Chapter 1
He which hath no stomach to this fight, let him depart.
Henry V 4.3.35-36
Winter 1817
The last thing Harrison Thornwick wanted to do was shoot the man, but he didn't have a choice.
Harrison's head was pounding and his eyes were blurry, but his spine was straight as an arrow as he stood back-to-back with-with ...
He grunted a tired laugh.
Well, hell, Harrison couldn't remember the tosspot's name. They'd been playing cards all night at one of the gambling hells on the east side of Bond Street and both he and Mr. No Name were deep in their cups. It was a wonder Harrison was still upright and thinking at all.
No Name had accused Harrison of cheating after he'd won all the man's money and prized stallion, too. And then the bloke had the nerve to call him out. Harrison tried to quiet him, but pointing out his shortcomings as a card player had enraged the dandy all the more. The only thing that had mollified him was Harrison picking up the glove the man had thrown to the floor of the club.
If he wanted to get shot, Harrison would have to oblige him.
"Dueling is against the law," Harrison's second reminded him in a subdued voice as he extended the pistol to him.
"I know."
"Either that gentleman has a death wish or he doesn't know you are one of the best shots in London, even when you are none too steady on your feet as you are now. Do you really want to do this?"
"No. I don't like dueling, and I hope this is my last. I never like shooting a man."
"Then perhaps you should just conveniently miss this time and not wound him."
Harrison took the pistol without bothering to look at it. "He called me a card cheat."
"He's drunk and so are you."
"I'm not the one itching to feel a lead ball in my shoulder this morning. He is. You know I gave him ample opportunity to repair the injury. I cannot accept the affront without redress. This point will be settled here and will be settled now. My honor demands it."
"Very well," the second said and stepped away.
Harrison had shed his hat, cloak, and gloves in preparation for the duel. As was the custom, he'd allowed his second to inspect the pistols, make all the arrangements, and resolve the details with No Name's second.
A dozen or so bloodthirsty witnesses formed a silent bulwark at the edge of the field of honor. They held their impatience well. Harrison knew the small crowd was ready to get on with the matter and be off to their slumber.
So was Harrison.
"On the count of ten, gentlemen," someone called, "turn, lower your weapons, and fire."
Harrison placed his forefinger on the cold metal of the trigger and lifted the barrel of the pistol level with his chin.
"One..."
The ground crunched as Harrison took a wide step and a calming, shallow breath. He didn't know whose property they were on, but it had been a short carriage drive outside London. The area was all it needed to be: wooded and isolated.
"Two ... three..."
The last vestige of night had faded. Scattered whorls of fog had evaporated, and the early-morning sky was shaping up to be a bright shade of blue even though the winter air was damned crisp. Sunlight glistening on the crest of the horizon was visible through the spindly limbs of the barren trees.
"Four ... five..."
Harrison couldn't help but think it was going to be a good day-after he got this nasty business out of the way.
"Six..."
"Wait! Stop!"
Harrison halted and looked around. A tall, robust gentleman clutched his hat to his head and ran out of a thicket of trees with his coattails flapping behind him. He skidded on traces of silvery dew covering the hard ground before stopping between Harrison and his opponent, gasping to catch his breath.
"I've been looking for you, Mr. Thornwick," the man finally got out.
"And you found me at a most inopportune moment," Harrison said dryly.
"But thankfully before it was too late."
Harrison eyed the interloper suspiciously, but it was Mr. No Name who said, "Who the deuce are you?"
The meddler cast his large, slightly bulging eyes toward the man and lifted his chin disdainfully. "Sir, I am Mr. Alfred Hopscotch."
"I don't know you," No Name snarled. "So who do you think you are to stop this duel?"
"I am the Prince's emissary," Mr. Hopscotch said testily. "I'm here on his official business."
"Yes, and I am the King's brother." No Name cut his eyes around to Harrison and grunted a slurring laugh. "Did you hire this man to come here and save your bloody life, Thornwick?"
Harrison squinted against a sudden bright ray of sunlight that broke through the tree limbs. His answer was to turn his back on the man and resume the dueling stance.
"Keep counting," Harrison called.
"Step aside, sir," No Name said. "Or stand your ground and get the bullet that's meant for him!"
"Seven ... eight..."
"No, I beg of you, Mr. Thornwick, wait."
"Nine..."
Harrison hoped like hell the Prince's man had the good sense to move out of the way.
"Ten."
Harrison pivoted on his back foot, lowered his body as he swung, aimed, and fired his pistol at No Name's shoulder. The man folded with a yelp, his shot wild and plugging a nearby tree.
Smoke from Harrison's gun barrel swirled and then quickly evaporated in the frosty air. Several of the onlookers rushed to the fallen man's side while other gentlemen were already pulling money out of their pockets to settle their wagers.
Harrison walked over for a look, too. Blood had stained the man's white shirt and quilted waistcoat, and was seeping through his fingers held tightly against the shoulder wound.
No Name looked up at him with a furious glare in his wild eyes. "Did you come to gloat?"
Harrison stared at him and said, "Don't ever call me a card cheat again." He walked over to the carriage that had brought him to the dueling site. Several of the young blades and onlookers followed him, some offering mumblings of congratulations and deserved claps on the back while others quietly counted their winnings.
"Well done," Harrison's second said, handing Harrison his coat. "The shot missed his bone. He'll have a hell of a pain in his shoulder for a few weeks, but nothing that won't heal properly with time."
"It took great restraint," Harrison admitted, returning the pistol to the second.
"I'm sure. No one likes being called a cheater and a coward in the same breath."
The stranger who had interrupted the duel elbowed his way through the muttering crowd gathered around Harrison and in a loud, impatient tone said, "I must speak to you now, my lord. I have important information for you."
Harrison frowned at the man as he shoved his arms into the sleeves of his coat. "I am not a lord, sir."
"That's what I've been trying to tell you. You are. The Prince charged me with finding you and giving you the unfortunate news that your brother, the Earl of Thornwick, and his heir have died. You, my lord, are the new Earl of Thornwick."
Gasps from the tight circle of men rent the air, and shock rippled through Harrison. His mind immediately recoiled from the words he'd heard. It took several seconds before he managed to say, "What?"
"I'm sorry, my lord."
The pounding in Harrison's head increased. A loud roar swooshed through his ears as denial rose up within him. Cold, dry air caught in his lungs, pressing like an anvil on his chest.
The ramifications of the man's words sank deeply into his soul, wounding him, and he whispered, "My brother and his three-year-old son? Dead? Are you sure?"
Mr. Hopscotch ran a nervous hand down the front of his waistcoat. "Yes, my lord. There's no doubt. A fever quickly ravaged a nearby village and spread throughout Thornwick."
"That one an earl? Can't be!" Harrison heard a man whisper.
"He'll never take care of the place," another gentleman said. "He doesn't know how. It'll be in ruins in less than a year."
"For sure," came the reply. "He doesn't know anything but drinking, gambling, and dueling."
"He certainly does all three of those bloody well," someone else whispered.
"Damnation" blew softly past Harrison's lips on a throb of hellish emotion he couldn't hold inside.
"I know," Hopscotch said. "It's tragic. Since you are the new earl, the Prince wants to make certain that you don't go to Thornwick and expose yourself to the fever, too."
"My brother's wife and daughters?" Harrison asked as alarm nipped him. "How are they?"
The man blinked rapidly. "Gone, too, I'm sorry to report. Most of the servants as well."
A low groan of anguish rose from Harrison's throat but he managed to swallow before it sounded. Beautiful, sweet Maddie with her raven hair and soft brown eyes dead. And her twin infant girls gone, too?
Harrison turned away from the man and threw his fist into the side of the carriage before clamping a hold on the door handle to shore himself up should his knees fail him and buckle. The pain that shot through his hand whipcord-fast couldn't dull the shattering grief that echoed through him. Over the years he'd lost his parents and two older brothers, but their deaths had been years apart and somehow easier to bear than hearing of the loss of the rest of his family.
"The Prince says it is imperative you to come to London immediately so he can speak to you about a most important matter. My carriage is right over there. I'll take you."
Mr. Hopscotch had continued talking as if he had no clue about the torment thundering through Harrison. "Being an earl is of little consequence to me right now," he ground out.
Hopscotch nervously clutched his hands together in front of him. "But it must matter, my lord. The Prince can't risk losing you, too."
Harrison jerked open the door of his carriage before looking back to the man and saying, "I'm going to bury my brother and his family."
Copyright © 2015 by Amelia Grey
