92. The morning after

It was a glorious start to May Day, my wedding day. The mist over the slowly flowing river was thinning as the sun rose red and golden on the water-meadows. Weatherwise, it was going to be a good day for a wedding. Fellowes and his second waited by the river at the designated place as Barclay and I dismounted and walked towards them.

Sir Arthur Hastings waited with them and he turned to me as we stopped in front of him.

It was Sir Arthur's role as judge of the duel to ask "Gentlemen, is there anything that can be said to mend this affair? Mr Fellowes? Your Grace?"

When neither of us spoke, he signed to the seconds.

"Very well. Sir Montague, your pistols sir?" He took a box from Fellowes' second and opening the catch, offered it towards me. The weapons were nicely made and well-kept weapons, I took them both out of the case and tested the balance before choosing one. Fellowes took the other.

"Gentlemen, stand back-to-back." Sir Arthur's instructions were firm and delivered in an authoritative tone. "On my command, you will walk fifteen paces and stand. On my next command, you will turn to face each other. Once you are both facing each other, and only at that point, then you may fire when you are ready."

"Walk!"

I could feel the rising sun on the side of my face as I counted nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen and fifteen. I stood and waited.

"Gentlemen - turn!"

I pivoted about to see that Fellowes was already pointing his pistol at me.

I have been here before. This is as much a game of dare as it is anything else.

And I dared.

My own pistol pointed upwards in my hand. Fellowes' piece was pointed directly at me, but even as I watched, it wavered. Tiny motions, tremors of the hand and wrist. I looked at him, at his eyes - red and raw looking. It took no time at all to observe all of that, and almost immediately afterwards Sir Montague Fellowes discharged his pistol.

Even as I watched the spark flare, igniting the powder in the pistol's pan, I saw that Fellowes had jerked at the trigger, the movement rippling along his arm towards his shoulder; causing the muzzle to drift off target and the ball, when the pistol fired, to pass close by my cheek, making a fluttering, rushing sound.

I was not hit. That will please Helena, I thought to myself.

Now it was my turn to fire, and pistol still raised, I waited to do so. I made a slow count of ten under my breath, before I lowered the muzzle and took a sight upon my opponent. Despite the drink I had had the previous evening, my hand was rock steady and the muzzle of the pistol did not waver at all.

Fellowes was not taking it well. He shook and he twitched, his breathing was rapid and his eyes darted around. Escape was now not an option unless I offered it to him, it was all he could do to remain standing.

Finally, he cracked. "Shoot! Shoot damn you, Rogeringham!"

At that point I cocked the pistol. "You will address me as 'Your Grace', sir."

It was the act of readying my piece to fire, that finally broke Sir Montague's strained resolution. He sank to his knees and fell forwards, grovelling on the floor, at which point, I fired the pistol - into the earth at my feet.

"Get up you wretch!" I told him, "Get up!"

Fellowes stayed upon the floor, sobbing.

I turned to his second, "Get this coward out of my sight! Get him out of this county, and ensure that I never see his sorry face again. If I hear that he has repeated any word of his vile slurs, I will hunt him down and beat him to within an inch of his snivelling life!

"Do you hear me, Fellowes? With my bare hands." (I later found out that Sir Montague Fellowes had used the last of his money to buy passage to the Americas.)

And with that, Sir Arthur, Barclay and I walked to our horses, to go back to the Hall.

As we rode back to the hall, I looked at Barclay, "Joshua, if I ever do anything as reckless as that again, you have my permission to knock me down."

"Very good, Your Grace. I did wonder what it was that you were planning."

Sir Arthur looked at me. "I was so angry that I wasn't thinking clearly." I told him ruefully.

"It seemed to make an impression on your opponent, Your Grace. Damn me! The chap folded up like a used napkin."

I thought about what I had done, and shuddered inwardly, if that ball had been two inches to the left ... But it wasn't and I was still here, on a glorious morning of a beautiful day that was also going to be the day on which I would marry Arabella.

"There is still one thing to be taken care of, Your Grace," Barclay said quietly, "You still need to tell Lady Helena."

I winced. "Is that really necessary?" I asked.

"I believe it would be the best course of action to confess now, before the wedding. To save any issues later, Your Grace."

Of course, Barclay was right. Truthfully, I was more scared of what she would say than I had been facing Fellowes.

In the end there was no need to tell her. I never found out how she knew but she did.

And she was quite annoyed about it.

In fact, she expounded exactly how annoyed she was quite loudly and for some twenty minutes without once pausing for breath or grasping for what she was going to say. And Helena had obviously made a great deal of progress on her ability to swear, because a ten-minute spell in the middle of her declamation was continuous - and quite imaginative - profanity.

Only when she had finally ended her rant, did she enquire why - 'in the name of the Dear Lord God and all of His Little Angels' - I had chosen to fight a duel upon my wedding day. What about your poor wife? What about me, William? Why?"

When I told her the circumstances and what Fellowes had said, she paused, and her angry face softened. She reached out and touched my cheek, the one that the pistol ball had passed so perilously close to. "Never tell me what happened, I could not bear to hear how close you were to death, but know this as well, despite being your lover, I am still your mother and I am so proud of you and the man that you have grown into. Doubly so that you are an honourable one as well.

She moved her hand to my loins and cupped my prick within my breeches, which swelled appreciatively, "As much as I would love to do something with this now, it is only fair to save this for your bride and her wedding night. You should go and change your clothes. We are due at the church at eleven."

That comment about saving it for my bride ruled out the chance of me getting Helena on her knees before me and having her use her mouth. I knew from the tone of her voice, that it would not happen.

Ah well.