Reprise by Joan Smith

Author:Joan Smith [Smith, Joan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Regency Romance
Publisher: Belgrave House
Published: 1982-06-27T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

The evening preceding the duel was a cool, damp one. Clarence felt twinges of rheumatism in his elbow as he painted Prudence, arrayed in a red-fringed shawl, as became a seductress. He was half in love with her himself, to think of her having got an improper offer from a nabob, a proper one from a marquess, and caused a duel, all before her twenty-sixth birthday. The red carmine was blotched on with an extravagant, loving hand. Nothing was too good for her. As she left the room, he told her to sleep in the morning. No need for her to lose an hour’s sleep to see him off. A dasher like Prue had to stay in looks.

“You might have a cup of tea ready against my return,” he said casually.

She felt so guilty that she was properly penitent and respectful, and insisted she would be up to see him off. “And home,” she added.

“Aye, if I get home,” he sighed.

“Uncle, cannot something be arranged with Seville-- some word got to him that you mean to delope?” she asked, having a good idea this would break some item of a gentleman’s code of honor, but not worrying overly that this would deter Clarence.

“I’m not afraid of him,” Clarence assured her. Nor was he. He went to bed and slept like a baby. Even over his tea the next morning he was as merry as a grig, making jokes about this being his last meal. Not until he was in Dammler’s carriage with the pistol between his fingers did it occur to him what a lethal thing a gun was. At Manton’s Shooting Gallery it had seemed great sport. How some of the gentlemen managed to culp that tiny wafer was a great mystery. He hadn’t hit it more than once--could hardly see it in fact. Once he had sneezed and taken a corner out of it.

“What we must do is let Seville know you mean to delope,” Dammler said, his chin in his hands, trying to figure a resolution to this awful problem. Lord, and if Clarence tried to delope he might well hit Seville in the heart. He had never seen such a poor shot as Clarence. “Aim for the sky,” he commanded.

“I’ll be shooting high,” Clarence replied, distracted. He was looking pale, as the moment of truth approached. “Shall we just let a window down and get a breath of air? It’s close in here.”

Dammler let down the window, feeling the need of air himself, and Clarence did the same on the other side. The dust from the horses and wheels bothered Dammler, and he had soon rolled his up again, but Clarence’s head was hanging out the window. For the first time in the acquaintance of this oddly-matched pair, they were both silent. A duel, Clarence thought! Men standing up and shooting at each other as though they were wafers at Manton’s, giant wafers providing a target that even he might hit. It wasn’t right to kill anyone.

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