The thought grew within her soul like a seed sprouting into a firm, unwavering tree. The truth brought light and joy to her soul like the swell of a tide.
She mattered.
What she said mattered.
And with her words, she could save Alex from death. She could use them to stop Christopher.
Glancing down at her simple blue gown and good, sturdy shoes, something snapped inside of her. How many years had she been cowed and restrained, a bird with clipped wings, locked in a cage?
Time and again it had happened, but not anymore.
She stood and peered over the balcony. The thick ivy trellis crawled even higher than her window, and it was the only way down.
If she were still nearly twelve and an adept tree climber, this would have been easy, but she was quite out of practice. Fear gripped her, yet she had to escape.
The lines from that song she knew so well entered her mind:
I cannot get to my love, if I would dee,
The water of Tyne runs between him and me.
She tucked the back of her skirt as tightly into her waistband as she could to create makeshift pantaloons. Then she grasped the trellis nearest her hand and shook it. When it held firm, she drew in her courage and swung a leg over the ledge.
As she did, she hummed her song with a quiet fervor, remembering the lyrics of the final stanza:
O bring me a boatman, I’ll give any money,
And you for your trouble rewarded shall be,—
To ferry me over the Tyne to my honey,
Or scull him across that rough river to me.
Nothing would keep her back. She would make it there, no matter the cost. Alex might not be across the Tyne, but hewasacross the woods, and she had to hurry to him.
Willing herself not to look down, she clung to the wood and gingerly inserted her shoe into the first square. When it held, she placed her second. Then she moved her hands and alternated her feet until she’d descended fifteen feet. With the ground in sight, she jumped the remaining distance and landed indecorously, falling onto her palms and tearing the hem of her gown. Without waiting, she sprinted to the stables. When she arrived, they were devoid of enough horses that she knew the men had already left. She moved a mounting block and seated herself on Penny, not even bothering with a saddle, riding astride. She rode toward her woods, toward the only clearing she knew was big enough to duel in.
She wasn’t sure what she would say, but she prayed she wasn’t too late.
Chapter 32
Charlotte’s last glance was searedinto Alex’s memory, leaving scars on his soul. A gust of night air blew through the garden, causing him to shudder. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d held a gun. One thing was sure; he was a poor shot at best. Not that he’d aim to kill Christopher. Unlike his opponent, he would never deign attempt such a barbarous thing.
This entire sham of a duel was nothing more than Christopher trying to air his misguided grievances. He had hoped appealing to Chris’s memory of their childhood jaunts together would have stirred Christopher’s heart before he had taken Charlotte away. Maybe he was thinking now and would yet realize the error of his ways and intentionally misfire or aim only for a slight wound.
Alex could only pray for such mercy and reconciled himself to the near-certain possibility of a perfectly placed bullet creating a mortal wound. Even so, he would not retreat. According to dueling etiquette, any attempt to clear his name verbally would mean he admitted fault. Running away would make him a coward. The only time he’d ever wished to run away was with Charlotte, with the vicar standing at the ready. Now that dream had been dashed to pieces.
As he stood in proud silence, not for one moment did he regret dancing with Charlotte, asking her to marry him, procuring a license, devising a plan, or any of the other myriad tasks he’d set into motion that had led him to where he was tonight.
And, most of all, he did not regret kissing her. It hadn’t been wrong. Lands, it had been so utterly right. She’d admitted to her part in it, and he knew they’d both relished that short, perfect moment together, that moment that would serve as his one happiness.
Chris walked from the stables toward Alex and the groom, pistols in hand and leading two horses, with Moxham behind leading two more. “Now’s your chance to run away,” Chris sneered as he dismissed the groom from Alex’s side.
“I’m not afraid of an old friend.”
Christopher laughed. “I do not befriend pond scum.” He shook his head. “I do, however, plan on following the rules. Each party must be willing.” He smiled an ugly smile. “Be you a coward or not?”
“I am no coward,” Alex said, snatching the reins from Christopher and mounting one of the horses. “But if there is any way to reconcile, it ought to be done.”
