“You are exaggerating.”
“No, indeed not. Mr. Newton has not disguised his protective nature in your regard. He thinks very highly of you … in a professional manner, of course.”
“Of course.”
“But what if it’s a ruse? What if he is after your money?”
Lydia laughed; she couldn’t help it. Of all the people she knew, Robert Newton was the least sinister she could imagine. “I think there would be easier ways to ensure a big purse than making away with me. Besides, you are forgetting that he suffered at my side.”
“What if he set it up to garner your admiration? Woo you away from Lord Aldershot?”
“That would be a very strange way to woo.” It was also odd that the mention of Barley knotted her belly in an unpleasant manner.
“Yes, but everyone knows you are destined to marry Lord Aldershot. And … were you not seized before the papers were signed?”
“Cora dear, Robert has not made any advances,” she said, stifling a sigh. “He has not shown any interest in me other than in friendship.”
“But—”
“I was in Mr. Newton’s company for an extended period of time, and I believe that I had the opportunity to assess his character, with fair accuracy, during our adventure. I can, quite confidently, say that I trust him.”
“Really?”
Lydia noted the change of her friend’s voice and glanced over to see that Cora was grinning. “Oh, Cora, now you are funning me! Were you hoping for a disclosure?”
“How can you say so!” The tone of indignation was perfect: the straightened shoulders, the glimmer of hurt in her eyes.… However, Cora could not control her dimples. “Bother,” she said, resigning to a giggle. “I would so like for you to find a love match, such as I have found in Mr. Granger. There is nothing that can match the giddy euphoria of true affection.”
Lydia nodded, finding it easy enough to put euphoria and Robert in the same sentence. She squeezed her friend’s arm and then turned her gaze back to the road ahead. “Oh Lud.”
Standing not four paces from them was Mr. Ian Chilton in all his foppish glory. He was engaged in an animated conversation with a woman that involved sweeping arm movements and a bobbing head. At any moment, he might turn and see Lydia. Then she would be done for; Mr. Chilton would attempt to latch himself onto their party, and if he succeeded, all enjoyment of the excursion would be gone.
Shushing Cora, Lydia maneuvered to the side, planning to quietly step around the couple. Unfortunately, the conversation wrapped up as they were passing, and the dandy turned his head, seeing Lydia immediately. As soon as their eyes met, Lydia was forced to halt, albeit briefly. It would be the height of bad manners to walk on without some acknowledgment—she might get away with it at Roseberry but not in the village.
“Miss Whitfield … oh my, what a surprise. Excellent, excellent. Well met. Here you are in Spelding. You seldom visit. Aren’t we blessed.” Blinking, the affected gentleman stared at Lydia with his mouth partially open. He grabbed a deep breath … let it out, opened his mouth as if to speak, and then closed it again.
Lydia nodded and was about to continue on her way when Mr. Chilton pivoted and hurried off in the opposite direction.
With a frown, Lydia stared after him.
“That was odd,” said Cora. “The man seemed quite nonplussed to see you. Your jaunts to the village are not that irregular.”
“No, indeed. He seemed more befuddled than his norm—verging on perplexed. I wonder…” Lydia looked to the ground for a moment, trying to understand what had just transpired.
“Wonder what, Lydia?”
“Umm. Oh, yes. I wondered if Mr. Chilton knew I was going into Bath last week … at one, precisely.”
*
The sun had yet to slip above the horizon when Robert and Cassidy climbed Daisy Hill in silence. The mist, swirling in and around the trees, gave the meadow an eerie, haunting quality. The air was heavy with the smell of freshly turned earth—newly formed mole mounds dotted the incline. The dueling arena seemed deserted, but Robert knew better; he squinted into the gray, looking for any telltale shadows.
“There,” he whispered to Cassidy, and pointed ahead to a spot, slightly off to the right.
Robert assumed Cassidy had nodded, for there was no verbal response, simply a redirection of their path. Some moments later, two figures resolved and grew larger as they approached.
Finally, Robert and Cassidy halted not ten feet from the easily insulted man and his second. There was a sardonic look to Rennoll’s smile, and he leaned forward as if eager, an unseemly glint of excitement in his stare. Not a pleasant sight. The man was overly thin, not unlike the skeletal appearance of an opium eater; his fine clothes hung awkwardly.
“So you have come, after all. Quite expected you to turn tail. Your inability to shoot straight is quite well known. Should I have my second stand behind a tree?” He laughed as if his words were a jest.
Robert felt his ire rise, but he knew the man to be goading Cassidy, to make him careless—ruin his aim … what aim he had. Robert said nothing. It had been agreed that Cassidy would take the lead.
“I am here because I said I would be. My honor is intact; it is yours that is in question.” Cassidy sounded calm despite his nervousness.
“I would challenge you for those words alone were we not already here for your previous insult.”
“There was no previous insult. You simply manipulated the situation so that it seemed that way.… And I was too drunk at the time to realize.”
“Not only did you cast aspersions on my financial situation, you did so in front of others.”
“If I had apologized in public, would you have withdrawn your challenge?”
Lord Rennoll laughed in an ugly staccato. “No, not likely.” Then he straightened his shoulders and stretched as if bored of the whole enterprise. The fevered shine of his eyes hinted otherwise. “Come now, let’s have done with this. I have plans to celebrate. Where is … interesting, you did not bring a physician. You are ill-prepared, my friend—not even dueling pistols. Worry not. I am equipped. Harold, if you please.”
The indistinct figure who had been standing off to the side stepped forward. He was a squat bulldog of a man made broader by his billowing greatcoat. In a showy flourish, the man presented the case to Cassidy, opened it, and indicated the two pistols nestled in blue velvet.
Robert heard Cassidy take a deep but shaky breath.
“Steady,” he whispered, hoping that Cassidy could hold the course—that they could put a stop to Rennoll’s treacherous method of grandstanding.
“Yes, listen to your second.” Lord Rennoll laughed. “You need a steady hand to see this through. Oh, have I mentioned that you are not the first to turn and face me?” He paused dramatically. “I have yet to lose.”