“I should have known though,” Viola said. “Everything was going so well, I should have left it going the way it was. I should have trusted without needing proof.”
“Do not think the worst of Baderston,” Darden said. “He may yet come through.”
“Wouldyou?” Viola asked her brother. “Would you stick by if you believed the lady you had admired had run off to Gretna Green with another? That the lady you thought you understood had been so flighty and unprincipled? That she had allowed you to admire her without informing you of circumstances that would become known?”
Darden looked away. That was answer enough for Viola.
There was a sharp rap on the door and Tattleton entered. “I am sorry,” he said, “I was instructed not to disturb but find that I must. Lord Baderston is in the drawing room. I informed him that Lady Viola and Lord Darden were in conference with you, my lord, but he pushed by me and said he knew all about it. Also, it appears he has been in some sort of brawl. At least, from what I can gather from the state of his face.”
Viola felt her heart nearly stop. He was here. He had come.
Why was he here? What brawl?
“You’d best find out what Lord Baderston does here, Viola,” her father said. Then very kindly, he said, “Whatever it is, always remember that you have your family. We will always be the bedrock to your foundation—never wavering, never failing, never shifting beneath your feet.”
Viola nodded. Her father was such a dear man. Then she looked to Darden. “You will come, Brother?”
“Oh yes,” Darden said, “I will be interested to hear what Baderston has to say and even more interested to hear who he has been brawling with.”
“It’s bound to all come out right, is it not?” Miss Mayton said hopefully.
If Miss Mayton was at all cognizant of the puzzled glances from everybody else in the room, she did not say so.
Chapter Thirteen
Roland had experienceda very startling morning. Markson had brought him up a tray with two letters on it. One was from Conbatten. The duke had tried to negotiate an apology with Setterdown’s second, but it was refused. That was just as well—he would never have apologized to the rogue. The duel was set for Wednesday dawn in a remote spot in Hyde Park.
Seeing it in writing made it very real. More real than it had been. It had been very stupid to engage himself to a duel, but he’d done it and there was no going back now. Setterdown had earned himself a set down.
The second letter was a deal more surprising. It was from Chelderberry, demanding satisfaction. Since there had been blows exchanged, there could be no apology. As Chelderberry was being very unfairly sent home and set to depart Thursday, he demanded a duel on Wednesday. Roland’s seconds were to determine the location and inform his own. All further communication should be made to his friend, Mr. Hammish.
Roland presumed that since Harveston was not mentioned, he did not know anything about it.
Should he inform him of it?
How could he possibly be engaged for another duel? What was he getting himself into? Further, it was to be on the same morning as the other one!
There was nothing for it, a gentleman could not with honor turn from a duel that arose from fisticuffs. Nor could they run to a cousin to tattle about it.
If it were to be the same morning, he’d best make it the same location. He could not be in two places at once. As for his own second, he thought he would not tell Conbatten of it. At least, not yet. After all, the duke would already be there for the duel with Setterdown, he did not suppose it was too much of a burden to stay for a second go round.
He wrote Mr. Hammish the details and then was determined to drive it from his mind. It was two days away and he had other matters to attend to.
Since then, he’d pushed his way into Lady Viola’s drawing room, determined to see her.
The butler had informed him that neither she nor Lord Darden were available, as they were in conference with the earl. He’d been certain he could guess the topic of conversation and told the butler he already knew all about it. He only hoped Lady Viola was not being persecuted by her father over this unfortunate circumstance.
Or worse, sent away.
Once inside the drawing room, he became acquainted with several things. The ladies Cordelia and Juliet, Lady Viola’s younger sisters, had taken him in hand, introduced themselves, and then interrogated him.
“Lord Baderston,” Lady Juliet said, “I cannot help but notice that you have a blackened eye.”
“Is it black already?” he asked.
“More of a purple color,” Lady Cordelia said. “Were you in a boxing ring recently?”
“Of a sort,” he said, having no intention of laying out the facts to these two young ladies.
