Veil of Honor

by Cooper-Posey, Tracy

  Taplow snorted. “Six years a debutante and no engagement? The woman played the field with the artistry of a high-paid courtesan, all while wearing that demure smile of hers. She never had any intention of marrying. She enjoyed the game too much.”

  Even Spearing’s eyes widened at that. He shot his hand out and gripped Will’s arm again.

  How had he known that Will had been girding himself to lunge across the room and grip Taplow’s neck?

  Taplow drew back, alarmed, watching Will with silent wariness.

  “You did not notice her maidenhead was intact when you bedded her?” Spearing asked, his voice remarkably soft.

  Dangerously soft, Will realized. He relaxed. Spearing wasn’t unmoved by this at all. He merely controlled his temper better than Will was doing.

  Will drew in a breath, then another, then a third deep one, to help rein in his murderous need.

  Taplow looked puzzled. “Maidenhead?” he repeated. “But…she is…was…” His frown deepened even more.

  “Were you so concerned with taking your own pleasure you didn’t notice her state of mind?” Will ground out.

  Taplow cleared his throat. “She said nothing. She did not behave like a blushing virgin. I had no reason to believe the talk about her was not accurate.”

  “Because she wanted to please you, you ignorant savage!” Will cried. “You all but proposed to her.”

  Taplow raised a brow. “No promise was made,” he said flatly. “She understood the exact nature of the proposal. Her perception and agreement told me she was practiced at such arrangements and understood them. I refuse to believe she was not.”

  Spearing’s fingers dug in and Will pummeled the hot words back inside him with effort.

  Spearing addressed Taplow once more. “What made you think Lady Bridget was so…accomplished? I mean, other than her acceding to your request?” he finished dryly.

  Taplow licked his lips nervously, his gaze shifting from Spearing to Will and back. “She was truly a maiden?” he asked, his voice strained.

  “Who told you the Lady Bridget was a courtesan in nature?” Spearing repeated.

  Taplow looked at Will. “That is why you married her. To protect her…” He spun to face the fire.

  “Who told you, Taplow?” Spearing insisted.

  “It never occurred to me that I should bother being discreet,” Taplow said, his back to them. “As all of London knew of her ways, there was little point in being a gentleman about it. When men asked me this summer, of course I told them about the tryst.”

  Will frowned. “They only asked about it this summer?”

  Spearing’s gaze met his. Then Spearing moved up behind Taplow. “Where did you first hear about her loose morals, Taplow? It is important that you tell us.”

  Taplow bent his head. “I have done the lady a great disservice…” He leaned against the mantelshelf.

  “Wallow in your shame later, Taplow,” Will said. “Give us a name.”

  Taplow straightened and faced them once more. He cleared his throat. His gaze didn’t quite meet theirs. “He is your friend, Rothmere. I thought, as he is such a good friend, he was in a position to know the truth about the woman…the lady, I mean.”

  “Who?” Will breathed, his heart pounding.

  Taplow’s gaze met his. “John Barstow. The Marquess of Bedford.”

  * * * * *

  It was a squeeze to get every man into Dane’s family coach although no one would countenance being left at the club. The coach bounced and swayed as the driver encouraged the horses to a speed that could be called reckless, on damp cobbles.

  Daniel was the first to speak. “I’ve been too long out of England. What is Bedford’s connection in all this?”

  Will growled. He could barely think for the fury that gripped him. The coach was going far too slowly to suit him.

  Peter answered Daniel, instead. “Will thought Bedford was a good friend until this moment. He is the older brother of Mary Barstow. Mary Barstow was the woman whom everyone in London presumed Jack would marry, sooner or later.”

  Daniel’s brow lifted. “Until the divorce hearing, then Jack married Jenny instead, while all of London decided they were the most romantic couple of the year. I see…” He glanced at Will. “Bedford never said anything?”

  It felt as if his mouth was lined with ashes. Will cleared his throat. “He said it was all in the past. He even looked Jack in the eye and shook his hand.”

  “Then he lied,” Spearing said. “Didn’t the Lady Mary pass away?”

  “Of infection,” Will said shortly.

  “I wonder if Bedford sees it that way,” Dane said.

  “I suppose we will find out,” Cian rumbled, from his tight corner of the bench. “Will, you must not do anything foolish. Let the man speak. There may yet be a way to reverse the damage he has caused if no one goes off half-cocked.”

  “How?” Will demanded. “The man’s a liar. Who would believe his apology? I won’t.”

  “You could sue him for libel,” Ben said. “Only, it would be devilishly difficult to prove, gossip being the slippery thing it is. I’m guessing Bedford knew better than to write any of it down.”

  “Perhaps someone could stand up for Bridget in public,” Morgan said. “Someone not connected with the family.”

  “Or perhaps Bridget could stand up for herself,” Daniel added. “A series of well reported charitable works and an interview. The season in London, attending every public event possible, while charming everyone with her grace and goodness. Perception is a powerful weapon.”

  Will growled, shoving his fingers through his hair. “lawsuits, public perception…all these newfangled ideas are useless.”

  “You might be surprised by how effective they can be,” Daniel said mildly.

  “Against a man determined to damage the family for an insult that was superficial at best?” Will shot back. “Fancy new ideas will not counter an old-fashioned attack.”

  “You have a better idea, Will?” Spearing asked.

  “I’m working on it,” Will growled.

  * * * * *

  It was still early in the evening by London society standards. The gaslight at the front of the Bedford townhouse glowed with orange radiance, while insects enjoying the heat of the summer evening danced about the light.

  The Bedford butler, a young man with a red nose, ushered them nervously into the hall, then opened the door of the drawing room and announced them. He missed three names and snarled Dane’s title, then trailed off.

  Bedford sat at a card table with a chessboard in front of him, a cigar in hand and a large brandy balloon by his elbow. He was alone in the room.

  He looked up as everyone moved into the room. His thick black brows came together over the even-blacker eyes. “The men of the Great Family descend en masse. To what do I owe this pleasure?” He did not stand up.

  Will registered the dry tone and his lack of courtesy. “You know why we’re here,” he said, his head throbbing with the anger he had been nursing since they left the club. “You know the game is up, you lying bastard.”

  Bedford considered Will, unmoved by his snarl. “You should be careful who you name a liar. Flinging such an accusation about makes it easy for others to do the same. I could call you a liar, too. Then no one would know who to believe, would they?” His smile was nasty.

  Before Will could take more than a step toward him, four hands gripped his arms and shoulders.

  “No, no, no…” Cian muttered, his fingers digging into Will’s shoulder, as Ben stepped in front of Will as a human barrier.

  Bedford got to his feet. “Are you going to be tedious and ask why, Rothmere?”

  “Then you admit you have been spreading lies about Lady Bridget’s morals?” Spearing asked, his tone sharp.

  Bedford considered Spearing for a moment. “I’m surprised it took this long for Will to appear on my doorstep, to tell the truth. Although I suppose he has been tucked away in Scotland with the woma
n, so he missed most of the fuss. It has been an entertaining summer in that respect.”

  “Why did you even pretend to be a friend?” Will asked, his voice strained. “Why destroy Bridget? What did she ever do to you?”

  “That is a good question,” Dane added. “Would it not have been more effective to take your pound of flesh from Jack himself?”

  Bedford grimaced. “He buried himself on that estate in Sussex with his harlot wife and never raised his head again. Will was the closest I could get to him.”

  “Then why Bridget?” Will asked, bewildered. “Why not come after me?”

  “Because you love her!” Bedford cried, his fury forming with sudden heat. “You never shut up about her. Every hunt and shoot, you’d talk about your damned family and how wonderful it was, making me want to vomit with the perfection of it. All the cousins and the fun and the happy occasions and on and on…while I came home to this.” He waved his hand around the empty drawing room. “My sister died of a broken heart and shame while your family are lauded and admired. I couldn’t stand it.”

  “She died of natural causes, Bedford,” Ben said gently.

  It was as if Ben had not spoken. Will could see that Bedford needed to vent it all, now he was speaking. Bedford’s gaze did not shift from Will.

  “You would mention Bridget,” Bedford told him. “I could see in your face you were in love with her, although you had no idea. The great William Wardell couldn’t see past the end of his nose.” He sneered. “I laughed myself sick when you married her. I knew you were protecting her. When I heard Bridget was the true driving force behind the new Kirkaldy textile business that every woman in London will not stop talking about…well…” He looked around the room. “A cousin and a wife, for my sister and the shame of my family. A fair exchange.”

  “You freely admit to deliberately targeting Will’s business affairs, then?” Spearing said, his voice neutral.

  Bedford barely glanced at him. “You can’t do anything about it,” he said, sounding pleased.

  “I have five witnesses standing right here,” Spearing replied.

  “Biased, all of them,” Bedford shot back. “I know my law, Spearing. You can’t trip me up with that one. No one will believe their testimony. They’re all part of the wonderful Great Family, who will lie and cheat and do anything to cover up their sins.”

  And he spat.

  Will leapt. He barreled Ben out of the way, shoved Spearing aside and swung his fist, connecting with Bedford’s soft, rounded jaw with a satisfying solidness.

  Bedford dropped onto his rear with a cry and a heavy thud that made the floor shake beneath them. While Will stood over him, his fists at the ready, Bedford lifted his hand to his mouth and blotted the blood oozing from it.

  “Tomorrow, at dawn,” Will said, his chest heaving. “A pistol each. I demand satisfaction for the slurs and the lies you have spread about my wife, Bedford.”

  Bedford’s eyes bugged. “You must be joking, Rothmere. A duel?” His voice was distorted. “This is the nineteenth century!”

  “If you don’t agree to meet me, I will tell the entire world you were a coward who refused to defend his honor,” Will said. “If you really have spent all summer telling every man who will listen about Bridget, then every man you told will know exactly why I challenged you. They will know, too, that your cowardice is in line with the lies you spread. You’ll be ruined more surely than you ruined me and mine, you bastard.”

  Bedford spat again, this time to clear the blood from his mouth. The glob of blood and spit landed near Will’s toes. Will didn’t flinch. He was too angry for that.

  “Done,” Bedford said, his voice still indistinct.

  “The east end of Clapham Common,” Will said. “Morgan is my second. He’ll finish the arrangements.”

  Morgan’s eyes opened wide. “I am?”

  Will turned and patted his shoulder. “Good man.” He stalked for the door, not caring if anyone followed him or not. “I’m done here,” he declared.

  * * * * *

  The silence in the carriage was even deeper and more profound than it had been on their journey to Bedford’s house. The driver kept the horses at a decorous trot, this time.

  Cian was the first to speak. “A duel, Will? What were you thinking?”

  “They’re illegal,” Daniel added. “Aren’t they?”

  Ben shook his head. “Yes, but a law saying they can’t be done doesn’t stop them from happening every now and again.”

  “They’re illegal because men die when they fight one,” Peter pointed out.

  Will smiled grimly. “I’m a good shot.”

  “Yes and every shooting contest you didn’t win was because Bedford won it,” Peter replied. “He could kill you.”

  “He won’t.” Will could feel the certainty in his gut.

  “It is sheer madness,” Dane said softly. “Have you forgotten your own family’s history, Will? Bridget’s father died in a duel.”

  “That is what made me think of it,” Will told them all. “You all blathered about lawsuits and public opinion and none of you stopped to think that at the bottom of this is a simple matter of honor. The old way to deal with an insult to one’s honor worked for a reason—because everyone agreed that honor had been restored when it was done. It is like presenting a pound sterling at a bank and expecting to get a pound of silver in return.”

  Everyone looked at him blankly, except Morgan, who smiled. “It’s a matter of perception…” he said slowly.

  “It is pure, utter insanity,” Dane replied. “You are saying that letting a man shoot at you will make the ton change their minds about Bridget…it is ridiculous.”

  Spearing rested his hand on Dane’s arm, a light touch. “He may be right,” he said. “This is not a matter than can be argued and cross-examined in a law court, where the world will hear every little detail. The old way doesn’t demand that examination. A duel tells the world that a man is willing to give up his life to defend his good name and the name of those who look to him. When he takes a stand this way, he proves he is in the right, for what man would risk death for something he doesn’t believe in?”

  “That is the point I was trying to make,” Dane said dryly. “Death is a possible outcome.”

  Will nodded. “There is a chance of that,” he admitted. “Whether I die or not, just facing the man this way will tell the world what I think of him.”

  “And what you think of Bridget,” Morgan added softly.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Clapham Common, shortly before dawn. August 1870.

  Will examined Morgan’s strained, pale features as Morgan loaded the revolver. “Did you get any sleep last night?” he asked.

  “None,” Morgan said flatly. “I was too busy telling every man I know about this stupid affair.” He handed the pistol to Will. “Here.”

  “I thought you didn’t like clubs?” Will asked.

  “Everyone else went to the clubs and spread the word. I visited Almack’s dance hall.” Morgan smiled grimly. “Every man not at a club last night was either at Almack’s or at Lord Shelburne’s Glorious Twelfth dinner. At Almack’s, when I mentioned the duel to Diggory Jones he was already half-way out the door, to reach the Duke’s dinner before brandy and cigars were passed around.”

  Will nodded. “Good. Then by now, all of London will know about this.”

  “You’ll be lucky if the police don’t arrive to stop it,” Morgan replied. “I hope they do,” he added.

  Will glanced across the field. A single oak tree spread its branches at the other end. Tendrils of thick fog floated across the close cropped grass between. Bedford stood by the oak with his second, who was unknown to Will. The second was an older man, who looked no happier than Morgan or the huddled group of men standing off to one side, the fog curling around their knees. Peter was there, along with Dane and Spearing. Daniel, too. Ben had stayed at the townhouse to distract Sharla. Cian was at his own house on Parklane, for the same re
ason.

  Bedford was removing his coat and jacket and tie. Will realized it was time. The sun was just appearing over the horizon, turning the fog yellow. Will gave the pistol back to Morgan and stripped his own outer garments and held them out to Morgan. He took the revolver back. “Shall we?”

  Morgan sighed. He turned toward the oak tree and headed for Bedford and his man. Will kept pace.

  “What do I tell Bridget, if…?” Morgan asked.

  Will shook his head. “I’ll do the telling.”

  “No, Will. I mean it,” Morgan insisted.

  Will shut down the fright that tried to jump inside him. It would distract him. “You’ve heard it all, Morgan. You were there. You know what this is about. Tell her that.”

  “I know all of it except for one thing,” Morgan replied.

  Will glanced at him.

  “Have you ever told her?” Morgan asked.

  “Told her what?”

  “How you feel about her.” Morgan paused. “Or have you let her think all this time that you married her only to save her reputation?”

  Will scowled. “I’m doing this for the sake of the family,” he muttered.

  “I saw your face last night when Bedford spoke of her,” Morgan said. “I imagine the expression on your face was the same one that told Bedford what your true vulnerability was and gave him the leverage he needed.”

  Will gritted his teeth, holding them together.

  Bedford came up to him and his second stepped to one side, forcing Morgan to do the same.

  Bedford’s lip was swollen. He looked sullen.

  “If this madness must proceed,” his second said, with a strained voice, “Then I will count off ten paces. When the ten paces have been taken, you may both turn and fire. You have one shot apiece. Upon the discharge of your weapons, honor will be restored.” He hesitated. “Or perhaps we could find the nearest inn and settle differences over a claret?”

  Will didn’t shift his gaze from Bedford’s face. “Nothing but this will do,” he said flatly. “He has wronged my wife and through her, me.”