by Cindy Anstey
Frustrated by her clumsiness, Lydia settled beside Cora and then turned to stare at the offending step. “Yes, yes. Splendid. Thank you,” she replied absentmindedly.
“Are you sure?” It was Cora’s turn to fret needlessly.
When Lydia turned, exasperated by the fussing, she met a confused rather than worried expression. “Why? Do I not look fine?”
Glancing from Lydia’s face to her chartreuse spencer, Cora nodded. “More than fine, more than splendid. That is a very flattering color for you, Lydia my dear. Fine, indeed.” And then she paused. “But you are a mite … how shall I put it? Um—distracted. It is such an odd state for you.”
“Yes, I suppose so.” Lydia lapsed into silence for a moment, uncomfortable with the idea of revealing that her thoughts had been focused on the breadth of Robert’s shoulders and not the placement of the carriage’s step. “Yes, well,” she said, giving her head a shake, “onward and outward, a fun day to be had.”
Sitting back, Lydia offered a wink to both Ivy and Tessa, who were seated facing them. “Shall we go?” Pleased with the girls’ grins and giggles, Lydia called up to Mr. Hodge as soon as she felt the dip of Hugh stepping up onto the back of the carriage.
It was a fairly short and uneventful drive into Spelding and not much of a substitute for Bath, yet both the young young ladies and older young ladies of their party were quite excited about the outing. Lydia had had a few days to settle back into her routine; she had reclaimed her equilibrium and found that, despite all that had transpired in the past week, life had returned to such a state of normalcy that one could almost wonder if the harrowing events of her abduction had really taken place.
No, that wasn’t entirely true. There was one significant change.
Cora’s spirited character had returned, along with a pretty blush on her cheek, colorful ribbons at her waist, and light conversation on her tongue. Lydia attributed this upturn to eager anticipation of a letter from Shelley … or Mr. Granger, rather than setting aside the terrors of their Bath excursion. It hardly mattered whence the euphoria came.
Cousin Elaine and Aunt Freya were still being thoroughly uncivil to her, departing any room as soon as Lydia entered. Her company—in her own house—was apparently too much to bear. It was one part humorous and three parts pathetic. Unfortunately, that in and of itself was not a rare occurrence. A transgression of this magnitude was perceived at least once a month. Their pique would undoubtedly increase when they learned that their hoity-toity attitude had contributed to a missed opportunity to venture afar. Their disappointment would likely be reshaped into disapproval and laid at Lydia’s feet.
Lydia had offered her mother an olive branch in the form of a solicitation to join the shopping excursion, but dearest Mama had claimed the need to finish the invitations. She alluded to her tireless efforts to complete the chore, ignoring the fact that Lydia had done all but a handful.
Yes, indeed. All was back to normal.
Spelding was a good-sized village working its way up to a market town. As such, it had several shops, two hostelries, a smithy, and three pubs. It was a pretty place; the buildings were predominantly redbrick with white trim and the occasional black door. Flower boxes had been set in place under the mullioned windows, though it was too early for planting. Still, the common in the center was greening up nicely, and there were a fair number of persons milling about.
Mr. Hodge set the company down at the west end of the village and would wait upon their pleasure at the east end. Hugh, in his stylish green livery, followed—as requested by Cora—ostensibly to carry parcels, but Lydia knew it to be more for her protection than the need to remain unburdened.
The girls skipped ahead, pretending they were interested in their surroundings when, in fact, Lydia knew them to be directing their steps to the milliner. Ivy and Tessa had been offered new bonnets, and they could barely contain their excitement. Cora, who would usually walk to the inside of the road, made a very pointed maneuver to the right. Lydia shrugged, and they continued, as was their norm, discussing arrangements for the ball as they meandered.
Stepping over a puddle left from the rains of the day before, Lydia was rather disconcerted to find Cora, once again, placing Lydia next to the buildings in a definitive move. Shifting aside when ladies or families passed going the other direction, Cora jumped in front of Lydia if any person of the male persuasion approached, singly or in a group. The scowl that accompanied the move was endearing and comical—although how it could be both, Lydia was not entirely sure, but it was.
“You are being a goose, dearest friend. You need not fear the inhabitants of Spelding on my behalf. I am quite safe.” She spoke in a soft tone so that her words would not carry to the girls ahead or Hugh behind.
“I know you think so, Lydia. But I am not so certain. We do not know the reason you were taken or the persons involved, and until we do, there is no such thing as too much caution.”
Lydia laughed and hooked her arm through Cora’s, stepping forward and pulling her along. “This was an impromptu jaunt. The villain or villains could not know that I was to Spelding today, and as I am seldom here, they would hardly await me with nefarious plans.”
“Visiting Bath is an event even more rare, and yet that is where it happened.”
“True enough, but it was a planned outing and had been part of my schedule for over two weeks. Plenty of time for thugs, deviants, and generally unscrupulous persons to … to … Cora?” Lydia stopped midstep and stared at the far distance without seeing it. “Did you hear what I just said?” She turned toward her friend, who was nodding slowly, her expression troubled.
“Oh dear. I did, indeed.”
“The entire parish would not be curious about my schedule. News that I was to visit Bath would hardly be bandied about. No, in truth … just the inhabitants of Roseberry Hall and Wilder Hill Manor would have had any interest … though, not excessively. It is possible that news spilled out a little farther. A casual comment here or there…” Recalling the shadows and the sensation of being watched, Lydia considered for a moment and then veered toward another possibility. “Or a question asked here or there. Hmm. I wonder if I should ask Shodster to speak to the staff? Ask if there has been anyone querying my comings and goings. That might be a productive avenue of investigation.”
Glancing behind, Cora frowned. “We are holding up others and receiving some very impertinent looks,” she explained as she pulled Lydia forward. “You are forgetting someone. There was someone else who knew about your Bath appointment, someone who likes to comment on your punctuality and lives in Bath … where there are far more unscrupulous persons.”
“Are there? Why do you say so?”
“Numbers if nothing else. A city has a larger population—that alone … oh, Lydia, stop teasing. You know to whom I am referring.”
Lydia fought to maintain a solemn expression and finally capitulated, allowing her mouth to curve into a grin. “You speak of Mr. Robert Newton.”
“I do, indeed. And though it is clear that you esteem the young man—”
“I have said no such thing!”
“Really, Lydia. What is there not to like? A handsome, intelligent gentleman who admires you—”
“You are exaggerating.”
“No, indeed not. Mr. Newton has not disguised his protective nature in your regard. He thinks very highly of you … in a professional manner, of course.”
“Of course.”
“But what if it’s a ruse? What if he is after your money?”
Lydia laughed; she couldn’t help it. Of all the people she knew, Robert Newton was the least sinister she could imagine. “I think there would be easier ways to ensure a big purse than making away with me. Besides, you are forgetting that he suffered at my side.”
“What if he set it up to garner your admiration? Woo you away from Lord Aldershot?”
“That would be a very strange way to woo.” It was also odd that the mention of Barley knotted her belly
in an unpleasant manner.
“Yes, but everyone knows you are destined to marry Lord Aldershot. And … were you not seized before the papers were signed?”
“Cora dear, Robert has not made any advances,” she said, stifling a sigh. “He has not shown any interest in me other than in friendship.”
“But—”
“I was in Mr. Newton’s company for an extended period of time, and I believe that I had the opportunity to assess his character, with fair accuracy, during our adventure. I can, quite confidently, say that I trust him.”
“Really?”
Lydia noted the change of her friend’s voice and glanced over to see that Cora was grinning. “Oh, Cora, now you are funning me! Were you hoping for a disclosure?”
“How can you say so!” The tone of indignation was perfect: the straightened shoulders, the glimmer of hurt in her eyes.… However, Cora could not control her dimples. “Bother,” she said, resigning to a giggle. “I would so like for you to find a love match, such as I have found in Mr. Granger. There is nothing that can match the giddy euphoria of true affection.”
Lydia nodded, finding it easy enough to put euphoria and Robert in the same sentence. She squeezed her friend’s arm and then turned her gaze back to the road ahead. “Oh Lud.”
Standing not four paces from them was Mr. Ian Chilton in all his foppish glory. He was engaged in an animated conversation with a woman that involved sweeping arm movements and a bobbing head. At any moment, he might turn and see Lydia. Then she would be done for; Mr. Chilton would attempt to latch himself onto their party, and if he succeeded, all enjoyment of the excursion would be gone.
Shushing Cora, Lydia maneuvered to the side, planning to quietly step around the couple. Unfortunately, the conversation wrapped up as they were passing, and the dandy turned his head, seeing Lydia immediately. As soon as their eyes met, Lydia was forced to halt, albeit briefly. It would be the height of bad manners to walk on without some acknowledgment—she might get away with it at Roseberry but not in the village.
“Miss Whitfield … oh my, what a surprise. Excellent, excellent. Well met. Here you are in Spelding. You seldom visit. Aren’t we blessed.” Blinking, the affected gentleman stared at Lydia with his mouth partially open. He grabbed a deep breath … let it out, opened his mouth as if to speak, and then closed it again.
Lydia nodded and was about to continue on her way when Mr. Chilton pivoted and hurried off in the opposite direction.
With a frown, Lydia stared after him.
“That was odd,” said Cora. “The man seemed quite nonplussed to see you. Your jaunts to the village are not that irregular.”
“No, indeed. He seemed more befuddled than his norm—verging on perplexed. I wonder…” Lydia looked to the ground for a moment, trying to understand what had just transpired.
“Wonder what, Lydia?”
“Umm. Oh, yes. I wondered if Mr. Chilton knew I was going into Bath last week … at one, precisely.”
* * *
The sun had yet to slip above the horizon when Robert and Cassidy climbed Daisy Hill in silence. The mist, swirling in and around the trees, gave the meadow an eerie, haunting quality. The air was heavy with the smell of freshly turned earth—newly formed mole mounds dotted the incline. The dueling arena seemed deserted, but Robert knew better; he squinted into the gray, looking for any telltale shadows.
“There,” he whispered to Cassidy, and pointed ahead to a spot, slightly off to the right.
Robert assumed Cassidy had nodded, for there was no verbal response, simply a redirection of their path. Some moments later, two figures resolved and grew larger as they approached.
Finally, Robert and Cassidy halted not ten feet from the easily insulted man and his second. There was a sardonic look to Rennoll’s smile, and he leaned forward as if eager, an unseemly glint of excitement in his stare. Not a pleasant sight. The man was overly thin, not unlike the skeletal appearance of an opium eater; his fine clothes hung awkwardly.
“So you have come, after all. Quite expected you to turn tail. Your inability to shoot straight is quite well known. Should I have my second stand behind a tree?” He laughed as if his words were a jest.
Robert felt his ire rise, but he knew the man to be goading Cassidy, to make him careless—ruin his aim … what aim he had. Robert said nothing. It had been agreed that Cassidy would take the lead.
“I am here because I said I would be. My honor is intact; it is yours that is in question.” Cassidy sounded calm despite his nervousness.
“I would challenge you for those words alone were we not already here for your previous insult.”
“There was no previous insult. You simply manipulated the situation so that it seemed that way.… And I was too drunk at the time to realize.”
“Not only did you cast aspersions on my financial situation, you did so in front of others.”
“If I had apologized in public, would you have withdrawn your challenge?”
Lord Rennoll laughed in an ugly staccato. “No, not likely.” Then he straightened his shoulders and stretched as if bored of the whole enterprise. The fevered shine of his eyes hinted otherwise. “Come now, let’s have done with this. I have plans to celebrate. Where is … interesting, you did not bring a physician. You are ill-prepared, my friend—not even dueling pistols. Worry not. I am equipped. Harold, if you please.”
The indistinct figure who had been standing off to the side stepped forward. He was a squat bulldog of a man made broader by his billowing greatcoat. In a showy flourish, the man presented the case to Cassidy, opened it, and indicated the two pistols nestled in blue velvet.
Robert heard Cassidy take a deep but shaky breath.
“Steady,” he whispered, hoping that Cassidy could hold the course—that they could put a stop to Rennoll’s treacherous method of grandstanding.
“Yes, listen to your second.” Lord Rennoll laughed. “You need a steady hand to see this through. Oh, have I mentioned that you are not the first to turn and face me?” He paused dramatically. “I have yet to lose.”
“It’s the dawn of a new day.” Robert snorted with derision.
A confused expression flashed across Rennoll’s smarmy countenance. It was quickly quashed, and the light of manic enjoyment returned. Still, the glow was not quite as bright—muted by a whisper of concern.
Robert smiled.
Chapter 14
In which an anonymous mole affects a duel and Miss Whitfield experiences a strange sort of tingling
Robert stared at Lord Rennoll, aware that Cassidy had not moved—not to look into the pistol box and certainly not to gesture which of the offending weapons was supposed to seal his fate. Rennoll’s smirk made it clear what he thought of the delay.
And then, as they had agreed, Cassidy stepped back, feigning confusion. “I’m not sure.… I can’t decide. What think you, Newton?”
Robert leaned forward as if to judge the contents of the box. Deferring to a second was not unusual. Checking and loading the weapon was his responsibility, so garnering his opinion would be advisable.
“It is difficult to say.” Robert heard the stiffness in his tone and altered it, trying to match it with his trivial words. “This one has a scratch, and that one looks dirty—probably used too often.” He sighed dramatically. “No, they will not do. I don’t like either for you. We will have to go with swords.” He noted that the sky was lightening and knew that the increased visibility would be to their service.
“Swords?” Now it was Rennoll’s turn to sound stiff. “I think not. Pistols at dawn. Swords are from a bygone era.”
“Really? There are fencing academies aplenty that would likely disagree. Still, if the blades are not here, the point is moot. Boxing—perhaps you might bash each other about for a bit. Call it a draw, and then we can all have a drink at the pub. Though it is a little early for whiskey, ale would be fine. So … well, what say you?”
“I say this is nonsense! Stand ready! This is a duel, n
ot a garden party!” The roar of Rennoll’s words echoed throughout the meadow, followed by an unfortunate silence.
Unfortunate, for in that stillness a twig snapped.
Rennoll, however, had worked himself into a grand pique. So intent with his own concerns, he had failed to understand the significance of a snapped twig in what was supposed to be a soulless copse.
“Pick your pistol and mark your line,” Rennoll barked. He pointed at the box, gesturing Harold forward. Robert didn’t deign to look down.
“No, I think not. I have a different solution to this … disagreement.”
Sensing that he was losing the upper hand, Rennoll frowned, leaning back ever so slightly. “This is not a disagreement, boy. This is a duel.” He glanced at Cassidy and then back to Robert.
“Not in my eyes. You see, if this were a duel, I would have to report it to the authorities.”
“You would have to do no such thing. Where is your sense of honor?”
“Which honor—my honor as a gentleman or my honor as a lawyer?” Robert wasn’t going to dilute the point by mentioning that he was not yet a lawyer, but an apprentice … in-waiting.
Both Rennoll and Harold swallowed audibly and looked around.
“Let me tell you a tale. It’s not overlong. Simply told, it’s about a baron with an excellent shooting ability who likes to feign insult and challenge young bucks to a duel. Only the baron knows the why of his actions. However—and this is the crux of the matter—when a certain young lawyer looked into the matter, he discovered that the baron had participated in three duels with increasingly serious injury to the offending principal. In short, it was just a matter of time before the baron’s shot would be fatal. So you see, honor dictated his actions. The baron could not be allowed to continue unchecked.”
Harold took Robert’s meaning faster than Rennoll, thrusting the box into the man’s hands and rushing into the woods. A resounding thud offered a clue to the results of that folly.
And then at last, the signal Robert had been waiting for, though not the whistle he expected but a disembodied voice. “Nab him, sir.”