Page 7 of Gentleman Jim

“Papa knew precisely what he was doing.”

“Well, I can’t understand it!”

“Can you not, Jane? Papa raised me to run Beasley Park. To love the land just as he loved it himself. He knew there was nothing on earth I wouldn’t do to keep it. And knowing that…from the grave, he has forced my hand.”

Jane shook her head in disbelief. “Then you mean to marry Fred?”

“Yes…I…” Maggie faltered. “I haven’t told Fred my answer yet. I have a little time left.”

“How much time?” Jane asked.

“The will stated that if I wasn’t already married upon Papa’s death, I would have two years in which to become so. That allowed for one year of mourning, and one year to find a husband. Unfortunately, it didn’t account for the time I must spend mourning Aunt Daphne.”

“Your aunt would choose to die the week after you finished mourning your father.”

“Yes. And as a result, I have but six months left before I must wed.”

Jane exhaled a deep breath. “Oh dear. No wonder you’re looking so wan and sickly. I didn’t like to mention it, but…”

Maggie wasn’t offended. She knew full well how she must appear to her friend. “The Burton-Smythes believe in the strictest possible interpretation of the rules of mourning. I wasn’t permitted to leave the house after Papa died except for walks in the garden with Bessie. And I wasn’t allowed visitors or to…” She faltered again, raising a hand to her forehead. A headache threatened. “Fred already runs Beasley as if it were his own. He’s joined it to the Burton-Smythe estate. I haven’t any say, not even over the tenants that I’ve known my whole life.”

“You have no power at all?”

“Not to speak of. Papa’s steward, Mr. Entwhistle, keeps me apprised of estate matters as he can, and I know he still takes my opinions under advisement. He’s promised to write to me during my stay here. As for my own personal needs, I must apply to Fred directly. And if I purchase something, even as small and personal as garters for my stockings, he insists upon seeing the receipts. He’s not tightfisted. Indeed, he is exceedingly generous with me, as he’s fond of saying. But he loves nothing more than making certain I recognize the power he holds. I have come to hate asking him for anything.”

“He was always a vile worm,” Jane said feelingly. “And I’m sure having to defer to any man seems intolerable to you, for unlike the rest of us poor females, you’ve never had to bear it before.”

“Sometimes I think I cannot bear it. I’m so tired, Jane. And I have been so blue deviled.”

Jane took Maggie’s hand and held it in both of hers. “Poor dear. But you must take heart. I’ve just this morning heard some news that might cheer you.”

Maggie proffered a weak smile. “Have you?”

“Oh yes. You’ll be pleased to know that Frederick Burton-Smythe will be getting his comeuppance very soon. Tomorrow in fact.” Jane leaned toward Maggie, lowering her voice so the servants going in and out of the dressing room couldn’t overhear. “At dawn tomorrow, he is engaged to fight a duel!”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s the truth. We ladies aren’t supposed to know of such things, but I heard it from Mrs. Beauchamp, who heard it from her husband. He was present at the gaming hell when it all happened.”

“When what all happened?”

“It seems that, while Fred was in the middle of a card game, one of the players gave up his seat to the Viscount St. Clare. Well, St. Clare and Fred were at odds right from the start, apparently, for you know what a hothead Fred can be. Someone made a passing reference to a problem with the count of the cards. One thing led to another, and then, the next thing everyone knew, Fred was on his feet, shouting that St. Clare would answer for what he’d said. And St. Clare replied, as cool as you please, that he wasn’t in the habit of meeting country nobodies on the field of honor, but that he’d make an exception in Fred’s case.”

Maggie’s head was spinning. “Fred issued the challenge?”

“That he did, the arrogant fool.” Jane laughed. “But I’m leaving out the best part. Lord St. Clare is the grandson of the Earl of Allendale!”

Maggie stared at Jane. “What does that signify?”

“Why, the earl was once considered to be one of the foremost shots in England, and his son, if all the tales are true, was even more deadly. He killed a man in a duel decades ago and was forced to flee to the continent, where he promptly killed another. Dueling is in their blood, you see. And I’ve heard that Lord St. Clare is the most lethal of them all.”

Maggie rose abruptly from her place on the bed. She paced the length of the bedroom and back again. “But this is terrible, Jane! If Fred is killed, what will happen to Beasley Park? What will happen to my money?”

“He won’t be killed. Only frightened, and perhaps humbled a little—or so I hope! That’s why the tale is so diverting.” Jane’s smile faded. “Isn’t it?”

“No, Jane. It’s not diverting at all. It’s maddening. Infuriating. Only think what the consequences might be if anything should go wrong.” Maggie wrung her hands as she paced. “Oh, how utterly thoughtless of him—and how completely typical! He never considers anyone but himself. He’s the most selfish, inconsiderate man alive!” She stopped suddenly, turning back to her friend in a whirl of overlarge blue skirts. “I shall have to put a stop to it somehow.”

“Put a stop to it? But how can you?”