of St. George’s once the flighty, runaway Miss C. ran off on the arm of Mr. B. Though, one can hardly blame the groom for being put out that his wedding was not to go on as planned. It is said that the drawing of Mr. B’s blood by way of a spectacular right hook wasn’t nearly enough, and a challenge was extended. However, when authorities arrived at the dueling field at dawn, it was to find that the confrontation had already occurred hours before. Who lay dead by the end? Well, dear reader, I shall tell you …”
The London Gossip, November 21, 1819
Calliope paced the length of the drawing room at Hastings House, wringing her hands as she counted the seconds. Too many of them had passed since Nick had departed with a pair of dueling pistols and the group of friends she had been introduced to in quick succession—his fellow gentleman courtesans. While Mr. Sterling—Benedict, he had asked her to call him—would act as his second, the other men wouldn’t hear of being left behind. A surgeon had also been enlisted, being paid a tidy sum to attend the wounded and keep his silence about the illegal duel.
The sun had set hours ago, but Calliope hadn’t even bothered changing out of her wedding gown, too agitated to think of such matters. Her father and Diana had tried to convince her to eat and rest after such a taxing day, but she’d ignored them both and spent the afternoon trying to convince herself that her trust in Nick had not been misplaced. She’d nearly succeeded in calming herself, and had even managed to pass a few hours reading.
Her composure had begun to slip the moment Nick returned from his flat with the dueling pistols. Glancing at the clock, she saw that it was well past one o’clock. Surely an hour was more than enough time for two men to try to murder one another. Fortunately, the sky was clear tonight, leaving a full moon to illuminate the dueling field. She wasn’t certain whether it was a good thing for the combatants to be able to see one another.
“Anni,” her father called out from where he sat near the hearth. “Come sit down, my dear. You’ll wear a hole in the rug at this rate.”
She whirled to face him. “How can you make jokes at a time like this?”
“When you reach my age, you will have learned not to worry unless you have to.”
Pulling her sari closer around her body, she used it as a shawl to ward off the chill that had settled in her bones. “And the prospect of losing Nick isn’t enough for me to worry?”
He patted the empty space on the sofa beside him, and she joined him, sighing as his arm came around her shoulders.
“Mr. Lewes doesn’t strike me as a murderer, and you heard what Mr. Sterling said. Your Dominick is adept with a pistol and capable of defending his own life.”
With a groan, she buried her face in her hands. The viscount simply gave her back a comforting pat and went on.
“You really do love him, don’t you?”
She peered at her father and smiled for the first time in hours. “I do, Papa. I never thought I could come to feel this way for another person, but I do love him. I know I’ve made such a mess of things, taking so long to acknowledge it and put a stop to the wedding—”
“My dear,” he cut in with a laugh. “You are talking to a man who took an Indian wife, sired two children on her, and had every intention of bringing her back to England to introduce her to society as my viscountess. And need I also remind you that I have made no secret of my religious conversion or my affinity for hookah and peshwaz robes? If anyone is familiar with the necessity of stirring up a bit of scandal to follow one’s heart, it is I.”
They shared a laugh, Calliope’s mood lightening as she took comfort in her father’s acceptance of her choice.
“I do not regret a single part of it,” he added with a wistful smile. “I lost friends and the love of my family, and I was derided as a betrayer of my homeland for years. But it gave me Vedah for a short time. It gave me the greatest gift of all … you.”
“Oh, Papa.” She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. “Thank you.”