Page 78 of Avenging the Earl's Lady
Chapter 19
Shaldon peered out the coach window, but all he could see were the riders escorting them.
“Are we late, sir?”Penderbrook asked.His voice had been strong when they left Mayfair.Now the words came as though strained through a sieve.
Charley’s mount moved out of the way and he spotted a group across the field: three men—no a fourth and fifth hovered along the sidelines.
Penderbrook’s eyes widened and he put his hand to his mouth.
“We are in good time,” Shaldon said.“You will stay near the coach with Charles and Bakeley.I am going to talk to his second.He will want to use a saber or broadsword, but I’m going to argue for our lighter weapons.”The heavier sword would benefit the heavier man, Payne-Elsdon.He had hopes, after Bakeley’s report, that, should Penderbrook’s stomach prove iron-clad, the young man could carry on at least for a bit with the small sword.It appeared that the scholarly vicar hadn’t neglected that part of a young gentleman’s training.
When the coach stopped, he pushed open the door and let Penderbrook stumble out first.
Kincaid reached into the coach from the other side and picked up the two sheathed blades.“Heis here.”
Angry energy simmered in him.He drew in a breath, thinking of Jane, of her loveliness their night together, of her passion, and her grief.She needed a champion today.The energy must be kept, the anger let go.
He straightened his coat and looked at the terrain.Payne-Elsdon had claimed a high ground for his headquarters.The field in between their carriage and his position was grassy and probably dotted with hidden holes.
A Captain Shaw had replied to the rigorously polite letter Shaldon had written the Major making the arrangements, following the proper etiquette for this nonsense.Through the night and wee hours, a back and forth of missives had ensued, with Shaw agreeing to make a final judgment on the precise choice of weapon before the match began.
As he approached the group across the field, a thin mustachioed man broke away from the Major and walked toward him.He was pale and patting his mouth also.
Excellent.
Shaldon bowed and ignored the hand offered for shaking.He turned and beckoned Kincaid.
“I am Shaldon,” he said.“Are you Shaw?”
“Yes.”
“We have brought theepees.”
Kincaid stepped forward and unsheathed both weapons.
Shaw glanced at them.“As I informed you, the Major claims the choice of weapon.He wishes to fight with a broadsword.”
“He is the man who delivered the gravely unnecessary insult.”Shaldon leveled a hard gaze at him.“An uncivilized, ungentlemanly, and uncouth insult.The Major is the stronger man, is he not?And yet he plots to overmatch his opponent with a heavy weapon?Is he afraid of his challenger’s skills, or is he just a murderous bully?”
A green pall came over the man.He took the proffered weapon and bowed.“I shall talk to the Major.”
“Had a bit of the bottle himself, do you think?”Kincaid murmured.
Not far from the Major and Shaw, a dark-suited man, probably their surgeon, was biding his time.The fourth man on the field today, paunchy and over-dressed, stood off to one side, a liveried guard nearby.
“Are you keeping an eye on thatepee, Kincaid?”Charles had stepped up next to them.
“Aye.If he does anything more than slide his fingers down it and whisk it in the air, I’ll throw a dagger into his gullet.I don’t trust the bastard not to cheat.”
The paunchy fourth man turned his gaze on Shaldon, a piercing silver challenge as sharp as the sword Payne-Elsdon was fondling.Their eyes locked in a contest of wills he was determined to win.
Step up, man.Step up.He’d waited these many years for the Duque de San Sebastian to step up.
“Let me shoot him, Father,” Charles said.“Queasy as I am, I can make the shot.”
The Duque de San Sebastian had once gravely insulted Charles’s wife.
“That would be murder, and this is my fight,” he said, keeping his eye on the Duque.“Nauseous, are you, Charles?”
