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I remember hiding my face in the crook of his neck, drenching his waistcoat with my tears. He just let me cry and cry until I was ‘all cried out’. I later found out he did not sleep for four days, worrying about me and whether I was able to sleep or crying alone in the dark.
I was not able to sleep, but I was not crying alone in the dark either.
I only cried when he was holding me—I did not feel safe to cry otherwise.
Maybe that’s why I have not cried since Papa died, except now, as I write this. But I don’t think I will ever cry again.
Because if I do, whose neck will I cry on?
Eternally yours,
Your sister
fifteen
For all Jo knew, duels might be fought in Vienna or Paris, but they were definitelynotin England.
The only ones who still fought duels were certain deeply depraved rakes or scoundrels, who had already lost all reputation—as well as all sense of reason. It was, simply, not done.
For one thing, it was deeply illegal, and for another, it was uncouth.
If her brother dueled another man, Justin would be hanged for murder, the fool. The details of what had happened were quickly blurted by her maid as she helped her dress within what felt like seconds.
Instead of going to sleep, as he had promised her, Justin had apparently continued to drink after Jo had left him in the library. In his daze, he somehow remembered the mocking words spoken at his father’s funeral, and decided then and there that they deserved retaliation. In Justin’s mind, such comments were a capital offence to his father, the possessor of the title.
Which now belonged to him.
Thus, the man who had spoken them had to be challenged to a duel. The plan was hatched quickly and drunkenly—but easily, since all of his closest friend were currently staying in nearby establishments. With another of his stupid friends acting as his second, he and the offending gentleman were this minute preparing to count to ten, then turn and shoot.
Hannah had overheard everything, seeing as the young gentlemen had left the house roaring their plan for all the staff to hear. Deeply drunk, all of them, of course.
“Where, Hannah?” Jo asked. “Where?”
“He s-said not to tell you, miss.” Hannah was softly weeping.
“But you will tell me,” Jo tried not to shake her.
Within minutes, she was on her horse, galloping through the fading darkness towards the clearing at the top of the hill. Praying she would not be too late.
…
She knew that Justin was mad with grief over what could have been, but this duel would not bring him the attention he so desperately needed from his father. For one thing, Papa was dead. There would be more ignoring Justin from now on than there had ever been before.
Still, Justin was a fool and, worse, a man, and he did not think: he acted.
And if he had already killed the stupid man who had dared to laugh at him, there would be nothing but exile for her brother. Supposing, of course, that he avoided the gallows.
As her horse crested the hill, she saw the silhouettes of four gentlemen, preparing to duel or already beginning to, cast against the dawn. A cluster of more gentlemen was standing to the side—her brother’s idiotic crowd of London friends, no doubt.That arrogant young duke, Ashton, and his diabolically beautiful Adonis of a friend, Lord Ingram, a marquis’ son among them, no doubt. Justin had not been so bad until he had fallen in with that crowd. Those unscrupulous, rakish men, who thought the whole world belonged to them just because of their titles and riches.
They were now looking on, indifferently, as her brother was becoming a murderer, not lifting a finger to stop him. They disgusted her, all of them. Jo reined her horse in with a mastery she wished she could apply to reining in her thoughts, and galloped on. When she reached the top, she did not even bother tethering the horse to a tree; she just ran.
When she reached them, her brother was lowering his sword, crossing his opponent’s expertly, if a little unsteadily. His face was cold, with barely any emotion, but his eyes were steely and focused. In a split second, she knew that he would aim that sword straight for his opponent’s heart.
And he would not miss.
She leapt.
Jo wasn’t afraid of a little swordplay—she was much better at it than Justin, and only a little better than Laurie. But currently, she had no sword. Only her hands. So those would have to do.
