The accidental groom

Just Beyond Tomorrow

Just Beyond Tomorrow

She was pacing her room, composing the note to Featherstone in her mind when Mary knocked on the door.

"Come in," Lizzie said and winced when her maid walked into the room holding her jaunty green riding hat. "Oh, dear, did I lose that in the hall, Mary?"

“You lost it but a few minutes ago in the library, ma'am.”

"I see. Thank you. Now, Mary, I need privacy. I wish to catch up on my correspondence."

"Certainly, ma'am. I'll tell the staff you don't want to be bothered for a while."

"Thank you," Lizzie said again and sank down at her writing desk to pen the letter to Charlotte Featherstone.

It took several attempts to get it right but in the end Lizzie was satisfied with the result.

Dear Miss C. F:

I received your outrageous note concerning our mutual friend this morning. In your note you threaten to publish certain indiscreet letters unless I submit to blackmail. I will do no such thing. I must take leave to tell you that you have committed a grave insult for which I demand satisfaction. I propose that we arrange to settle this matter at dawn tomorrow morning. You may choose the weapons, of course, but I suggest pistols as I can easily provide them. If you are as concerned with your honor as you are with your old-age pension, you will respond in the affirmative at once.

Yours Very Truly, E

.

Lizzie blotted the note very carefully and sealed it. Tears burned in her eyes. She could not get the thought of Alexander's love letters to a courtesan out of her head. Love letters. Lizzie knew she would have sold her soul for a similar token of affection from Ravenwood. And the man had the brazen nerve to claim he wished friendship as well as his husbandly privileges from her. It struck Lizzie as ironic that she might very possibly be risking her life tomorrow at dawn for a man who did not and probably could not love her.

Charlotte Featherstone's response to Lizzie's challenge arrived later that afternoon, delivered by a ragged-looking, dirty-faced lad with red hair who came to the kitchens. The note was short and to the point. Lizzie held her breath as she sat down to read it.

Madam:

Dawn day after tomorrow will be quite acceptable, as will pistols. I suggest Leighton Field, a short distance outside the city, as it is bound to be deserted at that hour. Until dawn, I remain very truly yours in honor,

C. F

Lizzie's emotions were in chaos by bedtime. She was aware that Alexander had been annoyed with her when he had left She was feeling very guilty now , what if she does not get an opportunity to meet him . Once inside the sanctuary of her bedchamber she read and reread Featherstone's terrifyingly brief note and wondered what she had done. But she knew there was no turning back now. Her life would be in the hands of fate day after tomorrow. Lizzie went through the ritual of preparing for bed but she knew she could not possibly sleep tonight. After Mary said good night, Lizzie stood staring out her window and wondered where Alexander would be ,and what would he say if he came back and had to make arrangements for her funeral within a few hours.

Perhaps she would only be wounded, she told herself, her imagination running wild with gory scenes. Perhaps her death would be a long and lingering one from a raging fever caused by a gunshot wound. Or perhaps it would be Charlotte Featherstone who died.

The thought of killing another human being left Lizzie abruptly sick to her stomach. She swallowed heavily and wondered if her nerves would hold out until she had satisfied the requirements of honor. She dared not prepare a tonic for herself because it might slow her reactions at dawn. Lizzie tried to brace herself by deciding that with any luck at all, either she or Charlotte would merely be wounded. Or, perhaps, both she and her opponent would miss their mark and neither of them would be hurt. That would certainly make for a tidy ending to the matter. Then again, Lizzie thought morosely, it was highly unlikely things would proceed that neatly. Her life of late was not inclined to be neat. Fear sent chills down her spine. How did men survive this dreadful anticipation of danger and death? She wondered, continuing to pace. They faced it not only on the eve of a duel of honor but on the battlefield and at sea.

Lizzie shuddered.

She wondered if Alexander had ever experienced this awful waiting before the duel he had conducted over the issue of his brother’s honor. And there must have been moments like this also when he was forced to endure the long hours before battle. But perhaps, being able to control it. For the first time it occurred to Lizzie that the masculine code of honor was a very hard, reckless, and demanding thing. But at least abiding by it guaranteed men the respect of their peers and if nothing else, when this was all over, Alexander would be forced to respect his wife to at least some degree. Or would he? Would a man respect a woman who had tried to abide by his own male code or would he find the whole idea laughable?

On that thought, Lizzie turned away from the window. Her eyes went straight to the small jewelry case on her dressing table and she remembered the black ring. A tremor of regret went through her. If she were to get herself killed tomorrow there would be no one left to avenge Isabella. Which was more important, she asked herself, avenging Isabella or keeping Alexander’s love letters out of print? There was really no choice. For a long time now, Lizzie had realized that her feelings for Alexander were far stronger than her old desire to find her sister's seducer.

Was her love for Alexander making her act dishonorably in regard to her sister's memory? It was all so terribly complicated suddenly. For a moment the enormity of the crisis was overwhelming.