B006O3T9DG EBOK (60 page)

She reminded him, “Darcy is hardly dull-witted. I dare say that if he has not come too my bed, he shall be unconvinced that he fathered my child....”

“What would he deny? There would be no open accusation. It would be nothing but gossip.”

Her expression said she was pondering the possibility.

Wanting to clarify his design, he said, “No doubt, he would pay us handsomely for the rumours to desist.”

She did not notice that his pronoun was now plural. Her shoulders were tense, her chin, elevated as she bethought the scheme. It was important for him to disrupt her obvious loyalty to Darcy. He saw no reason for it.

“You must see that Darcy is not the man you believed. Whilst you writhe under the cruel hand of your husband, he diddles his wife. He does not deserve your regard.”

After a moment of thought, she bid him, “Do you know
her
?”

He hesitated before admitting, “Yes, I met her before her illustrious marriage. More of a wit than a beauty as I recall.”

She announced, “His marriage was most unexpected.”

“Indeed,” he agreed. Then he could not help but crow, “She once set her cap for me. I saw nothing in her that I esteemed. I cannot account for Darcy’s taste. He is a cold fish.”

Alistair might be of his acquaintance, but she surmised that he did not, indeed, know Darcy.

“There is one certainty,” she said. “The more I entreat him to come to me, the less apt he is to do so. I must desist.”

Alistair’s plan seemed flawless. They would play both sides against the middle. She would extort her husband to tell the world that he was the father of her child, and extort Darcy to tell them he was not. It was sheer brilliance! Tricky, but brilliant.

Abruptly, she recollected an unhappy fact.

She said, “The Darcy I know will not bow to extortion of any kind.”

Alistair wilted. It was true. However proud of the Darcy name, it could not be presumed that Darcy would bend to threats. Fie! Foiled at every turn. Suddenly a thought occurred to Alistair, one of stunning simplicity.

“You lay with him how long ago? How would he know if you did or did not have a child by him then? I propose this: if he does not come to you now, your can claim a child from your prior liaisons.”

Alistair seemed to relish concocting unscrupulous subterfuges. Indeed, he came up with them seemingly at will. It was no wonder he was so valuable to a politician. However, Juliette was losing her taste for it all. Still, she was so exceedingly determined to see Darcy again that she was grasping at straws. There was no method she would not employ if it would persuade him to come to her. She mulled over the notion of claiming a child by him. That was not a negotiation he would charge to his solicitor. She believed with all her heart that once he was within the comfort of her chambers, their previous association would be rekindled.

She said with finality, “My scruples look fondly on seduction, but become unwieldy at outright blackmail, especially if it is based on a lie. Should a man produce a bastard, it is only fair for him to compensate the mother. Conjuring this child from whole cloth does not suit my own particular notion of morality.”

Alistair turned away. She could see that he was hiding his amusement.

Had he been of greater sensibility, she might have attempted to explain that, unlike politicians, some harlots had honour. No matter how hard, some hearts could be injured. The hurt she felt when Darcy turned her away had not faded. When she had come to him, the only help he offered was that which would be at no cost to his dignity.

Darcy must pay for that conceit, by hook or by crook—but not by Alistair.

When it came to revenge, it was best served cold.

Chapter 80

Duelling Duo

Sally had seen some marvellous things in her young life, but watching quality folk making big fools of themselves in broad daylight beat everything else hands down. She saw that right off.

When the shrieks of terror rang out, Bingley seemed to have known instinctively what was to occur. Although Beecher was half of the fray, Bingley did not call to his brother-in-law. Rather, he called to Major Kneebone, rightly assuming that, as the more dangerous of the two, he must be contained first.

Although she had seen many a fight, Sally had never witnessed a real duel. Still, she understood its governing principles. This was to be a gun fight (which meant it would be high on excitement but short on finesse). The rules for such an encounter were well known. The combatants were to stand back to back, walk a specified number of paces and on command, turn and shoot. If the first shot missed its mark, the second man was free to take his shot in his own time.

Whereas their group arrived just after the initial calling out, they only witnessed what came next.

Kneebone was clearly prepared to respect these time honoured stipulations; Beecher was of a different mind. Cowering, he refused to engage whatsoever.

Waving his pistol in the air, a very inebriated Major Hugh Kneebone screamed, “You cowardly snake! You adulterous wife-thief!”

Beecher responded, his tone wheedling, “I implore you sir! If I have offended, I beg leave to apologise.”

The crowd about them was growing larger by the moment (plain folk, always happy as Sally, to observe two gentlemen behaving as if a pair of rakehells). Only when Bingley took charge of Kneebone’s hand and the gun in it, did Beecher stand. Now out of immediate danger, Beecher’s first attempt to ameliorate the accusations flung at him was to cast blame upon his diet.

“My reprehensible behaviour is, no doubt, the fault of my cook. I am fed a daily diet of truffles and oysters. I shall beat her the moment we return....”

Kneebone was not appeased by such nonsense. His cheeks flushed, his hair askew, his bony wrists protruding from the sleeves of his coat; he looked less like an officer in His Majesty’s army than a farm boy done wrong at the fair. His eyes were glassy; his demeanour still menacing. Tugging on his arm, Bingley repeatedly called his name, but to no avail.

Only after resorting to slapping his cheeks, did Bingley at last obtain his attention.

“He is not worth the bother,” said Bingley. “You must think of your family!”

Sally had seen men gone mad before. She observed such to Lord Millhouse.

“Off his napper, ain’t he?” she said.

Lord Millhouse agreed, “No seeds in his pumpkin today... soused I’d say.”

“Plain as Persia, dicked in the nob,” she replied.

Lord Millhouse added, “All his dogs aren’t barking....”

“If you
please
,” cried Bingley.

They hushed themselves.

Sally could not resist one more aside. She whispered, “All foam, no ale.”

Lord Millhouse nodded and they both watched closely as Kneebone slowly remembered himself. His chest did not quit heaving in rage and exertion, but he regained his senses. Once Kneebone’s attention was averted, Beecher withdrew a small pistol from his waistcoat and aimed it at Kneebone. Gasps erupted from the crowd. The consensus was that Beecher was not much of a shot and the onlookers scrambled to escape possible gunfire. Other, more hardy types, stayed to watch it play out. Their patience was rewarded.

Beecher hollered, “Your wife is a strumpet, Major! It is all her part! Indeed, she seduced me!”

Bingley was infuriated at his aspersions (however dangerously true they might be).

To Beecher, he hollered, “How dare you sir! You are nothing less than a nefarious tosspot!”

It was no surprise when someone came from behind and hit Beecher over the head with a pot. The weapon was only a piece of crockery taken from a nearby hawker, however it was quite effective. Shards scattered as Beecher tumbled limply to the ground. His forehead dug into the mud; his hinder-parts pointed skyward. As he fell (and for several seconds thereafter), he emitted an extended expulsion of gas. This incited a wild round of laughter from the crowd.

Having the honour of rendering him thus (and still holding the handle of the destroyed pitcher), Lady Millhouse asked them, “Do you think that feist was due to the truffles or the oysters?”

As Beecher appeared to be laid out of his senses, Lord Millhouse grabbed a tankard from an onlooker and threw the ale in his face. It did little to rouse him. Hence, it was left to the gentlemen to take care of him and he and Bingley each clasped an arm.

Bingley hissed to a footman, “Get the coach!”

With the utmost rapidity (and very little fanfare) Bingley’s coach was drawn up. When the door flew open, it was not by a footman’s hand, but Darcy’s.

Bingley was exultant to see his friend, “Darcy, you seem arrive at the most propitious moments!”

Wasting no time with pointless questions, the moment he gained the ground, Darcy grabbed one of Beecher’s legs (the other bobbed along the ground quite on its own). It was, after all, only fitting that such an odious duty was not left to servitors, but carried out by true men of honour. It was the least they could do for the reputation of an actual gentleman.

“I am here quite by chance,” Darcy said as they walked.

As they had to struggle to lug Beecher’s surprisingly obese person to the coach, Fitzwilliam held open the coach door. They did not speak again until the loathsome chore was done.

“On three,” Bingley said. “One, two, and
three
!”

Beecher landed in the bed of the coach much as he had on the ground. This time when he landed, his rump emitted only a single “toot.”

As the men dusted their gloves of any leftover residue of Beecher’s person, they spoke as if they had just lifted a dirty hamper into the coach. Darcy did not inquire what came to pass.

Instead, he explained to Bingley, “It is Fitzwilliam who said we must observe what sort of stock could be found here. We were quite disappointed at Maidenhead. The man had no colts. Indeed, he had nothing but foals.”

———

It was said that Lord Winton Beecher came to his senses halfway to town. The Bingleys abandoned Beecher and Caroline to ride alone to London. Taking a stand, Charles announced to his sister that his children would no longer be subjected to her husband’s abhorrent behaviour. Having missed the accusatory portion of the conflagration, Caroline feverishly questioned her husband as to why Kneebone was so determined to have a duel. In the past, such events occurred due to financial transgressions. Stone-faced, Beecher kept his own counsel on the matter, only altering his slouched position when he was overcome by a retch.

Whilst Jane fretted over Caroline’s public humiliation, Bingley washed his hands of it. He would not allow so small a thing as near-murder ruin his day at the races.

“Caroline made her bed....” he reminded Jane. “We have done all we can.”

He and his family meant to stay in Newmarket the rest of the week, happy to be unencumbered by loutish relatives.

The last Sally saw of Kneebone was as he was taken away in Mr. Darcy’s coach. It was a disappointment for her to see such a good and honourable man as the Major be driven to such ends, particularly through the agency of his inconstant wife. It was said that Mr. Darcy meant to return Kneebone to Chelsea. In the time he was there, Mr. Darcy took no notice of her. That was of no great surprise. That gentleman had much on his mind. It would fall to him to console and admonish Major Kneebone and, no doubt, censure Mrs. Kneebone too. A thankless duty that.