A scream ripped through the room. Ellen hardly recognised her own voice. "Liar!" She would have thrown herself at him to gouge his eyes out, but someone held her back.
"Not another word out of your lying mouth." Edmund stalked over to Robert and jabbed a finger into his chest. "We'll settle this honourably, like men." His voice was icy.
Robert shrugged nonchalantly. "If you insist. Name the terms."
"Epées without blunted tips. In the ballroom. Now." He led the way.
"This is not at all proper for the ladies," Dobberham protested as everyone followed them into the ballroom. "Lady Elinor! Think of your charge! This is not for the faint of heart."
Lady Elinor pushed her metal-rimmed glasses up her thin nose. "Nonsense. I've always wanted to see a duel," she announced. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."
The other ladies agreed.
So it was that Edmund and Robert fought a duel in the Dobberham ballroom before an audience of ladies and their chaperones.
"To the death," Edmund growled, lifting his épée.
"No, no, no!" Dobberham interjected with a panicked expression on his face. "Don't want any corpses in my ballroom, mind you! Winner is the one who first draws blood. I shall be the referee."
The two menwere locked in a fierce, savage dance. They lunged and parried, twisting and turning mid-air to avoid hits. Both had shed their coats and were fighting in their shirtsleeves without masks. Sweat poured down their faces as their foils clashed again and again with sharp clanks as they lunged at each other with bitter determination. Robert was shorter and stockier and fought with unpredictable aggression, a confident smirk on his face as he returned each blow with clever feints and ripostes.
Ellen was terrified for Edmund, who escaped several stabs by a hair's breadth. What would she do if Edmund was hit, or worse, killed?
She would never forgive herself, and she could never live with the guilt of having brought him to this. She could barely watch the match.
So she barely registered that Edmund, who was taller and leaner than Robert, fenced with more methodical precision, his blows landing with elegant but deadly accuracy.
It soon became clear that Edmund was the more gifted fencer. Finally, with a decisive, swift move, Edmund thrusted the tip of his blade into his opponent's shoulder.
Robert stumbled and fell onto his back. His shirt was stained red.
It was a hit.
"Take it back," Edmund growled. "What you said about my wife."
"I can't." Robert's chest heaved.
"The truth." Edmund dug the blade in further as Robert writhed.
"The truth?" he gasped. "Itisthe truth. She is Mary-Ellen Gordon. Except I may have exaggerated a little."
Edmund nudged further. "Speak."
"She was an innocent. Does that satisfy you? Now remove your blade."
"I want the whole truth." Edmund removed the blade but kept a booted foot on his chest.
"She is Blackshurst's daughter. I met her when she was a chit, barely out of school. Her first Season." Robert's words came in short, chopped gasps. "I proposed an elopement to Gretna Green. She agreed. Blackshurst sent runners from Bow Street to intercept us halfway." He shrugged. "That's all there is to it."
"Is it true?" Edmund's eyes sought Ellen's as she stood by the window, both hands clenched over her mouth. She dropped them to her sides.
Robert hadn't mentioned that she'd changed her mind about eloping in that squalid little inn halfway to Scotland, but he'd told her it had been too late. He hadn't mentioned that he'd tried to force himself on her in that dodgy room in the inn and that she'd bitten him to defend herself. He hadn't mentioned that he'd told her he thought she was a spoilsport and that she might as well get on with it, that he'd never intended to marry her, and from now on no one would, and that her reputation would be irreparably damaged, he'd see to that.
She didn't mention that her father had been so shocked by their elopement that he'd had a heart attack and died that night.
Her heart was broken twice.
The scandal that followed was beyond anything she'd ever imagined.
