My Dearest Friend (Books We Love Regency Romance) (20 page)

***

Lying awake long after his wife had drifted into slumber, remnants of his former agitation rendering him unable to sleep, the duke eventually rose and donning his dressing robe made his way down to his study. Lighting no candles he took a decanter of brandy and a glass from a small table by the hearth and sat in his large leather chair, staring through the moonlit casement.

Jane had begged him to forget the incident, not to confront Darrows, fearful lest he should call him out as Darrows had predicted, but this was something he could not, would not forget and a cold determination for retribution gripped him. He would not involve Harry in this coil but he must be made aware of the situation and to this end resolved to visit him as soon as he should rise in the morning, hoping that he would be able to furnish him with Darrows’ movements.

***

It was just before noon on the following day that the duke arrived at Harry’s apartments to be met by Eaves who informed him that the major had company. Rightfully interpreting this to mean Edmund Darrows, for he had no other visitors, the duke could hardly believe his luck. A murderous look came over his face, a look that had the effect of sending Eaves scurrying from the room to find the duchess.

Bursting open the door to Harry’s sitting room, the duke strode into the room, leaving its occupants in no doubt as to his intentions. Darrows had been so confident in his powers of intimidation that it had not entered his head that Jane would actually inform her husband of what had transpired. In his arrogance he had foolishly been assured that he had conquered her spirit. At Robert’s entrance he rose hastily from his seat, made clumsy by the obvious fury in the duke’s face.

In two strides the duke breached the distance between them and his lean fingers closed around Darrows’ throat sending him reeling against the wall, and through clenched teeth he seethed, “You would dare touch my wife, I will have your life for this.”

Jane at that moment arriving at the door with Eaves at her side was just in time to see the two men locked together in the throes of battle. They were matched in height but the duke had the slight advantage of weight as he drove a punishing right into Darrows’ jaw, felling him in one blow, and stood glowering over him. “Get up,” he ordered, a satanic gleam in his eyes.

A sneer spread over Darrows’ bruised countenance. “Shall we not settle this matter in a more civilized manner?” he mocked.

“My very thought,” snarled the duke, “A far more satisfactory outcome would be assured. Swords or pistols?”

“
Whatever your choice, it will make no difference,” scorned Darrows, reckless in his anger.

“
Eaves, fetch my rapier,” demanded the duke. “Harry be so good as to give Darrows your blade, we will have this matter done with now.”

Both combatants removed their boots and coats, rolling their sleeves up in a business
- like manner. Darrows flexed the blade of Harry’s weapon between his hands to get the feel of it while they silently waited for Eaves. Jane stood with her back to the doorframe both hands clasped over her mouth recognizing the futility of trying to call a halt to the proceedings, both men being beyond reason at this moment, their very anger rendering them unapproachable.

Eaves returned with the duke’s sword that was snatched from him by impatient hands and as they entered the wide, well-lit corridor, the duke bade his opponent
en garde
.

“At your service,” replied Darrows with maddening alacrity.

The blades met in the briefest salute, then engaged, steel ringing on steel with a terrifying ferocity. Both men were driven by anger, each determined to make an end to his opponent. The duke had a strong wrist and fought with a dangerous intensity, but Darrows possessed an almost animal cunning and drove his opponent hard, recognizing that the duke had the skill he lacked. Their stockinged feet padded on the wooden floor, their breathing becoming labored. Sweat stung their eyes, neither daring to wipe their brow should in that moment the other choose to strike. Suddenly Robert’s vision became impaired with perspiration and he was forced to quickly wipe his forearm across his eyes. He paid for the moment’s distraction by finding himself scant inches from death, only an instinctive parry deflecting a near-fatal blow so that Darrows’ rapier glanced off his blade.

Each was threatened in turn. Being evenly matched in their desire for vengeance, both
fell prey to the other’s attack. Time stood still, the ringing of blade upon blade and the harsh breathing of the combatants being the only sound in the corridor. Nothing else existed but the duel, no one being sure of its outcome.

There appeared no lessening of the ferocity of the duel and of a
sudden, Jane could take it no longer. “No more! No more!” she cried, and as the combatants blades once more engaged, she ran forward, foolishly intending to come between them.

In that moment, his concentration broken by her movement, the duke was unable to draw back from a lunge, which Darrows deflected with a sideways swipe. The tip of his rapier ripped through the sleeve of Jane’s dress as she drew abreast of them and he saw the scarlet start on the thin material.

“Jane!” he cried, recklessly throwing his blade from him as she appeared to sway on the point of oblivion and he caught her up in his arms. “My God! I swear, I couldn’t draw back in time”

In the confusion that followed, flinging his sword aside, Darrows snatched up his boots and coat and beat a hasty retreat through Harry’s apartment, running barefoot toward the stables.

“’Tis only a scratch, my Robert,” she smiled weakly, as he carried her into Harry’s sitting room and placed her gently on the day bed. “It was just the shock that made me feel faint. I am recovered now.”

“
You little fool!” Robert expostulated as he knelt by her side and tore open her sleeve to reveal the wound. To his great relief it was indeed only a scratch, but one that bled sullenly, and taking the cloth that Eaves offered, he attempted to wipe away the blood. “What the deuce possessed you to do such a foolish thing, you could have been killed?”

“
I was afraid for you, my love,” she whispered struggling against tears “What if Darrows had wounded you, or killed you? What would I have done?”

“
Better that than you should suffer this,” he said an unreasoning anger against himself rising. “That I should have wounded you is insupportable, yet how could I have avoided it? If I had put more weight behind the lunge you would now be dead.”

She smiled wanly.
“But as you see, I am not, and it had the desired effect. The duel was halted and you are safe.”

“Do I appear so inept that I needs be defended by my wife?” he asked, throwing aside the cloth and rising to stand over her, his guilt driving all sanity from his mind. “Or if truth be told, was it Darrows you wished to defend? That would make more sense of your actions.” Waiting for no answer, he flung from the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

“Robert,” she cried desperately after him, “Robert,” but he was gone and by now out of earshot, but even if he had not been too far away, his anger would have rendered him deaf to her pleas.

***

Eaves put a light dressing on the wound, it required no more, but it was not her arm that pained her. There was a great tightness welling inside her chest, which made it difficult for her to breath, and a desire to seek solitude overwhelmed her. Harry showed a great sympathy, but the whole episode had exhausted him to the extreme and he found it necessary to retire to his bed.

The day dragged on interminably, Jane never leaving the confines of the bedchamber, refusing all offers of sustenance and only taking a little water when her thirst became unbearable. Even Hannah and Sophie had been turned from her door, the only person she had any desire to see remaining absent.

Evening came and went, but still she remained seated by the window, waiting. Eventually, not long after the hall clock had struck the hour of midnight, she heard the door to the adjoining room slam shut and waited anxiously for the connecting door to open, but it did not.

Had she but known it, her husband stood on the other side of the door with hand raised toward the handle. However, his still torturous thoughts prevented him from making that final movement and eventually he let it drop to his side. Guilt and jealousy, two overpowering emotions, raged within his breast, not altogether undiluted with pride. He had spent the day galloping the cliffs as he had done little more than a year ago. Then, it had been grief that drove him on; today it had been anger. Anger with himself, Darrows, and yes, he admitted it, Jane. Now he found it impossible to face her.

This would be the first night they had spent apart since their marriage and it tore him asunder, all the thoughts and doubts of the previous night raising their ugly heads once more to torment him. Had he been too easily hoodwinked, too easily diverted from
the true state of affairs? Had Jane lied to him? The thought proved too painful for him to bear. He loved her, God how he loved her, and he had thought that she loved him. He would give all he owned to be sure of that love. Then the thought that he had come so close to ending her life drove through his being like a knife, terrified him, thrust all other thoughts from his mind and he longed to throw wide the door to assure himself that she was not fatally wounded, that she was safe.

Once more, he reached for the latch but the sound of uncontrollable sobbing halted him in his tracks, affecting him almost as a physical blow, driving him from the room and out of the house to pace the deserted grounds until dawn brought the estate to life.

***

Over the next few days the gulf between husband and wife became impassable, each at sight of the other, diverted their path and an awful atmosphere pervaded the whole house. Even Sophie seemed aware of an altered state of affairs and her usually sunny mood changed to one of irritability.

Both Jane and Robert longed for the comfort and reassurance of the other but, with no word being spoken between them since the duel, the longer the rift existed, the more difficult it became to overcome. If either had stormed the others defenses, they would have found capitulation well within their grasp, but neither would broach the subject and instead a deadly silence reigned.

***

One morning, halfway through the second week, Eaves approached Jane as she rose from the breakfast table.

“I am sorry to disturb you so early in the day ma’am,” he said, “but would you come to the major. He’s refusing his meal and appears to be in some state of agitation. I cannot get any sense from him. Indeed, when I enquired if there was anything wrong, he threw his dish at my head, which is very unlike him, he is usually so even-tempered.”

Entering Harry’s apartments, Jane found him sitting at the table with his head in his hands. “Whatever’s wrong?” she asked, laying her hand on his shoulder. “This is not at all like you.”

“
Go away,” he groaned without lifting his head. “I am no babe, I can take care of myself. Now leave me be.”

“
No, I will not,” she replied, sitting opposite him at the table. “Whatever brings you to this state? I am aware that you are no babe, but why should you have needs to take care of yourself?”

Eaves hovered in the background not knowing whether he should interfere in his master’s affairs. Aware that it was his place to be discreet, but seeing that Jane was making no headway, he came tentatively forward and bending, retrieved a crumpled sheet of paper from the floor.

“I believe the major’s problem has something to do with this,” he said, offering it to Jane, but Harry snatched it from his grasp before she could take it.

“
Damn you,” he fumed, facing Eaves. “I will not have my sister troubled at this time. Somehow I will put matters to rights.”

“
What matters are these?” asked Jane gently. “Come, tell me, and if I can help, I will.”

“
I believe the letter to be from Mr. Darrows,” informed Eaves, attempting to shed some light on the subject. “One of his men brought it this morning.”

“
Well you might as well know,” said Harry, feigning indifference as he sat back in his chair. “He’s dunning me. Calling in my IOU’s.”

“You owe him money?” gasped Jane in disbelief.
“How?”

“Cards, my dear sister.
Cards! Oh, it was fine at first; he let me win a few games. That was his plan, and then gradually over the weeks, he reeled me in and before I knew where I was I had run through my blunt and was issuing IOU’s. Never intended the play to become so deep. Of course he always assured me it was just a run of bad luck and that I would soon come about. Indeed, he did let me win occasionally but not enough to make any difference.”

“How much do you owe the villain?” she asked hardly daring to hear the answer.

“Five thousand.”

“What?” she gasped in disbelief.

“That’s not the worst of it,” he groaned, holding his head in his hands once more. “You may as well know the whole of it. He says he will forget my debt if I can persuade you to go to him. I wish to God Robert had made an end to him, when he had the chance!”