Page 34 of Too Wylde To Tame
“Explain yourself,” Phinneas demanded. “And do not bother with your lies about my sister in law having formed an understanding with you. I was there the day you all but accosted her outside Hatchard’s and I know that was your first meeting.”
Oliver manufactured an expression of innocence. “Did I accost her? Or did I simply arrive for our scheduled assignation only to be discovered by you? You have naught but her word, after all. And who would believe a woman?”
The vicar shook his head. “If this man claims to have an agreement with the lady, regardless of what I may feel about the validity of such a claim, it must be properly investigated before a marriage ceremony can proceed.”
“A duel,” Welbey said.
Oliver blinked in shock. “Pardon?”
“You have besmirched the honor of my intended and insulted us both. You have publicly uttered untruths that are damaging to her and to me… I challenge you, Mr. Kent, to meet me on the field of honor.”
Ollie stepped back to reassess his course. That was not one of the outcomes he had predicted.
“I will serve as your second,” Randford offered, the entire notion suddenly rolling down hill like a boulder with nothing in its path.
To Ollie, Randford continued, “As you came only accompanied by one of London’s worst gossip and the woman purported to be your mistress, we can have Davenport stand as your second if you are amenable. Do you prefer blades or pistols?”
Ollie held up his hands. It was all progressing so quickly and all of it was decidedly out of his control. “Surely this is not necessary. We are all gentlemen and can reach some agreement!”
Welbey stared at him coldly. For the first time, Ollie thought the man might actually be capable of murder. Paragon or not, he was still a Dartwell. Blood tells, as they always said.
When Welbey spoke, his voice was laced with cold disdain and no small amount of threat. “This is how gentlemen settledisagreements, Kent… and I can assure that we are in irreconcilable disagreement with one another. You have blackened my betrothed’s name, you have done all in your power to ruin our wedding, and I am fairly certain that you had some part to play in my own brother’s recent perfidy which very nearly ended both of our lives.”
Ollie held up his hands in mock supplication as he protested, “Lord Jameson is a man grown. Surely you do not think to hold me accountable for his actions?”
“For his attempt to murder me? No. That was entirely of his own doing, as was his plot to abduct Charity. But had it not been for your goading behavior—”
“Because Charity had the temerity to reject your clumsy, drunken advances,” Randford cut in.
“Just so,” Welbey agreed. “And Jameson only turned his attentions to her because you pointed her out to him. I saw you that night at the ball, the pair of you scheming together as you watched her. You no doubt urged him to behave ruinously with her out of nothing but pettiness and the spite of your own wounded pride. So let us see an end to this, at last, in the most definitive way possible.”
Ollie smirked with false bravado. “Dueling is illegal, my lord. You have never broken a law in your life. Surely you do not mean to start now? Even if you were to win our duel, you’d be ruined. As would your betrothed!”
“I’m already ruined,” Miss Wylde said, speaking for the first time since they’d filed into the cleric’s study. “I was ruined the moment you stepped into this church and spread your lies. Regardless of what the truth is and whatever outcome derives from this challenge that has been issued, the gossip will spread. Do not think to cower behind my reputation now when it was you who placed it in jeopardy to start.”
“And unlike you, Mr. Kent, I can invoke the privilege of peerage,” Welbey said with a smugness that was more reminiscent of his brother than anything he’d displayed to date. “I will never see the inside of the gaol, but the same cannot be said for you.”
“I repeat, Kent, pistols or blades?” Randford insisted once more.
He was backed into a corner. He’d underestimated Welbey and was now paying the price for it. While he had all the trappings of being a gentleman, he didn’t have the title or even a distant connection to one. His education had been sufficient to get by in society and to make the most of the small inheritance his stepfather had left him, at least for a while. But he didn’t have years of training in fencing or shooting. He was no man of leisure to have devoted his time to such pursuits. There was no question that Welbey surpassed him in both areas. Cunning could only take a man so far when he didn’t have the skills to back it up.
“Perhaps I was hasty in making such a claim,” he said, relenting. “I might have misinterpreted Miss Wylde’s interest.”
“I slapped you for your insolence, sir. That cannot be misinterpreted.” She uttered the contradiction primly but with no small amount of temper evident in her voice.
“Indeed. That is precisely what I saw when I emerged from the shop just down the street,” Randford seconded.
Welbey’s glacial stare remained locked on him, “You have two choices, Kent. You may retract everything you’ve said here. Publicly. Beginning with the assembled congregation. Or you can choose your weapon.”
The vicar stepped in. “Sir, if you wish to retract your objection under the circumstances that you clearly misunderstood the young lady’s wishes, I will be happy to aid you as you relay that to the congregation.”
It was an offer in compromise and Oliver recognized it as such. “I am willing to retract my objection and to openly confess I may have misread the situation.” It was the only way he was getting out of it unscathed.
The vicar nodded. “Come with me, sir, and you may make your announcement. I shall leave the bride and groom here for a moment to compose themselves after such a… well, such an upsetting turn of events. Viscount Randford?”
“I will accompany you, Father, along with Mr. Kent. I fear you have more faith in his honesty than do I.”
The vicar nodded as he and held the door. Left with no choice, Oliver exited the man’s office and prepared to swallow his pride in front of the assembled guests. He was ruined. Financially. Socially. All was lost because Jameson Dartwell was a lousy shot.
