Chapter 30
Previously: The Rose of Whitby – Chapter 29
In the aftermath of the confrontation with the baron and arranging the duel, the ball itself is almost anticlimactic to Arthur.
The baron’s second is some noble he knows, the son of a viscount or something. He’s at least a decade younger than the baron, in his early or mid-twenties, and dressed very finely, and very amused by the whole thing in a supercilious way. At first, Arthur is intimidated by him, but then the man makes some oblique comment about how it’s so unfortunate when girls don’t avoid those kinds of rumours, or something like that, like it’s Darcy’s fault the baron is awful and a dick, and he decides he doesn’t like this man any more than the baron himself. So he sets his shoulders and jaw and locks down his emotions and asks whether they could get to the arrangements- he wishes he could think of some snide comment of his own that would be subtle enough that he couldn’t get in trouble, but the only things coming to mind are crude things people yell at each other in the East End. While it’d be very satisfying to say those to a noble, it would also be very stupid.
At least the duchess is playing favourites with them- Arthur doesn’t think she likes the baron. She doesn’t really say so, of course, but she makes a comment about how he’s usually better behaved among his peers that makes it sound like she knows or thinks he isn’t in other circumstances. And she used the excuse of showing them her weapon’s collection in thanks for their gift to show them the duelling pistols she was going to lend them the next day. She’s clearly not happy about Darcy insisting on the duel, and with pistols, too, but she even takes them to her private shooting range for a bit so Darcy can practise shooting and Arthur can learn how to load the pistols, since that’s apparently the job of the seconds. And she told Arthur exactly how arranging the duel would work and what to say.
Darcy holds the pistol in two hands, because it was definitely not made for hands as small as hers, but she can fire it just fine. Aiming with it, on the other hand… After a half a dozen tries, she manages to hit the target, and Arthur is kind of glad that she’ll be only fifteen paces from the baron, seeing as they’re planning on cheating and her getting hit anyway.
Unfortunately, they don’t have a lot of time, since the duchess needs to return to her hostess duties and Arthur’s not sure it’s entirely legal for her to let them try out the weapons beforehand and all, so they don’t want to be missed for too long.
By her expression, the duchess doesn’t think Darcy’s going to survive the next day, tries to get her to reconsider and take the matter to court or to the papers after all, but of course Darcy still shakes her head.
So Arthur goes off to arrange the duel with the supercilious dick of a noble for late the next morning.
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At the ball, the duchess makes it clear (when she mingles, in private conversation) that she expects them and the baron’s company to stay away from each other and not make any scenes- which Arthur is only too glad to do, and he thinks so are Gregory and Darcy.
He feels awkward enough in his costume, even though some people compliment him on it. He’s not sure whether they’re just being polite, or mocking him in a way he doesn’t understand, or actually mean it. He doesn’t feel much less awkward, either, about sharing a dance with Darcy, but when she tells him he dances well, he feels a little better. And she reminds him that they can burn the costume once they get back, burn all the things someone else wanted it to mean, make it his.
Of course, that will mean having left the ball and being back at the castle, and Arthur can’t wait for it- so hopes that it’ll be all three of them, that nothing will go terribly wrong with the duel. He can feel the baron’s presence in the room, even though it’s a huge ballroom, like a hot poker at the back of his neck, between his shoulder blades- hovering, threatening to burn him any moment. The man’s relative proximity puts the tension back into his stomach, makes his nerves flutter.
The atmosphere at the ball feels tense, people’s laughter too high, their movements too sharp, like there’s something simmering under the surface.
It’s probably just his imagination. Or maybe that’s what noble balls are like? He has no doubt that there’s politics going on around them that he doesn’t understand, people having conversations and making alliances that could well change laws and have far-reaching consequences. Nobody else has nearly the rank and connections that the duchess does, but still- these are people who sit in the House of Lords and have a say in how the country is run. Probably that means who they talk to and how they do it is important.
But even if it is, Arthur is far too out of his depth and too nervous to do more than not trip over his own two feet and make sure he doesn’t say anything to get them even more in trouble.
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Darcy knows she is meant to stay away from the baron but something about being in the same room with him is just putting a tension into her stomach, makes her nerves taught like… like a bowstring. Yes, she thinks that’s how the books say it. She feels ready to charge, to fight, to protect Arthur who feels so scared. Even she can tell by the way he tries not to be obvious with his glances about the room. She tries to make him feel a bit better while they dance but she’s not sure it does much.
She keeps looking over to him even while she dances with others, which should be terrifying, it’s a social thing but somehow she feels brave and strong. The delicate dress so specifically matched to Gregory’s outfit is her uniform, her battle armour, signifying standing together. It is emerald green, with a high, standing collar made from panels with rounded, irregular edges to match the peacock feathers lining the front of her bodice and the top of the skirt. Purple accents the side of the bodice, and green silk flower petals with purple edges climb from under her chest up to her shoulders. A pair of small butterfly wings made from the finest, shiniest silk in matching purple sit at her back for the ball’s fairy tale theme, and their edges are dotted with tiny green stones. Small, white stones are worked into a belt of decorative rosettes that edges the top of the skirt, and more silk flower petals and peacock feathers drape down amid it’s full folds. The shape of those rosettes is echoed in the brooches that line the wide lapels and cuffs of Gregory’s uniform-style jacket, but the stones are blue and green, bright against the gold embroidery that is thick along the edges. The jacket itself matches the purple of the silk that accents Darcy’s dress, with a subtle pattern, while his waistcoat plays accent in the green of her dress, and his ascot is made from those same silk flower petals. It makes for a visual harmony without them both following quite the same theme. She is the lady, feathery and delicate, and he is the knight, uniformed and masculine. And Arthur’s King Arthur costume just means he’s her commander, her advisor, her clever marshall while she can focus on being the weapon. Really, she’d prefer if she could fight the baron hand to hand, but of course, that would break etiquette, and etiquette is important, she thinks. That doesn’t stop her from glaring daggers at the baron from behind her feathered mask whenever she spots him.
More importantly, or so she thought, she saved her last dance for Gregory. She thought that would mean something to him, but he’s quiet and seems about as scared as Arthur. She won’t have it. She’ll show that mean baron tomorrow and if she ends up full of bullets then that’s okay!
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Arthur’s not sure how the rest of the day and the next morning passes- it feels like time is both as sticky as toffee and rushing by him- he doesn’t sleep well, of course, only in snatches, plagued by confused nightmares.
Then there’s breakfast, and then there’s the duchess kind of making it clear she expects the other guests to leave in a timely fashion and not linger around out of curiosity about the duel, without saying any of that, and servants and people rushing around, the sound of horses and carriages, and suddenly, when most people are gone, it’s time for the duel. There are a few onlookers- the lady the baron came with, and two men his second apparently came with, some kind of cousins or something, and one or two others whose curiosity, Arthur guesses, outweighed incurring the duchess’ displeasure.
They are gathered on the lawn, the duchess’s mansion rising steep and grey next to them, while the grass is incongruously bright in the sun. Arthur tries to focus on that- if there’s blood, he’ll have to make sure to hide it, to keep the grass just as green. But the baron’s presence is like a rasp against his skin, like ice down his spine, like he’s somehow pulling the fear up and through Arthur from some bottomless well inside of him.
And Arthur can’t tell why. Well, yes, the duel, and nobles, and maybe that’s all it is.
Darcy is stepping forward in her black dress, with her chin held high and her eyes direct and fearless on the baron.
Maybe he likes that, because he smiles.
The duchess has explained the proceedings, and Arthur hopes he’s doing it right, but no one says anything when he finds himself in front of Darcy and handing her the pistol. He thinks the duchess would’ve said something if he’d forgotten to load it or something.
Darcy gives him a reassuring smile- like he should her, since she’s the one about to get shot at. Gregory… Gregory is hovering over there, like he’s stuck between wanting to be away from the baron and by Darcy’s side, and that’s the spot these two opposing forces have dropped him at. He looks anxious, which… isn’t something Arthur can remember seeing often before, and he flinches when the baron smiles his way.
“Lovely day for a duel, isn’t it?” he says. And the tone is conversational, but still, Arthur hears ‘lovely day to die’ in it. Darcy, though, only tips her chin up a fraction higher, and says: “Yes, it is,” and puts her hand on one of the pistols.
The baron takes the other one, and Arthur makes himself focus on Darcy’s dress. He has a task, and it’s important, and Darcy trusts him with it, and he can’t let her down.
Even if his hands shake and his knees are weak, he has a job to do, and he doesn’t need his hands or knees for it, only his mind.
And then it’s time for him to step away, and Darcy and the baron turn their backs on each other and start walking the agreed-upon fifteen paces. Arthur’s heart is pounding so hard he feels dizzy with it, but Darcy’s dress- all he has to focus on is Darcy’s dress, and keeping it looking exactly like it does.