Alissa Baxter

  “I took the advice you gave me at Grantham Place seriously, Grandmama. His grace and I are merely friends — of sorts.”One morning, Alexandra had just put the finishing touches to her toilette, when a message was delivered to her that her brother and Lord Denville had called and were awaiting her downstairs. Alexandra received the message with pleasure. She had not gone riding in the Park with the Duke this morning – his grace had scheduled an urgent meeting with the bailiff of Stanford Court, who had travelled up to London in order to see him – and she had been wondering how to fill the hours before her grandmother eventually emerged from her bedchamber. Emily, unfortunately, had developed a slight chill, and was confined to her bed, and had sent a message to Alexandra, a little earlier, telling her that she was not desirous of receiving any visitors today, in case she infected them. Poor John would be so disappointed, Alexandra thought now as she left her bedchamber and hurried downstairs to the Morning Room to see him. She was about to push open the door of the room, which had been left ajar, when Lord Denville’s voice, raised in speech, gave her pause.

  “By gad, John!” he was saying. “Charles Fotherby is the last man I would have expected to call someone out! I believed him to be a peaceable man.”

  “Well, you would not have described him as peaceable last night,” John replied. “Winters made some disparaging remarks about Lady Letitia Beaumont. Fotherby, who I believe is a close friend of the Beaumont family, took exception to the remarks, and demanded that Winters retract what he had said. Winters refused to do so, so Fotherby called him out. The meeting is tomorrow on Westbourne Green.”

  Alexandra stood in frozen shock outside the Morning Room. After a few moments, however, she recollected herself and entered the room. John looked up and, seeing his sister’s face, said uneasily, “How much of our conversation did you hear, Alex?”

  “Enough,” she replied shortly. Turning to Lord Denville, Alexandra greeted him, before saying to her brother, “John — this is dreadful! Can anything be done to stop the duel?”

  “In an affair of honour, Alex? Nothing can or will be done, of course. Winters was extremely offensive in what he said about Lady Letitia. I don’t think that the seconds will even attempt to bring about a reconciliation.”

  Alexandra frowned. “But, something has to be done, John! Either man could be killed in the encounter. And the damage done to Letty’s reputation will be considerable if it becomes known that a duel was fought over her. Besides,” she continued seriously, “I thought duelling had been outlawed.”

  John, knowing of old the look in his sister’s eyes, said directly, “This is a gentleman’s affair, Alex, and doesn’t warrant any interference. So try to forget what you overheard.”

  Alexandra looked doubtfully up at John. She knew, of course, that gentlemen took their Code of Honour very seriously and that, once a challenge was issued, it was rarely retracted, but she was of the opinion that it was pure folly for a man to risk his life in such a way. She realized, however, that John was reluctant to discuss the matter further with her so, after asking him to call on her tomorrow morning with any news that he might have about the duel, she allowed him to turn the conversation, telling him about Emily’s indisposition when he inquired about her absence.

  When John and Lord Denville left half an hour later, however, Alexandra’s thoughts returned to the problem at hand. If only she could do something to prevent the duel from taking place, she brooded. An idea suddenly occurred to her and, jumping up from the chaise-longue where she was sitting, Alexandra rushed upstairs to her bedchamber and requested Hobbes, who was setting the room in order, to bring her her writing materials. A short while later, Alexandra hurried downstairs again, and handed a sealed letter to Leighton, with the direction that it was to be taken to Stanford House immediately, and that the footman who delivered it was to wait for a response.

  Twenty minutes later, Leighton entered the Morning Room, carrying a letter on a silver salver. Alexandra broke the seal eagerly, and quickly scanned the brief missive: “Dear Miss Grantham,” the Duke had written, “I will call on you in half an hour. We can discuss the urgent business you mentioned in Hyde Park. Yours etc. Stanford.”

  Alexandra breathed a sigh of relief. It would considerably lessen the burden of knowledge she felt if she could share what she knew about the proposed duel with the Duke. He would, in all probability, know the best thing to be done.

  Within the hour, Alexandra was seated beside the Duke in his high-perch phaeton. This equipage had enormous hind wheels, and its body was suspended fully five feet from the ground. Alexandra, who had never before been driven in such a carriage, looked around her with interest, enjoying the novelty of regarding the world from such a high viewpoint.

  When they entered the gates of Hyde Park, she was brought back to the present by the Duke’s voice, saying, “What did you wish to discuss with me, Miss Grantham?”

  Alexandra related what she had heard about the proposed duel. “So you see, your grace,” she concluded, “It is a very serious matter, indeed. I know that ladies are not even supposed to know about such things, but when I heard what John had to say this morning, I could not sit idly by without trying to do something to prevent the duel from taking place.”

  “I am glad that you had the good sense to come to me, Miss Grantham,” the Duke said, frowning. “Naturally, no one has spoken to me about the affair.”

  Alexandra looked uncertainly at the man beside her. “Can you do anything to prevent the meeting from taking place, your grace?”

  The Duke, concentrating on manoeuvring his horses around a tricky bend in the road, took a while to respond. Eventually, he glanced down at Alexandra, and said shortly, “I will do what I believe to be necessary, Miss Grantham.”

  He did not elaborate on these words, somewhat to Alexandra’s annoyance, and when they had travelled once more around the Park, he drove her back to Beauchamp House. After escorting her to the door, and taking his leave of her, he drove away.

  Alexandra watched the phaeton disappear around the corner with a perplexed expression on her face. Then, shrugging her shoulders, she walked past Leighton, who was holding the door open for her, and went upstairs to her bedchamber. She felt that she had done the best that she could do in a difficult situation. She only hoped that the Duke would somehow manage to put a stop to the duel.

  Early the next morning, John called at Beauchamp House. Alexandra, partaking of a solitary breakfast in the Breakfast Parlour, looked up eagerly when he entered the room.

  “Well?” she questioned, after John had taken a seat opposite her at the breakfast table. “Do you have any news?”

  John broke a roll, and chewed a piece of it thoughtfully, before replying, “Winters failed to arrive. I had the news from Arthur Rigby, who acted as Fotherby’s second, half an hour ago.”

  Alexandra smiled. “What wonderful news, John!”

  “Rather surprising, though, Alex,” John said slowly. “Winters, I believed, was in deadly earnest about the duel. Rigby is astonished that he cried off. As am I.”

  Alexandra nodded her head in agreement. Privately, however, John’s news did not surprise her, at all. The Duke of Stanford, she was sure, was a man who, when he put his mind to doing something, rarely failed in his objective. And he would not have wished a duel to be fought over his sister’s name.

  An hour after John had taken his leave, the Duke called in order to accompany Alexandra on her morning ride in the Park. Alexandra came downstairs attired in a habit of bright green, ornamented down the front and embroidered in black at the cuffs à-la-militaire. She wore a black beaver, fancifully adorned with gold cordon and tassels, and a long ostrich feather of green in front. Black half boots, laced and fringed with green, and York tan gloves completed the ensemble. The Duke, waiting at the bottom of the stairs for Alexandra, smiled appreciatively at the charming picture she presented.

  Riding beside him in the Park a while later, Alexandra said curiously, “My brother informe
d me at breakfast, your grace, that the duel was called off because Mr Winters failed to present himself at the appointed rendez-vous.”

  The Duke glanced across at Alexandra. “News of this nature spreads very quickly, it seems. Your brother spoke the truth, Miss Grantham. Winters, by some — er — unforeseen reason, was unable to arrive on Westbourne Green on time.”

  Alexandra looked thoughtfully at the Duke. “You did something to prevent his arrival, I suppose?”

  He bowed. “You suppose correctly, ma’am.” He paused, and after a few moments, continued deliberately, “I know that I can trust you not to speak of my part in this affair to anyone, Miss Grantham.”

  “Of course I won’t,” Alexandra said quietly.

  Tacitly agreeing to change the subject, they spoke of other things until their return to Berkeley Square an hour later. The Duke, after taking his leave of Alexandra, returned to Stanford House and changed his clothes, before ringing for his curricle and driving to Sir Jason Morecombe’s Brook Street residence. During the course of his investigation into the altercation between Sir Charles Fotherby and George Winters, the Duke had discovered that Winters had been in Watier’s the night before last, only because he had gone as Sir Jason Morecombe’s guest. Although he could not be sure, the Duke strongly suspected Sir Jason of playing some part in engineering the quarrel between the two men, and he intended finding out exactly what had transpired.

  The Duke was shown into a Salon by the manservant who opened the door. A few moments later Sir Jason entered the room. He bowed when he saw his guest, and said languidly, “My, my, to what do I owe this unexpected honour?”

  The Duke looked impassively at the man opposite him. “I think you know the reason for my visit, Morecombe.”

  Sir Jason waved a white hand. “My dear Stanford, pray be seated. I have a singular dislike of being loomed over, you know. May I offer you refreshment? A glass of wine, perhaps?” he continued, when the Duke had taken a seat.

  The Duke declined the refreshment, then said quietly, “How well are you acquainted with George Winters?”

  “George Winters?” Sir Jason raised his brows. “The name is familiar, but I cannot quite place it…”

  “He accompanied you to Watier’s as your guest, the evening before last.”

  “Ah yes!” Sir Jason said. “That must be why it seemed familiar.”

  The Duke leaned forward in his chair, and said quietly, “I am warning you this one time, Morecombe — keep your distance from my sister. And from Alexandra Grantham. If you attempt to harm either of them in any way, you will regret it.”

  “Indeed?” Sir Jason questioned. “I can understand your concern for your sister’s well-being, your grace, but Miss Grantham, as far as I can see, holds no claim to your protection. I will not promise, therefore, to — ah — keep my distance from her.”

  The Duke considered Sir Jason for a long moment. Then he rose from his chair and walked over to where the other man was seated. “I regard Miss Grantham as being very much under my protection, Morecombe,” he said softly. “Remember that.”

  He bowed slightly, then made his way to the door of the Salon. Before leaving the room, however, he turned around and said blandly, “Ah, yes, Morecombe, a word of advice. The next time you attempt to influence public opinion, do not rely on your sister-in-law to aid you in your task. She is tolerated in Society, but will never be fully accepted. You made a simple tactical error in your campaign when you enlisted her aid. Good morning.” With these words, the Duke opened the door and quietly left the room.

  He drove to White’s, his mind preoccupied with the events of the morning. He knew Sir Jason to be a dangerous man, with a vindictive nature, and it seemed as if the baronet was intent on making mischief, not only for his sister, but for Alexandra, as well. The Duke was not surprised by Sir Jason’s malicious intentions. He and the other man had been at odds for some years now, ever since he had refused to allow Sir Jason to pay his addresses to his sister, Lady Serena, some years back. When the baronet had asked his permission to address her, the Duke had coldly cited Sir Jason’s debauched way of life as the reason for his refusal to grant the baronet an interview with his sister. The older man’s pride had been wounded, and the Duke was aware that Sir Jason would welcome any opportunity that came his way to settle the old score with him. He would have to keep a close eye on both Letty and Alexandra from now on, the Duke realised soberly.

  Upon entering the club, he took off his hat and cloak and handed them to the porter, then walked up the stairs to the room overlooking the street. After greeting those of his friends who were gathered there, he made his way over to the window where he settled down with a copy of the Morning Post.

  Before very long, he was joined by Lord Wrothly. “Stanford, dear fellow! Do stop reading that dull paper! I want your opinion on this new waistcoat of mine.”

  The Duke glanced up from his paper, and winced. “My dear Edward,” he murmured. “I find it difficult to understand this obsession of yours for everything striped. The cut of the waistcoat is very well, but the stripes, man, the stripes...”

  Lord Wrothly’s face fell. “But, Robert! Sweitzer, himself, told me that this waistcoat was in the first stare of fashion!”

  “He lied, then,” the Duke said flatly.

  Lord Wrothly sighed. “You wound me deeply, Robert. Very, very deeply. In fact I am quite cast down.”

  “I’m sure you’ll come about soon,” the Duke said, unmoved.

  Lord Wrothly grinned. “I always do, you know. I always do.” He put his head on one side and said contemplatively, “Although I may never attain your level of sartorial elegance, Robert, I’ll wager I cut more of a figure in the street than you do.” He sighed. “How I long for the days before Brummell came along — when a man could wear a flowered waistcoat with impunity!”

  He regarded his shoes contemplatively for a moment. “Oh well, times change and we must change with them.” He looked at the clock on the wall and his face brightened. “I say, Robert. I have a lesson with Fazio’s, now. Come and have a bout with me.”

  The Duke looked gravely at him. “I think that if I were to fence with you, Edward, your waistcoat would distract me too much.”

  Lord Wrothly grimaced. “Damn you, Robert! You... you...” He saw the gleam in his friend’s eyes, and laughed suddenly, “I’ll change it on the way there. You will come?”

  “Certainly, Edward. But leave the waistcoat on — it is sure to prove less distracting than some of the others I have seen you sporting.”

  The two men left White’s together, and drove to the Italian fencing master’s rooms which were situated in Bond Street. When they arrived, they were shown into a room by Signor Fazio’s man. “If you would wait but a moment, gentlemen. Signor Fazio is presently engaged in instructing one of his pupils.”

  “He is?” Lord Wrothly said jovially. “No matter, we’ll watch.”

  Ignoring the servant’s expostulations that his master would not like the interruption, Lord Wrothly made his way to the door separating the two rooms. The Duke, shrugging his shoulders slightly, followed his friend at a more leisurely pace. Entering the room a few moments after Lord Wrothly, the Duke came to an abrupt standstill. Signor Fazio and Sir Jason Morecombe were fencing in the middle of the room. The two men ignored the sound of the opening door, and continued their bout for a few minutes longer, before putting up their swords.

  Signor Fazio turned to the newcomers and, leaning on his foil, smiled in welcome. “Milor’, your grace. You have come to take a turn with zee foils?”

  Lord Wrothly nodded his head. “We have.” He looked at Sir Jason and bowed formally. “I am surprised to see you here, Morecombe. I did not expect to see you — as a veritable master of sword-play — taking lessons from old Fazio.”

  Sir Jason smiled thinly. “I like to keep my wrist in practice.” Glancing across at the Duke, he murmured, “One never knows when one may be called upon to use one’s fencing skills.”

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nbsp; Fazio glanced sharply at the baronet. “You speak of ze duello, Saire Jason?”

  Sir Jason put on his coat. “I do.”

  Fazio shook his head. “Wiv the new passes I have taught you today, Saire Jason, you will be able to kill your man. You are a rare Englishman — you appreciate ze art of ze duello.” He looked across at the Duke of Stanford, who was taking off his coat. “Only one other Englishman I have instructed understands ze art of fencing, and zat is his grace.”

  The Duke smiled across at the fencing master. “Coming from you, Fazio, those words are praise indeed.”

  The little Italian shook his head crossly. “Me — I do not speak praise. I speak ze truth.”

  “Who do you believe to be the better fencer, Fazio? Myself or his grace?” Sir Jason asked, regarding Fazio inscrutably

  Fazio rolled his eyes. “You ask me a question impossible to answer, Saire Jason. Your styles are different — so very different. You have agility and cunning. His grace — strength and a wrist of iron. To say who is ze better swordsman — bah! It is an impossibility.”

  Sir Jason looked across at the Duke again. “Perhaps one day we will discover who the better man is, Fazio.”

  Fazio smiled broadly. “Of a certainty, you two gentlemen must take a turn at the foils here, sometime.”

  Sir Jason made his way to the door which stood open. Before leaving, he turned around and bowed to Lord Wrothly and the Duke of Stanford. “I advise you to learn all that you are able to from Fazio, your grace. Some of the newest passes may come in — er — useful to you one day.”

  The Duke bowed in turn. “They may, indeed,” he said quietly. Nothing more was said between the two men, but a depth of meaning was understood.

  Signor Fazio looked anxiously from the Duke to Sir Jason, wondering what Sir Jason’s veiled threat implied. He had not been previously aware that bad blood existed between his grace and Sir Jason, but it seemed that bad blood there must be. The little man breathed a sigh of relief when the baronet finally left the room. He welcomed no trouble in his rooms. Word spread quickly in the town and trouble of this kind was bad for business. He just thanked the good Lord that He had seen fit to spare him from it, he thought, as he turned his expert attention to his pupils.