Content warnings can be found here

The next morning, in a private room, over a breakfast of the kind that Edward had been fairly certain he would never eat again, he asked Hedge what the plan for the day would be. Going at the comfortable pace at which they were travelling, it appeared that it would take another two days to reach his estates at Forthenby, and Hedge was confident of their arriving at the Hall itself upon the evening of the second day. “Though, of course, my Lord, I shall be sending a rider ahead to appraise them of our plans.”

“All quite as it should be, Hedge,” he said, with a flash of smile. Peaches stood at his shoulder with admirable rigidity and restraint, but Edward could not hear the steward speak without hearing her wicked little imitation of him, all buzzed ‘r’s and flat, country vowels. “I do wonder, though, if it would be possible for me to send something of a note down to an old pal of mine in town before we get too much further underway.”

“A note, my Lord?”

“Oh, just a hastily scribbled sentiment. Nothing to trouble your eagle eyes.” He drew the folded sheet of paper from his breast-pocket. “Don’t suppose you could set it underway for me?”

For the second time since they had met, the fellow did not seem entirely keen to jump to his slightest suggestion.

“Although, I suppose it probably isn’t proper to send it without the old seal and such like. I suppose there is a seal I should use for this kind of thing, Hedge?”

“There is my Lord. I’m afraid it remains upon your Uncle’s desk, in his rooms at Forthenby. I did not expect you to have any such urgent correspondence until we had reached your seat.”

How very unlike the man. Edward’s brows contracted a little as he suspected that he was being stitched up, “Well,” he said, “never mind. Can’t be helped, I suppose. Still, if you would be a good chap and have this sent in the next post.” He held out the letter.

“By all means, my Lord.” Hedge glanced at the scrawl Edward had put on the outside. “Although, if I might be permitted to know the subject of such a note?”

“Naturally,” said Edward, and he grinned. “It’s a defiance.”

“A defiance, my Lord?”

“Precisely, Hedge.”

“What manner of defiance, my Lord?”

“Oh, you know. That he’s a scurvy cur, and a wretch without honour, and that I therefore request the pleasure of meeting him at his convenience, etcetera.”

Hedge said nothing.

“You know, with pistols,” said Edward. “Although I say ‘whatever means he pleases’, of course. Most Englishmen can be relied on to ask for pistols.”

“I see,” said Hedge. Edward noticed the absence of the habitual My Lord. And the way that Hedge was looking at him with that sense of grave disappointment again. 

“I do hope that doesn’t cause you any inconvenience, Hedge,” he said, although his attempt at commanding disinterest fell a little flat. Edward glanced down at his plate, buckling a bit under the weight of Hedge’s stare. 

“I’m afraid I will be unable to deliver this defiance of yours, My Lord,” said the man after a damnably long wait.

“Well, that’s not an issue,” Edward said. “Send Lucas down with it.”

“I must inform you that Lucas will not deliver it, either.”

“Not Methodists, are you?” said Edward.

“No, my Lord.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter to me what church you are, Hedge. Just slip it to a post-boy, and we’ll say no more about the matter.”

“I fear I must refuse even that, my Lord.”

Edward blinked and forced a slightly strained smile on to his face. Not a good sign, this. “Well, if you could just let me have it back, then, Hedge.”

But the note remained clamped between the short, strong fingers of Hedge’s alarmingly steady hands.

“Oh, come on, now. You put a bullet in Dandy Pete. Surely you won’t object to me setting one in Dickie Thornton.”

“What Mr Edward Valance does is of little concern to me, my Lord. His habits, his pleasures, and his honour are neither under my protection nor my observation,” said Hedge in that slow drawl of his.

“Well, good,” Edward started to say, but it appeared the steward had not finished.

“Lord Forthenby, however, does not engage in duels.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The Earl of Forthenby,” he repeated, as though there had not been an undeniable edge of outrage to Edward’s voice, “does not engage in duelling.”

“Now, look here, my man. Dickie’s insulted me. He’s dishonoured me. Several times, now I think on it. As such, I would settle it with him.”
Hedge was unmoved.

“Are you telling me to ignore that insult?”

“I am, my Lord.”

Edward stared at him. It wasn’t that it didn’t occur to him to come on all bluster, to spin some other story like the one he’d tossed out about Peaches, or just to shout the man down about which of them was bloody well Lord Forthenby - it was more that he was remembering the way Hedge’s expression had not changed at all as he had sent the ball into Dandy Pete’s shoulder. 

“And this prohibition of duelling, Hedge: my uncle was happy to bow under it was he? To put Forthenby’s honour out for insult by every rogue who tried his luck?”

“The honour of Forthenby, my Lord, is rather more substantial than that of an indigent gentleman.”

With anyone else, that would have sent Edward reaching for his gage, too. Instead, he said, “I believe I’d like you to explain yourself, Hedge.”

“As I have said, my Lord. The honour of Forthenby is an edifice of too much esteem and solidity to be besmirched by an idle word, or disrespectful comment of a lesser man. Lord Forthenby, therefore, can afford a more lofty attitude to such harmless slights.”

“Shrug off the scorn of lesser men, eh?”

“As you say, my Lord.”

“What if a fellow has horsewhipped me?”

“That would only be an insult, my Lord, were it to come from a man of noble birth. Were a commoner to attempt it, then it would be merely assault, and thus a matter for the law.” 

Edward leaned back in his chair. “So, you won’t allow me to challenge Dickie Thornton?”

“I would urge you not to do so, my Lord.”

He laughed, short and bitter. “I just need to raise my head and pretend that I can’t hear the crying of those mere mortals, eh?”

“As you say, my Lord.”

“Well,” he stared at his hands, and felt the germ of an idea start in his mind. “I suppose I see your point. Forthenby has lost enough Lords in this last year, hasn’t it, Hedge? Can’t go putting the latest one at risk over a little tic like Dickie, can I? Even though it’s two to one that I’d pot him.”

“As you say, my Lord.”

“Still,” he looked flexed his hands and shook his head, “as a long-term policy, this troubles me. Perhaps I should hang up the pistols on my own account, turn a bit respectable now I have responsibilities. But what if there’s a gentlewoman’s honour involved? Or what if I’m challenged, Hedge? What if some fellah takes exception to my little idiosyncrasies? Am I supposed to hide behind the name of Forthenby like some cringing banker?”

Hedge seemed a perturbed. “A what, my Lord?”

“A banker, Hedge. Spineless moneybags. You know the type.”

“I can’t say that I do, my Lord.”

“Awful sorts. Cadets and Cits the lot of them. Perhaps I can hold my head up against an insult, Hedge, but I can’t let myself be taken for a craven.”

“If my Lord were challenged,” said Hedge slowly, “that may prove to be a different matter. Depending on the nature of the defiance, of course.”

Edward nodded, as though he understood, although inside he was capering, and couldn’t wait to get Peaches alone to share the plan with her. 

Parts of it, at least. She’d never much liked him duelling. 

“That does set my mind at rest. Well, I suppose I can afford to give Dickie a little reprieve, can’t I? In my good fortune.” He paused, “Actually, about that, Hedge. I have made a bit of a name for myself as a... how did you put it?”

“Put what, my Lord?”

“The way you described me a moment ago. A something gentleman. Just the right word, I think.”

“An indigent gentleman, my Lord.”

“Yes, that’s the one. I blazed quite a path as an indigent gentleman, in Town and… other places. Afraid the name Edward Valance of the Westlehill Valances is mud in some circles. Now, I know what you were saying about the honour of Forthenby and all that rot, but... Well, I’d sooner my past didn’t drag down the lofty associations of the place, as it were.”

Hedge, damn him, nodded as though that thought had crossed his mind more than the once.

“I mean,” Edward said, giving the fellow a chance, “when ‘this loose behaviour I throw off, and pay the debt I never promised’...” he let quotation hang, but the blasted fellow seemed to have no better sense of Shakespeare than he did of the way a young gentleman handled his honour. “Well, I don’t think anyone’s going to take me for a Hal, are they Hedge?”

“I beg your pardon, my Lord?”

“Never mind,” said Edward. “My point was that I can hardly hope to break through the vapours that seem to strangle me, can I? Not to the satisfaction of certain respectable matrons and the old poltroons who determine what kind of society is proper for heiresses.”

“I doubt any would hesitate to receive my Lord Forthenby.”

“No, but I suspect they might think a little less of Forthenby were they to know who was Lord there.”

“There’s no help for that, my Lord.”

“Well, now, that isn’t strictly true, is it, Hedge? There are plenty of us Valances about, aren’t there? Plenty of Edward Valances, for that matter. If we were just to muddy the waters of speculation a little, that might break the link. Put it about that I’m a High-Church fellow, someone like Cousin Ward, or Sir Neddy. And lay a whisper in another couple of corners that Forthenby has gone to some obscure branch - I mean, we needn’t lie outright. Everyone always gets in such a frightful muddle about it anyway. We just need to help them along a bit.”

“But why, my Lord?”

“Why, to preserve the honour of Forthenby, of course. And to give myself a clean slate. To establish myself as someone with a little more decorum. Who’s less likely to do something rash,” and he gave Hedge what he hoped was a steely look.
 
Hedge met his eyes, cold and a little threatening. 

So, Edward smiled, the way he smiled at Dickie, and every other pompous ass he had encountered in the path of his short life. 

After a moment, exasperated, Hedge nodded. “It seems a sensible proposition, my Lord.”

“Excellent. Well, I think I’m done here, Hedge.” He snapped his fingers. “Help me prepare for the journey, Peach.”

“Yes, my Lord,” said Peaches, in her foul, wonderful little accent. 

Then, she bowed, and Hedge bowed, and Edward slipped from the room with Peaches at his shoulder. 

When they were out of Hedge’s sight, she stepped a little closer than propriety would suggest, close enough so that, were she in skirts, he would have felt the swish of them against his ankles. “Just what are you playing at, Teddy?”

He resisted the urge to turn and slam her against the wall to kiss her, so urgent was the wickedness playing though him. Instead, he practiced the restraint he was going to need to survive this and merely reached behind him, cupping her crotch in his hand for a moment as he whispered, “Just wait, Peaches. Wait. And. See.”