Page 15 of Confounding Oaths
“People will think him a craven.” Miss Caesar looked horrified at the thought. “They’ll consider him less than a man.”
Being accustomed to polite society thinking him less than a man already, for more reasons than he could count, this observation had for the younger Mr. Caesar the familiar discomfort of an old ulcer. “Is the major”—he turned to Captain James—“is he a very skilled swordsman?”
Captain James shrugged. “Doubt it. Though I’m sure he’s had lessons. The proper officers all do.”
“Do you not,” asked the elder Mr. Caesar only slightly pointedly, “consider yourself a proper officer?”
“I’ve learned there’s no sense in thinking myself something other men’ll never think me.”
The elder Mr. Caesar took a moment to digest the observation, nodded once, and then said, “Curious. I’ve learned the opposite.”
“Well, I think you should do it,” Lady Georgiana declared, drawing a look of harsh if loving reproof from Miss Mitchelmore. “There can’t be that much to it really; just make sure the pointy end goes in the other man.”
“In my experience, my lady,” replied Captain James, “that’s not easy to do when the other man’s doing his best to kill you.”
Mr. Caesar choked on his soup, and only partly because I’d slipped into his bowl and caught in his throat. “I mean … it won’t come to that, will it? It’ll be more of a … first blood honour-is-satisfied sort of thing?”
Captain James set down his spoon. “Maybe. Lot depends on the weapons.”
To the younger Mr. Caesar’s profound distress, both his sisters were looking at their new guest with rapt attention.
“If it’s pistols,” the captain went on, “then you’ll both likely miss. But if you don’t, the bullet could take your jaw off.”
Mr. Caesar’s hand went involuntarily to his face. He had always rather liked his jaw. Indeed he was rapidly coming to wonder if it might not be one of his best features.
“Sabres, now those are made to use from horseback. Wide blades, good for slicing.” The captain made a cutting motion with his hand and the Misses Caesar gave little yelps of excitement.“Won’t likely kill you, not with one cut, but they can split you open so’s the doctor’ll have a hard time stitching you up again.”
“Is this quite the right talk for the dinner table?” asked Lady Mary, her aristocratic upbringing briefly surfacing through decades of rebellion.
“If he’s to face it,” said Captain James, “he should hear about it.”
Lady Mary gave a cautious nod. “Yes, but can we remember he could always choose not to face it?”
This was too much for Miss Anne. “Mama, things are hard enough for our family without John being branded a coward also.”
“Better a coward than a corpse,” pointed out Miss Mitchelmore.
“Not amongst men of honour,” Miss Anne protested.
“You must forgive Anne,” explained Miss Caesar with only the tiniest trace of bitterness. “She is being courted by an officer and she believes it makes her an expert on all things military.”
Miss Anne looked shyly into her soup bowl. “I am not being courted. He merely … visits the family a lot.”
“He visitsyou”—the trace of bitterness in Miss Caesar’s voice was growing less trace-like by the moment—“because—”
“Perhaps,” the younger Mr. Caesar cut in, and only partly for selfish reasons, “we might return our attention to the many ways in which I might die in the near future.”
Miss Mitchelmore concealed a chuckle behind her hand. “Not pleasant, is it, John?”
It was almost a relief to be fencing with words, rather than fearing the need to fence with swords. The younger Mr. Caesar raised an eyebrow. “I was very understanding.”
“You were moderately understanding and, if I may say so, rather high-handed.”
“I was not high-handed.”
Lady Georgiana matched Mr. Caesar’s eyebrow-raise and then some. “You did keep insisting that I was trying to murder her.”
“No, I insisted you were trying to seduce her and”—the younger Mr. Caesar waved a demonstrative hand—“well.”
