First Season Read online

  It was the responsibility of the seconds to attempt a reconciliation between the principles, but as Jules expected, Lord Palmer’s attempts were futile. No doubt Lord Courtney was too angry, knowing that his outburst had lost him any hope of persuading Miss Biddle to marry him, and was determined that Jules would pay dearly for his loss. Nor would Jules forgive Lord Courtney’s remarks about Miss Biddle unless the viscount would apologize, which Lord Courtney refused to do. It only remained for the seconds to work out the details of the duel. Lord Courtney, as the challenged, had the right to choose the meeting place and weapons, Jules the distance.

  As he waited for Lord Palmer’s return, Jules wondered which weapon Courtney would choose—swords or pistols. He thought of the mahogany box of dueling pistols, their butts beautifully inlaid with silver wire, reposing in the desk in his study. He had never used them. Although dueling was illegal, the law was generally ignored, and every gentleman had to be proficient in the art of defending himself in the event he was called out. Jules guessed Courtney would choose pistols, although he himself would prefer swords. More luck was involved with pistols—the best did not shoot straight.

  Lord Palmer returned within a half hour with the information that Courtney had chosen pistols at Hyde Park. Jules considered a moment, and then chose ten yards as the distance. Lord Palmer left once again to meet with Courtney’s second and set the times and terms of firing now that the weapon, place, and distance had been determined. Lord Palmer would also contact a surgeon he could trust not to inform the authorities of the proposed duel. All Jules could do was wait.

  Some two hours later Lord Palmer returned to tell Jules all was arranged, and that the time had been set for four in the morning.

  Palmer sent for a bottle of Madeira and sank gratefully into a comfortable chair. Jules accepted one glass, but drank of it sparingly. The duel was scarcely five hours hence, and he wished to have a clear head.

  “Do you think Courtney can be trusted?” Lord Palmer asked suddenly. “He does not have a good reputation, and I fear he might not abide by the rules.”

  “I agree he is not to be trusted, but I doubt even Courtney will dare cheat with the seconds, surgeons, and servants all there to witness his actions,” Jules replied.

  The two friends lapsed into silence again, and after a while Lord Palmer excused himself to get some sleep. Jules refused a bed, saying he would catch what sleep he needed in the chair.

  After his friend left the room, Jules relaxed more deeply into the comfortably upholstered armchair. It was somehow fitting that the first duel he would fight was to defend the honor of the girl to whom he had given an uncharitable nickname. He wondered briefly if Miss Biddle would try to stop the duel or inform his mother or sister of it, and then decided it was unlikely. He was not even certain she had understood a duel was to take place, for she had been very overset at the time.

  He picked up his glass of Madeira again and held it before him, watching the reflections of the firelight in the faceted glass. It crossed his mind that this might be his last glass, that he might die shortly, but he did not allow himself to dwell upon the possibility. What would happen would happen, he thought fatalistically.

  When Jules and Lord Palmer arrived at the meeting place in Hyde Park in the early morning, Lord Courtney, his second, and the surgeons were already there. As Jules got out of the carriage, he noted the park was unusually still. There was no wind at all, and at the early morning hour it was eerily silent. Everything was gray—the sky, grass, trees, and people all melded into a uniform leaden tint.

  The pistols were Lord Courtney’s, and the two seconds both checked them carefully to be sure the flints were adjusted and all was in working order. They then loaded them in each other’s presence and gave them to the principals. Jules noted briefly the pistol was a Parker, a pistol with which he had some familiarity. The silver inlaid butt felt smooth and heavy in his hand. He glanced at Courtney, who was talking to his second and appeared to be rather nervous.

  At last all was ready. The ground was marked out, and the seconds retired eight yards from the line of fire. The two surgeons stood waiting two yards behind the seconds, and the drivers and other servants in a line farther back.

  Jules and Lord Courtney stood with their sides toward each other in order to provide the smallest target and so their arms would help shield their bodies in the event they were hit. There was absolute silence from all the spectators as they waited for the signal to fire. To his surprise, now that the moment had actually arrived, Jules found he felt no fear whatsoever, only a cold, calm resolve and a sense of inevitability.

  The signal was given, but to the shock of the spectators, who took a moment to comprehend what had happened, Lord Courtney anticipated the signal by a fraction of a second. His bullet whizzed unnoticed by Lord Wakeford’s shoulder, and Jules, who had intended to fire above Courtney’s head, instead responded instinctively to the premature shot and fired directly toward his opponent. Lord Courtney’s pistol dropped to the ground as Jules’s bullet hit its mark, and he staggered, clasping his right shoulder with his left hand.

  Jules stood a moment after his bullet struck Courtney, his arm falling to his side, the pistol dangling from his hand. As the surgeons ran to attend Lord Courtney, Lord Palmer went to Jules, taking the pistol and informing his friend that Lord Courtney was not badly injured. The participants hastened to their vehicles, and within minutes all had vanished from the park. Duels had to be conducted swiftly lest the authorities got wind of them and showed up, taking all into custody.

  As Jules and Lord Palmer rode home, they did not speak of the duel, but of trivialities, as though they were returning together from a late ball. Lord Palmer delivered Jules to his town house, and Jules clasped his friend’s hand briefly but warmly to show his thanks before getting down from the carriage.

  He let himself into the house and went slowly upstairs to his bedchamber. Now that the duel was over, reaction was setting in, and Jules felt the need for a glass of spirits while he rested by the fire. But to his surprise he found his chair already occupied by his sister, who was soundly sleep by his fire.

  “I could not dissuade her from waiting for you,” his valet informed his master in a whisper, and Jules knew Emily must somehow have heard of the duel. He dismissed his valet and gently shook his sister by her shoulder. Her eyes flew open and she stood up, tearfully embracing him.

  “Where did you hear of the duel?”

  “Miss Biddle came last night to tell me of it and try to get me to stop it,” Emily explained, gaining control over her emotions.

  “Why did you not try to stop it?” Jules questioned curiously as he loosened his cravat and shrugged off his coat. He went to a table where a decanter of port stood, and poured himself a generous glass. After a moments hesitation he poured a smaller one and offered it to his sister.

  “I had every confidence in your skill,” Emily replied, accepting the glass and sitting back down in the chair. “I also knew I would be unable to talk you out of it and feared that were I to worry you about it, it might disturb your concentration and do more harm than good.”

  Jules smiled and relaxed into a chair near Emily’s, marveling at the wisdom his younger sister had exhibited.

  “I see you are uninjured,” Emily continued matter-of-factly. “How is Lord Courtney?”

  “I struck him in the arm. I do not think you need worry about his troubling Miss Biddle again. I make no doubt he will soon head for the Continent,” Jules predicted, raising his glass to his lips as he thought of Courtney’s inevitable disgrace when the story of his premature firing spread.

  “By the way,” he added, “I hope you impressed upon Miss Biddle the necessity of remaining silent about the duel. Should the circumstances of the duel get about, it would do her credit no good.”

  “Yes, I did instruct her not to tell anyone of it, although she had already informed her cousin.” A thought occurred to her. “It is strange that Miss Hardwick is sudde
nly friendly with Miss Biddle. Miss Biddle told me that her cousin helped plan the elopement with Lord Courtney.”

  Jules looked at her thoughtfully. “I had wondered about that. It was not like Miss Biddle to agree to anything as ramshackle as an elopement. Her mistakes have stemmed from ignorance, not a lack of propriety. I suppose Lord Courtney and Miss Hardwick persuaded her of its necessity. Although why Miss Hardwick should wish her cousin to elope, I cannot imagine.”

  “Jealousy,” Emily stated perceptively. “Miss Hardwick no doubt wished to see her cousin disgraced and married to a fortune hunter.

  “Although I shall miss her, I shall be glad to see Miss Biddle return to Derbyshire when the Season is at an end,” his sister added. “She is not happy in London.”

  Jules had not thought of Miss Biddle’s leaving London before, and the idea was oddly unwelcome. Surely he could not be developing a tendre for the chit? No, that was not possible. He was an intimate of the Beau, a leader of fashion. He could not possibly care for a simple squire’s daughter of no polish or wit. Could he?

  Hetty lay awake the whole night, wondering when the duel would be, or if it were already over. What if Lord Wakeford were lying on the ground wounded that very minute? Or worse. It would be her fault. How would she be able to live with herself?

  It occurred to Hetty that she was more worried about Lord Wakeford than about Lord Courtney, although she could not wish either of them to be harmed despite Lord Courtney’s last cruel words. Lord Wakeford, though, was acting in her defense, so naturally her first concern would be with him.

  Defense of her foolishness, Hetty confessed to herself. Why hadn’t she listened to her aunt, or to her friend, Lady Emily, when they had tried to warn her that the viscount was a fortune hunter? But no, she had allowed her resentment toward her aunt for her criticisms of her behavior to cloud her sense of duty toward her sponsor. And she had been so desperate for a gentleman of Society to show her approval that she had been unwilling to listen to her older and wiser friend. What a headstrong, ignorant child she had been! She wished she had never come to London. She should have stayed in Derbyshire, where she belonged.

  Hetty alternately paced the bedchamber and lay in bed staring at the ceiling, checking the clock incessantly. How slowly the time passed! When the sky began to turn gray with the arrival of the dawn, her agitation increased. Why had she not heard from Lady Emily?

  Finally, at eight o’clock a servant tapped on the door. Not waiting for Daisy, Hetty answered the door herself and snatched the note from the girl, causing the housemaid to look at her strangely before she left, but Hetty paid no heed. Tearing the note open, she hastily scanned the contents. It gave no details, but stated simply that the duel was over and both principals well. Hetty sighed with relief and fell into her bed in exhaustion, sleeping until long past midday.

  If it were not for Sophie, the story of the duel would not have gotten out. Lord Courtney did not wish the story of his premature firing to get about, Lord Wakeford and the seconds were too honorable to speak of the duel since it involved a young woman of good family, and the servants who had witnessed the duel valued their places too much to bruit it about.

  But Sophie thought the opportunity to ruin her cousin was too good to let pass. With Lord Courtney now out of the picture, Hetty would be likely to marry Lord Satre or even Lord Wakeford, and that simply would not do. Sophie would not have her cousin outrank her, and the only way she could see to prevent it was to disgrace Hetty so thoroughly in the eyes of Society that none but a cit would look at her, even with her fortune.

  Sophie knew she would have to be cautious in spreading the news about the duel. If she informed her mother about it, Lady Hardwick would undoubtedly forbid her to tell anyone the story, worryomg that some of the disgrace might attach to her. But Sophie, secure in her betrothal to Lord Lockwood, did not fear Hetty’s behavior would affect her own standing in Society.

  After much cogitation, Sophie decided she would tell a few select friends, in strictest confidence, of course, about the circumstances of the duel, leaving her own involvement out. There was no one to gainsay her, and no better way to ensure that a story spread quickly through Society than to tell it to someone in strictest confidence. She would begin with a morning call on Miss Alcock.

  Sophie’s plan worked well. In less than one day the story was known throughout Society. The tale caused Lord Wakeford’s credit to go up, but Hetty’s plummeted. Invitations to Hetty to attend functions still came to the house on Adam Street, but Society no longer attempted to hide its scorn of the provincial with the fortune from trade. The consensus was that Miss Biddle should be grateful for the opportunity to associate with the ton, no matter how discourteously she was treated. Sophie was triumphant.

  In the week that followed the duel, Hetty noticed that the better quality of her suitors had vanished. Even young Lord Arlington, who had been one of her most faithful admirers, now did not ask her for even a single dance. The only gentlemen who still pursued her were those with less than noble connections, or those desperate for money. The latter appeared to believe they were doing her a favor by paying her attention, even if they did it only because of her fortune. One young cub even told Hetty as much when he made her an offer of marriage, not bothering to go through her aunt. The only exception to the general exodus of well-connected gentlemen was Lord Satre, and Hetty wished he would follow the example of the others.

  Hetty was hurt only by the defection of one gentleman: Lord Wakeford. She could not understand how he could save her from being forced to leave with Lord Courtney, fight a duel for her honor, and then disappear from her life. Was he that disgusted by her planned elopement with the viscount? Yet he had seen for himself she had changed her mind, and what of his careful tenderness toward her those minutes after Lord Courtney had left? Logic told her that perhaps Lord Wakeford was avoiding her in order not to add fuel to the gossip, but Hetty could not help but feel rebuffed, especially since she had not heard anything more from Lady Emily either. Not since the brief note she had sent the morning after the duel.

  At the end of the week, after one evening at a ball where not a single eligible gentleman asked Hetty for a dance, Lady Hardwick summoned Hetty to her dressing room.

  “Henrietta, I have decided that after this disgraceful affair of a duel being fought over you, it is time an official announcement were made of your betrothal to Lord Satre.”

  Hetty had hoped Lady Hardwick had forgotten about her intention to marry her off to Lord Satre, and was distressed to find she had been mistaken.

  “I have told you I do not wish to marry Lord Satre,” Hetty objected. “The duel is no reason to change my mind.”

  “Do you not understand that the duel has changed everything?” Lady Hardwick asked sternly. “No one else will even consider marrying you now.”

  “That is not true,” Hetty said bitterly. “I am certain the amount of my fortune will continue to attract some gentleman. In fact, Lord Shackleton told me we was willing to make an offer for me yesterday.”

  “Lord Shackleton is a gazetted fortune hunter,” Lady Hardwick responded. “I promised your mother I would not allow you to marry a fortune hunter. That leaves only Lord Satre.”

  “I will not marry Lord Satre,” Hetty reiterated, quietly but firmly.

  “I have had enough of your defiance, Henrietta,” Lady Hardwick said sternly. “Did you learn nothing from your experience with Lord Courtney? If you cannot obey me, I think it time you return home to Derbyshire.”

  “If you wish, Aunt Ernestine,” Hetty replied quietly, inwardly delighted. There was nothing for her in London now. Lord Courtney had been exposed, and it had become clear to her that Lord Wakeford would never care to see her again after witnessing her disgrace.

  “I do wish,” Lady Hardwick replied. “I shall make arrangements for your departure directly.”

  “I shall tell Daisy to pack my clothes,” Hetty replied, turning to leave the room, her heart suddenly light.


  Lady Hardwick glared balefully after her recalcitrant niece. She had not actually intended to send Hetty home when she made the threat, but now that Hetty had agreed, she realize it was most likely the best solution to an increasingly difficult situation. Sophie was now betrothed, and no one could say that she had not done the best she could for her niece. All in all, the Season had come out well, except for the slight disgrace attached to them by their connection to Hetty. Even there, Lady Hardwick felt, Society must excuse her, for it was obvious no one could have controlled such a wayward provincial as her niece. The only thing that still upset her was the loss of the funds promised to her by Lord Satre if she could have persuaded her niece to accept his suit.

  Still, perhaps it was true that money was not everything. She disliked being under the scrutiny of Society, and would be happy to have her niece gone from her house. The sooner Henrietta was gone, the sooner Society would find another on-dit to replace the one about her niece. Hetty’s presence had already gained her the entree to the homes of some of the better ton, and her daughter’s betrothal to Lord Lockwood would ensure those doors remained open. No, she had no further use for her niece. She would arrange Hetty’s departure immediately, and not in the carriage she had bought with the squire’s funds. The squire might keep it. She would hire one to take Hetty and her absurd red-haired freckled maid home. It would be, Lady Hardwick felt, little enough compensation for the grief her niece had caused her during her stay.

  Chapter Eleven

  Hetty looked out the carriage window at the familiar soft hills and gentle rises of the Derbyshire countryside with an anticipation surpassing even that with which she had viewed the unfamiliar streets of London three months before. Home! She could hardly wait to arrive. Oh, to see her father and mother again and be among people who accepted her as she was!