The Wedding Duel (The Dueling Pistols Series) (9 page)

Victor's brown eyes narrowed. "Her lifetime?"

Keene shifted uneasily.

"Perhaps we should join George in his cups so all these confidences seem less painful."

"You do not look healthy enough to indulge."

"These concerns for my health overwhelm me." Sarcasm laced Victor's voice.

None of Keene's apologies and explanations would mend the wound in Victor's shoulder. Remorse sat heavily on Keene. He stood. "I should leave. Your servant, sir."

"Sit down. I have no company. George has disowned me and everyone else is out of town. I am heartily bored with myself."

"Would you care for a game of whist?" offered Keene.

"I should. I see you have announced your engagement in the
paper
."

"Yes."

"Shall you care to introduce me to your bride?"

"After she is my wife."

Victor grinned. "This is quite sudden. Where did you meet her?"

"I have known her all my life. She is my cousin."

"So when shall you marry her?"

"Three weeks from yesterday."

"So fast? Is there a rush?"

Keene frowned as he dealt the cards he'd retrieved from the cluttered dresser. "No. She is as pure as I found her."

"You disappoint me."

"I promised her father."

"So why the hurry? It's rather fast upon Richard's passing."

Keene shrugged. It was indecently fast considering his brother had only been dead three months.

"Amelia's parents tried to convince George to marry sooner, right after he proposed."

Keene hadn't heard that before. He looked up at Victor.

"Said they wished to have her settled before they traveled to Europe."

Keene vaguely remembered George complaining that his in-laws hadn't taken a trip they had said they would take, but then shortly afterward Amelia's father had passed away and their intention to travel was irrelevant.

"Perhaps if he'd allowed himself to be persuaded sooner or been less honorable in his behavior toward Amelia we should not have this mess on our hands."

Keene closed his eyes. George had wanted to believe the child was his. He'd even commented during Amelia's pregnancy that he thought there might be twins, she was growing so large so soon. George had believed the child was his long after the rest of them grew suspicious. In fact, his complete confidence that the child—or children—was his convinced Keene that Amelia's pregnancy was of George's making.

"And if you should find your bride had need of a timely wedding, what will you do?"

Keene tugged at his lip.

Victor watched with a mixture of wary trepidation and curiosity.

"I should not do anything."

"Would you want to know? Personally, I should prefer to leave the matter in question. I should have liked to think the baby might be George's." Victor shifted and pain lanced down from his torn shoulder. "Go away, man. I need to rest."

"Are you sure?"

Victor wanted to throw something at him. At the same time, his rage toward Keene was sliding away. He wanted to hang on to it, yet he didn't want to throw away the friendship that had bound them since they were children. It was just his luck that a man he considered one of his closest friends would try to kill him over a woman. Or, not just a woman, but a woman whose situation tore at the illusions that held them all sane.

Now there was a baby. His baby, yet not his. Why hadn't Amelia told him?

And as Victor stared at the ceiling in his room he wondered if it would have made any difference to him then. He honestly didn't know.

Sophie ran through the frost-tipped grass to the stables. "Where is she?" she demanded of the first groom she saw.

"Which one, miss?"

"The one that is to be mine."

"I don't rightly know. They's in the last two stalls past Thunder and Lightning."

Sophie lifted the skirts of her morning gown as she stepped around the rakings. She should have changed into her riding habit and boots. She would as soon as she got a look at the horse her papa had bought as her marriage gift.

When she learned the news from her mother, she'd been too impatient to wait. Actually, she'd hoped to catch her father before he left on his morning ride, but she didn't see him in the dim light of the stables.

She found the two horses toward the end of the row. Both gleamed in brown glory, but one was older than the other. Sophie moved to the younger of the two horses. Surely this was to be hers. The young mare raised her sleek velvety nose and nudged Sophie, looking for a treat. "I'm sorry, love. I shall bring you an apple next time."

The mare's large brown eyes appeared to accept her as Sophie reached to stroke the nose of the horse.

A commotion at the far end of the stable caused the horse to shy back violently only to start and roll its eyes.

Sophie shushed the horse. "I know, my pretty, it is all strange and new. I bet you need to get out and run free."

The other horse cast a disinterested glance in their direction. The young mare allowed Sophie to stroke her nose and soothe her. One of the grooms swept by her, and the horse shied away again. "What's her name?"

"'Ey tell me her's Salamanca and that one is Daisy."

Daisy, the other new horse, looked like a Daisy, placid and tame. "What kind of a name is Salamanca?"

The boy shrugged. "I guess her's named after the battle."

"It's a silly name for a horse."

"I'm going to have to lead her outside to the paddock so I can muck out her stall."

"I'll take her out for a quick ride. She needs the exercise to gentle her. Go get me a saddle, please."

"I'm not sure you should do that, miss," said the groom skeptically.

"Sure I should. She is to be mine, after all. Poor thing is confused and frightened in a whole new place. She shall be better for being ridden. Besides, she likes me, see."

The horse edged forward, allowing Sophie access to her flank. Sophie rewarded the mare with long soothing strokes. The groom shook his head.

"Go on and fetch me a saddle. I should hate to have to tell Quigsby I had to do it myself." Sophie smiled at the boy, but she knew he would do her bidding when she threatened to report him to the head groom.

He grumbled as he put on the saddle. "If you please, miss, I'll be just a minute to fetch me a 'orse."

"No need. I shall just trot her up the drive and back. We shall be gone no longer than it takes you to sweep her stall. I'm not really dressed for riding."

Sophie led the young mare outside into the yard. The horse shied and twitched, tossing its head.

"Come, love, I bet you haven't been ridden in a week." Sophie led the mare to the mounting block, stroking the sleek brown coat. "You are such a pretty thing." The horse was all smooth muscle and bundled energy. "I do not like the name Salamanca. I shall call you Grace."

Sophie shifted into the saddle, and Grace took off without waiting for her rider to settle. Sophie managed to get her foot in the stirrup as the horse ran forward. Grace was not of a mind to follow the drive so Sophie let her have her head as they took off across a field toward the woods. Once Grace burned off some energy, Sophie would steer her onto a bridle path.

Only, directing Grace proved harder than expected. Sophie gave a solid jerk on the reins, trying to wrest control from the headstrong horse. Grace reared.

Sophie pitched forward and held on for dear life. She considered herself too good a horsewoman to be thrown. Grace came back on all fours and careened through the trees.

"Dear God, why are you riding that unbroken horse?"

Sophie whipped her head around to see Mr. Ponsby galloping his horse behind her.

"Hello, to you," she yelled back. "She's just a little nervous with the new surroundings."

"Sophie, I was with your father when he bought her. She is not broken yet. I was coming over to speak with your father about her training."

Sophie tried again to steer the horse toward the path. Between her efforts at redirecting the horse and Ponsby's approach, Grace took exception.

"Stop that horse!" shouted Ponsby.

Grace bucked.

Sophie had the bizarre thought as she tumbled forward that if she had not been braced for Grace to rear, she should not be watching her skirts fly over her head and about to have an intimate meeting with the ground.

She seemed to be in the air an extraordinarily long time. Ponsby cried out her name. Then the ground jarred every part of her from her head down.

Grace gave an hysterical neigh and then there was silence. Images swam before Sophie's eyes, and she shut them rather than allowing the motion to make her sick.

When she opened them again Ponsby was over her, or rather, two Ponsbys leaned over her as if one were not enough. At first she heard his pleas as if he were far away.

"Sophie, please say something. Sophie!"

"I'm all right."

Ponsby moaned.

Sophie wasn't sure the words had come out as she thought them. Ponsby didn't seem too reassured. She raised an arm and put her hand on his shoulder. He pulled her hand between his own and kissed it.

He stroked her hair. "Talk to me, Sophie."

"Everything is fuzzy."

"Oh, dear Lord," muttered the squire. "I need to get you home. You landed on your head."

Why should she move when everything around her was moving? "I should like to lie here a moment, please. I shall be fine in a trice."

"Are you sure?"

She nodded, which hurt, so she closed her eyes.

As senses and sensations returned, Sophie was aware that her legs were quite cold. She shivered. Her teeth rattled painfully in her head.

Ponsby tore off his coat and draped it over her. Sophie tried to sit. The movement made her dizzy. She clutched at Ponsby's shirt as she lay back down, uncertain the ground would be there. Everything swung around at an alarming rate.

Ponsby ran his large hands first over her head and then over her body. She should stop him, but Sophie was more concerned with simple things like getting the world to stop tilting.

"I do not think you have broken anything. Where does it hurt?"

The question didn't make sense to her although she knew it should, but everything seemed fuzzy, even her thoughts.

"Sophie, look at me."

She tried to obey as his large beefy hands framed her face. At least only one image of him remained. "I landed on my head?"

"I shouldn't have shouted at you."

"It's my fault. I do not blame you. I thought that . . ." Sophie forgot what she had meant to say.

"Yes?"

She frowned. Something about, "Marriage?"

"Why are you marrying him?"

"Keene?"

"Your father doesn't like him."

Sophie felt bad that her refusal had wounded the squire, but not so bad that she wanted to comfort him when her head was pounding like a regimental drum. And that reminded her of her punishment when she'd refused Sir Gresham's suit. She didn't want to spend the next week on bread and water. Lately, she'd spent far too much time confined in her room for all sorts of unclear transgressions.

"We can't ever tell Papa about this." Sophie grabbed the squire's shoulders. "Just like that first time I drove out with you to the old abbey. Please, swear to me you'll never tell."

The squire looked confused. Sophie's head swam.

"Please, Papa should be so upset with me if he ever learns of my fall from Grace."

"If it doesn't work out with your cousin, my offer still stands. I know that you are so very high above me, but I should wish for nothing more than the honor of being your husband."

Sophie hugged the burly man. What else could she do?

* * *

Daniel Farthing gripped the reins so tightly he could feel the bite of leather through his gloves. Tears sprang to his eyes as he recoiled at the sight of Sophie and Ponsby on the ground. Where had he gone wrong?

He'd tried so very hard to raise his daughter right, but Sophie had shown an alarming tendency to indulge in pleasures of the flesh from the earliest moment when she would rub her fluffy crib blanket against her cheek. He remembered her tiny hands as she sat on his lap and tugged on his ear or hair. Always so busy, always touching and feeling things as if seeing wasn't enough.

He should have married her off sooner. Thank God he had not let her go to London for a season where her tendencies could have drawn her into worse trouble. A month ago when he had watched her sneak stealthily from Sir Gresham's room, terror had struck his heart. His daughter in a man's bedroom in the middle of the night!

He had heard the baronet's low moans, ending some time before she crept out. The noise had woken him from a sound sleep.