Too Hot For A Rake

by Pearl Wolf

Waverley had the advantage, for this was Cornwall and the Cornish were a close-knit lot. They stood firmly in support of their own as they lined the rise above the beach to witness the match. The beach itself was declared off limits.

  Saltash chose pistols for the duel, for he knew himself to be an excellent shot. His seconds were Major Hobey, a friend, and John Tavistock, his cousin. The earl had prudently forbidden the raffish guests Saltash had brought to Glynhaven’s ball to appear this morning lest they cause an uproar. He knew well enough that these disreputable followers would not ingratiate him with the local populace. They would only serve to earn disapproval.

  “I will ask you one more time, my lord,” said Farmer Hawkes. “Will you agree to call off the duel and apologize to Lady Fairchild for the insult?”

  “No. Lady Fairchild well knows I spoke the truth. Lord Waverley had no right to knock me down for my honesty, however blunt.”

  “Then we shall proceed with the examination of the pistols, my lord.” Hawkes opened the pistol case provided by Glynhaven and handed it to Tavistock. While Tavistock and Nelson examined the weapons, Hawkes and Hobey drew a line in the sand and marked off ten paces in each direction.

  Rabu helped Waverley out of his coat, vest and his neck cloth. The valet laid them on a boulder. He bent to help his master take off his boots. A few yards away, Saltash removed his raiment.

  Dr. Fenwick called the two men to him and said, “Murder isn’t necessary for satisfaction, sirs. Aim for a limb if you must, but avoid the heart, for that leads to certain death for one of you. Shake hands and be damned to hell for your cursed quarrel!”

  “Take your places back-to-back, my lords,” said Glynhaven. “When I lower my hand, begin your ten paces. Stop and turn. At the count of one, stand ready. At the count of two, take aim. At the count of three, fire.”

  Glynhaven raised a white cloth. When he lowered it, the men began to walk. At ten paces, they stopped and turned.

  “One,” Glynhaven cried out and each took his stand, Waverley facing the sea and Saltash facing opposite, their heads turned toward one another, the roar of the sea the only sound to be heard.

  “Two.” The duelers took aim.

  The astonished crowd gasped when Saltash aimed for his challenger’s heart and pulled the trigger before the count of three. When the bullet pierced Waverley, the crowd’s protests filled the air. Waverley stood frozen for a moment in time, then collapsed in a heap. It had been the marquis’ intention to delope before he fell, but he wasn’t given the opportunity.

  Helena took a final look around her chamber, despair lining her face. “Is my carriage ready?”

  “Yes, milady,” said Amy. She helped her into her traveling coat and handed her gloves and reticule to her.

  “Wait in the carriage, Amy. I won’t be long.” Helena squared her shoulders and left the room. She stopped across the hall and knocked on the dowager’s door. When Nurse Hubley opened it, she said in a whisper, “The marchioness is awake, milady. She’s been waiting for you.”

  Tears threatened, but Helena blinked them back. She knelt beside the dowager’s chair and took her hand. “I’ll miss you, ma’am. Stay well and I promise to write often.”

  “So you are leaving us after all. Is there nothing I can say to change your mind?”

  Helena kissed the old woman’s fingers. “No, dearest, but you will always remain in my heart.” Her tears spilled over in spite of her efforts.

  “There, there,” said the dowager, patting her head. “There, there.”

  Helena held the old woman’s hand to her cheek for a moment. Without another word, she rose, nodded farewell to Nurse Hubley and fled the room.

  She took the back stairs but paused when she heard raised voices coming from Mrs. Trasker’s chamber, its door slightly ajar.

  It was Harry’s voice. Helena flattened herself against the wall and listened, her heart racing.

  “I come back ’ere from the beach fast as I could, Ma. The marquis got hit. Mayhap he’s dead.”

  “Dead? Tell it me all, Harry. Tell it me at once!”

  “Lord Saltash got off the first shot. He hit the marquis, but…”

  Dear God! Helena felt faint.

  “Bold as brass, the feller aimed for Waverley’s heart and pulled the trigger.”

  “Then you’re the next marquis, me boy. The dream’s come true fer us! Now we can tell My Lord to leave us alone. We’ll do no more smugglin’ fer ’im!”

  Helena gasped.

  “What’s that noise, Ma?”

  “Someone’s outside the door. Quick, Harry.”

  But Helena was quicker. She poked her head into the room as if she had just arrived. “Good day, Mrs. Trasker. Harry. I’ve come to say farewell. I am returning to London today.”

  The Traskers exchanged glances when Helena put forward her hand. “Good luck with your continued excellent work for the marquis and the dowager.”

  After some hesitation, Mrs. Trasker wiped her hand on her apron and shook the offered hand. “When did you say you’re leavin’, milady?”

  “I’ll be off shortly. My carriage is waiting for me as we speak, ma’am.”

  “Shake hands wi’ milady, Harry. Don’t want to send her off thinkin’ there’s hard feelings, do we?”

  Helena maintained her smile while Harry shook her hand. “There are no hard feelings on my part, Mrs. Trasker. We may have had our differences, but we managed to settle them after all, didn’t we? I’m off to the kitchen to say good-bye to Cook.” She nodded her head slightly, turned and left the room.

  Helena let out a sigh of relief when she reached the back stairs landing. Only then could she be sure that the Traskers were no longer able to see her. She flew down the rest of the flight to the kitchen, flung her arms around Cook and began to sob. “He’s dead, Cook. The marquis is dead. And it’s all my fault!”

  “Nonsense, milady. Who’s been spreadin’ such a terrible lie? The marquis ain’t dead.”

  “Harry saw the whole thing. I heard him tell his mother.”

  “Drat that man! He’s no more sense in his head than a dumb sheep! The marquis is in his bed, milady, only wounded. Doctor Fenwick’s tending him as we speak.”

  Helena began to sway, but Cook caught her and placed her in a chair, forcing her head down. “You’ve no time for fainting just now. Nor you can’t run away to London neither. You’re needed here an’ that’s the size of it.” Cook bustled to the sink, wet a cloth and filled a glass with water. “Sip a bit of this, slow-like.” She pressed the cool cloth to Helena’s head and held the glass to her lips.

  “Thank you, Cook, I’m feeling better now.” She took another sip and added, “You’re right. I can’t leave. It’s out of the question under the circumstances. Will you tell Amy and Casper to put up the horses and unpack while I inquire after his lordship?”

  “God help us if his lordship dies,” Cook murmured.

  Helena hurried through the dining room door and into the hallway, where servants had already congregated, abuzz with the news of the duel.

  Astonished at the lack of discipline she’d worked so hard to correct, Helena paused and demanded in a voice filled with authority, “Why are you lot here? Go about your duties at once!” She waited long enough to see them scatter, lifted her skirts and flew up the steps of the grand staircase. She turned right at the landing toward Waverley’s suite of rooms.

  When she reached his bedchamber, she knocked and Rabu opened the door. “May I come in?” she whispered. Rabu turned to the doctor, who met her at the door and led her into Waverley’s large office.

  “He’s asleep, ma’am. I’ve given him laudanum to ease the pain.”

  “Will the marquis survive, Doctor Fenwick?”

  “No question. If he hadn’t lifted his arm to delope, he’d be dead. The bullet grazed a rib and exited through his left side. I’ve applied a liniment to the wound. He’ll need nursing to watch for infection. If all goes well, his lordship will be sore for a time, but he’ll be
up and about soon, for he’s in good health.” He saw no need to inform her ladyship that the craven Lord Saltash had pulled the trigger before the count of three.

  “What must be done for Lord Waverley?”

  The doctor eyed her carefully. “Aren’t you returning to London today?”

  “Not now, sir. He…he needs me,” she said, almost pleading. “I’ll be his nurse if you will instruct me. His valet can relieve me when I need sleep.”

  The doctor hesitated.

  “Please, sir. I…I must do this.”

  “Does the sight of blood trouble you, ma’am?”

  “I’m not fainthearted, sir. I have younger sisters and a brother, and I am frequently summoned to the sickroom to tend them when they are ill.”

  “All right. You must see to it that the liniment is applied every four hours. Encourage him to drink liquids. Give him sips of tea, lemonade, water and broth. No spirits, mind. Add a few drops of laudanum into his drink when he complains of pain. I’ve left some for him.”

  “Will he suffer much pain, sir?”

  The doctor shook his head. “Discomfort, more like. The bruise may hurt at the smallest movement. His lordship may also be restless, unable to settle in a comfortable spot, but that too will pass.”

  “Shall I see to it that he lies still?”

  “Not in the least. Have that peculiar fellow—his valet—sponge him when you apply new liniment and a new dressing. Pay no mind if blood seeps through the dressing. That’s a good sign. If it becomes excessive, send for me.” He picked up his bag and turned to leave, but Helena placed a restraining hand on his arm. “Yes?”

  “When shall you visit again, doctor?”

  “Tomorrow morning, first thing.” He bowed to her and took his leave.

  Helena closed the door and leaned against it as if that would give her strength for the ordeal ahead.

  London: Fairchild House

  “Father, come quickly. Georgie and Edward are having the devil of a row!” said Jane.

  The duke raised his eyeglass to his nine-year-old daughter in a gesture of annoyance, but she paid no heed. He loved Jane, yet he found it hard to like her. For one, she was overweight, and for another, she meddled. “Haven’t you been taught to knock before you enter?”

  “But, Father, you don’t understand. They’re about to come to blows.”

  “Have you been eavesdropping again? You know you are not supposed to listen in on other people’s conversations. How many times must I remind you it’s bad manners to do so?”

  A large tear formed on Jane’s round face. “I…I thought you should know.”

  He sighed in exasperation. “Now don’t start weeping. There’s no need…”

  Before the duke could continue, his son burst into the library. “Bloody hell, Father! You must do something about Georgie!”

  The duke looked at Jane, a twinkle in his eyes, sharing the joke with her. “It appears your brother must also learn to knock before entering.”

  Thus mollified, Jane crossed her arms and threw her father a look of triumph, as if to say “I told you so!”

  “Where did you learn such incivility, Edward? Not at my knee, I’m sure. Pray tell me what is the matter, but lower your voice. We needn’t amuse all the servants.”

  To his daughter he added, “Thank you, Jane. You may leave us.”

  “And don’t be hanging at the door trying to listen in, brat,” said her brother.

  “I was only trying to help,” Jane muttered and stalked off.

  Edward followed her to the door and shut it firmly. When he turned back to his father, he said bitterly, “Georgie stole my clothes and sneaked out last night. Not for the first time, either!”

  The news did not appear to stun the duke. “And you came by this earthshaking news how?”

  “My valet informed me of it. He heard a noise and entered my chamber to investigate just as Georgie climbed back into my window early this morning. Wearing my clothes! She has ruined my new Hessians!”

  “Your Hessians are of little consequence, but my daughter’s behavior is of great consequence. Thank you for telling me, Edward. You may go.”

  “No, Father. I prefer to remain here. It’s my right to see you chastise her properly.”

  The duke’s eyes glinted. In a voice full of menace, he said softly, “Your what? Your…right? Tell me I didn’t hear you correctly, my son.”

  Edward made the mistake of insisting, though in a much lower tone. “It’s me she’s wronged, Father, and I ought to see Georgiana gets the punishment she deserves.”

  “Do you not think it premature to bury me before my time, son? I beg to remind you that I am still very much alive. When I die, you shall succeed me and do as you wish. Squander the fortune I shall leave you, if that is your will. Beat your sisters. Throw your mother out into the streets….”

  The duke’s acidic tongue gave his son and heir cause to regret his disrespectful outburst. “I beg your pardon, sir,” he mumbled in contrition. Edward’s face turned a deep shade of red.

  The duke ignored his belated apology. “Come to think of it, Edward, you’re halfway to ruin already, what with your betting wagers and your sports-mad pursuits, a poor example for your sisters, to say the least. You have only yourself to blame for your sister’s wild antics. I shouldn’t wonder if Georgie hasn’t learned to ape your ways.”

  “I’m sorry for my outburst, Father, but Georgiana…”

  The duke waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal. “You may go, Edward. On your way out, be sure to close the door gently instead of slamming it as you did on your poor sister Jane. Oh, and one more thing, my lord. Be so good as to ask Dunston to send Georgiana to me.”

  Waverley Castle

  Helena sat by Waverley’s bed and watched his restless, sleeping form. She wiped his brow with a cool cloth from time to time, relieved to discover that he wasn’t feverish. Alone with her thoughts, she couldn’t help but dwell on the events leading up to the duel. She had such mixed feelings concerning them. It was Waverley’s foolhardy decision to try to delope, but clearly, he meant it to please her. If he hadn’t raised his arm into the air, he would have died. He was alive, but she blamed herself nevertheless.

  What of Glynhaven’s role in this sorry affair? How could he not have known that Saltash was bringing Madame Z and her tarts to the ball? What made him think she would accept his proposal of marriage? Maybe she should have heeded Waverley’s anger at the invitation. The Earl of Glynhaven was no friend to the Marquis of Waverley. Foolish of her to think otherwise, but how could she have known how much bad blood ran between them?

  Mr. Cullum, Waverley’s secretary, had brought her the news that the dishonorable Lord Saltash had fled to France to avoid arrest for having pulled the trigger before the count of three. He had reported that Saltash had taken his French friends with him.

  Waverley moaned. She glanced at the clock on the mantel. It was almost midnight. She picked up the light sheet covering him. He’d bled through the dressing. She rose to summon Rabu to help her, but he was already at her side. In silence, they turned the marquis on his right side to allow her to remove the bloodied dressing. Rabu washed the wound carefully, after which she applied fresh ointment and rewrapped the wound in clean dressing.

  She prepared another dose of laudanum and held it to Waverley’s lips while Rabu raised his head. He never woke, but in a few minutes, his labored breathing eased and he ceased his moans. Helena beckoned Rabu to follow her to the door, where the patient could not hear her words. “I shall leave you now, for I must rest, but there is a footman posted outside the door. Send for me if you find you need my help with his lordship.”

  “Yes, your la’sheep. Sleep well, your la’sheep.” He giggled, but his heart wasn’t in it.

  Chapter 16

  Monday, the Fourth of May, 1818

  The marquis woke to find his secretary at his bedside. “If you’re here, Rupert, it’s clear that I’m still alive.”

  “Yo
u are, sir, I’m thankful to say. How do you feel?”

  Waverley ignored his question. “Where is Saltash?”

  “I’m told his lordship and his party left right after the duel.”

  “He took the lot of them home to Devon?”

  “No, sir. His lordship escorted his French…er…guests back to Paris.”

  The marquis frowned. “How came you by this information, Rupert?”

  His secretary grinned. “I make it my business to have such information ready when you inquire.”

  “Which means?”

  “Which means your duel has become legend hereabouts. You’re a hero to the Cornish, sir.”

  “So soon? Oh, well. I suppose I should be grateful that I am not the villain in this melodrama.”

  The young man’s eyes danced. “Far from it, sir. The villain is an outsider from Devon. What could be worse?”

  Waverley grinned. “Bless you, Rupert, for having such a wry sense of humor.” He closed his eyes for a moment, then added, “Lady Fairchild must have reached London by now.”

  “No, sir. Her ladyship is here.”

  Waverley’s brows knit. “I don’t understand. I was under the impression that milady meant to return to London.”

  “She’s changed her mind, sir. Her ladyship has been at your bedside changing your dressings and applying liniment to your wounds. Rabu relieves her at midnight.”

  “Indeed?” A smile broke from his lips, but it changed quickly into a scowl. Then she’s in danger and I cannot protect her. That scoundrel Glynhaven orchestrated this whole fiasco. I should have guessed that he was up to some mischief. He’d like nothing better than to destroy me. Old grudges die hard. “I want you to write a letter for me, Rupert.”

  “I’ll fetch my pad, sir. I’ll only be a moment.” He rose and hurried to his office through the connecting door.

  Waverley dictated the brief message and stated its direction when Rupert returned. “I leave it to your good judgment to send it to London with the utmost speed.”

  “Private messenger is quickest, sir, but costly.”

  “Hang the cost, but be discreet, Rupert. Hire someone trustworthy to deliver it. No one else must know of this. Understood?”