Page 41 of A Wife for the Beast (Scandals and Second Chances #6)
The pacing was conducted in silence broken only by the soft sound of boots upon damp grass and the distant call of morning birds. Each step carried both men farther from negotiation and closer to the moment when honor would be satisfied through violence that could not be recalled.
"Gentlemen, turn and fire upon my signal," Blackwood announced as they reached their positions. "One, two, three!"
The command echoed across the heath with startling clarity, followed immediately by the sharp crack of pistol fire that sent watching birds into flight.
Yet only one shot had been fired—Pembroke's weapon had discharged a full second before Blackwood's count reached three, sending his ball wide while Lucian remained standing with his pistol still raised but unfired.
"Early fire!" Worthington called out with indignation at such a spectacular breach of dueling protocol. "Lord Pembroke discharged his weapon before the signal!"
"An accident," Ashford said quickly, though his expression suggested he found his principal's behavior as dishonorable as the other witnesses. "Lord Pembroke's finger must have slipped."
"The man fired deliberately," Mr. Brookes muttered with professional observation born of treating too many dueling wounds. "Hoping to gain advantage through treachery."
"Is this true, Pembroke?" Blackwood demanded with formal gravity. "Did you fire before the signal was given?"
Pembroke's face had gone pale as he realized the magnitude of his error. To fire early in a duel was considered the height of cowardice, marking a man as unfit for gentlemen's society.
"I… well…. the morning light was uncertain..."
"You fired early," Lucian said with deadly calm, lowering his pistol toward the ground rather than taking advantage of his opponent's dishonorable conduct.
"The question now becomes whether you possess sufficient courage to acknowledge your cowardice publicly, or whether you prefer to compound dishonour with continued falsehood. "
"I fired early," Pembroke admitted with visible reluctance, his voice barely audible. "The pressure of the moment overcame my judgment."
"Indeed, it did," Lucian agreed with grim satisfaction. "And now you will demonstrate whether any vestiges of that judgment remain by withdrawing your accusations against my wife and acknowledging the falsehood of your claims regarding my competence."
The demand for public retraction represented exactly the sort of humiliation that Pembroke had hoped to inflict upon his cousin, turned back upon him through his own dishonorable conduct.
"I withdraw my statements regarding Her Grace's character," he said with obvious difficulty. "My accusations were unfounded and motivated by personal animosity rather than factual evidence."
"And my mental competence?"
"You are obviously possessed of sufficient faculties to manage your affairs and protect your family's honour. My claims to the contrary were malicious fabrications designed to advance my own financial interests."
The admission struck the assembled witnesses with considerable force, confirming what many had suspected while simultaneously destroying any credibility Pembroke might have retained.
"Excellent," Lucian said with satisfaction. "And now you will explain to these gentlemen exactly how your financial difficulties led you to fabricate evidence and suborn witnesses in your campaign against my marriage."
"My debts are considerable," Pembroke began with defeated resignation.
"Upwards of fifty thousand pounds. Gaming debts primarily, though there are also obligations to moneylenders and other parties of questionable reputation.
The competency proceedings represented my final hope of gaining control over the Ravenshollow estates before my creditors could take legal action. "
"And the evidence you presented regarding my alleged incompetence?"
"Fabricated," Pembroke said with the sort of defeated honesty that marked the end of all pretense. "Bribed witnesses, forged documents, paid testimony from disgruntled former servants. None of it possessed any foundation in truth."
The comprehensive admission sent a wave of gasps and exclamations through the assembled witnesses that echoed across the heath like thunder.
"Oh, Heavens!" Lord Worthington exclaimed, his military bearing unable to conceal his shock at such a complete admission of fraud.
"Fifty thousand pounds in debt?" Mr. Brookes muttered to his colleague. "The man was desperate enough for anything."
"Bribed witnesses," Ashford repeated with obvious disgust, clearly regretting his association with such dishonorable conduct. "To think I served as second to such a scoundrel."
"This will be all over London by noon," one of the other witnesses observed with the sort of relish that marked those who dealt in social intelligence. "The scandal will be enormous."
"As it should be," came the stern reply from Lord Melbourne, who had arrived just as the proceedings concluded. "Fraud against the courts, perjury, conspiracy. This goes far beyond mere family disputes."
***
Evangeline not being able to stay at home had gone to the place of the duel and felt the world tilt around her as the full implications of Pembroke's confession struck home.
All of it—every accusation against Lucian's mental state, every suggestion that their marriage was invalid, every whispered doubt about his competence—had been deliberate lies constructed by a desperate man drowning in debt.
He knew, she realized with growing amazement.
Lucian knew he was competent all along, yet he was willing to surrender everything because he believed I didn't truly love him.
The magnitude of his planned sacrifice struck her with devastating force, revealing the depth of his feelings even as it highlighted the tragic misunderstanding that had nearly destroyed them both.
Her heart hammered against her stays as she watched him standing there in the morning mist, magnificent in his vindication yet still maintaining that careful emotional distance that had marked their recent interactions.
Even now, even after proving his honor and competence before witnesses who would carry the tale throughout fashionable society, he seemed reluctant to meet her eyes directly.
What have we done to each other? she wondered with growing anguish. How did we come so close to destroying the most precious thing either of us has ever possessed?
"The betting books at White's will need considerable revision," someone was saying with dark humor. "Half the club had wagered on Ravenshollow's competency being upheld, but none anticipated such spectacular vindication."
"Pembroke's finished in society," another voice observed with satisfaction. "No gentleman will receive him after this display of cowardice and fraud."
"As he deserves," came the sharp reply. "To fabricate evidence against one's own family member is beyond the pale entirely."
Evangeline barely heard the continuing commentary as her attention remained fixed upon her husband, noting the way he accepted congratulations with polite reserve rather than triumph, the careful control he maintained over his posture and expression even in victory.
He had risked everything to defend her honor, yet seemed to derive little satisfaction from his success.
He still believes I married him from necessity rather than choice, she realized with sudden clarity. This morning's events have vindicated his competence and destroyed his cousin's schemes, yet he remains convinced that I could never truly love a man so altered by war's violence.
The thought that he might continue his planned withdrawal from their marriage, even after such dramatic proof of his worth, filled her with desperate determination to bridge the chasm that misunderstanding had carved between them.
"I believe this matter is now settled," Blackwood announced with obvious relief. "Lord Pembroke's admissions are noted and will be properly recorded for any interested parties."
"Indeed they will," Worthington agreed with grim satisfaction. "I suspect the Court of Chancery will find such information most illuminating when reviewing the competency petition."
"The petition will be withdrawn immediately," Ashford said with disgust at his principal's conduct. "No court would credit accusations that have been revealed as deliberate fabrications motivated by financial desperation."
As the various parties began their preparations for departure, the continuing buzz of conversation revealed the magnitude of the scandal that would dominate London society for months to come.
"To think we nearly witnessed the destruction of one of England's finest military heroes through such base treachery," Mr. Brookes observed to his medical colleague.
"The Duke's restraint in not putting a ball through the scoundrel speaks well of his character," came the reply. "Lesser men might have been tempted toward more permanent solutions."
"His Grace has always been a gentleman of honour," Lord Melbourne added with authority that came from long acquaintance. "This morning's events merely confirm what those who know him have always understood about his character."
Evangeline felt tears prick her eyes at hearing such public vindication of the man she had come to love so desperately, even as her heart ached with knowledge of how close they had come to losing everything through pride and misunderstanding.
The carriage ride back to Grosvenor House passed in silence that carried entirely different weight than the cold distance that had marked their recent interactions.
This quiet seemed charged with possibility, as though both recognized that the morning's events had swept away the external threats to their marriage while leaving the internal obstacles still to be addressed.
"You fought magnificently," Evangeline said finally, her voice soft with emotions she could no longer contain. "Your courage this morning was extraordinary."
"I did what honour demanded," Lucian replied with careful neutrality, though she caught something in his tone that suggested her praise affected him more powerfully than his words revealed. "Some insults cannot be allowed to stand unchallenged."
"Even when you believed..." she began, then stopped, uncertain how to reference the terrible distance that had grown between them without reopening wounds that might yet prove fatal to their relationship.
"Even when I believed many things that this morning's events have proven inaccurate," he said quietly, his dark eyes finally meeting hers directly for the first time in days.
The admission hung between them like a bridge partially constructed, offering the possibility of reconciliation while acknowledging the work that remained to be completed.
Evangeline felt her pulse quicken at this first sign that he might be willing to reconsider the devastating conclusions that had driven him to such cruel withdrawal.
"Lucian," she whispered, reaching across the carriage to touch his hand with tentative fingers. "There is so much we need to discuss, so many misunderstandings that require clarification."
His hand turned beneath hers, palm meeting palm in a contact that sent warmth shooting up her arm despite the morning's chill. "Yes," he agreed with growing conviction. "I believe there are indeed many things that require honest examination."
As their carriage drew up before Grosvenor House, both seemed to understand that they stood at a crossroads where the path they chose would determine not merely their immediate future but the entire trajectory of their shared existence.
The external threats had been vanquished through courage and honor, yet the internal obstacles remained—barriers constructed from pride, fear, and tragic misunderstanding that only complete honesty could hope to overcome.
"Shall we go inside?" Lucian asked with formal courtesy that barely concealed the anticipation beneath his composed exterior.
"Yes," Evangeline replied with growing determination. "It is time we had that honest conversation we have been avoiding for far too long."
Behind them, London was already beginning to buzz with information of the morning's dramatic events, as servants and witnesses carried the tale of Pembroke's disgrace and the Duke's vindication to every corner of fashionable society.
By evening, every drawing room would echo with discussion of the competency fraud, the cowardly duel, and the magnificent restraint shown by a war hero whose honor had been so spectacularly confirmed.
Yet for Lucian and Evangeline, the true victory would be measured not by society's approval but by their success in rebuilding the trust and understanding that had been so nearly destroyed by pride and misunderstanding.
The future stretched before them, promising either the genuine love match they had both dreamed of or the final collapse of a marriage that had begun with such hope and had come so close to achieving genuine happiness.
The choice, they both understood, was theirs to make.