To Josephine’s further astonishment, Huntingly then produced a sword that he levelled directly at Dashton’s chest. ‘And believe me when I say I am not a patient man.’
‘Oh now, do consider, Alistair,’ Sir Francis wheedled, visibly paling. ‘Think of the scandal… It’s the Ball tomorrow, and we are both guests of Sir Fairfax, who would not thank us for a scene…’
‘Thunder an’ turf, Ed, look! A duel! A duel in Jo’s bedchamber! Told you I heard something!’
Josephine gazed, in further disbelief, as both Henry and Edward appeared in her bedchamber doorway, looking suspiciously bright-eyed and dishevelled.
‘Lay you a monkey Huntingly wins!’ Henry said, crossing the bedchamber and establishing himself on her window seat with a happy sigh.
‘Of course he’ll win, he’s the only one with a sword!’ Edward admonished, joining him.
‘Is he, by Jove? Well, that’s easily fixed– here you are, Dashton, have mine!’ Henry replied, withdrawing his sword from his robe and offering it in a most sportsman-like way.
‘You brought a sword?’ Edward whistled. ‘Beneath your banyan?’
‘Why, yes, of course.’ Henry scowled. ‘Don’t tell me you didn’t? I could have been facing a band of ruffians single-handedly! You’re lucky it’s only Huntingly looking fit to murder Dashton,’ he added severely before turning back to the duellers. ‘As you were, gentlemen, as you were. Please don’t let my brother’s lack of forethought affect your matter of honour,’ he advised, before settling back down.
Josephine closed her eyes in pained denial, as Edward continued to watch with the look of one who’d come close to losing a ringside seat.
‘No, this is very muchnota duel,’ Josephine forced through gritted teeth, just as Huntingly raised his sword in a salute.
‘I said outside, but if you’re too pigeon-livered, we’ll sort it right here and now!’ he seethed. ‘You were a silver-tongued snake at Oxford, Dashton, and time has done you no favours at all. I ought to run my blade through your rumour-mongering throat this very second and be done with it,’ he hissed as Sir Francis brought up his own shaky sword.
‘Never have I ever been so insulted or rudely spoken to!’ Sir Francis replied, his eyes bulging in a way that cast his Olympian looks into sudden shade. ‘I can think of nothing I would like to do more than give you a good dressing down!’ he added. ‘However, as we are in a lady’s bedchamber…’
Yet whatever raft of social nicety he was about to cling to was lost as Lord Huntingly lunged, forcing Sir Francis to meet his sword with a pronounced gasp. Josephine sucked in a sharp breath at the clash of silver, amid her brothers’ delighted calls of ‘en garde!’, ‘plant him a facer!’ and ‘pon rep, he displays to advantage!’, while the duellers ignored them all.
It was clear from the outset that, despite his old injuries, Lord Huntingly was by far the finer swordsman. He broke through his opponent’s wavering defence time after time, a faint smile creasing his lips, while Sir Francis’s distinct lack of courage felt telling too. Then, after several very near misses that made Josephine consider throwing the contents of her flower vase over them both, Lord Huntingly executed a lightning thrust that glanced along Sir Francis’s forearm, ripping the delicate lace of his sleeve and leaving a short red scratch. Instantly, Sir Francis turned the colour of porridge and swayed.
‘Oh,willyou desist!’ Josephine hissed furiously. ‘At no point have I asked for any determined attentions or noble defence! You are both mad! I have no desire for bloodshed, and even less for a betrothal, if it means subjecting myself to?—’
‘Francis… no…!’ a new voice shrieked loudly enough to wake the rest of the household.
Josephine spun round in despair to spy Miss Amelia standing in the doorway of her bedchamber, her eyes as round as saucers, before she expelled a dramatic gasp and slunk to the floor.
‘Unless you wish to join my post… out of my way this instant!’ Josephine growled, brandishing her letter opener and forcing the gentlemen to step aside.
‘What the deuce is all the noise about?’ a calmer voice complained as Josephine reached Miss Amelia’s slumped body. ‘Why is Miss Amelia on the floor? Oh, is it a party?’ Fred added innocently, glancing around his sister’s bedchamber. ‘I say, Jo, you’re a dark horse! Phoebe and Matty holding a private party, yes, but yourself or Sophie…’
‘It isnota duel and most definitelynota party!’ Josephine declared, making Fred wince. ‘In fact, everyone is leaving this instant! Perhaps you can see them out?’
Unfortunately, at precisely the same moment, Fred happened to spy Sir Francis’s scratched arm and let out a shriek to rival Miss Amelia’s.
‘I say, tone it down, Fred,’ Henry admonished, rolling his eyes. ‘No need to enact a Cheltenham tragedy just because you weren’t invited. Can’t be invited to everything. A man must invite who he wants to his own duels.’
At this, the drooping Edward nodded wisely, just as Matilda appeared in the doorway.
‘Honestly, Fred!’ Matilda yawned. ‘Why are you shrieking like you’re being forced to gallop, right outside my bedchamber door?’ She peered curiously at the number of people in Josephine’s bedchamber. ‘Is it a party? Why is Amelia on the floor, andwhyis Sir Francis the colour of your nightgown?’
At this fresh intrusion, Josephine felt her last remaining shred of patience dissolve. ‘Henry, Edward and Fred, kindly escort Sir Francis from my bedchamber this instant!’ she ordered. ‘Matilda, please tie up Dashton’s scratch before we have a second fainting invalid, and Lord Huntingly, I would be grateful if you would help me to take Miss Amelia back to her bedchamber? She is recovered but would undoubtedly benefit from being in the comfort of her own bed.’
This time and to her intense relief, no one objected, and even when Henry wrung Lord Huntingly’s hand and thanked him for the best fight he’d seen in a very long while, he didn’t linger.
Finally, Josephine was left with Lord Huntingly and Miss Amelia, who was sitting bolt upright with a look of stark bewilderment glued to her face. It was only then that Josephine noticed she was dressed for a journey– and felt her low opinion of Sir Francis sink even further.
‘Put your arm around my shoulder,’ Josephine instructed, ‘and Lord Huntingly will assist on your other side… That’s it, and now let’s find your bedchamber, shall we? I’m sure you’ll feel perfectly well once you’ve had a rest…’
‘But I was supposed to be…’ Miss Amelia paused and bit her lip. ‘I heard a noise and thought perhaps… Sir Francis had been fatally wounded,’ she finished in a whisper.
