“I can’t imagine your wife approves of this,” Thurlowe said.
Mars didn’t answer. Instead, he said to Balfour, “Did you speak to Roberts?”
“I sent him a message. I didn’t receive a response. We’ll resolve the details this morning.”
“Are you certain they will show?” Thurlowe said. “What time is it? It has to be the appointed time. Maybe a little after. I say, if he doesn’t show in five minutes, we go to Mars’s club and enjoy breakfast.”
“Excellent idea,” Balfour answered, “except here he comes.”
Mars looked over his shoulder and thenfaced the coach making its way toward them. The vehicle rolled to a stop at almost the same place the hack had.
Several men climbed out. In the murky light of early dawn, Mars saw Dervil, Roberts, and two others who perhaps had come to observe.
He forced himself to breathe deeply, to relax.
Balfour had taken the pistols from him. They waited for the other party to approach.
Dervil appeared calm. Obviously he didn’t have a wife pulling at his conscience. He stood off to the side while Roberts and Balfour checked each other’s pistols and discussed details. Thurlowe stood a little distance away as if embracing his role of being a bystander until his services were needed.
Mars removed his hat and took off his jacket. The heaviness inside him seemed to be building. He was aware of every detail from the chill of the dew in the morning air to the bead of sweat on his brow. Oh, and the deep lines of disapproval on Balfour’s face.
Balfour shook Roberts’s hand and returned to Mars. He opened the pistol case. Roberts had chosen the weapon for Dervil, who was testing its weight and deciding if they would use Mars’s weapons or what he’d brought. Dervil gave a nod, his acceptance of the gun.
“We are keeping it simple,” Balfour said. “We will have you square off at ten paces. When Roberts gives the command to fire, you shoot.”
And then it would be done.
For a moment, Mars remembered his father’spale face. He remembered the count, watching the men fire, the smell of gunpowder.
“Very well.” Then Mars said to Balfour, as if to lighten the mood, “Clarissa will be pleased that you are not happy with this.”
“I’m certain she has no desire to be a widow before she’s been married a month.”
“Who is to say I will lose?” Mars was pleased his voice was steady, his tone light. It didn’t reflect how he felt.
“Dervil has fought more than his share of duels. And this won’t be easy, Mars. You saw your father killed in one—”
“Yes, murdered bythisman.”
“Aye... Dervil does have a request.”
“Which is?”
“He would like for the two of you to talk. Mars, he doesn’t want to fight. There is something about his being Clarissa’s father? Do you know about this?”
“It is another reason I shall put a hole in him.”
There was a beat of silence. “It doesn’t have to be this way, my friend.”
They were all turning on him.
Mars took the pistol. “No, I will not talk to Dervil. I have nothing to say to him. Where do I stand?”
With a heavy sound of exasperation, Balfour returned to Roberts. The two men paced off the field. Once satisfied, Balfour looked to Mars and motioned him over. Roberts did the same for Dervil.
The opponents took their places.
Roberts spoke. “I shall count to threebeforeI shout ‘fire.’ Understood? Very well, hands at your sides.”
