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death driving him almost to recklessness. Valentin, on the other hand, fought dispassionately.
     Knowing his own mastery of the weapon, he deftly controlled the execution of each stroke. He did not wish to inflict a mortal
     wound. His aim was a disabling strike to his enemy’s right arm, rendering it useless and thereby guaranteeing Perry’s safety.
    Finally, the Viscount’s chance came. Feinting a thrust,he forced his adversary off balance. With a swift, darting movement the point of his sword drove into Crawley’s upper arm.
     Valentin stepped back breathing hard as the Crawley’s sword sagged but steadied within seconds. Disbelief flickered in Crawley’s
     eyes momentarily as Ards-more saluted him. The recovering man lashed out driving Valentin into temporary retreat. Valentin
     widened the distance between them, allowing his infuriated opponent to chase him halfway across the courtyard. Then the Viscount
     halted as his panting adversary closed the gap between them. Now he waited somewhat impatiently for his next opening. He was
     certain it would come soon enough. The Viscount leapt aside and chuckled mischievously as Crawley lunged forward once more.
     Valentin gave him no time to recover before his blade made straight for Crawley’s heart, stopping short of piercing the flesh.
     Crawley gasped audibly as he envisioned death at the hands of his deadly enemy, whose cold blue eyes glittered with contempt.
     Next he felt a cold draft as his shirt was ripped open and Ardsmore mockingly stepped aside. Enraged by this humiliation,
     Crawley lashed out wildly. Passing below his opponent’s hacking weapon, Valentin struck once more squarely through the right
     wrist. Crawley’s blade dropped as blood flowed freely over his hand. His second immediately hustled him off to the waiting
     surgeon.
    Danforth smiled wanly and went to Valentin’s side. “There is no need to worry now, Val. Lord Crawley won’t use that arm for
     quite some time. Perry is safe.”
    “Yes, until he opens his mouth again. Thank God it all turned out right.” A brief smile lighted his weary face.
    One of Crawley’s men approached. “The surgeon has informed his lordship he will not be able to use his right arm for several
     weeks.”
    “You may inform Lord Crawley that the Harcourt honor is satisfied on both accounts, and if he wishes to withdraw from tomorrow morning’s duel of pistols, the incident will be forgotten.”
    “That is most generous of you, my lord. Undoubtedly his lordship will accept your proposal.”
    “Undoubtedly,” Valentin nodded. “But reluctantly,” he added to Danforth. He shrugged into his greatcoat. “Let’s find Perry
     and ease his mind.”
    The grandfather clock had just finished chiming the half hour. Twelve thirty and still no word. The women huddled deeper into
     their shawls as dying embers spurted fitfully on the hearth. Madame Lafitte’s voice droned on, a murmur floating against their
     tired brains. They struggled to maintain an air of dignity and calm against the increasingly gloomy thoughts swirling about
     in their minds. At last the sound of a horse clattering across the cobblestones of the courtyard aroused them from their lethargy.
     With a start they were on their feet, but an imperious wave of Lady Eleanore’s hand kept them from bounding into the corridor.
    “We will receive whatever news with dignity,” she managed to say steadily just before a shout of “Mama!” greeted their ears
     and the door swung open.
    “Good Lord!” Valentin exclaimed with some consternation as he surveyed the distraught expressions on the faces before him.
     They continued to stare at his ruffled hair and sparkling eyes.
    “It is only me.” He began to chuckle. “You look as if you have seen a ghost. Weren’t you expecting me? Pierre’s message said
     you were.”
    “Don’t you laugh, sir, or I shall box your ears. How could you be so reckless and risk a duel so close to your wedding day?”