Page 3 of Fit for a Duke
‘Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘have we exhausted all avenues of mitigation in this affair?’
‘We have,’ Henry and Carstairs said simultaneously.
‘Very well. Do we have a physician present?’
An elderly man with stooped shoulders and unsteady legs who had obviously been bribed to attend and looked as though he would benefit from the attentions of a doctor himself, stepped forward. His breath smelt of whisky.
‘Is that the best we can do?’ Ezra asked in a quiet aside to Carstairs’ second. The man shrugged, seemingly unconcerned.
‘Very well then.’ Ezra sighed. ‘Pistols at twenty paces.’ The pistols were produced by Carstairs’ second.
‘I say! Mighty fine weapons,’ Henry enthused.
‘Like ’em, do you?’ Carstairs replied. ‘Handed down from the grandfather, don’t you know.’
‘Civil of you to provide them.’
‘It was the least I could do.’
Ezra marvelled at the casually polite exchange between two men who were intent upon blowing one another’s brains out. If this was the way that society settled disputes, Ezra congratulated himself upon having little taste for the rigmarole. The combatants chose their weapons while chatting amiably about the forthcoming house party that Henry had just referred to.
Ezra glanced at Carstairs’ second, wondering if he too found the entire situation ridiculous, but the man behaved as though it was the most natural thing in the world. For all the animosity that didn’t exist between Henry and Carstairs, the two of them could be passing the time of day at White’s or sitting down to a game of cards. Ezra wanted to knock their heads together and tell them not to be ridiculous. He himself had not had the pleasure of making Miss Hardwick’s acquaintance but was absolutely sure that she wasn’t worth dying for.
‘Back to back, gentlemen,’ he said, when he could no longer avoid carrying out his duties as second, ‘make your paces, turn and fire.’
Ezra’s heart was in his mouth as he watched his friend’s confident stride. Henry was much more than a mere friend to Ezra and he didn’t know how he would manage without him. They had been inseparable since their childhood days when they caused havoc on the Wickham estate, playing tricks on gardeners and keepers alike, falling from trees and breaking bones in tumbles from ponies.
Eton and Oxford followed, then the horrors of the war against Napoleon.
They had come through their escapades with barely a scratch to show for it. Could Henry’s romantic nature finally be his undoing? Miss Hardwick was the third lady whom Henry had fallen desperately and irrevocably in love with that season alone, and his passions never endured.
Ezra, finding himself unexpectedly in the position of stepping into his dead brother’s shoes, had been in mourning for his father and brother and therefore had a valid excuse to avoid society. The only disadvantage was that he hadn’t been on hand to steer Henry clear of dangerous romantic waters.
Ezra had spent the two years since Waterloo hiding himself away and getting to grips with his inherited duties. Even his mother, hard to gainsay and determined to see her son married, could not fault the show of respect that Ezra demonstrated for a man he had neither liked nor respected. His father had been profligate, scattering bastard children carelessly in his wake after every liaison he’d entered into and showing little or no affection towards his wife. He was renowned for his wild behaviour and yet got away with it without criticism simply because he was a duke.
A leader in an elevated position who had failed in his duty to enhance the status of the aristocracy as a whole.
Ezra was determined to plough a very different path, which is why he would not enter into a suitable yet loveless marriage, as his father before him had done. But finding someone he would be willing to spend the rest of his life with without feeling the urge to stray was likely to be challenging.
And a decision he would be willing to defer indefinitely.
But, he thought, sighing, he was approaching thirty and the time had come. This summer, he would do the round of the house parties and make a choice before he died of boredom.
He absolutely would.
The sound of shots and the lingering smell of cordite in the air brought Ezra’s thoughts back to the here and now. Both men had fired and Ezra had been too withdrawn to even notice. Both were still standing. And yet blood spurted on the white of Carstairs’ shirt and Henry swore as he clutched his arm.
Upon closer inspection, neither man appeared to be seriously injured. The doctor shook his head, swigged from a flask that he produced from his pocket, returned to his carriage and had it drive off without even bothering to attend to their wounds.
‘Did we pay him?’ Ezra asked Carstairs’ second. ‘If so, we should demand a refund.’
‘They are neither of them badly hurt,’ the man replied, nodding towards the combatants, who had just shaken hands and agreed that the matter had been honourably settled. They then proceeded to compare wounds. Even Ezra couldn’t help laughing as he bound the scratch on Henry’s arm with a handkerchief.
‘If you were aiming for his heart then you are an even worse shot than I realised,’ Ezra said as he and Henry walked away, remounted and rode off in search of breakfast.
‘I was aiming at the ground,’ Henry replied cheerfully, ‘but my hand shook.’
‘Firing at the sky too good for you?’
