“He has always been the best of brothers,” Lady Oliver continued, “and kinder to me than the others. He was the only one who would play with me as a girl and allow me to follow him around. He must not die. Oh, can that wretched coachman not go faster?”
They were in the park at last, but the carriage could not drive all the way to that private stretch of grass beyond the trees. The coachman, loudly berated by his mistress, set down the steps in haste, and Lady Oliver, looking reasonably respectable in cloak and bonnet and gloves, fairly tumbled out, followed by a bareheaded Jane in morning dress, shawl, and slippers.
“This way!” Jane cried, and broke into a run. She was not sure, of course. It might not be the right place. And even if it were, they might be too late. She listened tensely for the sound of shots above that of her own labored breathing and Lady Oliver’s sobs.
It was the right place. As soon as they had stumbled through the trees, they could see the gathered spectators, all of whom were silent.
There could be only one reason for their silence!
The Reverend Josiah Forbes and the Duke of Tresham, both clad only in shirt, pantaloons, and Hessian boots, were back to back, pacing away from each other, their pistols pointing at the sky. They were stopping. They were about to turn to take aim.
“Stop!” Jane cried. “STOP!” She obeyed her own command and came to a full halt, pressing both fists to her mouth as she did so.
Lady Oliver screamed and stumbled onward.
Both gentlemen stopped. Jocelyn, without turning or lowering his pistol, found Jane out with a single glance. His eyes locked with hers across the distance. The Reverend Forbes both turned and lowered his pistol, frowning ferociously.
“Gertrude!” he bellowed. “Go away from here. This is no place for a woman. I will deal with you later.”
Lord Oliver, looking both flustered and embarrassed, stepped forward from among the spectators and would have taken his wife’s arm and propelled her firmly away. But she jerked her arm free.
“No!” she declared. “I have something to say.”
Jane, returning Jocelyn’s stare unwaveringly, nevertheless listened. It took her only a moment to realize that Lady Oliver had chosen to play the part of brave martyr, sacrificing her own reputation for the life of her dear brother. But it did not matter. At least she was doing what she should have done long ago, before the meeting of her husband with the Duke of Tresham.
Strange, Jane thought dispassionately. If Lady Oliver had done the right thing at the start, she herself would never have met Jocelyn. How fragile were the moments of chance on which the whole course of one’s life hinged.
“You must not shoot Tresham, Josiah,” Lady Oliver implored. “Neither must Samuel. He has done no wrong. There was never anything between him and me. I wanted there to be, but he would have none of me. I wanted to be the subject of a duel—it seemed grand and romantic to me. But I was wrong, and I will admit it now. You must not shoot an innocent man. You would have it on your conscience for the rest of your life. So would I.”
“Even now you would defend your lover, Gertrude?” the Reverend Forbes asked, using the voice he must use from the pulpit, Jane guessed.
“You know me better,” she told him. “If it were true, I would not so abase myself before an audience. I have simply decided to do what is right. If you still do not believe me, you may speak to Lady Sara Illingsworth, who came with me this morning. She was a witness to the snub I received from Tresham when I called upon him after the last duel. He was never my lover. But he was too much the gentleman to call me a liar.”
Jocelyn, who still had not moved, did not look away from Jane. But even across the distance she could see one eyebrow lift in mockery.
Her fists, she realized, were still pressed to her mouth.
The Reverend Josiah Forbes was striding across the grass toward his dueling partner. At last Jocelyn turned and lowered his pistol.
“It seems I was mistaken, Tresham.” The Reverend Forbes was still using his pulpit voice. “I owe you an apology and I withdraw my challenge. If you feel that you have a grudge against me, of course, then we will continue this meeting. My family is responsible, after all, for a dishonorable plot to harm yours.” Jane guessed that he had taken three of his brothers severely to task for the incident with Lord Ferdinand’s curricle.
“I believe,” Jocelyn said with a languid sigh, “that small matter has already been avenged, Forbes. And as for this, you were merely doing what I would do for my own sister.” He transferred the pistol to his left hand and extended his right.
There was a collective sigh from the spectators as the two shook hands and Captain Samuel Forbes stepped forward to offer his own apologies and withdraw his own challenge. Jane slowly lowered her hands and realized that she had left the imprint of eight fingernails on her two palms.
Lady Oliver swooned elegantly into her husband’s arms.
An honorable reconciliation had just taken place. Soon enough Jocelyn was alone again and looking toward the trees once more. He held up his left hand, palm out, to discourage his friends from approaching while at the same time beckoning Jane imperiously with the fingers of his right hand.
Everything fled from Jane’s mind except a mind-numbing relief and an overpowering fury—fanned to breaking point by those beckoning fingers. As if she were a dog! As if he were incapable of coming to her. She hurried toward him until she stood almost nose to nose with him.
“You horrid man,” she said, her voice low and trembling. “Youhorrid, arrogant, bull-headed man. I loathe you! You faced death here this morning, but you would have died without a word to me. Even last night—even then you spoke not aword. If I needed more evidence that you do not carethatmuch for me”—she snapped her fingers in his face with a satisfyingly loud click—“I now have it in abundance. I never want to see you again. Do you understand me? Never. Stay away from me.”
He looked back at her with lazy hauteur and no glimmering of remorse. “You came all this way at this hour of the morning and in this state of dishabille to commandmeto stay away fromyou, Lady Sara?” he asked with detestably cool logic. “You have flaunted propriety in order to tell me that I amhorrid? Now, you will take my arm without further delay, and I will escort you to Oliver’s carriage—I assume that is where the lady is being carried. I daresay that in the drama of the moment they will forget you if we do not hurry, and then you will be left with a score or two of gentlemen for your sole chaperons and escorts. It is not the sort of situation Lady Sara Illingsworth should find herself in when her reputation is still in a precarious state.”
He offered his arm, but she turned away and began to stride in the direction of the carriage. He fell into step beside her.
“I suppose,” he said, “all this was your idea? It made for wonderful drama. Saved in the nick of time.”
