Chapter 31
Previously: The Rose of Whitby – Chapter 30
Fifteen paces pass quickly, even with tension hanging in the air like… like the magic did when he did the ritual, thrumming and greedy.
The baron turns first, smoothly, and so is the gun coming up, and him firing.
He hits Darcy. Arthur is sure he hits Darcy, even while he bends every bit of will to keep her looking just like she is to anyone watching, because she jolts back- but then she raises her own pistol and fires, doesn’t scream or yell or show in any way that she’s hurt, and Arthur belatedly realizes there was a gasp from their small audience when she looked like she was hit. They’ll probably think she was just startled, now. Or Arthur hopes so, vaguely. He’s busy making sure no one can see anything out of order.
She doesn’t hit the baron- unless he also has illusion magic and is better at not showing it. Which… well, Arthur really hopes isn’t the case.
“Both missed- a draw,” the duchess declares. “I trust honour has been satisfied?” She’s looking at Darcy, who narrows her eyes at the baron and says: “No. I demand a re- duel.”
Their little crowd gasps and murmurs. The baron smirks. The duchess looks like she thinks Darcy’s crazy- and is trying not to show it. Arthur wishes Darcy hadn’t done that.
“As the lady wishes,” says the baron in his mocking-without-being-mocking tone.
So Arthur and the supercilious second reload the pistols. And the baron watches them and Darcy with his creepy, greedy expression. Like… like this is all great fun. Like he isn’t even a bit worried about getting shot himself.
~~~~
They take the pistols, they do the steps. Again, the baron is smoother, faster, fires while Darcy is just finishing to turn. Again, Arthur’s pretty sure he hits. But this time, Darcy doesn’t flinch or stagger- Arthur guesses she braced herself better. If anything, she seems to lean slightly forward, into what might be the bullet. This time, she fires back more confidently, more deliberately. The pistol still looks very large in her hands, cumbersome and clearly not made for someone of her stature.
Again, she misses.
Arthur wants to whimper. The tension that’s knotting his shoulders feels unbearable. Can’t it just be over already?
But no, it isn’t. The duchess this time just raises an eyebrow, and Darcy tilts her chin up and holds the gun out to Arthur.
~~~~
While they reload, the baron steps closer- not close enough to bring the duchess down on him for trying to tamper with anything, but far too close for Arthur’s comfort. Of course, that also makes Darcy stay nearby, and she scowls at him.
And the full weight of the baron’s attention is on Arthur. It feels like… like an army of insects crawling over his skin. A barely-there touch that promises bites and pain. The baron’s expression is too happy, his eyes too dark, his smile too wide.
Like he… like he wants to eat Arthur. And sees far too much, because he murmurs: “There’s more to you than meets the eye, isn’t there?” And Arthur can hear an unspoken ‘little boy’ at the end of the sentence that reminds him of the way his father would snap at him. “Not just the lady’s scholar.”
And what does he mean by that? Arthur just about manages to load the gun without dropping it, and he has to make sure the illusion stays in place, and he really doesn’t have enough attention to spare to the gibbering voice in the back of his head that wants him to curl into a ball and pull a blanket over his head until the baron goes away.
Not that he would, Arthur thinks.
But Darcy steps up next to him, in front of him even as she takes the loaded pistol from him, continues to glare at the baron.
Who raises his hands like he really wants to placate her. “Oh, I wasn’t implying anything of that sort,” he tells her, with a chuckle in his voice. “After all, that’s what you have the pretty one for, isn’t it?”
Well, Arthur supposes if you’re already duelling for the insult, you might as well repeat it?
~~~~
Darcy doesn’t quite know what is going on with her, ever since this duel started she had to fight not to grin. She feels like she can do anything, nothing can stop her, she can be brave for poor scared Arthur. He looks like he wants to flee but he’s fighting so bravely with himself, she wants to protect him and normally she’s scared of banter but right now, all that fear is nowhere to be found in her heart. She’s burning with fervour, that silly grin on the baron’s face just wants her to fight duel after duel until she hits him. Preferably between the eyes but in lieu of that she can at least fire back verbally. “It would appear you are more inclined to comment on his looks and usefulness than I am. Are you sure it is my virtue we are fighting over here?”
~~~~
“Now what could a young lady such as yourself possibly mean by that?” Arthur thought Darcy’s comment was a good one, but the baron, of course, only seems to be enjoying himself more. Darcy doesn’t give him a response except for a look while she takes the gun to get ready for the next round.
The baron chuckles, a sound that sends another shudder over Arthur’s skin and into his bones. God, he wants this to be over, and to be away from this man! He’s not even doing anything, just being all amused and smiling creepily, but something- something about him makes Arthur vibrate with fear, and he doesn’t know why or how and he can’t do anything about it, and… and… He makes his thoughts stop running in circles. The spell. He has a spell to keep up, and he looks at Darcy to make sure he didn’t slip, that it’s still there.
It is.
Darcy misses again. This time, she gets to shoot first, because the baron is taking more time to aim- less concerned about her hitting him, maybe. And it very much looks like he’s aiming at her stomach. And Darcy only stares at him in challenge when his shot rings out.
People are starting to whisper and murmur- it’s starting to look really weird that the baron keeps ‘missing’ her, Arthur’s sure. Especially when he definitely aimed this time.
But, with reluctance shimmering through his limbs, he goes to reload the gun yet again. Again, he has the baron’s attention firmly fixed on himself, with all its invisible pressure.
“Certainly not just the lady’s scholar,” he murmurs, and his eyes flick to Gregory. “Maybe even the reason the lady has such an… unusual knight postulant?”
Arthur didn’t think he could be more scared, but apparently he can- an icy spike down his spine and in his gut- surely… surely the baron can’t know anything about… about the ritual? About Gregory? Gregory now? Arthur’s thoughts are just jumping to it because he was thinking of the ritual earlier, surely. But then what else could he mean? Does he… does he remember Gregory after all? Is that what all his comments to Darcy have been about? He did hint that he knows Gregory isn’t a noble… but then, people in the Order of Galahad aren’t, so he’d know from that…
Arthur hopes, hopes he’s managing to keep a blank face, keep these thoughts off his expression. What can he say? What exactly did the baron say? Something about Gregory and being knight postulant…
“I helped Lady Darcy with the paperwork for the Order, if that’s what you mean,” he manages. That’s innocuous, right? There’s nothing strange about that. He’s allowed to do that, as her scholar, right?
“I see,” the baron says, and looks and sounds like he sees far too much.
Then he takes the gun from his own second, and they’re back to pacing away from each other and shooting.
Which is taking on a strange, tense, deliberate way that Arthur doesn’t think is how duels are done, generally. They turn, and both of them raise their guns slowly, and take the time to aim- and the baron is aiming higher than before. At Darcy’s face, Arthur thinks, doesn’t know if he makes a sound, and if he does, it’s probably lost in the gasp of the audience.
But Darcy’s also aiming, both hands on the gun to hold it steady, her face set and determined, and she squeezes the trigger like the duchess showed her, before the baron does his, and…
And she hits him.
He jerks back, and his gun sags, and blood spreads onto his waistcoat from a dark hole in his shoulder.
Arthur feels a tidal wave of relief wash through him that almost manages to finally make him crumble and cry- he stiffens his knees at the last moment. And shoves more power into the illusion spell because, no, no, he’s not having it fail now!
And Darcy bounces on her toes and squeals and claps her hands- which is awkward with the pistol still in one of them, and that appears to remind her where she is. She cuts herself off and blushes, but keeps her chin high.
The baron is baring his teeth in what might be a smile as his second hurries over to him to inspect the wound. He lets him, his attention still fixed on them, not nearly as concerned as he should be about the state of his shoulder, or showing any signs of pain.
“Honour has been satisfied,” the duchess declares as she stalks between their two parties. “This duel is over.” Her expression says that anyone who disagrees with that and might try to keep fighting might well be dueling her next.
The baron tips his head, and lets his second take the pistol and return it to the duchess, and then lead him away, the rest of the second’s party and the lady the baron came with joining them, though they throw plenty of glances back at Darcy.
Murmuring to each other, the other people who stayed also start making their way back into the manor house.
“You are a very lucky young lady,” the duchess says to Darcy as she collects her second pistol. The look she gives Darcy makes it clear that she’s sure that something was helping that luck along, but she lets it go.
As the baron gets further away, Gregory rushes up, his eyes large and pleading. “Are you hurt?!” he asks Darcy, hands hovering like he wants to touch her but doesn’t dare to. And he shouldn’t be touching her too much in public anyway, Arthur thinks, and also… he suppresses the urge to look at him in panic and shake his head- the whole point of the plan is to make it look like Darcy’s not hurt!
But Darcy just smiles at him and tells him she’s fine- yes, really, she is, and Arthur murmurs that they should get their luggage and get going and not take up more of the duchess’ hospitality.
Gregory says he’s sure the duchess wouldn’t mind, she’s nice, but gets moving when Darcy nods at Arthur and starts walking towards the house as well.
~~~~
Thankfully, their luggage is already packed and waiting for them in the entrance hall, because it just occurs to Arthur that he couldn’t maintain the illusion if he couldn’t go with Darcy to the women’s wing if she needed to return there- and then she’d end up walking around the manor with, at the very least, a torn and bloody dress, and that would entirely defeat the purpose of the whole plan and duel and probably land them in huge, huge trouble.
But, no, everything is packed, and the duchess says her good-byes to them, and then they’re in the carriage on their way back to their castle, and Arthur sags in relief as the footman closes the door behind them and they start clattering and rolling along the long gravel driveway, with the big manor shrinking behind them.