The Heart That Wins (Regency Spies Book 3) (12 page)

John gave up all attempt at sleep and rose at three in the morning. Having lit a candle, he started cleaning his sword and everything metallic on his uniform. When the sun came up, he wanted Franz to be blinded. For the first time he was glad that his night-time activities meant that he could not keep a servant. The effort of preparation took his mind off the coming trial. Duels were stupid and unnecessary. Honour was important, but he did not think it required anyone to die. Perhaps it would have been better to have fought Franz there and then.

Half expecting to meet Franz on the road, he set off for the appointed place. He had left letters to his mother, Edmund and Sophia in his room. The last had caused him much soul-searching, but he had told her the truth of it, then sealed it inside the letter to Edmund. He had also told her that he loved her and regretted any pain he had caused her. Even though he was not sure of her feelings, he had enclosed a lock of his hair in the letter. She might want to remember their friendship, even if she chose to forget that he had loved her.

The sun was starting to rise as he reached the clearing, but it was obscured by cloud and it seemed they might have to wait some time for enough light. At least it was not raining.

Presently he was joined by Franz, followed very shortly by a third person.

“You said no seconds,” he shouted at Franz as he recognised the third man, not sure whose betrayal upset him the most.

Franz turned to look at the man behind him.

“I did not invite him.”

“I followed him,” said Edmund as he joined them in the middle of the clearing. “Franz is not an early riser, nor is he quiet, so I wondered why he was leaving the house at this time of day with his sword buckled on.”

“It would have been polite to ask me.”

“You’re my guest. It would have been polite to tell me.”

He looked from one to the other.

“You’re fighting without seconds or a referee. Why?”

“No man would be my second.” said John.

“I would. Surely you know that.”

Edmund seemed disappointed, but John was relieved that he had confirmed what John had suspected.

“Thank you, but you can’t.”

Franz had insulted Edmund as much as he had insulted Lady Caroline. John could not have asked Edmund to be his second without telling him the reason for the duel and it was unthinkable that he should embarrass them both by doing so.

“I’m not without experience. I’ve stood beside your uncle more than once,” said Edmund.

There was a time when this would have surprised John, for Edmund was a Quaker, but now nothing the other man could tell him would surprise him.

“It’s not that, truly.”

Edmund looked at Franz then returned to John.

“You’re the injured party?”

Edmund became brusque again.

John nodded.

“Won’t you apologise, Franz?”

“No, I stand by what I said.”

“This is foolishness,” shouted Edmund. “Aren’t you both needed to stop Bonaparte? Must you do his killing for him?”

He urged his horse away from them and walked it slowly around the clearing. John and Franz watched him, then John noticed that the clouds were thinning. They would have to start soon.

When Edmund returned he was a little calmer.

“Is this about Sophia?” he asked.

“No,” said Franz.

John shook his head. He, at least, would not lie to Edmund. Whatever John’s reasons were for this fight, Franz’s were entirely to do with Sophia.

“You wouldn’t fight to defend your own honour.”

Edmund looked squarely at John.

“No,” agreed John, not looking away from him.

“Then, if it’s not Sophia...”

“Edmund, please, you have delayed us long enough. Rest assured, this is a matter of honour. I know you don’t approve of duelling any more than I do, so please accept that I did not challenge him on a whim.”

Edmund nodded.

“I have no wish to write to your mother with news of your death… or your uncle.”

His voice was so quiet that John knew that Franz could not have heard.

“Is he that good?”

“What? Oh, I don’t know. It’s just...”

He straightened in the saddle.

“I’ll wait outside the clearing until it’s over.” He turned towards the Prussian and raised his voice. “But Franz, our friendship is over.”

“Edmund, wait!”

Franz began to turn his horse to go after the older man.

“Don’t be an idiot,” said John. “He’s worked out why we’re here.”

“How? You didn’t tell him, did you?”

“Of course not. It’s not hard to follow his reasoning. He knows he’s the one man in Brussels I could ask, would ask, to be my second, yet I didn’t ask him.” At Franz’s dubious expression, he said, “Accept that I would have asked him, knowing that he would have agreed. Because I didn’t, he knows that he is involved somehow. He knows I would not fight a duel on his behalf. We’re not that close and he can fight his own duels if he wants. I told him it wasn’t Sophia’s or my own honour that was at stake, so it’s someone else’s who is very important to me.”

“Why did you tell him those things?”

“Because I find, rather belatedly, that I value his good opinion of me and I don’t want to lose it by lying to him.”

“He means it, doesn’t he?”

“That your friendship is over? I think so.”

John was not sorry. Whatever happened, Franz would move out of Edmund’s house and Sophia would only have to see him if she wanted to.  If she read his letter, he doubted she would want to.

“We should begin.”

Franz looked once more in the direction in which Edmund had ridden, then dismounted. They tethered the horses on the edge of the clearing. John removed his jacket; it had done its work and would only get in the way while he was fighting. Franz did the same. John watched him, trying to gauge his strength and agility. The Prussian moved well. John preferred to fight an adversary who was able to fight back. Then they stood facing one another.

“First one to draw blood,” said John.

Much as he wanted to kill Franz, it was not something he wanted on his conscience and Edmund’s words about doing Bonaparte’s work for him had made an impression. For that reason he had no wish to die here. The Prussian hesitated, then nodded.

John thought the older man would be quicker than him, for he was thinner and more intemperate. They were of a similar height, but John guessed that the Prussian had less experience since he was not a soldier, but what did he know of spies and their abilities? Despite their agreement to stop at first blood, there was still a good chance that one of them would die here in the clearing, or later from their wounds.

John raised his sword in salute and Franz responded. Then they began. It was slow enough at first as each tried to gain the measure of the other. Franz proved himself to be calmer than John had expected. John doubted it was uncertainty on the Prussian’s part. Deciding that he would understand more of Franz’s ability if he attacked, John got in close and lunged. To his surprise, Franz’s parry was clumsy and John’s blade ripped through his shirt.

Before John could give it too much thought, Franz made his own attack. This had more finesse, but no force. John parried it easily and danced out of the way of a possible follow up, just in case this was all an act. Even before he had regained his balance, he changed direction and aimed under his opponent’s guard. This was a more dangerous attack. Franz whipped his blade round to hook it under John’s and only just avoided being cut.

Now John saw that he could end this quickly. The only question was, how much did he want to hurt Franz? The answer was that he wanted to hurt him a great deal, but the greater insult by far would be to hurt him a little.

He parried Franz’s next, more desperate attack, then stepped to one side and raised his sword towards the other’s sword arm. Franz must not even have felt the nick on his arm, for John had to lower his sword and shout for him to stop.

“Why do you want to stop?”

“I have drawn blood.”

“You lie. I felt nothing.”

“Nonetheless, if you examine your arm...”

Franz stretched out his arm and saw the thin red line beneath the slit in his sleeve.

“That’s a scratch. It doesn’t count.”

“We agreed first blood.”

John fought to keep his anger in check.

“You insult me.”

John wiped his sword and returned it to its scabbard.

“Perhaps, but the duel is over. I’m going to ride back to Brussels with Edmund.”

He pulled on his jacket, mounted his horse and left the clearing without a backward glance.

“You didn’t kill him did you?” asked Edmund when John joined him.

“No. We agreed first blood. He fences very badly.”

“Does he? I’ve seen him handle a sword and he’s very matter of fact.”

“You’ve never fenced with him?”

This was a surprise.

“No. You suspect he fought badly on purpose?"

“I did until I drew blood. I don’t think he intended to lose.”

John was not sure about this, for Sophia would be sympathetic to a wounded man.

“He has saved my life at least twice.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not just the insult, he lied to me as well. We have been friends too long for that to be necessary.”

“Oh?”

“He said it wasn’t about Sophia.”

“It wasn’t, not for me, at least.”

“No, I understand that.”

Edmund urged his horse forward and John rode with him back to Brussels.

Although he tried to avoid it, John saw Sophia occasionally at balls and dinners. He had tried to occupy himself with his regiment, but there simply was not enough to do. Despite the French massing on the other side of the border, he was still able to spend many evenings in Brussels.

Franz had moved out of Edmund’s house, but still he was Sophia’s companion. John had no reason to believe that the Prussian’s feelings for her were not genuine, but he knew that Franz could not protect her. John had no idea how the man had managed to survive so long as a spy if he was so poor with a sword. If he could not protect himself, he could not protect Sophia. John had said as much to Edmund when he had gone to visit him while Sophia was out. Edmund had agreed, but had pointed out that no one would match John’s standards in that regard. John was not interested. Sophia had to be protected. If Franz was not up to it, he could not be allowed to marry her. Edmund had simply said that John had given up any right he might have had to influence Sophia on that score. Then he had taken his daughter back from John’s arms and John had almost been overwhelmed by the emptiness inside him.

John was used to babies. He had watched his brothers grow from boys to men. He had always assumed that he would have children of his own with Sophia, but he would not. He would hold the babies of other men, but none of his own. When his youngest brother had been born almost ten years ago it had been the sight of Sophia holding him that had first made him think about having children with her. That, in turn, had caused him to understand his true feelings for her.

He knew that Sophia also wanted children. They had discussed it often enough. They had agreed on the ideal number of children and their education. How easy it had been for him to assume that she too thought these children would be his. He suspected that Sophia had even chosen names for her children. His would not be among them. Franz on the other hand…

Despite himself he sometimes watched them dance together. Much as he tried to tell himself that he knew her heart, John knew that he did not and never had. For all he knew, Franz was the love of her life.

One evening he saw Sophia smile up at the Prussian as if there was no one else in the room and John had had to leave the ball. There was no one else to blame; it had been his decision and he had lost Sophia. His life was no longer worth living.

“We should hurry or we’ll be late.”

Sophia did not understand Mary’s eagerness to get to the cavalry review. It was not at all the kind of event that she thought her friend would enjoy. This was Mary’s first real social occasion since the birth of the baby. Although Mary did not particularly enjoy balls and parties, she knew that Edmund did and it pleased her to please him. They were all looking forward to the distraction that the review would provide.

“I’m ready,” said Sophia patiently. “It’s Edmund we’re waiting for.”

“I thought I was waiting for you,” said Edmund, stepping into the hall from the sitting-room. He was immaculately dressed and Sophia smiled.

Mary kissed her husband on the cheek.

“Then let us go,” she said, as she led the way to the door.

It was a long drive to Ninove where the review was to take place. The roads were crowded and Sophia thought that half Brussels was going out there. It was the end of May and still cold, but many women wore light summer gowns.