There was a soft knock on the door and Markson went to answer it. It was young Gerald with a bucket of ice.
Markson took it from him and said, “Tell cook to put aside a ham. He’s to wrap it all attractive-like.”
“A ham?” Gerald asked.
“That’s right, a ham,” Markson said. “I’ll tell ya where to take it and you’re to wear your own coat. Don’t go questioning it, it’ll just give you a headache.”
After Markson closed the door, he said, “And what am I to write to this fella who wishes to blow your brains out?”
“Tell Mr. Berger that I will meet him at dawn on Wednesday, up Constitution Hill to the Field of Blood. Write that Conbatten will be there as my second, but he is a busy man and need not be bothered by any further communications.”
“The Field of Blood?” Markson cried.
“It is just the name for a convenient spot to duel, he will know where it is. Anyway, that’s where the other two will be.”
“What does Conbatten say to this? Is he comfortable acting as your second for all these duels in one morning?”
Roland shifted. “The duke will be informed of the…extra gentlemen…on the green that morning. There is no reason to disturb him beforehand—one or three, what matter, really? Now, do put ice in a cloth for my eyes and fetch the writing paper. I want that ham delivered this morning.”
Chapter Fifteen
Tattleton felt itwould be a very fine thing if he went deaf and heard nothing else coming in through his ears that traveled on to disturb his mind. These days, it seemed that all the snippets and ideas that came into his ears as he went in and out of the drawing room were in some ghastly competition with each other to see which of them could stop his heart first.
The latest, from what he could gather, was that Lady Viola’s copper-haired gentleman had been in two different physical altercations. The sisters and Miss Mayton were mulling over how to keep the fellow out of a duel.
A duel.
Tattleton had a great respect for thetonand all its habits and idiosyncrasies. He had always liked being one who was elevated enough to be in the know about them. It gratified him that, unlike the majority of people living in England, he knew the difference between an oyster fork and an olive fork. He took pride in the precise measurements of his place settings and his vast knowledge of fine wines. He appreciated the elegant rules of a high-placed house.
However, he could never, hard as he tried, make any sense out of a duel.
What right-thinking gentleman looks about him and notices he is as rich as Croesus and has a title granting him entry into all the fine houses and then thinks, “I should fight a duel and leave this earth unnecessarily early. I should have a drunken argument over anything at all and demand satisfaction. I will, for some reason, be satisfied that I am dead.”
Even now, the papers were full of theNewfoundland Dog Duel. Two idiots fought over their two idiot dogs and now one was dead and the other being tried for murder. As far as Tattleton knew it, the dogs themselves were perfectly sanguine about this turn of events and could care less.
Now, there was a concern for Lady Viola’s gentleman engaging himself in that madness?
What sort of uproar would overtake the house if he were maimed or crippled or killed?
And even more bone-chilling to contemplate, what sort of plan would the ladies come up with to stop the young lord? Their remedies were almost always worse than the initial complaint they were meant to cure!
One of the footmen raced down the hall to him. “A visitor for Lady Viola, Mr. Tattleton,” he said.
“Let me hazard a guess,” the butler said. “He has red hair and looks as if he has boxed with Gentleman Jackson.”
The footman squinted. “No, Mr. Tattleton, it’s Lady Hightower to see Lady Viola.”
*
Viola had spentthe morning with Juliet, Cordelia, and her aunt, discussing the idea that they must not allow Lord Baderston to somehow get lured into a duel.
At first, Miss Mayton had not entirely understood the reason for Viola’s concern. Certainly, she thought, a duel must convey the strongest of sentiments and she was in no doubt that all of her many loves on the continent would have been enthusiastic at the prospect of proving himself on a green.
But then, Viola had pointed out that it might not go their way, Lord Baderston might end up being killed. Miss Mayton had thought that over and then confirmed that having to say a final goodbye to a would-be husband was in fact dreadful.
Once they were agreed on what must be done, the further problem of how it was to be accomplished had been wrestled with.
Viola could not simply request that Lord Baderston refuse any and all offers of duels, nor attempt to ban him from issuing any challenges. No gentleman would countenance such a thing and she did not even have the standing to ask it.
