The Spanish Marriage (24 page)

“If you refer to my grandfather and Doña Clara de Silva—I
mislike your tone.”

“I mislike more than your tone, Señor. You abduct my wife
as if it were a matter of no consequence simply because you wish to speak with
her husband....”

“Who does not concern himself overmuch with whom he is
seen embracing in a public garden,” Joaquín finished.

“I warn you, Señor.”

“Sir Douglas, I will meet you whenever and wherever you
wish, to give you the satisfaction you think you deserve, but the message I
have is too important....”

Grudgingly Matlin admitted that Joaquín was right. “I will
take you to see Canning. Afterward, I will do my best to blow your head off
your damned shoulders.”

“You may try,” Joaquín agreed silkily. “Perhaps
we should start for Whitehall now. I will require a few moments to clean up.”
He gestured to his rumpled coat and the smudged bruise on his cheek. “If
your friend has not returned shortly with your carriage, we shall take mine.
Perhaps you will like to leave him a note?”

Matlin thanked Joaquín stiffly. When provided with pen, paper,
and ink, he sat down to write a few words for Tony Chase, to tell him that he
and Joaquín had gone to Whitehall and to ask him to wait at White’s Club
until word should reach him there. That way, he hoped, Dorothea should be spared
any worry on his behalf, if indeed she was worrying about him at all. Think
about that later, he told himself.

Joaquín re-entered the room. “You are done? Good. Do
you think we will find Mr. Canning there already?”

They drove toward Westminster in Joaquín’s barouche,
rattling in the narrow a few streets away from Whitehall with a
villainous-looking groom.

Canning was indeed in his offices. A clerk, a reedy,
dry-looking elderly man in a half-powdered peruke, offered a few cursory
protests before showing Matlin and his companion in to him.

The minister’s eyes lit at the sight of his visitors. “Douglas,
you’re here betimes. Who?” Canning rose from his chair. His acute
eyes took in the bruise on Joaquín’s cheek and the stiff carriage of his
visitors, and he sat back again. “Well, you had as well tell me what’s
to do; hadn’t you?” Gratefully Matlin made the introductions. He
took a chair then, confident that Joaquín had sufficient bombast to fend for
himself, and listened with one ear, while his mind was taken up with strategies
for winning his young, very young wife’s favor again.

It was past six when Matlin and his guest left the offices
of the Admiralty. “You may be assured that any official deputation from
the Spanish people will be welcomed and attended to,” Lord Musgrave said
fulsomely. “Let them apply to me direct, or to Castlereagh, at the War
Office. God knows we’ve been looking for the wedge to split Boney’s
forces. If you believe your people will cooperate....”

Joaquín bristled. “Cooperate? You are speaking of a country,
señor, my homeland. The Spanish know the British for their allies....”

“If they do, it’s more than they did when I was
there,” Matlin broke in, hoping to forestall more oratory. Joaquín gave
him a look of dislike and lectured on for a moment or two more.

“Well, quite so, quite so; we’ll discuss the
whole with your delegation, if and when they appear. Damned Corsican must be
stopped, that’s the point.” Musgrave did not give Joaquín the
opportunity to begin his lecturing anew; he bade both men a curt good evening
and turned away. As an afterthought he added, “Tell your Lady Matlin I
send my compliments, Sir Douglas.”

Matlin and Joaquín shared a conscious look as they left the
office.

Once out in the street again Matlin stopped abruptly and looked
at the other man. “Well, your message is delivered, and you have had the
reply you wished for. All your obligations to your people are met, at least for
the moment; are they not?”

Joaquín nodded slowly. “You wish satisfaction?”

“Good God, man, you abducted my wife! London is not a
backdrop for some damned tragedy, nor am I content to say ‘Heigh-ho, all
in a good cause’ and let you go off into the sunset. Have you no family
feeling, if no other? The child is your cousin; you scare her half out of her
wits, keep her boxed up in that place in Chiswick—Chiswick, for God’s
sake!—then are surprised that I want satisfaction?”

Joaquín bristled. “Not everyone is fortunate enough to
live in Hill Street, Sir Douglas. As for family feeling—I gave my cousin
the chance, the honor to work for her country, her people, and she failed, not
once but twice, three times. It was obvious, Sir Douglas, that you did not care
a whit what she said; she could not get near enough to you to introduce me as I
wished her to do. She might have redeemed her mother’s fault, become part
of our family again....”

“Fine family,” Matlin muttered sourly.

“Señor!” With an effort Joaquín calmed himself. “I
do not see the need to insult my House. When all is said and done Dorotea is
only a woman....”

“Only....” The rage which had simmered off and
on all day boiled up in Matlin; he aimed a blow at Joaquín which caught him
full on the jaw, a little off center but effective. The Spaniard staggered back
a few paces; Matlin stood over him and glared.

Hand to jaw, Joaquín glared back. “That is twice; I
must admit I did not realize you cared for my cousin in the least, Sir Douglas.
You give very little evidence of it publicly, you know.”

“I don’t think we need discuss my manifold
shortcomings as a husband on the steps of Whitehall,” Matlin said
tightly. “Do you have someone who will act for you?”

“As a second?” Joaquín admitted sulkily that he
had not.

“I’ll see if I can find someone to do so. If
that is acceptable, of course. I had rather settle this as soon as possible. Let
us go to my club; young Chase is there, he has already agreed to act as my
second.”

Joaquín stroked his jaw. “Let us go immediately,”
he agreed. “This is a barbarous country,” he added obscurely.

“A barbarous country which will save Spain for you.”
Matlin had the last word.

Tony Chase was waiting for them at White’s; he was a
little bleary-eyed with ale and lack of sleep.

“You want to duel now? B’God, that’s the
stupidest thing I ever heard of....” He shut up at the sight of the two men’s
faces. However irregular the situation might be, they were in earnest, and
Chase could hardly blame Matlin. “Who’s to act as Mr. Joaquín—I
mean, Señor Ibañez-Blanca’s second?”

“Isn’t there someone here with nothing better to
do?” Joaquín waved his hand at the men settled around the gaming room.

“Just ask a stranger? Like that?” Chase was
plainly horrified.

“Why not?” Joaquín asked offhandedly. After a
moment he excused himself, made his way toward a crowd of men, and entered into
their conversation. Not five minutes later he returned to them. “This
gentleman has agreed to act for me.”

Chase and Matlin exchanged horrified glances. It was Matlin
who spoke first. “Joaquín, do you know who this is? Is this some sort of
bad joke?”

“The man offered to stand up for me; I presume one of
you will introduce me?”

Chase gave a strangled yelp. “It’s Towles! By
God, it’s Towles!” He had the satisfaction of seeing Joaquín’s
jaw drop open while Sir Charles Towles surveyed his companions with mild,
befuddled amiability.

“Affair of honor,” he drawled after a moment or
so. “Attended to several in my day, ask anyone. Didn’t realize you
were the other party, of course, Matlin.” He turned with interest to Joaquín.
“D’ye mean to kill your man?”

It was Matlin’s turn to smother his reaction. After a
moment he turned back to Joaquín. “Are you satisfied with your second?”

“I assure you I did not realize...” the Spaniard
began.

“I’m sure you did not,” Matlin agreed. “Well,
dammit, let us go if we’re going to do. I’d rather this did not
become some damned picnic.” Sir Charles appeared breathtakingly innocent
of understanding and lumberingly drew Chase to one side to begin a discussion
of weapons and place. To Matlin’s surprise Towles displayed a calm
familiarity with protocol which appeared to unnerve Tony Chase somewhat.

“Of all the damned choices to make,” Matlin
marveled some minutes later, when he and Chase were in his phaeton and rolling
toward the Hempstead Heath and a spot which Towles had described as “a
cozy little hollow, just the thing for our business.”

“My God, that gabble-ratchet! That bag-pudding! This
will be all over London by the time we’re half way home,” he added
bitterly. “That rattle, that slug....”

“Sir Douglas?” Chase ventured.

Matlin raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“Are you sure? I mean, do you really mean to kill him?”

“Kill him? I....” Matlin choked. “I don’t
want to kill him. Like to knock his damned head off his shoulders for him, but
I don’t really want to
kill
him. He is Thea’s cousin, after
all.”

Chase murmured something inaudible.

“Let us go out there, fire off a few shots, go back to
White’s, have a brandy. Then I have a deal of business to settle with my
wife, if she’ll listen to me.”

“She will, sir. I think.”

“God. I hope you’re right. Where the Devil did
Towles say the turn off was?’

The evening light was fading; it took them some time to find
Sir Charles’s “cozy hollow.” They found Joaquín and his
second waiting there; Joaquín had obviously worked himself into a state of
wrath out of all keeping with Matlin’s notion of the duel’s
magnitude.

“Are you sure....” Tony started dubiously.

“Good God, man, let us get it over with,” Matlin
answered.

The seconds conferred. Since neither party would agree as to
which was the injured party— “Dammit, he stole my wife! Don’t
you consider that an injury?” Matlin fumed to Chase—they tossed a
coin for position and paced out the field.

Finally, Matlin and Joaquín stood back to back. The light
was almost gone; the shade of nearby trees threw uncertain black shadows across
the field.

“Did you wish to leave a note for my cousin?” Joaquín
asked solicitously over his shoulder.

“I intend to go home and to clear everything with her.
It is high time I did so.”

“I hope you will convey my apologies to her?”

“Certainly.” Matlin called in answer to Towles’s
question: “Yes, I’m ready.”

“Ready,” Joaquín agreed.

Sir Charles gave them instructions in his usual drawl. “You
will walk fifteen paces. When I say turn, you turn. When I say fire, you, well,
you....”

“Fire,” Matlin finished for him. “Get on
with it, for the love of God. I have somewhere else to be.”

With a sigh at this lack of finesse Towles gave the command
to mark. Matlin and Joaquín paced forward, stopped, and waited.

“Turn,” Towles drawled. They turned.

For a brief moment, awaiting the command to fire, Matlin wondered
if Joaquín meant to kill him. He knew himself for a crack shot, but he found
himself curiously loath to kill the other man. It was a question of what Joaquín’s
feelings in the matter were.
I
should have written a note,
he
thought urgently.
Thea....

“Fire!”

Matlin raised his gun, aimed, and fired.

The report was shockingly loud in the evening stillness. A
moment behind his own shot, like an echo, he heard the report of
Joaquín’s pistol; the shot went no where near him. In the dim light,
giddy with relief, Matlin wondered if he saw a stain on Joaquín’s sleeve.

“Are you satisfied?” Towles called to them.

Matlin drew a breath. Had he really been holding his breath
since the turn? “God’s sake, yes,” he said hoarsely. Then, as
much to distract himself as to amuse the others, he added, “So long as my
opponent promises not to abduct my wife hereafter.”

Across the field Joaquín’s voice rose a little
thickly. “I promise. After all, I have my introduction. Milord Towles,
you have perhaps an extra kerchief?”

Towles lumbered heavily to Joaquín’s side and waved
his handkerchief like a pennant. Matlin stood bemused, watching as Chase and
Towles bound Joaquín’s arm. When it seemed to be satisfactorily done
Chase hurried to Matlin, enthusing like a puppy.

“I never saw anything like it, sir! You were such a
cool hand! You winged him! He deloped, you know; he’d as well admit aloud
that he was at fault....”

“Of course he was at fault; he kidnapped my wife! In
any event, it is over.” Matlin drew a deep sigh and handed his pistol to
Chase. “Go tell my opponent and his second that I will stand them a
brandy at the nearest creditable posting house. I’m sure Towles will know
of one nearby,” he added sardonically.

Joaquín, having suffered Sir Charles’s ministrations
for several minutes, at last joined Matlin and Chase; he protested that the
wound was nothing, a mere scratch. The four men retired from the field and made
for a small inn which Sir Charles had, indeed, suggested.

An hour later and in a state of considerable relaxation,
Matlin left his companions and started the drive to London and to Hill Street.

o0o

Bess Chase had spent the whole of the day with Thea and Lady
Ocott. There had been a brief note from Tony some time after noon; it informed
them that Matlin had taken Joaquín to Whitehall; he had very sensibly said
nothing in his note of the possibility of a duel. Excuses went out from Ocott
House, pleas of sudden indisposition, and Thea, Lady Ocott, and Bess all begged
off their day’s engagements. They settled in to wait, fiddling nervously
with ’broidery thread and linen, playing backgammon and killarney; they chatted
nervously.

“This is a wretched way to spend an afternoon, and so
I shall tell Douglas. Your cousin, too.” Lady Ocott surveyed her parlor
with disfavor. “I have come to the conclusion that I shall have to buy
new drapes. These are horrid.”