“I was not present for any discussion of monetary terms, and as this challenge was offered to me, I see my lack of involvement in said discussion as a great oversight on your part. Therefore, the agreement is invalid.”
“What! That cannot be. It was the very purpose of this exercise. If you do not agree to the payment, then I will have to shoot you.”
“Sounds more like murder than a duel.”
“Call it what you will. Pay me or you shall suffer deadly consequences.”
“I don’t believe that even you can kill with my choice of weapons.”
“Do you think to best me at swords, Newton? Really, while you were grubbing about in books, I was learning from a fencing master. No, the only way for you to survive unscathed is to provide the funds that were discussed with Miss Whitfield.” Aldershot snorted a laugh of great derision.
It curdled Lydia’s stomach.
“Still, as the one challenged, it is my choice of weapons.”
“Fine, Newton. I see that your brain is a featherweight. You don’t seem to know the meaning of deadly consequences. Choose away.”
“Thank you.”
Lydia gasped. “No, Robert.” Thrusting her shaking hand into her reticule, she stepped forward. Before she had a chance to pull the banknotes free, the shrubs around them shook, and several figures stepped out of the trees.
Chapter 20
In which life hangs in the balance of five hundred and ninety-three pounds
The shapes solidified into three young gentlemen of various girths, heights, and facial hair. They, in turn, were followed by two more, and then more again. In all, nearly a dozen young gentlemen sauntered out of the woods and over to the staring combatants. The newly risen sun added a pink glow to the tops of their felt hats and caped shoulders. Their walking canes left pockmarks in the soft ground.
“Welcome.” Robert smiled to the newcomers; he offered a general bow.
There were murmurs of greeting and a fair amount of smiling—accompanied by a guffaw or two. The atmosphere was carnivalesque, as if the whole affair were some sort of lark. They collected along Mr. Cassidy’s paced-off arena on either side of Lydia, and when it became somewhat crowded, several skipped across to the other side. Jockeying for position, they all wanted to see.
Macabre. Lydia was repelled by this morbid fascination. She straightened, lifted her chin, and drew a deep breath, preparing to give them all a proper set-down and send them on their way.… But she hesitated.
What was Robert about? For it seemed evident that he had brought this horde, this large group of witnesses, with him. It was dangerous—a very dangerous tactic. Should any of them mention this gathering, Robert would find himself incarcerated, without a career. He was not a cavalier young man.… There must be a purpose.
“What are you about, Newton? This is not the way of it.” Aldershot sounded indignant, but there was a tremor to his words. He glanced around nervously, and sweat formed at his temples.
“You and Miss Caudle took it upon yourselves to besmirch Miss Whitfield’s good name. When called on it, you feigned insult. I have never considered truth to be an insult; it is simply the truth.”
Lydia recognized the sentiment, of course. Robert had stated the same to her uncle a week or so past. Still, she cared not a whit about truth at this juncture; she cared about Robert. Opening her mouth to add her objection to that of Aldershot, Lydia felt a touch on her arm.
“It will be all right; worry not,” Mr. Cassidy whispered over her shoulder.
Only Cora and Lydia heard the request. They shared a look, and while Lydia didn’t try to mask her confusion and fear, Cora tried a facade of false composure.
Lydia’s frown deepened; she turned back—lips pursed. She took a deep breath and then another. She swallowed against the bile that clawed at her throat and then clenched her jaw.
“And now before all these witnesses, I accept your challenge. My weapon of choice”—Robert paused dramatically—“is wit: a duel of words.”
“Words!” both Lydia and Aldershot exclaimed at the same time.
However, while Lydia smiled and felt knee-buckling relief, the same could not be said for her greedy neighbor. Aldershot scowled and shook his head in short jerks.
“Words are not a weapon,” Mavis Caudle entered the fray with a sneer. “This is trickery, nothing else.”
“Indeed? Words have great power, Miss Caudle. Of all people in this company, you more than any would know that they can be used in deeply harmful ways—the damage can be catastrophic.” Robert turned back to Aldershot. “Wits will have to be your pistol, old man, though I fear you to be unarmed. Bearing in mind that this is a somewhat unusual tactic, I will give you leave to choose what manner of words we will use: riddles, poetry, or insults. Our friends here”—he swept his hand, gesturing toward the strangers—“they will be our judges. Three each—an extra if needed to break a tie.”
“What asininity is this? Are you demented?”
“Aha, insults it is.” Robert grinned and looked quite gleeful.
The crowd laughed and clapped—though it was more in amusement than appreciation for such a weak volley. Aldershot would have to do better than that if he was going to lock horns … or wits with Robert.
“As insults go, that was nothing more than milquetoast. We shall have to call it practice or the game is already won. Hardly fair to make you concede so soon—unlike some present, I believe in honesty and fair play.”
“Was that your first insult?”
“No, no, not at all—we shall call that slur practice as well—or truth. Either will work.”
“Mr. Newton, you are not playing by your own rules,” Mavis said. “Every word out of your mouth is an insult.”
“I do beg your pardon, there is just something about your lover’s weak chin and lackluster discourse that brings it out of me. I shall endeavor to behave.” He nodded with finality, though his grin showed exactly how heartfelt was his apology.
Walking past Lydia to the far end of the designated area, Robert planted his feet and bent his arms as if readying for a fight. “All right, Lord Aldershot. I thought you to be bird-witted and cow-handed. Now, I have discovered you to be the opposite.” He stretched his arms out, paused, and then delivered the last line. “You are bird-handed and cow-witted.”
He looked toward the crowd, and while acknowledging the mild applause, Robert nodded at a thin figure half hidden in the shadows. Lydia squinted; she could see the newly risen light glinting across a row of brass buttons. She smiled to herself—if she had a propensity toward gambling, she would have bet that the figure wore a blue overcoat and the top hat of a Bow Street Officer.
“Was that it?” Mavis Caudle asked. “You are not as clever as you thought.”
“No, no, Miss Caudle. My game of words is with Lord Aldershot. You might have a lifetime of manipulation on which to stand, but derision is not an insult, and you were not invited to speak.” Shifting his eyes to Aldershot, Robert addressed his opponent. “Do you wish to concede? I will not be insulted by you both.”