“Bonjour, mes chers messieurs,” she said with a smile as Grandfather motioned her inside the mahogany-paneled room.
Bleu met her eyes, no doubt thinking of last night’s riverside debacle, too. In hindsight, she found the memory comical. The blow backwards—the river’s satisfying splash—the frantic poleman who’d had to fish the humbledmarquisout of the water.
But no one seemed to be smiling now.
“Have I missed something?” she asked, looking from one to the other. “I just saw someone leaving…”
“Comte de Villeneuve.” Grandfather motioned to the settee that fronted the hearth. “An unwelcome guest, I’m afraid.”
Bleu stood to one side of the robust fire, hands clasped behind his back. He looked as calm as he’d been furious last night, in stark contrast to Grandfather who appeared unusually ruffled. Settling on the sofa, Brielle smoothed her petticoats, waiting for one of them to elaborate.
“Not all Frenchmen, even noblemen, behave as gentlemen as you found out last night,” Grandfather began, taking a seat beside her. “Chevreuse is more arrogant than gallant. The man you saw leaving my study is his second who, in his stead, has formally issued a challenge to Monsieur Galant to defend his honor which was somewhat dampened by being thrown into the river.”
“A challenge?” Brielle wanted to scoff. “For defendingmyhonor from his rude, ungentlemanly conduct of last night?”
Grandfather frowned. “Oui, a duel.”
Brielle looked at Bleu, warmed by his defense of her by the river, believing it bespoke his feelings for her. “You didn’t accept.”
He lifted his shoulders. “I… delayed.”
“Deuling is illegal but proud nobles still persist.” Grandfather shook his head in disgust. “There is nothing so foolish in North America, neither Canada nor the colonies, to my knowledge.”
“People are too busy trying to stay alive—survive—than endanger themselves with ridiculous dueling.” Brielle spoke so vehemently Bleu regarded her with surprise, even a new tenderness.
Was he remembering her tavern days? How fearful she’d been? How hungry at times?
“Now seems a good time to say I want nothing more to do with themarquisnor have I ever wanted him to court me,” she finished.
“There are others…” Grandfather left off.
Bleu’s wry half-smile seemed to sayI told you soas Grandfather continued.
“You have several admirers, those who are waiting in the wings, so to speak, but…”
But Bleu.
She knew the gist of his thoughts without his finishing. Bleu was enough of a presence to deter even the most ardent suitors. What had Madame Bellamy called him?
Ton ange gardien?
If not for Bleu, she might have been harmed by the foppish Chevreuse who’d been so staggeringly drunk. And now he had sent his second with a ridiculous challenge that had nothing to do with her but his wounded pride and rather public humiliation.
Perhaps now was the time for them to return home. Though the Rivanna River settlement hadn’t been hers for long, the memories too few, it still felt like home, every thought of it embroidered with longing.
“So what does this dueling entail?” Bleu asked as the corner clock struck eleven and she remembered she had a pressing engagement.
“If you accept the challenge, you must select a second then choose your weapons.” Grandfather looked to the hearth as the fire popped and showered the marble tiles with sparks. “Duels are often conducted at dawn in secret locations to elude the authorities. Your seconds and a surgeon would accompany you. Ground rules would be laid.”
Brielle’s ire overrode her usual composure. “Ground rules for idiocy that has been outlawed?”
“Sheer idiocy,oui. Nevertheless, the duel must be conducted honorably, no matter how dishonorably it began,” he explained, his expression darkening. “You begin by saluting your opponentthen take your positions. The fight might be quick or prolonged, the first to draw blood the victor.”
Brielle looked hard at him as if it could curb this complication. As for Bleu, he continued to regard her grandfather stoically, even calmly, as if they were only discussing foul weather.
“I wonder which weapons Chevreuse prefers,” Bleu murmured.
“It matters not whether he prefers pistols or rapiers,MonsieurGalant,” he replied. “You are twice the man he is. I fear you will kill him.”
