For Love of the Earl

by Jessie Clever

  But why would Sarah care so deeply about what society thought of her as an earl's wife?

  "I care. I don't want people thinking you married below your station."

  Alec felt the words like a punch to his gut. He got up on his elbow and pulled her shoulder so she could see him. Her face was blotted with red, and her eyes were watery.

  "You think I married below my station?"

  Her sad expression turned to one of bewilderment at his words.

  "If anything I married a woman who is far too good for me," he continued, "And I pray everyday that she doesn't realize."

  Sarah didn't say anything. Her mouth was open, but nothing came out. Alec worried that he had said too much. After all, he'd never been in a position to say what he was thinking. It was rare that Sarah didn't display her feelings with a right cross, so he had always kept his thoughts to himself. But now, Sarah merely lay beneath him, completely sapped of all signs of life. It seemed like the perfect time to bear his soul without a joke or a laugh, but whether or not Sarah believed him was apparently a different matter.

  "You think I'm too good for you?" Sarah finally asked.

  Alec would have thought the question a normal one from anyone other than Sarah, but when Sarah asked a question such as that, it carried with it a note of accusation, as if him thinking anything good of her carried with it a hidden dagger meant to stab her.

  "Yes, I do, but I think I'm getting better and maybe one day, I'll be good enough." The last word barely came out as his throat started to close. He swallowed hoping to clear the sudden obstruction, having no idea what was happening to him. Four years was a long time to convince someone that you were worthy of their love without success.

  "Alec," Sarah whined, suddenly sitting up.

  She pushed against his chest to get out from under him, and his head flew up, thudding solidly against the ceiling. Sarah froze as the pain seeped sickeningly slowly through his scalp. He closed his eyes, not wanting to look at the old Sarah who had apparently returned and wanted to cause him as much bodily harm as she could.

  He collapsed on the bunk and went to touch his throbbing head, but his hands collided with hers.

  His eyes warily opened, fearing that he may find Sarah moving in for the kill while he was down. But instead of finding a wife bent on murder, he saw Sarah looking utterly contrite. And then her hands were slipping around his aching head, supporting his head as if that would help the pain.

  "Oh, Alec, I'm sorry," she said, examining his head for what he did not know. Did she think the collision had opened the skin? Did it? He watched her face more closely to see if the situation was worse than he thought.

  And why was she apologizing?

  Sarah never apologized. If she was at fault, she clobbered him until he admitted it was his fault.

  He liked this new Sarah. Not that he didn't like the old Sarah. Hell, the old Sarah had made him weak at the knees, but he feared this different Sarah was going to go straight for his heart. And he knew he would never be able to recover from that.

  But maybe he would be able to make her laugh now. Maybe he could finally make her love him. Maybe he could push the guilt back just a little bit further as he did everyday of his life.

  It seemed she was done with her inspection, but she kept one hand under his head, holding it carefully while she braced herself above him with her other hand.

  "Does it hurt?" she asked.

  He raised an eyebrow, feeling braver with every word she spoke.

  "You've never asked before if it hurts," he said, feeling his heart pound with the statement.

  He had never spoken so brazenly in front of his wife, and he wasn't sure what her response was going to be.

  "I know," she said simply.

  "You know?" he asked.

  "Yes, I know I never asked if it hurt. I had meant it to hurt all those other times. I didn't have to ask if it did."

  She looked him right in the eye the whole time, and Alec felt his admiration for her growing, that seedling of hope surging with added life. He tried to pull the strings of this conversation together.

  "So you wanted to hurt me, because I'm an earl and you're not, and other people would care about that difference, so by inflicting pain on me, it would make you feel better about the whole thing?"

  The question made no sense to him, but Sarah responded immediately.

  "Correct, my lord."

  Well, at least he was correct in his nonsense.

  "You really care what other people think?" he asked.

  She looked down then, as if drawing more courage from the reserves deep inside her.

  "I know you care," she said, looking back up at him.

  "I bloody well do not!" he nearly yelled, indignantly.

  Sarah's face suddenly hardened, and Alec realized he'd stepped over a boundary.

  "Yes, you do. You fought in that duel right after we were married over a mistress! You do care what people think!"

  She tried to get off of him and the bunk, but he clamped onto her arms.

  "What the hell are you talking about? I never fought a duel for a mistress."

  Sarah's eyes blazed in fury.

  "Don't lie to me, Alec. You may think poorly of me, but don't lie."

  He shook her because he really felt like doing it just then.

  "I'm not lying, Sarah, and I damn well don't think poorly of you, and I never was in a duel over a goddamn mistress!"

  Sarah latched onto him, her grip just as strong as his.

  "It was only a few days after we were married, Alec. You left the house before dawn with Nathan, and you took the dueling pistols out of the library. I saw you."

  Alec shook his throbbing head against the grubby pillow.

  "No, Sarah, I-"

  "No, Alec, I won't listen to you if you're just going to lie to me."

  Sarah suddenly let go of him and pushed against his stomach attempting to move over him to get off the bunk. Her fists in his gut jammed his internal organs into places they did not want to be, so he let go of her. After all, where the hell was she going to go anyway with the door locked and Harpoon Man on the other side?

  Sarah's skirts got tangled in his legs, and she almost fell to the floor after freeing herself from his grip. He caught her and helped her upright. She brushed off his hands as if shedding lint from her garments.

  "Sarah-" he started, sitting up on the bunk and consciously watching his head.

  "No, Alec."

  He stood up and half slid, half walked over to where Sarah was shielding herself in the corner. She was doing that thing where she pretended to be invisible, and it drove Alec insane. He grabbed a hold of her, spun her around, and shoved her up against the wall. The ship pitched, and Alec had to plant his feet to keep them upright.

  Sarah looked terrified, but he had something to say and he was going to damn well say it.

  "I was never in a duel over a mistress, Sarah. I was in a duel over you."

  CHAPTER THREE

  London, England

  A few days after Sarah and Alec were married

  "Why are we doing this?" Nathan asked, yawning hugely.

  "Because," Alec answered, closing another cabinet under the bookcases along the wall.

  He knew the dueling pistols were in here somewhere. He never really occupied the library though, and he definitely never made a habit of using the dueling pistols, so he wasn't positive where the pistols were exactly.

  "Because why?" Nathan asked.

  Alec straightened, put his hands on his hips and turned around in a circle. He had checked all of the cabinets under the bookcases built into the walls. Maybe they were in the desk. He walked over there and shoved his brother's feet off the desk so he could get at the drawers.

  "Because I said we're doing it," Alec said, pulling the drawers open down the one side of the desk.

  Nathan lounged back in the chair with his eyes shut.

  "Why do we have to do it so early?" he asked.


  "Because what we're doing isn't exactly well accepted anymore, and we don't want anyone to find out," Alec mumbled, sifting through the correspondence he'd stuffed into the second drawer down. Why did he receive so much post? Who the hell wrote to him?

  "Why couldn't you ask someone else to be your second? I could have slept in."

  Nathan yawned again and put his feet back up on the other side of the desk, leaning back in the chair making it squeak loudly.

  "Shh," Alec hissed at him, looking up at the door to the hallway. "I don't want to wake Sarah."

  "Why are we not waking Sarah?" Nathan mumbled, falling asleep in the chair.

  Alec hesitated, no longer sure what he was allowed to tell his brother and what was to remain sacred to his marriage. It didn't matter to him that his was an arranged marriage that was really a fraud. He was taking this thing seriously, and by God, he was going to make it work. When he had seen his bride standing at the front of the church, he had known everything happened for a reason. If only he could make her laugh, then maybe he wouldn't have had to go to a duel at dawn.

  He said to his brother, "I don't want to upset her."

  "Sarah? Upset Sarah? I really don't think this would upset Sarah. In fact, I think she would very much like to be your second. Why don't I pop upstairs and ask her so I can go home to bed?"

  Nathan brought his feet back down to the floor to stand up. Alec seized his shoulder and shoved him back into his seat.

  "Stop being ridiculous and help me find those pistols. We're going to be late," Alec said.

  Nathan raised an eyebrow.

  "Ridiculous?" he asked, "Out of all the Duke of Lofton's sons, I would have to argue that you have always been the ridiculous one."

  Alec looked at his older brother.

  "The Duke of Lofton only has two sons, and ridiculousness does not appear to be working on the lady wife. So will you help me find those pistols?"

  Nathan's face took on a fleeting moment of puzzlement, as if he were figuring something out, but the hesitation quickly passed.

  "You know," Nathan said, "You've never been in a duel before. Why suddenly start now?"

  Nathan began to open drawers on the other side of the desk.

  "I have a reason to start now," Alec muttered with his head half in the third desk drawer.

  He hoped his brother hadn't heard him, because he seriously did not want to broach the subject of why he was going to a dawn appointment over his wife's honor.

  "You let any number of mistresses go without vengeance and yet one wife you've known for less than a week suddenly has you slapping the first cheek that dares utter a word that may be construed as insulting."

  "I didn't slap his cheek with a glove."

  "No, you couldn't because you punched him instead and then threw the glove onto his prone body."

  Alec slammed the last drawer, which had Nathan raising an eyebrow at him.

  "What happened to not waking Sarah?" Nathan asked.

  "Shut up."

  Alec rubbed his forehead where he felt a massive headache brewing.

  "I think I've found them," Nathan said, rattling around in a drawer.

  Alec looked over his brother's shoulder.

  "They're really wedged in here."

  Nathan rattled some more, and the case suddenly popped free sending Nathan into Alec. Alec caught him and helped them both to regain their balance. Nathan set the case on the desk and opened the latches to free the lid. The two stared down at the two gleaming silver pistols with their heavy barrels, solid grips and hair triggers.

  "Do you have any ammunition for these things?" Nathan asked.

  And Alec felt the last of his hope die a withered death.

  Minutes later the carriage rattled over the cobblestones of the path through the park.

  "The second is not supposed to get the bullets for the gun," Nathan argued.

  "Yes, he is," Alec grumbled in response watching the trees slide by the window.

  "No, he's not. The second plans where and when the duel is to take place. He is not responsible for artillery."

  "Dueling pistols are hardly artillery."

  "They're in the same family."

  "And isn't that unfortunate," Alec said derisively looking at his brother.

  "Ha. Ha," Nathan matched his tone, "We could stop by Father's. I'm sure he probably has black powder and such lying around."

  Alec felt like raising an eyebrow but doubted he had the strength.

  "We're are not stopping by Father's on the way to a duel to ask him for ammunition for said duel. I don't think that would go over very well."

  "Why not? You have always been good at making Father laugh. Tell him a joke, and he may hand you some shot. It sounds like an excellent plan."

  Alec did not bother looking at his brother. He had spoken the very truth that now plagued him. He had made his father laugh, had made him love him. But he could not make Sarah laugh.

  The carriage came to a stop in the grove just off the path. The area was completely sheltered by a landscaped hedge and was a favorite for dawn appointments. Another carriage set on the other side of the grove with the Earl of Wheaton's colors on it.

  Nathan eyed the carriage through the window and asked, "Do you think he'll realize there isn't a bullet in it?"

  Alec did not bother to give that question an answer. He grabbed up the pistol case and alighted, Nathan right behind him. The Earl of Wheaton emerged from his carriage, striding across the grove to meet them in the middle. The earl's normally rather handsome face was purple along one side and his eye was swollen nearly shut thanks to Alec's right cross.

  "Wheaton," Alec said when the man was close enough.

  "Stryden," Wheaton nodded, "My second, Mr. Fletcher, perhaps you know him?," he asked gesturing behind him, "He is getting the rapiers out of the carriage. I hope you don't mind that I prefer that we use the set. I realize some men have their own rapiers, but this set was specially made for occasions such as this."

  Wheaton's good eye moved back and forth as if to indicate the situation in its entirety.

  Alec nodded, feeling his teeth grind.

  "Of course. Would you excuse us?" He said more than asked, grabbing Nathan's arm and dragging him back toward the carriage.

  "Rapiers? Rapiers?" he hissed as soon as they were out of earshot. "Why did I spend so much time searching for these damn things?" Alec flung the pistol case back into the carriage, not caring in the least what happened to it. He slammed the carriage door shut for emphasis.

  "I guess I misunderstood the arrangements," Nathan said, shrugging.

  "You misunderstood the arrangements? Are there any other arrangements you might have misunderstood? Such as are you sure this is a duel to first blood or a duel to the death, because that seems like a very important arrangement not to misunderstand!" Alec accented the word by poking his brother in the chest. "You are the worst second in the history of dueling!"

  Nathan stepped in front of him, blocking out the rest of the grove.

  "Alec, what's wrong?" Nathan whispered.

  Alec massaged his forehead. The headache was a hurricane wreaking havoc in his skull.

  "I don't want to make a habit of dueling to protect my wife's honor," he whispered, "But I can't make her laugh," he said, sensing how the words did not make sense but continuing anyway. "I don't know what else to do."

  "What do you mean you can't make her laugh?" Nathan asked.

  Alec's memory flashed an image from a long ago time, another time when he had not made Sarah laugh. A time when things had not been as serious as they were now. But he couldn't tell Nathan about that memory. He had not even told Sarah for he was certain if she knew, she would hate him even more than she did now.

  "I just can't," Alec said. "Let's get this over with."

  Alec pushed around his brother and strode back to the middle of the grove. Wheaton waited with a sword case. When Alec approached, he unlatched it and extended the case toward Alec. Alec slipped
his hand around the hilt of one of the swords nestled inside and pulled it free. He stepped back, completing a few experimental thrusts with the weapon.

  "Now then, this is to the death, correct?" Wheaton said, taking his sword out of the case held by Mr. Fletcher, who, unfortunately, still looked intoxicated from the night before.

  Alec casually turned his head in his brother's direction feeling a murderous rage welling up inside him. Did one go straight to Hell for fratricide?

  Alec turned his attention back to Wheaton. He didn't really feel like killing the man. He was an all right bloke, after all. Wheaton had been pampered a bit too much, perhaps, but he didn't drink overmuch or gamble or ruin debutantes. He just had his nose stuck too far in the air to notice the merits of anyone below eye level.

  But more importantly, did Alec feel like being killed?

  No, he did not.

  He felt like living happily ever after with his wife. He felt like going home right now, sneaking into her room through the connecting door of their chambers, and slipping into bed beside her. He felt like waking her up with a kiss that said everything he didn't know how. If he were killed today, he would never be able to do any of those things, and that made him very, very unhappy.

  But what if he did kill Wheaton?

  Would that make Sarah love him? Would she want him in her life? Would she laugh?

  Probably not.

  If he killed Wheaton, he would probably start more whispers and that was sure to make Sarah hate him even more.

  And his wife would still have no need of him. She would still look down her nose at him for being unnecessary, unneeded and unwanted. A burden the War Office made her carry.

  So with a heavy heart, Alec raised his sword and fought to stay alive just so Sarah could continue to look down her nose at him.

  ~

  On a ship bound for France

  April 1815