“There. Much better.” He patted her shoulder. “You will find you can accomplish so much more in this world if you are appropriately dressed.”
“It’s rather tight,” Pen stretched her neck. “And hot. I can hardly breathe.”
“And so it should be, my good Pen. Tell me then, what is so urgent that you must drag me from my bed at this ungodly hour?”
“A pistol,” she replied. “Do you have a pistol I may borrow?”
“Of course I do.” He strolled over to a Chinese cabinet, opened the doors, drew out an inlaid mahogany box and handed it to her. “Will this do?”
She took it and flipped it open. Two pistols lay inside. Even to her unschooled eyes, the two flintlocks looked well crafted. She picked one up. The metal was cold against her hands.
“Anything else?”
“No. Thank you. That is all.” She did not know what to do with it and gestured awkwardly toward the door. “I suppose I will leave and let you continue your, er, morning routine.”
He dropped into an armchair and crossed his legs.
“You know, one needs bullets for the pistol to work,” he said conversationally.
Pen paused. “Oh.” Another pause. “It’s not loaded?”
“No, my good Pen. It is not. Do you know how to do it?”
She weighed it in her hand awkwardly.
Alworth lifted an eyebrow. “I gather not. What do you need it for?”
“To shoot a bullet into someone.”
“Ah yes. Silly of me to ask.” He looked at her through heavy-lidded eyes. “Who is the unfortunate fellow you need to shoot?”
“It’s none of your business.”
Alworth sighed. He got up and held out his hand. “In that case, I need to reclaim my pistol.”
Pen clung to it. “I will bring it back when I don’t need it anymore. I promise.”
“The devil you will. Sorry to say, whelp, that I don’t entirely trust you. How do I know you don’t intend to assassinate someone? With my pistol? Come, come, that won’t do.”
She struggled with herself. “Lord Blackstone.”
“Blackstone?” He looked at her, perplexed. “What dealings do you have with him?”
“I have a duel. Saturday. That’s tomorrow.” She gulped.
“I daresay you will defeat Blackstone easily in a duel,” he said. “He isn’t the best of shots.” Alworth frowned. “Nonetheless, it is atrocious of him to call out a mere child.”
“I’m not a child!” Pen flared up.
“Hm. That remains to be debated. He’s known to be a hideous shot. And cowardly. Anyone can best him. Even you.”
Pen nodded unhappily. “Of course.”
“Pen Kumari. You do know how to shoot a pistol, do you not?”
A pause. “Certainly. I’ve shot tigers in India with one shot.” She evaded his eyes.
“Tigers.” He sighed. “I see this day promises to be quite busy. Pistol practice before breakfast, I tell you. What has the world come to?”
