Part 42 (1/2)

Horrified, Francesca crouched down to gather the shards that had been the vase. The biggest unbroken piece was the base, and as she reached for it, she saw a lumpy white package still stuffed inside. With care she pulled the package free, a lady's fine linen handkerchief knotted with a note scribbled on a sc.r.a.p of Francesca's own drawing paper.

Given to you Little Robin to ease your way in London

Yr. Friend Emma Ldy H.

A gift from Lady Hamilton, hastily tucked inside the vase when Francesca had been packing her belongings, a gift impulsive and innocent but also as generous as the giver, a gift of value enough to help stave off a refugee's poverty. With fingers made clumsy by excitement, Francesca unknotted the handkerchief and pulled the makes.h.i.+ft bundle apart.

And into her lap tumbled the dead queen's diamond plume, all glitter and folly.

”Francesca, my girl,” rumbled her uncle crossly from the doorway behind her, his cane tapping with impatience as he leaned on the footman's arm. ”I am tired of waiting for you to come to me, and we have too much to say for us to wait any longer. Come, come, and tell me the truth. What mischief have you fallen into? Are you in fact wed to the Duke of Harborough?”

Swiftly Francesca tucked the diamond brooch into her pocket before she turned toward him, knowing that even with her uncle there must be degrees of truth.

”Yes, Uncle Peac.o.c.k, I am married to the Duke of Harborough,” she confessed. ”But oh, santo cialo, that is only the beginning....”

It was a corner of St. James's Park much favored by navy officers for settling affairs of honor. A small hill combined with a copse of trees offered some measure of privacy, yet the tall brick chimneys of Whitehall with the Admiralty's telegraph tower were just visible in the distance, oddly comforting in times like these. Snow had fallen in the night, just enough to dust over the winter gra.s.s and ice the bare branches of the trees and make a bleak landscape even more stark in the gray morning light.

”Cheerful sort of morning you've picked, Ned,” grumbled William, blowing into his cupped hands to warm them. ”Colder than a witch's t.i.t.”

Edward's smile was obligatory as he leaned back against the leather squabs of the chaise. The chill of the morning suited him, as did the colorless landscape. Duels often began with heated tempers, but like the battles he'd fought at sea, they were won with cold reason and an icy composure. He must focus his anger, narrow it to build his concentration instead of scattering it. He'd only have one shot from that beautifully crafted pistol. He needed to make it count. There'd be time enough later to sit before the fire with his boots off to warm his feet and Francesca on his lap to warm the rest.

If, of course, there was a later. And d.a.m.nation, he couldn't let himself think of Francesca, or he'd never get through this.

”Remember what I've told you about McCray,” said William hurriedly as the chaise began its final lurching path down the hillside. ”I've heard he's fought a score of duels in the West Indies, dishonorable scuffles in tavern-yards, but enough to make him a c.o.c.ky b.a.s.t.a.r.d now. Because he's near blind in his right eye, he'll use his left to aim, and cross his right arm over his chest. You won't have much of his s.h.i.+rt to shoot for. And odds are he'll have found his courage in a bottle, too, so as soon as you take your pistols, be wary of a jumped start or misfire. He'll cheat any way he can. He's like that, scarce what you'd call a gentleman, and for the life of me I still can't say why he's meeting you like this.”

”Because he believes I've had too much good luck in my life, while he has had none,” said Edward dryly. ”I daresay he feels the imbalance should be corrected, beginning with insulting my wife.”

But this will be the last time, Francesca my love, the last time, I swear....

”If he kills you,” said William grimly, ”he'll learn about true bad luck. Spencer himself will make sure he'll spend the rest of his days on land on half-pay.”

Edward smiled. ”That makes me almost wish to be killed, just from spite.”

”For G.o.d's sake, don't even make jests like that,” ordered Will with a grimace. ”No use in tempting fate. Blast, look at all the gawkers!”

As the chaise drew to a stop, Edward could see the small crowd that had gathered to watch. Word had traveled fast overnight. They were mostly men in dark boat-cloaks and captain's hats, the ribbon c.o.c.kades standing out like bristling little birds against he snow, though Edward couldn't guess whether they'd come in support or simply for entertainment. There was also a smattering of other gentlemen in the group, stomping their feet in the snow like horses trying to keep warm, and a handful of boys darting among the men. Horses had been tethered at a respectful distance, where they wouldn't bolt at the gunshots, and footmen and drivers sat on the roofs of their parked chaises and coaches to get a better view.

”It's like a d.a.m.ned circus,” said Edward. The other duels he'd fought had been small, private affairs on foreign beaches, without any scandal or fas.h.i.+on attached, nothing like this. ”What a pity McCray didn't choose swords, so we could give them all a better show.”

”If it had been swords, McCray would have backed down,” said William with a sniff of contempt. ”No skill or talent to pointing a pistol and blasting a man's fool head away.”

”Ah, words of true comfort,” said Edward wryly as the footman hopped down to unlatch the door. ”Now come, time to give them all the blood and thunder they're hoping for.”

But William paused, holding his fist out to Edward. ”Mates forever,” he said softly. ”Good luck, Ned.”

Edward smiled, and tapped his fist to his friend's, their old boyhood signal. ”Mates forever. And I don't intend to rely upon luck.”

He climbed down with his head high and the slightest of smiles on his lips, terribly conscious of how every head turned to watch him and how the murmur of excited conversation seemed to wash around him like a lapping wave. He felt like a Drury Lane player who'd just made his entrance, and he understood now why William had insisted they come in the chaise, instead of walking across the park from Harborough House as Edward had suggested.

A king's officer cannot simply stroll to his affair of honor, William had argued, not like some rustic farmer off to his fields, and besides, there was the surgeon to consider. Considering the surgeon had been William's discreet way of not mentioning a body, much to Edward's macabre amus.e.m.e.nt. But he did have to admit that the chaise would be far more convenient for hauling away a mangled corpse, especially with such a bloodthirsty crowd eager to see exactly that.