very moment is about to engage
in a duel.”
“Oh, God,” Nicole cried—all forgotten but Valentin’s safety.
“And Madame Von Hoffman wished me to stop it.”
“You? Incredible. How?” They all spoke at once.
“Exactly! To think I would interfere in a matter of honor.”
“But why is Val involved in a duel?” Cecily questioned anxiously.
“It is all Perry’s fault,” Lady Eleanore stated.
“No, that is not true,” Nicole whispered almost inaudibly. The three ladies stared at her. “I am the cause.”
“You! But how?” Lady Eleanore demanded.
“The past still haunts us, Cousin Eleanore.” Nicole’s voice cracked.
“The past?” Lady Eleanore paused, then shook her head as comprehension dawned: “You mean…”
“Yes, yes, Sylvie Harcourt, my mother. The poor lady still cannot rest in peace,” Nicole cried in anguish.
“Hush child, don’t become hysterical.”
“Your son might be killed over a scandal that should have died years ago. Oh dear Lord, what is the use? It shall never work.”
Nicole closed her eyes and hung her head dejectedly.
“Now stop that talk, Nicole!” Lady Eleanore stormed. She crossed the room to sit beside the girl, a bright, brittle smile
on her face. “Everything will be all right. Why, I have the greatest confidence in Ardsmore. Lord Crawley,” she snapped her
fingers, “is no match for him. You shall see.” Mentally she shook off her own fears for the Viscount’s safety. “Believe me,
I know my son.” She clasped Nicole’s hand with one of her own.
Startled, Nicole did not know how to respond. To accept it as a genuine gesture of comfort would be reassuring, but how could
she trust this woman who so coldly planned the marriage of her son to a woman he did not love?
Before Nicole could decide what to do, Cecily broke in. “But how can we just wait and not know…” Cecily did not need to complete
her question.
“I have already sent Pierre to the
Chat Noir
for the information we seek. Until then we must wait,” the Viscountess stated firmly. “Madame Lafitte, if you will read to
us, I think the time will pass more quickly.”
The flickering torchlight and the wintry moon cast long eerie shadows across the freshly fallen snow and lent a disquieting
effect to the restless figures gathering in the courtyard of the Field House.
At ten minutes past ten Joseph Crawley arrived with his second and a surgeon. Nodding curtly to the silent group, he eyed
his tall, slim adversary. In a few minutes this arrogant Ardsmore would feel the steel of his blade.That would wipe the imperious smile off his face. Crawley’s lips curved in a cruel smirk.
“Well, sir,” Valentine taunted his formidable enemy, “Shall we get this affair over quickly? I have better things to do with
my time.”
“It will be my pleasure, Ardsmore. I can hardly wait for the joy of running you through.”
“Gentlemen,” Danforth called, “this is a duel of honor. Let us hold to the rules. It is my duty to ask each of you to settle
this matter peacefully according to…”
“Save your breath, Danforth. I have no intention of drawing off even if Crawley were to bég my forgiveness,” the Viscount
added scornfully.
Turning a fiery red, his lordship shouted, “Insolent dog! I will beg your forgiveness when hell freezes over.”
There was a clash of swords as the two men swept into sudden action. Time after time their blades hissed against each others’
as they parried backward and forward over the crunching snow. Their blades flashing in the moonlight, each antagonist sought
an opening or an advantage. Murderously Crawley drove his point against the Viscount’s only to find it artfully blocked. Each
time he thrust, Valentin skillfully outmaneuvered Crawley’s bold strokes.
The Viscount’s eyes danced with delight as he parried still another of Crawley viciously aimed assaults. Crawley fought with
furious intent, desire for Ardsmore’s
in a duel.”
“Oh, God,” Nicole cried—all forgotten but Valentin’s safety.
“And Madame Von Hoffman wished me to stop it.”
“You? Incredible. How?” They all spoke at once.
“Exactly! To think I would interfere in a matter of honor.”
“But why is Val involved in a duel?” Cecily questioned anxiously.
“It is all Perry’s fault,” Lady Eleanore stated.
“No, that is not true,” Nicole whispered almost inaudibly. The three ladies stared at her. “I am the cause.”
“You! But how?” Lady Eleanore demanded.
“The past still haunts us, Cousin Eleanore.” Nicole’s voice cracked.
“The past?” Lady Eleanore paused, then shook her head as comprehension dawned: “You mean…”
“Yes, yes, Sylvie Harcourt, my mother. The poor lady still cannot rest in peace,” Nicole cried in anguish.
“Hush child, don’t become hysterical.”
“Your son might be killed over a scandal that should have died years ago. Oh dear Lord, what is the use? It shall never work.”
Nicole closed her eyes and hung her head dejectedly.
“Now stop that talk, Nicole!” Lady Eleanore stormed. She crossed the room to sit beside the girl, a bright, brittle smile
on her face. “Everything will be all right. Why, I have the greatest confidence in Ardsmore. Lord Crawley,” she snapped her
fingers, “is no match for him. You shall see.” Mentally she shook off her own fears for the Viscount’s safety. “Believe me,
I know my son.” She clasped Nicole’s hand with one of her own.
Startled, Nicole did not know how to respond. To accept it as a genuine gesture of comfort would be reassuring, but how could
she trust this woman who so coldly planned the marriage of her son to a woman he did not love?
Before Nicole could decide what to do, Cecily broke in. “But how can we just wait and not know…” Cecily did not need to complete
her question.
“I have already sent Pierre to the
Chat Noir
for the information we seek. Until then we must wait,” the Viscountess stated firmly. “Madame Lafitte, if you will read to
us, I think the time will pass more quickly.”
The flickering torchlight and the wintry moon cast long eerie shadows across the freshly fallen snow and lent a disquieting
effect to the restless figures gathering in the courtyard of the Field House.
At ten minutes past ten Joseph Crawley arrived with his second and a surgeon. Nodding curtly to the silent group, he eyed
his tall, slim adversary. In a few minutes this arrogant Ardsmore would feel the steel of his blade.That would wipe the imperious smile off his face. Crawley’s lips curved in a cruel smirk.
“Well, sir,” Valentine taunted his formidable enemy, “Shall we get this affair over quickly? I have better things to do with
my time.”
“It will be my pleasure, Ardsmore. I can hardly wait for the joy of running you through.”
“Gentlemen,” Danforth called, “this is a duel of honor. Let us hold to the rules. It is my duty to ask each of you to settle
this matter peacefully according to…”
“Save your breath, Danforth. I have no intention of drawing off even if Crawley were to bég my forgiveness,” the Viscount
added scornfully.
Turning a fiery red, his lordship shouted, “Insolent dog! I will beg your forgiveness when hell freezes over.”
There was a clash of swords as the two men swept into sudden action. Time after time their blades hissed against each others’
as they parried backward and forward over the crunching snow. Their blades flashing in the moonlight, each antagonist sought
an opening or an advantage. Murderously Crawley drove his point against the Viscount’s only to find it artfully blocked. Each
time he thrust, Valentin skillfully outmaneuvered Crawley’s bold strokes.
The Viscount’s eyes danced with delight as he parried still another of Crawley viciously aimed assaults. Crawley fought with
furious intent, desire for Ardsmore’s
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