all burned down, flames dancing now in pools of wax, casting shadows over the walls. The clock ticked monotonously, bringing the hour nearer and nearer.
What was I going to do? What was I going to do?
There were tears in my eyes, and I had never felt so wretched in my life. In just a little over an hour, two men were going to meet outside the city, under the oak trees, to fire pistols at each other, all because of me. It was insanity, pure insanity. What if one of them were hurt? My God, what if one of them were killed? I knew I couldn't bear that. I loved Derek with all my heart, and I loved Jeff, too, and if either of them... I thrust the image out of my mind.
The clock struck six. I must stop them. Somehow or other, I must make them see reason. But how? Jeff wouldn't listen to reason, and I knew Derek wouldn't either. He could not ignore the insult of the slap. He was a proud man. He had vowed he would never kill again, no matter what the circumstances, yet he was going to meet Jeff on the field. If there was an accident, if something happened to Jeff, Derek would blame me. And Jeff... Jeff intended to kill Derek. This wasn't a question of honor to be settled between two young hotheads. It went much deeper. I had to stop it.
First of all, I must get hold of myself. I was on the verge of hysteria, and that would accomplish nothing. I must calm down, and then I must dress, for I was wearing only my petticoat. I forced myself to sit down at the dressing table, forced myself to pick up the brush. In the flickering candlelight I brushed my hair until it fell about my shoulders in rich red-brown waves. The physical action was soothing, and I could feel some of the tension receding.
I dressed carefully, selecting a dark navy-blue dress with long sleeves. I stepped over to the full-length mirror. There was anguish in my eyes, and my lids were brushed with the blue-gray shadows of fatigue. The skin was stretched tightly over my cheekbones. I gazed at the reflection, forcing back the tears threatening to spring anew.
I should have gone to Jeff in the beginning. I should have told him that Derek had returned, that I was going to live with him, but I had been reluctant to hurt him, had put it off repeatedly. Instead of being open and honest and making a clean break, I had slipped off like a deceitful wife to meet Derek. Because I hadn't wanted to hurt Jeff, because I had delayed telling him for as long as possible, I had hurt him much worse. I alone was to blame for all this.
Turning away from the mirror, I heard voices in the hall. Jeff's voice was cool and precise as he gave instructions to Kyle, and Kyle replied in deep, sepulchral tones that caused me to shiver. I moved quickly through the sitting room and opened the door just in time to see Kyle moving down the hall toward the staircase. Jeff stood watching him. He hadn't slept, either. I saw that at once. His face was pale, his features drawn, and all traces of the raffish charmer were gone. His brown eyes were grim, and that wide pink mouth so ready to grin was set in a hard, determined line.
He turned to look at me. I might have been a stranger.
"You can't go through with this, Jeff," I said quietly.
"Kyle has gone to the livery stable to fetch the carriage."
"You must call it off."
"That's impossible, Marietta."
"You could be killed."
"I could be, yes. It wouldn't much matter."
"Jeff—"
"It's something I have to do," he said.
"This—this insanity will prove nothing. It will change nothing. I love him, Jeff. I always have. I've never pretended with you."
"You've never pretended," he agreed.
"I—I didn't want to be unfaithful. It was something— something I couldn't help. When he came back, when I saw him again—"
"I don't care to discuss it, Marietta."
"I didn't want to hurt you. That's why I didn't tell you. I intended to tell you, but I kept putting it off, knowing what it would do to you. If there were any way I could have spared you this—"
"It's too late for words."
"How you must hate me," I whispered.
"No, Marietta, I don't hate you. I couldn't, no matter what you did. I love you with all my heart and soul, but unfortunately that doesn't seem to be enough."
We looked at each other for a moment. Jeff's eyes were filled with that love, with the pain it cost him, and my own filled with tears I could no longer hold back. He sighed and shook his head wearily, and then he drew me to him and kissed me tenderly on the lips, as though he were comforting a child. I rested my hand on his cheek, looking up at him with tearful entreaty.
"Please forgive me," I begged.
"I would forgive you anything."
"Don't go through with it, Jeff. Please don't."
"I must, Marietta. I'm afraid I can't salvage very much out of all this, but perhaps I can salvage my manhood, my pride."
"Pride—"
"I must have something left when this is all over."
"I'll give him up, Jeff. I'll never see him again. I'll even marry you. I do love you. In my way I love you. How I wish it could be—how I wish I could love you the way you love me. I... I'll learn. You'll make me. The night of the ball you said you were going to—"
"It's too late," he said quietly.
"What have I done?" I whispered. "I never wanted to hurt you. You must believe me."
"I believe you, Marietta."
He took me by the shoulders, gently moved me back, away from him, and then walked down the hall to his office and disappeared inside. I leaned against the wall. It was useless. I had failed. I had wounded him as deeply as a man could be wounded and, being a man, he had to fight.
The rooms were silent. The candles in the wall sconces flickered. I could hear the carriage coming down the street, hooves clopping lightly on the cobblestones. It stopped in front. Jeff came out of his office. He carried the leather box that contained his pistols. His long black cloak billowed and spread out behind him as he walked back down the hall toward me. He was no longer grim, merely resigned. He looked very, very tired.
He didn't even look at me. He moved on past and started toward the stairs, and my grief was so overwhelming that I thought I must surely die of it. I moved to the head of the stairs to watch him descend the last few steps. I seemed to be trapped in the middle of a terrible dream. Jeff walked to the front door and stepped outside. As he closed the door behind him, I stood there in a daze. Listening to the carriage pull away, I felt as if my heart were being wrenched from my body.
Several minutes passed, and I didn't even hear Angie approaching. She took my hand and squeezed it, and I looked at her with anguished eyes. She was fully dressed, even though it was only a little after six. She led me back down the hall into my sitting room and, as I sat on the sofa, handed me a glass of brandy.
"Drink it, luv. It'll help."
"You know," I said.
She nodded. "Kyle told me."
"I must go, Angie."
"You can't."
"I have to. I have to stop them."
"There's nothing you can do."
"I've got to go. Something dreadful is going to happen. I feel it. I've felt it for a long time. I—I had the feeling before. I felt something catastrophic was going to happen, and then Derek turned up and—and I thought that was it. It wasn't. It was this. This is the catastrophe. I've got to stop it."
"It's too late. There's no way—"
I set the brandy down and stood up abruptly. "I'll go to the livery stable. Someone will be up at this hour. Yes —yes, Kyle would have awakened them when he fetched the carriage. I—I'll hire a carriage."
"Marietta—"
"I've got to, Angie!"
Angie saw there was no way she could dissuade me. She sighed.
"V
ery well," she said. "You'd better let me go for the carriage. You're in no shape to do it yourself. I'll get that young Teddy Blake to drive us. He won't like the idea, not at this hour of the morning, but I imagine I can persuade him. I'll be back with the carriage in less than ten minutes. Wash your face. Pull yourself together."
"I'll try, Angie. Do hurry."
"I'll run all the way, luv."
She left, and I washed my face with cool water, and I did calm down. I forced back the emotions that had almost overwhelmed me. Jeff was determined to go through with it, and I was just as determined to stop it. I would. Somehow. Jeff was beyond reason, but there was still Derek. He would listen to me. He must. He hadn't wanted to duel in the first place, had refused to until Jeff slapped him. That slap had been a terrible insult, but I would make him listen to me. I would make him give up the duel.
I went downstairs and stepped outside to wait for the carriage. The sky was dark-gray now, no longer black, and the stars were gone. Up and down the street the buildings were shrouded with heavy shadows, and there was a thin, wispy fog that swirled slowly in the air like smoke. The chill of night hadn't yet vanished, and I shivered just a little, but I didn't go back in to fetch a cloak. I waited, growing more and more impatient, fear and panic close to the surface again.
Two or three minutes later I heard the carriage pull out of the livery stable on the corner and start down the street. It was large and black, a closed carriage pulled by two stout dappled grays. Teddy Blake tugged on the reins to stop the carriage directly in front. His hair was mussed, his face flushed with sleep. His clothes had been hastily pulled on, and his cloak hung lopsided on his shoulders. Angie opened the door for me, drew me inside. Teddy called to the horses and clicked the reins. We were on our way.
"Can't he go any faster?" I said.
"Relax, luv. We'll get there. It's just now six-thirty. Shouldn't take us more'n twenty minutes to reach the Oaks."
"It's set for seven."
"I know."
"I'll make Derek see reason. I'll stop it."
"I hope you can."
"It's my fault, Angie. All this is my fault."
"Mustn't be too hard on yourself," she said. "I don't imagine you wanted to be unfaithful to Jeff. I don't imagine you could help yourself. I understand now, loving Kyle as I do."
"I tried to stay away."
"I know you did, luv. But it was inevitable. I can see that now."
"I do wish he'd go a little faster."
"Poor Teddy. He'd gone back to bed after Kyle left. I had to roust him out, and him naked as the day he was born. Blushed somethin' awful, he did. I stood there tappin' my foot while he dressed, orderin' him to snap it up. He'll get us there."
I leaned back against the leather cushion and stared out of the window as the carriage drove down dark, narrow streets, rocking slightly as it rumbled over the cobblestones. We passed a square where men in brown leather aprons were setting up vegetable carts. Small black braziers had been set on the ground, fires burning like bright orange blossoms that waved in the breeze. We drove on, down more dark streets, near the waterfront now. I could smell oil and tar and salty water. It seemed we would never get out of the city.
My calm had worn off. I was tense now, my nerves on edge. I wanted to shout at the driver, urge him to hurry, hurry, even though we were moving as fast as possible over the rough cobbles. Angie reached for my hand. Her pale-blue taffeta skirts crackled.
"We're almost out of the city," she said. "He'll be able to drive a lot faster once we're clear of these narrow streets. Do try to get hold of yourself, luv."
"I feel like I'm going to jump out of my skin."
"I know."
"What—what if we're not in time?"
"We will be," she assured me.
"Derek will listen to me. He must."
"I imagine he will."
"He—he hates killing. He told me. He had to kill a man once. The man who gave him his scar. He's never been able to forgive himself for taking another man's life, and now—now he's going to take a pistol and—"
"Try not to think about it. Try to relax."
"They'll already be there by this time. Kyle is acting as Jeff's second and—and I suppose one of Derek's men will act as his. They'll be going over the rules. Rules. How silly to have rules. They're going to try to kill each other."
"We'll be there in just a few minutes," she said.
She gave my hand a tight squeeze and settled back against the cushion. The carriage rocked as the wheels skimmed over hard-packed earth. We were clear of the city at last. The carriage picked up speed. We drove alongside a canal. There was a smell of swamp. The fog was thicker here. Trees seemed to take shape like dark phantoms emerging from the swirling, grayish-white mist. We turned, moving inland, away from the canal. It was growing lighter.
"Teddy does know the spot, doesn't he?" I asked.
"Everyone knows the Oaks."
It seemed an eternity before the carriage finally stopped. Angie and I climbed out. We were on the edge of a large field surrounded by giant oaks. Two other carriages stood at the edge of the field, half-concealed by the fog, which hadn't yet lifted. The sky was still gray, wavering rays of pale yellow-white sunlight streaming down over the field where five men stood in a cluster. I was so nervous now I could hardly keep from trembling. Angie took my hand once again, squeezing it.
"Calm and easy, luv. Mustn't fall apart now."
"Thank—thank God they haven't begun."
The men separated, two moving in one direction, two in the other. The fifth man shook his head and went to stand under one of the oaks. None of them had looked up, although they must have heard the carriage approaching. As we drew nearer, I could distinguish features. Jeff and Kyle were talking as Jeff removed his cloak. Derek stood with one of the smugglers, calmly examining his pistol, holding it out in front of him, testing the weight. The fifth man held a bulky black bag in his hand, and I knew he must be the doctor Jeff and Kyle had fetched after they left the gambling house. The fog was a fine mist in the air, gradually dissipating as the sunlight grew stronger.
Angie let go of my hand. Heart pounding, I hurried across the still-damp grass toward Derek, tendrils of fog parting before me. My skirts billowed in the breeze, dark red underskirts showing beneath the navy blue. I stumbled and almost lost my balance, and Derek looked up. He showed neither surprise nor displeasure, his gray eyes revealing nothing. He said something to his second, and the man moved away several paces, scowling. When I reached him, Derek lowered the pistol he had been examining.
"You shouldn't have come, Marietta."
"I had to. I have to stop this."
"It's rather late for that," he said dryly.
"Jeff wouldn't listen to reason. I tried to persuade him to give up this—this madness, but he wouldn't listen."
"And you think I will."
"You must, Derek."
"We've less than five minutes left, Marietta. You'd better get out of the way."
He was so very uninterested, as though this were all a rather tedious affair he would try to endure along with the boredom it entailed. I couldn't reach him. I realized that at once. He was as determined to go through with it as Jeff had been.
"Please, Derek," I whispered. "I beg you."
"A few minutes ago, just before you arrived, both of us were given an opportunity to call the duel off. Neither of us took it."
"You can still call it off. You can refuse—"
He looked at me with those bored gray eyes, and I knew that any further argument would be futile. I felt a terrible sinking sensation inside. I had lost. Derek frowned, and then he turned his back to me and signaled to his second. As the man approached, I left, moving across the damp grass and through the fog as though I were in the middle of a dream. I hardly noticed when Angie took my arm and guided me over to one of the oak trees. We stood there beneath the heavy boughs, and she slipped her arm about my waist.
"Try to bear up, luv," s
he said quietly.
"He wouldn't listen."
"It'll all be over in just a few minutes. There's so much fog they'll probably both miss. Everything is going to be all right."
I shook my head. I was numb, and the dream-like quality mercifully remained. I watched as the two men approached each other across the field, one in brown, his sandy hair ruffled by the breeze, the other in dark-blue breeches and white shirt, his manner still bored. Each held a long, deadly pistol. The fog was lifting rapidly now, though the trees surrounding the field were still wrapped in shadow.
They met each other. They turned, standing back to back, and then a somber voice began to count the paces. One, two, three, and they moved apart. Four, five, six, and the distance between them grew and I wondered why Kyle was calling the paces and not Derek's man. Had they drawn lots? Did it make any difference? A gust of strong wind swept over the field, blowing most of the fog away, and the oak boughs groaned overhead, tendrils of Spanish moss waving. Ten paces now, ten to go, and then they would turn and fire and one of them would die. I knew that for a certainty. I felt it in every fiber of my being.
"Sixteen," Kyle called. "Seventeen, eighteen—"
I loved them both, each in a different way, and because of me one of them was going to die. There was nothing I could do, nothing, and I shook my head as Angie's arm tightened about my waist. It was real, real, not a dream at all. Kyle called the last two numbers and the men turned, facing each other again, forty paces separating them now, and each man raised his pistol. There was a deafening explosion and puffs of smoke. I saw a bright-red blossom bursting on Derek's white shirt and he staggered backward, still clutching the smoking pistol in his hand.
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