Page 8 of A Bluestocking for the Wicked Duke

She could only see Duke Nicholas at the center, there was a huge man beside him. Henrietta guessed that was his second. Henrietta turned to another spectator standing beside her horse. She touched his shoulder.

“Is the other party here yet?” she asked.

“You mean the son of the Duke?” the man replied.

“Yes, William Marlow.”

“He isn’t. It is said to be bad luck being late to a duel,” the man replied, turning back to face the center.

Henrietta knew her son well, if he was late it’s because he wanted to be late.

What plans do you have now, William Marlow?

Duke Nicholas didn’t look worried; he was on his horse and saying something to the man that stood beside him. He was pointing to the stewards at the back and it looked like he was about to turn his steed around when a noise arose from the crowd facing him. There was sudden great shouting; a path was opening in the middle of the crowd. A short while after two riders came out of the crowd. Henrietta could see her son and Lord James on brown steeds. William kept looking around as if he was looking for something.

He is surprised at seeing so many people. Son, I am sure this is the beginning of Nicholas’ treachery. I hope you are ready.

Henrietta could not contain her anxiety, she needed to get as close as possible. She led with her horse, nudging and pushing her way to the front of the crowd. She sat on her horse, deciding she could come to less harm that way. She saw William and Lord James ride to Duke Nicholas and the big man by his side. They stood close to each other; it was obvious they were confirming their stand on the duel. William dismounted and handed the reins of his horse to Lord James. She saw Lord James tap her son on his shoulder then turn his horse around and ride to the edge of the arena with her son’s horse. He stood just in front of the crowd. Duke Nicholas’ second walked to the other side, leaving only the duelers in the middle.

William unsheathed his sword and was taking measured steps backwards when she saw the Duke gesticulate to him. William stopped moving backwards but did not change his pose. The Duke turned around and one of his stewards ran to him with a tray.

“I can’t see what is in the bloody tray. Why is William giving his sword to them?” Henrietta said aloud to no one in particular.

She listened in to what the crowd was saying.

“Why are they stopping?” said a boy that looked too young to be witnessing a duel.

The older man beside him, his father or older brother, answered him.

“I hear that the Duke of Buckingham and Chandos has requested that he and his opponent use swords that will be provided by his stewards. He claims the quality of one person’s blade might give superiority to the wielder.”

“William agreed to this?” the boy asked, surprised that William would accept such a strange arrangement.

“William would beat the Duke even if he was armed with just a stick or a piece of straw. He is unbeaten, haven’t you heard the stories Edward?” the man replied.

The boy laughed and scratched his head as if to remove his forgetfulness.

“I have. William is the greatest swordsman in the history of England,” the boy answered.

“He is. I am only here to know how this mismatch would end. Would William have to kill the Duke or would the Duke yield to his sword mastery?” the man said.

Henrietta shook her head, fearing for her son. If this conversation was any evidence of what the rest of the crowd thought, then her son had even higher standards to meet than she first thought. Most people had forgotten that Duke Nicholas was an equally feared swordsman when he was young. He had led platoons in the Queen’s army before he became Duke. He was one of the few men to have killed more than one opponent in a duel and remain unpunished.

England has such a short memory.

Chapter 3

To Beat a Man of No Honour

William picked an old looking sword from the tray.

Old swords are always comfortable to use.

He watched closely as Duke Nicholas picked his, he picked a shiny sword with a leather hilt. It didn’t matter to William.

Swords didn’t make fights.

They went backwards 12 paces and bowed to each other.