Page 4 of The Duelist for the Ton
“Sir Baldwin!” The fourth man, presumably Sir Baldwin’s second, stepped forward. “It’s getting light, and I’m certain I heard voices. It won’t be long before the park is teeming with visitors.”
With a huff, Sir Baldwin approached the Farthing.
“Back to back, gentlemen, if you please,” Mr. Corbett said.
“I’d advise you to step away, Mr. Cholmondeley-Walker,” the Farthing said. “You’ve paid me a considerable sum to preserve your skin—it would be a tragedy if you were hit by a stray bullet.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Not at all,” the Farthing said, with a smile. “Myaim is true. I cannot, however, give you the same assurances regarding your opponent.”
“Do you impugn my honor?” Sir Baldwin asked, his gruff tones not quite fully concealing the fear in his voice.
“Only your accuracy.”
“Very good, gentlemen, that’s enough of the pleasantries,” Mr. Corbett said, closing the box. “Step forward on each count, then turn when I reach ten. Wait for my signal, then, when I lower my hand, you may fire at will. Are you both ready and willing for the duel to proceed?”
The Farthing nodded, curling his fingers around the grip of the pistol, relishing the smoothness of the polished wooden handle.A little heavier than I’m used to—there will be less time to hold my aim.
“I beg pardon, Mr. Farthing?” Mr. Corbett asked.
“I said I’m ready.”
“AndI’mmore than willing,” Sir Baldwin said.
“Very well. One…two…three…”
With each pace, the man’s voice faded, replaced by the sound of breathing that filled the air, together with a faint heartbeat.
Breathe slowly—in, and out… Focus on your heartbeat—slow and steady.
“Nine…ten!”
A cool breeze caressed the back of the Farthing’s neck. His heartbeat increased on the turn as Sir Baldwin came into view, already holding his weapon aloft.
The fool! Sir Baldwin’s eagerness to gain the upper hand would be his downfall. Not even the most capable duelist could hold such a weapon steady for anything longer than a few heartbeats.
The dawn light reflected off the end of Sir Baldwin’s barrel, revealing a slight tremor. His mouth was set in a grim line and his jaw bulged as if he gritted his teeth with effort.
Mr. Corbett raised his hand and held it motionless for a heartbeat. Then he lowered it.
Now…
With a slow exhalation, the Farthing raised an arm while focusing on Sir Baldwin, who now stood twenty paces away, his eyes glistening. Then, when the arm was fully raised, the barrel of the pistol came into view—smooth gray metal pointing toward Sir Baldwin, its aim steady and true. The Farthing curled a finger around the trigger and squeezed it, feeling the familiar resistance.
Mr. Corbett’s hand dropped to his side.
“Fire when ready.”
On the final word, the Farthing increased the pressure on the trigger. With an explosion of blue smoke, the weapon fired. Anticipating the recoil, the Farthing stepped backward, inhaling the familiar scent of gunpowder, then lowered their arm holding the now-spent pistol.
The smoke cleared to reveal Sir Baldwin. Still standing, he clutched his right ear, his weapon on the grass at his feet.
“Fuck!” he cried, aiming a kick at the discarded pistol.
“Stop that!” Mr. Corbett roared. “The weapon will discharge if you kick it—are you completely lacking in wits?”
“The bastard’s shot me!” Sir Baldwin cried.
