A Perfect Likeness

by Sandra Heath

  “I don’t need to inquire, for quite obviously you are sure of your ground.” Bryony’s lips parted with dismay and she closed her eyes for a moment. He believed Felix! He spoke again. “I still mean to call you out, however, for your conduct of late has been too blatant for me to ignore anymore.”

  “And what of her conduct?”

  “What I think of her is none of your business, Felix.”

  “You obviously don’t hold her in particularly high regard, so why are you really intent on a duel? Because I’ve bedded a strumpet with notions above her station? Or perhaps it’s because I bedded her first!”

  “Name your seconds, Felix,” said Sebastian coldly.

  “Do you wish to forfeit your damned life as well as your pride?”

  “I’m not the one puffed up with too much pride, Felix. That dubious title goes to you. And I don’t need to remind you of the old saying that pride comes before a fall.”

  “I will not be falling, cousin,” said Felix abruptly, “for if you challenge me, then I will have the choice of weapons, and I hardly think I’m about to choose pistols, do you?”

  “I didn’t for one moment imagine you would.”

  “When do you wish to settle this?’’

  “Now would seem as good a time as any.”

  “You’re set upon destruction, aren’t you?” said Felix, a sneer entering his voice.

  “Certes, cousin,” replied Sebastian steadily, “but not necessarily my own.”

  “Well, I promise you that it will not be mine,” snapped Felix, “and I think we may dispense with seconds, don’t you? I’m at your disposal, sir.” He nodded in the direction of the conservatory. “I shall await you.”

  His steps sounded very loud as he walked away, and Bryony suddenly realized that the little groups of coachmen and footmen who had congregated as usual to talk among themselves while they waited, were now all silent, having listened to every word of the exchange.

  Bryony took a hesitant step toward Sebastian, but he didn’t seem to see her; instead he turned to the carriage again, holding out his hand. For the first time Bryony realized that Petra had been there all along. She stepped slowly down, her oyster taffeta skirts shining in the light from a nearby lantern. A knotted blue shawl was over her slender arms and there were sapphires at her throat and in her hair.

  Sebastian smiled at her. “I suppose you are about to plead with me once again to be sensible?”

  “No, not anymore, for I know well enough when your mind is finally made up.” She hesitated. “Sebastian, if Felix is right, if she did dance with him—”

  “I thought you weren’t going to plead with me,” he said, smiling a little and suddenly drawing her close and kissing her softly on the lips. Then he walked away toward the conservatory, where a lamp was burning now.

  Bryony felt as if her heart were breaking, for that kiss told her once and for all that he had lied. Petra was his mistress; she had his love and she always would.

  Petra turned suddenly, looking directly at Bryony. “I trust you’re pleased with yourself, madam, for he is risking his life tonight because of you.”

  Bryony said nothing, but began to follow Sebastian toward the conservatory. Petra hurried after her, catching her arm angrily. “Don’t you think you’ve done enough?”

  “Let go of my arm, my lady, for I have every intention of being there, and nothing you say can stop me.”

  Petra’s eyes flashed, but she slowly released her. “How notorious you’ll be after this, Miss St. Charles. You’ll be spoken of as the woman for whose dubious reputation two of the most eligible gentlemen in England fought a duel. Who knows, you may even be able to say that one of them died because of you.” She walked past Bryony then, the sapphires at her throat flashing deep purple against her pale skin.

  Bryony closed her eyes for a moment, but she knew she had to be there, no matter what would be said of her afterward. Slowly she followed Petra, stepping from the cool of the night into the closeness and warm humidity of the conservatory.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  The citrus leaves shone in the light from the solitary oil lamp, their shadows monstrous on the dark glass all around. Felix had already discarded his coat and waistcoat and was inspecting two light swords he had selected from the display on the wall. He balanced first one and then the other in the palm of his hand, and then discarded one, slicing the gleaming blade of the other audibly through the still air.

  Sebastian took off his coat and untied his cravat, turning then as he heard Petra approaching along the path, but he didn’t look at Bryony, standing just beyond the edge of the light, her silver gown ghostly and indistinct.

  Petra went to him, slipping her hand in his and looking earnestly up into his eyes. “Please, Sebastian, I know I said I wouldn’t plead with you, but now I must. It’s madness to go on with this.”

  “I could not back down now, even if I wanted to,” he said gently.

  Bryony lowered her eyes, unable to bear seeing the way he smiled down into his mistress’s tear-filled eyes.

  Felix had an unpleasant smile on his lips. “My lady, it seems my cousin simply will not accept that the woman he has chosen to marry is little better than a whore. Once this farce is over, he will have made himself into the biggest fool in the land, not only for having chosen such a demi-rep, but also for actually having fought for her so-called honor! It will be my story the world will believe in the end, for no one with an iota of sense is about to credit the word of a creature such as Bryony St. Charles.” He gave Bryony a mocking bow.

  Sebastian gazed at her for a moment without saying anything, and into that sudden silence came another sound, the murmur of many voices in the quadrangle outside. Word had reached the ball of what was happening in the conservatory, The door opened and the voices became much louder, but they were much quieter as the squeak-squeak of the duchess’s wheelchair became audible.

  The footman pushed her into the conservatory and the Polwithiel steward closed the doors behind her, refusing entry to anyone else. The chair’s noise was magnified in the still air as it was pushed carefully along the brick path to the edge of the floor. Bryony moved instinctively away into the shadows and the duchess did not even know she was there.

  The squeaking stopped and the duchess sat upright in the chair, leaning her bony hands on her cane. She was trembling and her face was very pale beneath her rouge. “I forbid this to go any further,” she said in a shaking voice. “I absolutely forbid it.”

  Felix’s eyes flickered. “You are in no position to forbid anything, Mother, for I am the master here.”

  “Then as your mother I appeal to you. Desist, Felix, I beg of you.”

  “I have been challenged, I have no other course but to accept.”

  She looked at Sebastian. “If you have issued the challenge, sir, then I beg you to retract it.”

  “That is not possible, Aunt, for this thing has gone too far now.”

  Felix gave an incredulous laugh. “It is the lady concerned who has gone too far, cousin, for she gave her all in the hope of hooking a duke. You have crowed to the world that she is the woman for you, but whose was she before? And before that? And before that? The lady is a skilled lover, I can vouch for that, and what she knows she learned in other beds than mine, of that you may be sure.”

  “No!” cried Bryony. “No! It isn’t true! None of it’s true!”

  Felix smiled. “Is it also not true that you danced with me tonight, that you kissed me on the lips in front of everyone?”

  She stared at him. “I didn’t kiss you,” she whispered.

  “Did you also not dance with me?” He raised an eyebrow. “You cannot deny it, can you? Just as you cannot with any conviction deny that you kissed me. You are found out, madam, you have played and lost.”

  She lowered her eyes, unable to bear to look at Sebastian. She was too afraid that she would see the contempt in his glance.

  Felix stepped to the center of the floor then. “
Shall we get on with this damned mummery, cousin?” he inquired, flicking his blade to and fro so swiftly that it whined.

  “By all means,” murmured Sebastian, joining him and taking up the guard position.

  They circled each other warily, their movements supple and precise; it had begun now and there was no going back until it was done. Suddenly the blades clashed together in swift succession, each man testing the other’s mettle, and as Felix drew back, he gave a cool grin, “I note that you have been taking lessons, cousin.”

  “Angelos does not confine himself to dukes.”

  Felix’s smile faltered minutely. “Angelos? How very ambitious of you.”

  “Or how prescient,” replied Sebastian, lunging forward so suddenly that Felix was almost caught completely off guard, forced to parry the thrust while unbalanced.

  There was little trace now of that cool smile and air of confidence, for Felix was forced to realize that Sebastian was a better swordsman than he had known. As he struggled to regain his balance, he knew that he could no longer afford to consider himself the inevitable victor. Leaping back, he circled again, his eyes sharp and wary now, his movements almost feline, and then he thrust forward, his blade aimed directly at Sebastian’s heart. The swords clashed together so rapidly that the sounds became continuous, and this time it was Sebastian who was forced to draw back.

  The minutes passed and beads of perspiration shone on both men’s foreheads. Felix moved away suddenly, as if out of breath and in need of a moment or two’s rest, but as he did so the tip of his sword described a slow circle in the air. It was a hypnotic movement, unexpected and diverting, and it distracted Sebastian’s attention for a split second, long enough for Felix to seize the advantage he had created, lunging forward with lightning speed and forcing Sebastian onto his back foot, so much so that he lost his balance and stumbled.

  Felix’s blade collected Sebastian’s, flicking it away from him so that it arced through the air and fell with a clatter almost at Bryony’s feet. Felix thought the duel fought and won, but as he pressed triumphantly forward, Sebastian suddenly rolled aside, retrieving the sword and leaping to his feet again with such speed that Felix hardly knew what had happened. Felix’s grin of triumph became a snarl of fury as the moment was snatched from him, and he thrust forward again and again, attempting to deny Sebastian the chance to fully regain his balance.

  The atmosphere was suddenly electric. The duchess was like a thin statue, gazing in horror at what was happening. The footman behind her chair looked on with wide eyes, his tongue passing nervously over his dry lips. Petra looked anxious, although she did not make a move. Bryony wanted to close her eyes and put her hands to her ears to shut out the sights and sounds of the conflict, but she could do neither; she could only stand and watch, her heart almost stopping each time Felix’s blade came close to Sebastian.

  It seemed that neither man could gain the upper hand then, but after almost another minute of circling and sudden thrusts, Felix at last broke through Sebastian’s guard, his blade slashing his sleeve and scoring a deep wound on his arm. Before Felix could lunge forward again, Petra suddenly hurried onto the floor, her taffeta skirts rustling and her lovely eyes shimmering with tears. “Stop!” she cried. “Oh, stop, I beg of you!”

  Felix inclined his head, lowering his blade. “I consider I have successfully defended my honor, madam, if he will accept that I am the victor, then that will indeed be the end of it.”

  Petra took a small scarf from around her wrist, tying it firmly about Sebastian’s bleeding arm. “Can you not agree, Sebastian?” she begged. “There is no need to go on!”

  “There is every need,” he said gently, “for I will not cry craven because of a little blood.”

  She stared at him and then cast a venomous glance toward Bryony. “She isn’t worth all this,” she cried tearfully. “She simply isn’t worth it!”

  Felix gave a brief laugh. “My sentiments precisely,” he murmured.

  Sebastian looked down at Petra. “Stand aside,” he said softly, “for this cannot be ended yet.”

  With a choked sob, Petra did as she was told, returning to the edge of the floor, the tears shining on her ashen cheeks.

  It was then that Bryony noticed Delphine. She stood halfway along the path, and how long she had been there was impossible to say. Her golden gown gleamed in the dim light and her face looked almost hard framed by the turban. She did not move; she simply watched in silence as the two men faced each other again.

  Steel clashed viciously against steel as the duel began again, but this time there was a new relentlessness about it, as if that small spilling of blood had released something into the still air. Felix had renewed confidence, for he knew that a wounded man would tire more swiftly and be more vulnerable to tricks, but each time he pressed forward, his attack was parried.

  The moments passed and gradually Bryony noticed that Sebastian’s parries were more frequently becoming attacks themselves. Felix’s anticipatory smile faded again, and his face took on a grim expression as time and time again he sought to vanquish Sebastian once and for all.

  Both men were tiring now, but as the minutes passed it became obvious that Felix was not going to be able to break through Sebastian’s guard again and put the end to him he desired. Frustrated and more reckless than wise, he made an ill-judged lunge forward, only to find his sword whisked from his hand and Sebastian’s blade pressing at last against his heart.

  The duchess gave a cry of anguish. “No! Sebastian!” she screamed.

  Felix’s face was like parchment, terror shining brightly in his dark brown eyes. Sebastian looked contemptuously at him, but then glanced at the duchess’s beseeching face before prodding Felix savagely with the sword. “I’ll hear you say loud and clear that you have lied about Bryony St. Charles.”

  “I lied,” whispered Felix.

  “I’m afraid that I did not hear you, cousin.”

  “I said that I lied, nothing I claimed about her was true.”

  “And this afternoon you attempted to force her against her will to submit to you?”

  “Yes.”

  Bryony heard the duchess’s sharp intake of breath and saw her hands clench on her cane.

  Sebastian lowered his sword. “I’ll spare your miserable life, then, Felix.” He tossed his sword to the floor.

  Felix said nothing. His whole body was trembling. He had prided himself on his swordplay, bragged to the world that he was second to none in the land; today he had been defeated by a man he did not rate at all as a swordsman, a man he hated with all his heart. It was a bitter and humiliating pill to swallow.

  Bryony hardly realized that she had been holding her breath, but now she exhaled slowly. She was exonerated, but oh, what a price might have been paid. She did not know what to say or do, but as she looked at Sebastian, once again it was Petra who claimed his attention, slipping her arms about his waist and resting her head against his chest. He hesitated but a small second before putting his good arm around her, his lips moving softly against her red hair.

  Bryony gathered her skirts and hurried from the conservatory, brushing past Delphine’s silent figure and out into the thronged quadrangle. A buzz of interest broke out as she appeared, and everyone instinctively made way for her to pass.

  She ran into the deserted great hall, her steps echoing on the glazed tiles. There was no orchestra playing in the gallery now, and no one sitting beneath the floral arbor. The ribboned hoops swayed a little in the draft from the open door, and there was a smell of extinguished candles as that same draft swept past the still-smoking candelabra upon the nearby tables. She paused for a moment, and then walked on more slowly, her train dragging over the gleaming floor as she went toward the grand staircase and the shelter of her apartment.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  There could not now be any question of the ball continuing, and shortly afterward the first carriage departed. It was followed by more and more, and out in the quadrangle the
atmosphere was excited but subdued, the guests agog at what had happened but not liking to talk too openly about it while still at Polwithiel. As they entered the privacy of their carriages, however, they talked of nothing else.

  Bryony stood at her window, watching the line of vehicles move away down the drive, their lamps picking out tendrils of sea mist which had begun to creep up from the estuary. The night was perceptibly cooler now and she knew that before dawn the mist would have cloaked everything, just as it had done on that other occasion.

  She felt quite empty as she stood there, for she had finally realized that marrying Sebastian Sheringham was out of the question; she could not do it even for Liskillen. Seeing his intimacy with Petra had been so very painful that she had known it was a torture she couldn’t endure. Nor could she endure knowing that in spite of Felix’s confession, Sebastian believed her guilty of improper behavior at the ball. If he believed that, then what else might he believe? His doubt would be there, always it would be there.

  Tears filled her eyes and she turned away from the window, glancing at Sally, who was once again waiting quietly with her cape and bonnet. The silver organdy gown, together with the laundered white silk, clear now of its red wine stains, hung in the wardrobe again. She wouldn’t take them with her, she wouldn’t keep anything he had given her. She would leave Polwithiel as she had arrived, taking nothing she had not brought with her from Liskillen.

  She looked at her reflection in the mirror. She wore the sky-blue muslin dress, honey-colored cloak, and ribboned gypsy hat which she had had on when she arrived on board the Molly K. It was somehow fitting that she should wear these things now, when she was on the point of leaving again. She heard steps at the door and turned quickly, hoping that it was someone with word of the carriage she had asked for to take her to Falmouth. But as the door opened, her face became cold, for it was Petra.

  Sally hastily withdrew to the dressing room, and Petra faced Bryony, her demeanor haughty and as cold as Bryony’s own. “I am sent by Sebastian to request you to come to Tremont with us now. He is refused entry to this house and cannot ask you in person. He awaits you in the quadrangle.”