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Norman turned his attention away from Miss Huxtable, his chest swelling visibly as he did so. "And /you/, Sheringford," he said, "have not improved with time. You are as contemptuous of the proprieties as you ever were. You do not even have the decency to keep far away from my dear wife and my brother-in-law. You do not have the decency to keep far away from entertainments such as this, where decent folk have the expectation of being kept safe from scoundrels. I would wager Mrs. Henry did not invite you here this evening." Unlike Miss Huxtable, Norman was making no attempt to pitch his voice below the general level of conversation. He spoke as if he were addressing one of the chambers in the Houses of Parliament, with clear enunciation and eloquent passion. "It has been a pleasure to see you again too, Norm," Duncan said amiably. "Now, if you will excuse us, we will continue on our way to the dining room. Miss Huxtable is in need of refreshments." By a process of elimination, he thought, Turner must be in the dining room. But he would not turn back now and have the morning papers expose him as a coward. "I must demand," Norman said, "that you leave a home that also shelters my wife." Oh, good Lord, the man really ought to be on the stage. "I shall be happy to leave the house, Norm," Duncan said, "when Miss Huxtable informs me that she is ready to return home. Or when my aunt asks me to leave." He looked down at Miss Huxtable and wished he had insisted that she go home earlier. It was unfair to embroil her in this nastiness. The gossip of the last few days would surely be nothing compared to tomorrow's. And here she was, trapped in the middle of it.
Except that, as she had informed him a few minutes ago, he did not have the power to compel her to do anything she did not wish to do. "If you are attempting to attract attention and embarrass your wife, sir," she said quietly to Norman, "you are succeeding admirably. You will excuse us, if you please." And she linked her arm through Duncan's again and drew him in the direction of the dining room – at the exact moment when Randolph Turner, a young lady on each arm, was exiting it.
It was an exquisitely timed moment, Duncan was forced to admit.
Excellent theater. Very few people in the library even pretended any longer not to be eavesdropping. "Turner," Duncan said, and inclined his head.
Turner stopped walking abruptly and blanched.
He looked like the quintessential romantic hero, Duncan thought, looking critically at him while he awaited some reply to his slight greeting. He was tall and well formed, with smooth blond hair, pale blue eyes, a finely chiseled nose, and a sensitive mouth. They had made an extraordinarily handsome couple, he and Laura, who had shared his coloring.
Norman did not wait for his brother-in-law to reply. Instead, he came striding up to stand between Turner and Duncan. "Randolph," he said, "I tried to persuade Sheringford to leave quietly before you were forced to come face-to-face with him. I understand how unspeakably painful this encounter must be to you – and in such a public place too. But he has refused to leave, and so on his own head must be the consequences. There are numerous witnesses, all of whom no doubt share your outrage and mine. No one will blame you for speaking your mind here and now and demanding satisfaction. All will attest to the fact that you were given no alternative." Duncan regarded Turner with raised eyebrows. The man's already pasty complexion acquired the color and consistency of chalk. He stared back at Duncan, his jaw set hard, his eyes inscrutable.
What /did/ one say to the man one had allowed to run off with one's wife without making any attempt to pursue him and run him to earth and throttle the life out of him on the one hand, or to spurn and divorce the faithless wife on the other?
What did one say to the man one must suspect knew all one's deepest, darkest, nastiest secrets? "I loved my wife," Turner said, "more than life itself." The two young ladies drew closer to his sides. One of them gazed worshipfully up at him. The other twined both arms about his.
Duncan nodded. "Yes, she told me all about that," he said. "You had /no right/," Turner said, "to interfere between a man and his lawful wife." Duncan did not turn his head to look, but he would wager a sizable amount that more than one lace-edged handkerchief was being raised to more than one feminine eye in the room behind him. "No /lawful/ right at all," Duncan agreed. "Randolph," Norman said sternly.
Turner glanced at him uneasily and licked his lips. "You will wish to demand satisfaction from the scoundrel," Norman said.
There was a collective feminine gasp from the room.
Miss Huxtable's hand tightened on Duncan's arm. "A duel?" Duncan said. "Have duels been made legal since I was last in London, then, Norm? That is an interesting development. Do you /wish/ to challenge me, Turner? With so many witnesses? Even ladies?" "I – " Turner began. "Of course you do, Randolph," Norman said briskly and firmly. "I will be your second. There is surely not a person here present who would not applaud you for taking such a firm stand with the villain who exposed your sister to public humiliation and destroyed your happy marriage." Someone really ought to find Norman a seat in the House of Commons if he did not wish to be an actor. He would sweep all before him with his oratory. "There is at least one person present who would /certainly/ not applaud such a childish way of settling an old quarrel," Miss Huxtable said. "What on earth will be settled if one of you blows out the brains of the other? I would suggest a rational discussion of your differences – in private." The pervading silence suggested that hers was a minority view It was not an entirely unilateral one, though. "Miss Huxtable," Turner said, fixing his eyes on her. "I presume that is who you are, ma'am, though I regret never having been introduced to you.
You are quite right. Mrs. Henry's home is /not/ the place for such a distasteful confrontation. And it has never been my belief that violence settles anything. Besides – forgive me, ma'am – I do not believe the Earl of Sheringford worthy of the honor of a duel. He has chosen his path to hell and will be allowed to tread it to the end as far as I am concerned. I feel no compulsion to speed him on his way." Now /both/ young ladies were gazing worshipfully at him. Someone in the library stifled a sob. Someone else sniffed quite audibly.
Duncan smiled, his eyes fixed on Turner's. "It has never been your belief that violence settles anything," he said softly. "One can only admire and respect such pacifist views. If you should change your mind, you know where to find me, I do not doubt, though I must caution you that Sir Graham Carling may not be overly delighted to have his home invaded by two belligerent gentlemen – an aggrieved husband and a man who is his relative, though not his brother." Turner's eyes bored back into his own. /Yes, of course I know/, Duncan told him silently. /Did you comfort yourself for one moment in the last five years with the possibility that I did not/? "Randolph," Norman said sharply, "think of your poor late wife if you will. Think of your sister." Duncan looked down at Margaret Huxtable. "Shall we go in pursuit of that lemonade?" he suggested. "A drink would be very welcome indeed," she said, and they proceeded into the dining room after Turner and his entourage had stepped smartly out of the way.
It was clear that the occupants of the dining room had been following the encounter as avidly as those in the library. There was a loud silence as everyone gawked at them, and then everyone turned away and rushed back into merry conversation with one another. "Well," Duncan said, "I hope you are enjoying your public wooing, Miss Huxtable." "If a duel is ever fought," she said, her voice trembling with emotion, "and if one drop of blood is shed on either side, I shall personally kill you." "That," he said, "is mildly illogical, is it not? But I did not realize you cared so deeply." She looked into his eyes and kept her voice low, though it still throbbed with feeling. "That poor man," she said. "Tomorrow, Lord Sheringford, you must call upon him – /if/ he will receive you – and apologize. Most humbly and most sincerely. You wronged him, and while you ca