“Come on, then,” James hissed. “Hit me back. Demand satisfaction. I’ll meet you anywhere, with your choice of weapons.”
Clayton sighed. “If you wanted to challenge me to a duel – which is illegal, by the way – you shouldn’t have hit me first. Now it’s up to me to challenge you to a duel. Or not.”
“Go on, then. Challenge me.”
“No.”
“No? Are you a coward?”
“I am not a coward, and I will not fight you.”
“Why not?”
Clayton regarded him for a long moment. “Suppose I killed you.”
“Then I would go to my grave with my sister’s honour avenged.”
“Avenged, but not restored,” Clayton shot back. “And now she would have to grieve a beloved brother. Duels are foolish and selfish, boy, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Now, are you going to hit me again?”
James was staring at him, a baffled expression on his face, and his fists slowly uncurled.
“No,” he whispered. “But I don’t understand. How could you do this to her?”
Clayton closed his eyes. “I have asked myself the same question over and over again.”
He half expected another blow to land, but apparently James drew the line at punching a man who had his eyes closed. When he opened his eyes, James was striding away, shoulders hunched under his ears, hurrying to catch up with the others.
Clayton was left alone. Entirely alone.
What have I done?
***
It was clearly a priority to get Isolde back to the boat and home as quickly as possible.
Isolde let herself be steered through the crowds, her father’s arm around her shoulders and James’ hand at her elbow. Her brother kept darting ahead to clear a path through the ladies and gentlemen, resorting to a few stiff shoves here and there.
It all felt rather surreal, she thought. She kept looking at the faces of passers-by, wondering why their faces were twisted in happiness, surprise, or occasionally in a wide yawn. She felt… well, she felt as though she’d been turned to wood.
No, not wood. Of course not wood. Ice. Her heart had frozen over at long last, and that was that. This was how she would have to live her life from now on.
She spotted her mother up ahead. Beatrice was sitting on a bench, watching some fire-eaters. Murmuring a few words to James – to her mild surprise, Isolde found that the words sounded like gibberish, and not words at all – Richard left Isolde with her brother and went running ahead.
She watched as Richard spoke a few quick, hurried sentences, and she watched the happiness drain from Beatrice’s face. Both of them glanced her way as James hurried herforward. Lord Raisin was somewhere behind. Isolde did not care very much where he’d gone.
He was right, though. It was all a lie. From the very beginning, it was all a lie. A ruse. A joke of the worst kind. I am probably the laughingstock of countless gentlemen’s clubs. Heaven only knows whether it will reach the gossip columns or not. If it does, I will have to leave London. I doubt I’ll be able to return.
They reached the bench, and Beatrice leapt to her feet, hooking an arm through Isolde’s.
“Richard, take her other arm,” she said, in a business-like fashion. “James, go ahead and make sure the boat is ready. If Lord Raisin is not here, we leave without him.”
“But it’s his boat,” James objected.
“I do not care. Go! Go!”
He obeyed with no further objections, and Isolde found herself hustled forward by her parents.
“My poor girl,” Beatrice murmured, voice breaking.
