“If you do not wish to stand as my second, I shall go elsewhere, Henry. Do not feel in the least obliged.”
“Damnation, you know very well that I’d roast in hell rather than betray our friendship in such a manner,” he muttered. “The trouble is, Cecilia will no doubt roastbothof us if she gets wind of this.”
Branford gave a tight smile. “Then let us make certain she doesn’t.”
Ashton nodded glumly. “Perhaps I can resolve this unfortunate matter with whomever young Chilton sends to me.”
The earl’s expression became grim. “I think that well nigh impossible now, Henry.” He let out his breath in a heavy sigh. “Young Chilton hasn’t a decent firearm to his name. Offer the use of this set to his second, if you will.” He placed a polished rosewood case on the desk.
Ashton gave a snort of disgust as he opened the lid. “From Manton, naturally.” His eyes narrowed. “Those aren’t your regular pair. And those aren’t your initials engraved on the butts.”
“No. They were meant for him in any case. Alex—that is, Miss Chilton—had mentioned that her brother’s birthday was approaching.” His mouth twisted into an unwilling smile. “A gentleman should have a decent pistol in which to entrust his honor.”
“You are providing him a deadly accurate weapon?” observed Ashton with a touch of asperity. “Do you plan to forgo your own ball and powder as well, to make the match more even?”
His voice rose a notch. “Bloody hell, I know you damn well won’t put a bullet in the lad. What in the devil’s name is this all about? Because I also know you would never …”
“Henry,” said Branford softly. “Kindly keep your voice down.”
Ashton’s mouth snapped shut.
“And as to my reasons, I will not discuss them. As I said, the choice is entirely yours.”
It was Ashton’s turn to let out a sigh. “I shall make it for the north clearing at Houndslow Heath. Tomorrow morning, then?”
Branford nodded. “I am acquainted with the spot. I shall see you there at dawn.”
The mist swirledin the grey dawn light, nearly obscuring the three men at the edge of the clearing. Two carriages waited a short distance away, black smudges against the hazy outline of trees. The only sounds were the muffled jangling of the harnesses as the horses shifted in their traces and the restless pacing of one of the trio.
Lord Ashton turned back in the other direction, throwing another wrathful look at the two young men huddled close together. He muttered something unintelligible under his breath then shifted the wooden case that was clamped tightly under one arm.
“Once again, I’ll ask you to reconsider this folly. Surely any imagined—” he stressed the wordimagined, adding a tinge of sarcasm “—insult can be settled by gentlemen in a more civilized manner than this?”
Frederick Hartley glanced nervously at his friend.
Justin did not raise his eyes from the ground. “No,” he replied, barely above a whisper.
“Very well. It’s your own funeral,” snapped Ashton, hoping with a touch of malice to put enough fright into the young man that he might faint dead away. It had happened before when a young pup had faced the earl.
Hartley’s eyes blinked rapidly and he cast a surreptitious look at his friend. Though Justin’s shoulders flinched slightly at the harsh words, he remained silent.
“As agreed, Hartley, I have engaged the services of a good surgeon,” continued Ashton. “Though he naturally wishes to remain removed from these proceedings unless he is needed.”
Hartley swallowed and nodded.
The sounds of an approaching rider caused all three of them to turn. A large black stallion materialized from the gloom. The rider pulled up next to Ashton’s carriage, dismounted and tossed the reins to the lone coachman standing at the head of the lead pair.
Branford walked purposefully to where the others were standing. His face was impassive, and he merely nodded a curt greeting to Ashton as he came to a halt and began to remove his gloves.
Hartley swallowed once more and beads of sweat began to form on his . He opened his mouth as if to speak, but a quelling look from Justin caused him to reconsider.
Ashton cleared his throat. “As it appears that all attempts to resolve this matter have failed, we shall proceed.” He opened the lid of the box to reveal a brace of gleaming, long-barreled pistols. “The pieces have been checked and loaded by me with Mr. Hartley as a witness. Agreed?”
Hartley croaked a yes.
Branford signaled with his eyes to Ashton. The other man frowned slightly, then extended the box towards Hartley and Justin.
“Mr. Chilton, you may choose.”
