“Do not be ridiculous,” the dowager said. “Baderston does not duel. He is not such a fool as that. Stop this nonsense, Markson.”
“It is not nonsense, I’m afraid. He left with the duke acting as his second not a half hour ago.”
“What?” the dowager said. “Conbatten? But…who is my son dueling?”
Markson counted off on his fingers. “Setterdown, Chelderberry, and Berger.”
“Oh dear,” Miss Mayton said.
“Three?” Viola said, tears springing to her eyes. “Where? Where are they? Tell me at once or I will…I will hit you over the head with that vase.”
“Hyde Park, up Constitution Hill to the Field of Blood,” Markson whispered.
The dowager staggered and clutched her robe. “Duels. The Field of Blood. He is my only son, he is the only heir.”
“Markson,” Viola said, determined not to collapse in a panic, “call a carriage. This must be stopped!”
Markson nodded and raced off. Viola opened the front doors and much to her surprise, Sandren was still there with the carriage.
“Never mind the carriage! My own is still here. Let us go.”
The dowager stood stock still, as if she’d turned into a statue.
“Dowager,” Viola said, “you will come?”
The dowager nodded her head. “Come? Yes, do not be absurd.” She staggered toward a closet and pulled out a cloak. The dowager struggled into it and Viola rushed to her side to steady her.
They approached Sandren, who seemed very surprised to note their approach. He said, “Is this the lady who is doing poorly?”
“What mother would not do poorly under these circumstances?” the dowager said, staring at him.
“Sandren,” Viola said, “this is the Dowager Countess of Baderston. We are in all haste. Take us to Hyde Park, Constitution Hill, we’re to look for a green. Lord Baderston is in terrible trouble! We must get there before it’s too late!”
The coachman did not seem as if he understood much of what was happening, but he did at least comprehend the urgency of the situation.
“I know where it is,” he said.
He helped them into the carriage and set off in good time.
As the carriage barreled through the quiet streets and the sun began its rise, Viola felt as if this one moment in time would direct the course of her life. She was racing toward misery or joy, and she knew not which.
“My son,” the dowager said quietly.
“It’s all bound to come out right,” Miss Mayton said, trying at cheerfulness.
The dowager looked at her in such a fashion that Viola was rather glad that the lady did not have a pistol in her hand.
Her aunt smiled weakly at the lady, but she said nothing more.
Viola clasped her hands together and prayed. They must just get there. They must get there in time. She would stand in the middle of the green and dare them all to shoot through her. Let them try it.
Chapter Eighteen
Tattleton had rarelyfelt the sort of fear creeping through his breast that he did at this moment. He imagined a soldier might feel something similar when faced with the enemy on a battlefield. It was cold and leaden arms pressing on his chest that prevented him from taking full breaths, his fingers and toes had gone numb, his heart was beating too fast.
Standing by the sideboard, he felt a little dizzy.
He could not faint. He would not allow it. There could be nothing more undignified than the butler of the house fainting in the breakfast room.
