Sophy was alarmed at her friend's violent reaction to the thought of being sent back to the country. She frowned worriedly. "Anne, I do not want you taking any undue risks on my behalf."
Anne shook her head quickly, her cheeks returning to their normal warm color and her eyes lightening. "It's quite all right. I know exactly how this matter can be handled. I will send a boy around for your note to Featherstone and have him bring it directly to me. I will then deliver it in disguise to Featherstone and wait for a response. Do not worry, no one will recognize me. When I dress the part, I look very much like a young man. I have tried it before and enjoyed it thoroughly."
"Yes," Sophy said, thinking about it, "that should work well."
Jane's anxious glance moved from Anne to Sophy and back again. "This is madness."
"It is my only honorable option," Sophy said soberly. "We must hope Featherstone will accept the challenge."
"I, for one, will pray she refuses," Jane said tightly.
When Sophy returned from her ride a half hour later she was told Julian wished to see her in the library. Her first instinct was to send word that she was indisposed. She was not at all certain she could face her husband with any sense of composure just now. The letter of challenge to Charlotte Featherstone was waiting to be written.
But avoiding Julian would be cowardly and today, of all days, she was determined not to be a coward. She must get in practice for what lay ahead.
"Thank you, Guppy," she said to the butler. "I will go and see him at once." She spun on her booted heel and walked boldly toward the library.
Julian looked up from a journal of accounts as she swept into the room. He rose politely. "Good morning, Sophy. I see you have been riding."
"Yes, my lord. It was a fine morning for it." Her eyes went to the cased dueling pistols mounted on the wall behind Julian. They were a lethal looking pair, long, heavy-barreled weapons created by Manton, one of the most famous gunmakers in London.
Julian gave Sophy a brief, chiding smile. "If you had informed me you intended to ride today, I would have been happy to join you."
"I rode with friends."
"I see." His brows arched faintly in the characteristic way they did when he was vaguely annoyed. "Do I take that to mean you do not consider me a friend?"
Sophy looked at him and wondered if one ever risked one's life in a duel over a mere friend. "No, my lord. You are not my friend. You are my husband."
His mouth hardened. "I would be both, Sophy."
"Really, my lord?"
He sat down and slowly closed the journal. "You do not sound as if you believe such a condition possible."
"Is it, my lord?"
"I think we can manage it if we both work at it. Next time you wish to ride in the morning, you must allow me to accompany you, Sophy."
"Thank you, my lord. I will consider it. But I certainly would not wish to distract you from your work."
"I would not mind the distraction." He smiled invitingly. "We could always put the time to good use discussing farming techniques."
"I fear we have exhausted the subject of sheep breeding, my lord. Now, if you will excuse me, I must be going."
Unable to bear any more of this face-to-face confrontation, Sophy whirled and fled from the room. Plucking up the folds of her riding skirts she ran up the stairs and down the hall to the privacy of her bedchamber.
She was pacing her room, composing the note to Featherstone in her mind when Mary knocked on the door.
"Come in," Sophy said and winced when her maid walked into the room holding her jaunty green riding hat. "Oh, dear, did I lose that in the hall, Mary?"
"Lord Ravenwood told a footman you lost it but a few minutes ago in the library, ma'am. He sent it up here so's you wouldn't wonder where it was."
"I see. Thank you. Now, Mary, I need privacy. I wish to catch up on my correspondence."
"Certainly, ma'am. I'll tell the staff you don't want to be bothered for a while."
"Thank you," Sophy said again and sank down at her writing desk to pen the letter to Charlotte Featherstone.
It took several attempts to get it right but in the end Sophy was satisfied with the result.
Dear Miss C. F:
I received your outrageous note concerning our mutual friend this morning. In your note you threaten to publish certain indiscreet letters unless I submit to blackmail. I will do no such thing.
I must take leave to tell you that you have committed a grave insult for which I demand satisfaction. I propose that we arrange to settle this matter at dawn tomorrow morning. You may choose the weapons, of course, but I suggest pistols as I can easily provide them.
If you are as concerned with your honor as you are with your old-age pension, you will respond in the affirmative at once.
Yours Very Truly, S.
Sophy blotted the note very carefully and sealed it. Tears burned in her eyes. She could not get the thought of
Julian's love letters to a courtesan out of her head. Love letters. Sophy knew she would have sold her soul for a similar token of affection from Ravenwood.
And the man had the brazen nerve to claim he wished friendship as well as his husbandly privileges from her.
It struck Sophy as ironic that she might very possibly be risking her life tomorrow at dawn for a man who did not and probably could not love her.
Charlotte Featherstone's response to Sophy's challenge arrived later that afternoon, delivered by a ragged-looking, dirty-faced lad with red hair who came to the kitchens. The note was short and to the point. Sophy held her breath as she sat down to read it.
Madam:
Dawn tomorrow will be quite acceptable, as will pistols. I suggest Leighton Field, a short distance outside the city, as it is bound to be deserted at that hour. Until dawn, I remain very truly yours in honor,
C. E
Sophy's emotions were in chaos by bedtime. She was aware that Julian had been annoyed by her long silences at dinner but it had been beyond her to keep up a casual conversation. When he had retired to the library, she had excused herself and gone straight upstairs to her room.
Once inside the sanctuary of her bedchamber she read and reread Featherstone's terrifyingly brief note and wondered what she had done. But she knew there was no turning back now. Her life would be in the hands of fate tomorrow.
Sophy went through the ritual of preparing for bed but she knew she could not possibly sleep tonight. After Mary said good night, Sophy stood staring out her window and wondered if Julian would be making arrangements for her funeral within a few short hours.
Perhaps she would only be wounded, she told herself, her imagination running wild with gory scenes. Perhaps her death would be a long and lingering one from a raging fever caused by a gunshot wound.
Or perhaps it would be Charlotte Featherstone who died.
The thought of killing another human being left Sophy abruptly sick to her stomach. She swallowed heavily and wondered if her nerves would hold out until she had satisfied the requirements of honor. She dared not prepare a tonic for herself because it might slow her reactions at dawn.
Sophy tried to brace herself by deciding that with any luck at all, either she or Charlotte would merely be wounded. Or, perhaps, both she and her opponent would miss their mark and neither of them would be hurt. That would certainly make for a tidy ending to the matter.
Then again, Sophy thought morosely, it was highly unlikely things would proceed that neatly. Her life of late was not inclined to be neat.
Fear sent chills down her spine. How did men survive this dreadful anticipation of danger and death? she wondered, continuing to pace. They faced it not only on the eve of a duel of honor but on the battlefield and at sea. Sophy shuddered.
She wondered if Julian had ever experienced this awful waiting and then remembered the story she had heard about a duel he had once conducted over the issue of Elizabeth's honor. And there must have been moments like this also when he was forced to endure the long hours before battle. But perhaps, being a man, he had nerves that were not susceptible to this sort of anticipatory fear. Or maybe he had learned how to control it.