“Very well, My Lord.” The valet raised his arms in the air and began to count. When he reached down from five. “Five, four, three, two, one.” James lowered his hand to signal the start of the race, as he said, “Go!”
They raced down an empty Rotten Row, horses gathering speed and enjoying the canter after weeks of sedate walking along the city streets.
Marcus felt the wind in his hair and the cooling sensation of the chilly morning air on his body.
I’ve missed this.
Beside him Colin raced neck and neck, both enjoying the exhilaration of a morning ride.
“How about a swim across the Serpentine,” he yelled to Colin, who nodded.
When they arrived at the banks of the lake they could see James, standing down by the water and seemingly unaware of their arrival.
“That’s odd,” declared Marcus. “I thought he’d be up here waiting for us.”
“He seems to be moving a sack of something,” said Colin. “Let’s tie up the horses and see what he’s doing.”
Marcus broke into a run as they approached James, who was taking off his jacket to lay across something lying on the ground.
“James, what have you there man? Is it what I think it is?” Marcus asked.
“Aye, My Lord and there’s no hope of saving him. He’s long gone.”
“Why the hell did they leave him here alone like this, and make no effort to summon help?”
“A duel, then fear of the constables I expect,” suggested Colin.
Marcus knelt down beside James and felt for a pulse in the young man’s neck. Nothing.
He felt his stomach turn. All those times on the battlefield it had been just the same, the waste of life, and the slow pain of death.
“Colin, find someone to fetch a surgeon. We’d better go through the process.”
“He’s so young, James,” said Marcus, a catch in his voice. “He can’t be more than twenty. Last night he was probably playing cards and placing wagers and this morning he’s gone, there’s nothing left.”
“His poor family,” said James. “This dueling is such a needless business, a waste of life.”
“Looks like this was a sword fight, rather than pistols at dawn. That's unusual these days.”
“If they catch the other man then he faces prison, transportation, or worse. The authorities have tightened up on what used to be considered an ‘affair of gentlemen’,” James predicted grimly.
“Here’s the constable coming now, My Lord. I believe I may recognize the young gentleman.”
“You do?” said Marcus, unable to break his gaze away from the young face lying on the ground. “He does have a familiar look.”
“I believe he’s the Earl of Carstairs, son of the Duke of Cattersby.”
“Hell, James, I believe you’re right. His grandfather died at Waterloo with Wellington. That poor woman. The duchess lost her father, and now her son in such a wasteful, unnecessary way.”
After the body had been taken away the three men walked back together to their horses.
“Life is too precious to waste,” Marcus mused. “Somehow one dead earl in Hyde Park has affected me more than some of the battles I’ve been in. It is such a waste of a precious life.”
He looked at Colin with intensity. “If you love that girl then offer for her. Don’t let anyone else sneak up and overtake you in that race to the altar.”
“You might just be right. I was beginning to think that way myself. And you Marcus? Back to Italy to track down the Contessa?”
“I think not Colin. I suspect my chance of happiness is here in London.”
