Page 105

“We both know she is no duchess by blood,” Malcolm managed to force out, despite the pistol pressed against his throat. “This marriage is nothing but another ploy to spite me. Give it up, brother.”

Arthur shook the memory away, and without a word to Mr Ellis, he turned from the entrance of Winworth House and made his way back through the silent corridors. The house, usually so familiar, felt foreign, as though the sanctity of Winworth had been violated beyond repair.

His study door stood open, and Laurence was already waiting.

The moment Arthur crossed the threshold, Laurence rose from the armchair beside the fire, watching him carefully without a word as he approached his desk. The pistol left his hand with a dull, heavy thud as it landed on his desk. For several long moments he stared at it.

Laurence remained where he was. He did not ask what had happened. He did not need to. Years of friendship had taught Arthur that Laurence's silence often contained more understanding than another man's sympathy ever could.

"He came looking for a duel." Arthur shared, the words emerging flatly.

"He believed he might provoke me into one and win." A humourless smile ghosted across Arthur's lips before disappearing just as quickly.

"And is he still breathing?" Laurence asked without judgement.

Arthur leaned both hands upon the edge of his desk, lowering his head for a brief moment before answering.

"We duelled."

The room fell silent.

"I fired once."

His voice remained unnervingly calm.

"I struck precisely where I intended."

He straightened slowly, meeting Laurence's eyes at last.

"Whether he survives the night is now a matter for Providence."

He paused.

"I have no intention of becoming his executioner."

His gaze drifted towards the darkened window overlooking the drive.

"But neither shall I allow him a physician."

A long silence followed.

“He is making his own way from Winworth,” Arthur said at last. “On foot. In darkness. With a bullet below the neck. If nature deems the journey beyond his abilities, then he shall finally face the consequences of his own actions.”

Laurence gave a weary nod, the lines about his eyes seeming deeper than they had that morning.

“The Duchess is in her chambers. Her maid was drawing her a bath when I left.” He hesitated, his gaze drifting briefly towards the fire before returning to Arthur.

“She is quite shaken."

Arthur closed his eyes for the briefest of moments before bowing his head. Neither man spoke for several seconds before bidding each other goodnight. As Arthur left the study, he found himself outside the door to the Duchess’s chambers instead of his own, and, for the first time, he hesitated before knocking.

Drawing a pistol had not frightened him. Looking into Malcolm’s eyes with every intention of pulling the trigger had not frightened him.

Entering his wife’s bedchamber in his current state of mind did. Still, he raised his hand and knocked gently.

"Duchess?" he called quietly as he opened the door, not waiting for an answer.

Warmth greeted him first. The room smelled faintly of orange blossom soap and clean linen; the fire whistled softly, bathing the chamber in a deep amber glow. His eyes searched only briefly before finding her.