Shades of Milk and Honey (27 page)

“What?” Her mother poked her head out of the carriage. “Jane! What are you doing out of bed? Your father said you were overcome from use of glamour, after I warned you not to use it and now, to find you here. It is too much. You are too cruel to your mother. Oh! Mr. Buffington; so good to see you again.”

Buffington swung down from his saddle and bowed to Melody and Mrs. Ellsworth. In a confidential tone, which did nothing to prevent Jane from hearing him, he said, “I’m afraid the glamour has been too much for her reason, madam, but I assure you that I have done my best to care for her since finding her riding headlong down the road.”

“Oh!” Mrs. Ellsworth fell back into the carriage, fanning herself.

Mr. Buffington dashed forward to catch her, though Jane could have told him that it would do no good. Her mother would be overcome for some time regardless of the nature of the offense to her senses. A stubbed toe would be quite as
debilitating as a concussion. Her father, long used to these displays, took no notice and turned instead to Jane, leaving Mr. Buffington and Melody to deal with Mrs. Ellsworth.

“Why did you say murder, Jane?”

“Mr. Dunkirk. He left Robinsford Abbey with dueling pistols.”

Mr. Ellsworth straightened at that, his jaw setting. “And you tried to stop him?”

“I had no time.” Had Mr. Dunkirk more regard for her opinions he would have paused. She could only hope that his ride might have given his heart time to cool from the rage and that her words might this time win their way with reason. Jane looked away from her father, down the road toward Bath, as if she might yet be able to spy Lady FitzCameron’s carriage and Mr. Dunkirk. But nothing lay in view but her family’s own carriage and the cluster of people tending her mother. The horses, untended, cropped the grass by the side of the road, utterly oblivious to the humans’ turmoil.

Mr. Buffington’s horse was a fine stallion, rangy, with bunched energy shewing in his every motion. Without being fully conscious of forming a plan, Jane walked to the stallion, took up his reins, and reached for the stirrup. Her father was by her side, helping her up. “I doubt he would listen to me, or I would go in your place. We will follow you, but be careful.”

Jane then faced Mr. Buffington’s saddle, and quailed as she realized she would need to ride
astride
the horse. Her dress, unsuited to the task, rode up to her knees, leaving
her calves strangely exposed. If Mr. Buffington thought her a madwoman before, his opinion would be confirmed by the sight of her now.

Jane pressed her heels to the horse, and he surged forward, making her glad she was not seated sidesaddle. Mr. Buffington shouted as she rode past. She heard another shriek from her mother, which quickly faded under the sound of the horse’s hooves.

Faster than she thought possible, she galloped down the road toward Bath. She turned once in the saddle to look back, but a bend in the road hid her family from view.

Jane had barely had time to get used to the sensation of being astride a horse when she topped a rise in the road and spotted the FitzCameron carriage ahead of her. She could tell no more than that it was stopped before the horse plunged down the next slope and it passed from view.

Jane prayed fervently as she pushed the horse forward, and at last thundered around the final bit of landscape that masked her from the scene. The carriage stood in the road by a field, with Lady FitzCameron leaning out of it. Across the field from her, Mr. Vincent held Beth, who struggled in his arms. Between them, Mr. Dunkirk and Captain Livingston paced away from one another, holding pistols in their hands.

She was too late. She had arrived too late.

Not until Jane actually pulled her horse up on the scene did anyone register her presence; the two duelists were focused on their task, and Beth’s attention was fixed upon them.

But Mr. Vincent saw her.

Jane could feel Mr. Vincent trace the lines of her face, sketching her with his eyes. She looked down, blushing, all the confusion raised by his book welling up again to fill her senses. In her haste, she had forgotten that he would be here—she would not have chosen to meet him next in this manner. Though it could not have changed her course had she remembered; she still would have been bound to stop Mr. Dunkirk.

But what recourse was left to her? Jane turned the horse from the road and rode it between the duelists. “Stop! I beg you.”

At her voice, they turned, their purpose broken for the moment.

Captain Livingston saw her first. His face warred between recognition and baffled frustration. “Miss Ellsworth! Have you come to see the results of your gossip mongering?” A smile pasted itself upon his face with no hint of gladness. “You will forgive me if I am not pleased to see you.”

Jane paid him no heed, intent only on speaking with Mr. Dunkirk. She swung herself off the horse and nearly fell to the ground. She felt stiff and heavy, the sound of her heartbeat ringing in her ears. “Mr. Dunkirk! You promised you would do nothing rash.”

“This is not rash, I assure you. I have considered my path most clearly. This is the only way to prevent him from harming other young women as he has injured my sister.”

Jane clutched his arm, though she had no hope of restraining
him. “You cannot think that witnessing a duel can do your sister any good.”

Mr. Dunkirk turned his head to where Beth stood, pinned by Mr. Vincent. “I hope that this will prove instructional to my sister, so that she will better consider her actions in the future.”

Hoofbeats sounded in the distance, and Mr. Buffington rounded the bend in the road riding Jane’s borrowed mare. He rode half falling from the sidesaddle, but he applied his crop brutally to keep the mare charging forward. He pulled up in a billow of dust next to his own horse.

Captain Livingston smiled bitterly at his friend. “Buffington, just the chap I needed. Could you restrain Miss Ellsworth—unless you object, Dunkirk?”

“Not at all. I think it advisable.”

“It seems that I am doing nothing else today.” Buffington leapt down and eyed the pistols that Mr. Dunkirk and Captain Livingston held. “Are you in need of a second?”

“As much as ever.” Captain Livingston smirked and regripped the pistol.

“Ah. Then I shan’t worry about you.”

Jane backed away from Buffington as he advanced across the field. The open space left nowhere for her to hide, nowhere to flee. If he held her, she could do nothing to stop either man. In desperation, Jane wove a
Sphère Obscurci
about herself. Mr. Buffington drew up short for a moment, then shook his head, advancing to where she had last stood. Jane pushed the weave, drawing it to the side as she backed
silently away from where she had stood. Her breath came rapidly, but the anxiety pulsing in her veins lent her nervous energy.

Buffington reached the spot where she had stood and spun in puzzlement.

In that moment, Jane saw her course. If she could but keep the two men from seeing one another, then perhaps she might delay the duel until they saw some sense. Breathing deeply, she formed two more
Sphères Obscurcie
and pushed them around each of the participants. It taxed her to form the
Sphères
so far from her, but the sudden curses each man emitted as the other vanished were enough reward for her effort. She tied them off and the strain eased immediately.

Until Captain Livingston stepped out of his. “Clever idea, but it does demonstrate why we do not use such things in the field.”

She moved the
Obscurcie
to engulf him again, aware as she did so that all he had to do to overcome her was to continue moving about. Tied off as it was, her own
Obscurcie
would remain intact, even if she fainted, but it took too much effort to keep Livingston masked; and the farther he roamed from her, the harder it was for her to control the threads. She must think of another course.

There was another way to hide them from view, even if it lacked subtlety. Jane reached for the darkest, heaviest folds she could. Weaving them densely, she made a patch of night and placed it like a wall between Mr. Dunkirk and
Captain Livingston. She blew it larger, like the bubble of light which made a
Sphère Obscurci
, but this bubble absorbed the sun and hid it away, casting everything within it into deepest shadow. It passed over her, hiding the field in utter dark.

She gasped with the effort, trying to breathe in the entire world, but kept pushing the walls of the darkness past where the duelists had stood.

Mr. Dunkirk cried out in frustration and rage. As the unnatural night swept over the field, one of the horses screamed in panic. Hoofbeats stampeded across the field as the beasts tried to find their way out of the dark.

Reeling with dizziness, Jane tied the threads off as a horse snorted and drove past her. She staggered on the uneven ground and fell to her knees. For a moment, Jane rested her hands in the dry, invisible grass, trying to gather enough of her remaining energy to reason with the men. “Please, Mr. Dunkirk, let the matter drop. You will do no good to anyone by this route.”

From the darkness to her right, Captain Livingston barked a laugh. “It has gone too far for that, Miss Ellsworth. He has insulted my honour with his accusations.”

“Your honour!” Mr. Dunkirk shouted. “Is it honourable to compromise a young woman’s integrity as you have done?”

Though Jane could not see her, Lady FitzCameron’s cultured voice was unmistakable. “I regret the pain that your sister has suffered, Mr. Dunkirk, but I must protest on
my nephew’s behalf. Henry is too kind in his attentions, and Miss Dunkirk is not the first young woman to mistake that for an especial regard.”

“With all due respect, Lady FitzCameron,” Jane said, “your nephew has been more than merely kind. He has promised to marry Miss Dunkirk.”

Captain Livingston’s voice came from a different spot, footsteps crunching in the dry grass. “Is that what she told you?”

“No, Captain Livingston. That is what I heard you say to her. Or have you forgotten your congress with her in your aunt’s dining room?”

Silence filled the darkness, and then, “I’m afraid that I do not know of what you speak.”

“I was in the room, Captain Livingston. I heard everything. Just as I heard you make the same promise last night to Melody.”

He laughed then, closer to her than before. His voice was a mix of desperation and mirth. “Your sister? And who else am I to have courted? As I am engaged to my cousin, Livia, it is difficult to imagine why I would pay court to one, let alone two other women. How do you account for it?”

“I cannot.” Jane’s memory returned to the maze, the words she had heard him exchange with Melody, and then to the means by which she had heard them. “But I would be happy to replay your conversation with Melody for you, if your memory needs refreshing.”

Lady FitzCameron inhaled sharply. “What do you mean by this?”

Jane turned toward the sound of the Viscountess’s voice. “I used a weave of Mr. Vincent’s design to listen to Melody and Captain Livingston; this weave records the conversation that occurs while it is active. It is tied off in our shrubbery at Long Parkmead.”

Captain Livingston suddenly seemed to have difficulty breathing. “That—that is not possible.”

Mr. Vincent spoke for the first time, his gruff voice shivering through the dark and down Jane’s spine. “I assure you that Miss Ellsworth is fully capable of doing just as she has claimed.”

“How do you answer now, Captain Livingston?” Hesitant footsteps sounded to Jane’s left as Mr. Dunkirk felt his way forward.

“I am curious when Miss Ellsworth had time to shew you this piece of glamour, as you have overtaken us so early in our journey.”

“There was no need to question Miss Ellsworth’s report of it,” Mr. Dunkirk said.

“I see. Has
anyone
seen it, or are you solely taking the word of Miss Ellsworth in these slanders?”

“Miss Ellsworth is entirely honourable. I trust her implicitly.”

“Indeed. Have you asked yourself what Miss Ellsworth believes she will accomplish by making these accusations on my character?”

Jane added her voice to the invisible conversation. “I hoped to convince Mr. Dunkirk to restrain himself from challenging you.”

“By laying out a case against me? I think it rather more likely that you have concocted this tale out of jealousy that I have never given you the notice you craved.” His angry voice sounded as if he were mere paces from her. “Shall I tell the people assembled here how you have pursued me? Shall I recount how you accosted me the very night Mr. Vincent succumbed?”

Jane gasped at his effrontery. “I have done nothing of the sort.”

“Buffington? You saw her press herself against me that night, did you not?”

Buffington sighed. “I do not like to say it, but yes. I came upon you in the dining room before she and Mr. Vincent performed their
tableau vivant
. Miss Ellsworth was behaving in a most unmaidenly manner.”

Beth cried from the sidelines. “Jane! Is that why you were in the dining room when I saw you?”

“No!” Jane clenched the dry grass she knelt on. “I told you then why I was there.”

“You add slander of this most meritorious of women to your crimes, Captain Livingston!” Mr. Dunkirk’s feet crunched upon the straw, moving toward the sound of Captain Livingston’s voice. Then a dull thud indicated that he had fallen. He cursed.

“Slander? I?” Captain Livingston laughed. “You accuse
me, taking the word of two silly women above mine? How could you think that I would have feelings for your sister? When have I ever shown her more regard than was due the sister of my aunt’s neighbour? Miss Ellsworth states her case as a desire to prevent you from harming me, but her actions have led you to do exactly the opposite of what she claims. If the situation were as she presents it, would not a better course have been to confront me directly with her proof and ask me to make amends? What reason could she possibly have for making so very public this story of hers, save for jealousy?”

From the ground Mr. Dunkirk said, “How do you account for the glamour recording?” But Jane could hear a doubt creep into his voice.