Far too pent up to stay home alone, the countess grabbed her coat and set off for The Top Heavy. The boys were doubtless already there, and she wanted to know what was going on. The duel couldn’t have been fought this morning, but she was certain it would take place in the next day or two.
When she arrived, it was to find Morpeth and Bennett striding up the street deep in conversation. She waited for them on the steps, and then entered with them. Her former butler directed them to the second floor, to George’s old private sitting room. Gabriel was already there, as were his cousin Julian and St Audley. George smiled at the viscount, but he didn’t return it, looking as grim as she’d ever seen him.
Gabriel gave her a quick, appraising glance, before turning his attention to the earl. ‘Are we set?’
‘We are,’ Morpeth replied, taking a seat. The earl’s sitting down signalled everyone else to draw near and do the same. ‘It’s for tomorrow.’
‘Weapons?’
‘Time?’
‘Where,’ everyone jumped in, their questions tumbling out in a rush.
‘Breakfast plans?’ George threw in, earning herself a glare from the earl.
‘It’s hardly your first duel,’ St Audley said, shaking his head reprovingly. ‘Do try to contain yourself, you bloodthirsty wench.’
‘If I may?’ Morpeth said, shooting them both a quelling glance. ‘Pistols. Seven…dawn being too early for Perrin. The green outside The Drunken Pelican, up in Hampstead. Breakfast reserved at The Pelican directly after, if that’s acceptable to you, my queen?’ he added with a smirk.
‘Pistols?’ George curled her lip. ‘Coward.’
Gabriel smiled, looking thoroughly satisfied, and lounged back into his chair, crossing one leg over the other and swinging his foot. ‘It doesn’t matter, Georgie. One will do as well as the other for my purposes.’
When Gabriel arrived at Morpeth’s house the following morning, the city was just rumbling to life; drays hauling coal rattling through the dark streets, weaving through the fog past the occasional coach hauling home a late night reveller.
Gabriel made his way around the back of the house to the mews, where he found most of the party already assembled. He was obviously the last to arrive. He dismounted and handed over the case containing his pistols to the earl. He gave his gelding a firm slap on the haunch and the horse tossed his head, the soft rattle of his bit sounding in the quiet like a bell.
His friends milled about the stable yard, stamping their feet to ward off the cold. Gabriel checked his watch, and thrust the tortoiseshell bauble back into his pocket.
‘Time to be on our way.’
He had to consciously resist the urge to ask about his nymph. If there was anything he needed to know, he trusted George to tell him. She wasn’t a secretive sort of woman. For now he needed to concentrate on the duel.
He had no concerns about his own safety; it was highly unlikely that his opponent would so much as graze him, but his own plan to wound Perrin without killing him would require greater skill than simply killing him outright. A simple torso shot was out of the question, too high a risk of hitting a vital organ. Which meant he was going to have to aim for an arm, or a leg.
If only he’d chosen swords. Cutting him to ribbons would have been so much more satisfying than putting a single bullet into him.
The sky was turning orange in the east, colour cresting over the top of the trees as they arrived at The Drunken Pelican and turned their horses over to the ostler. Gabriel checked his watch again. Still only six-thirty. He flexed his shoulders and cracked his knuckles. There was no sign of the opponent or his seconds.
Perrin had better hurry up, it smelt like rain.
Inside the tap room they found the two surgeons. Gabriel spoke briefly to his, and paid him for his attendance. Bartleby was everything that was required in such a situation: reliable, highly skilled, and close as the grave.
Perrin’s man on the other hand was huddled by the fire, imbibing heavily and muttering to himself in an aggrieved tone. Gabriel flicked his eyes over the man, and then looked questioningly at Bartleby, who rolled his eyes and shrugged.
At eight, when Perrin had still not put in an appearance, Gabriel and his friends stepped back outside to wait. Morpeth checked his watch and growled.
‘This is ridiculous.’ Julian ground an errant weed in the cobbles under his boot heel.
‘It does make one wonder if we’re merely waiting for the constabulary,’ George said, craning her head and staring down the foggy road.
‘It’s certainly a thought,’ Gabriel agreed.
If Perrin didn’t show, he’d be branded a coward, and publicly humiliated once word got out, but it would hardly be the satisfying outcome Gabriel was seeking. Such an outcome paled next to the visceral impact of losing a duel.
Another ten minutes passed before the sound of hooves caused everyone to watch the road. Eventually a carriage came into view, and upon entering the yard, it disgorged Perrin and four of his friends. Gabriel leaned insolently against the wall of the inn, chatting with his cousin and George while Morpeth approached the new arrivals.
‘You’re late,’ the earl snapped.
‘Couldn’t be helped,’ Lord Haversham replied, glancing guiltily at his boots.
‘I’m sure. Shall we proceed?’
Haversham nodded and Morpeth motioned to Julian to bring the box of pistols over. ‘Do you wish to load for your principal, Haversham?’ Morpeth asked.
‘No, no,’ Haversham assured him. ‘Trust you to do it properly, Morpeth.’
‘Then I shall
