Which I might add were all serious
offences.”
“Not as serious as treason,”
iterated General de Merville, who did not appreciate being
side-lined.
Moriarty handed across his
weapon before Nash had an excuse to shoot him. “It has to do with a
certain lady.”
Prince Sergei chuckled richly.
“Ha! Now we are getting to the bottom of things - a crime
passionnelle!”
“Which lady?” pressed Damery;
unamused.
Major Nash guessed where Jim
was going with this and decided to get there first. “He is
referring to the Countess.”
“Varvara Volodymyrovna!” gasped
the Russian.
Mr Blague snorted. “Uppity
women! That’s what happens when you don’t put them in their place.
Nothing but trouble, mark my words, gentlemen!”
Damery was the first to
comprehend that this confrontation was about male rivalry for the
affections of a lady, probably because he was the only man in the
room who did not have designs on the rich young widow. Even Mr
Blague, for all his misogynist bluster, had kept one eye on the
Countess for most of the night. The Russian ambassador had
engineered several encounters with the Countess all evening, adding
fuel to the rumour he and the princess were estranged and she had
moved into Clarges. And his old friend, de Merville, had freely
admitted he was considering matrimony. Now these two fine officers
were in the running too. The personal fortune she was said to
possess was a desirable draw card of course, but there was no
denying her provocative allure.
If this situation wasn’t nipped
in the bud in this room it could take on a life of its own. There
was also the small problem of the Countess being discovered alone
with Moriarty. Her reputation would suffer enormously once it
became known publicly. The four of them could have kept it to
themselves but once Major Nash arrived and this flare up had turned
into a conflagration there was no putting out any spot fires.
Sir James Damery understood
everything but he had no solution. “Colonel Moriarty, are you
suggesting Major Nash may hold a grudge against you because of a
certain lady you are both hoping to pursue?”
General de Merville was
incensed at the audacity of the two hot-blooded young bucks who
believed they could steal the rich young widow from under his nose.
“Dammit, Damery! Stop couching everything in diplomatic terms. Both
these men should be locked up in the brig until we can sort out
what the deuce is going on.”
“The sun will soon be sinking
on the British Empire,” predicted the American. “It will come about
from allowing uppity women to run amok.”
“In my country this matter
would be dealt with swiftly,” mused the Russian, lighting up a
black cigarette in lieu of sampling some shisha.
“How so?” asked Damery, who
still couldn’t see a face-saving solution to this mess.
“A duel,” replied the
Russian.
Such a proposition would
normally have been dismissed, laughed off even. Duelling might be
fine in Russia where personal honour took precedence over the law
of the land, but in England a man could be charged with murder,
which is exactly what happened to the Earl of Cardigan when he shot
one of his former officers in a duel.
“It just so happens I have two
duelling pistols in my carriage,” added the Russian, flicking ash
on the floor as he sauntered around the outskirts of the round
room, looking bored.
“Duelling is against the law,”
pointed out Damery.
“Duelling was forbidden by Tsar
Peter in our country too but the ban runs counter to the noble
spirit of men and the romantic Russian soul. Pushkin fought nearly
thirty duels. Every Russian worth his salt has fought a duel.”
The fact the Russian had
brought duelling pistols with him to the New Year’s Eve ball sent
cold shockwaves through the men assembled under the roof of the
Mughal dome.
As well as the rumour of the
estrangement of Prince Sergei and Princess Paraskovia, it was also
rumoured that she had taken a lover. It was not yet
offences.”
“Not as serious as treason,”
iterated General de Merville, who did not appreciate being
side-lined.
Moriarty handed across his
weapon before Nash had an excuse to shoot him. “It has to do with a
certain lady.”
Prince Sergei chuckled richly.
“Ha! Now we are getting to the bottom of things - a crime
passionnelle!”
“Which lady?” pressed Damery;
unamused.
Major Nash guessed where Jim
was going with this and decided to get there first. “He is
referring to the Countess.”
“Varvara Volodymyrovna!” gasped
the Russian.
Mr Blague snorted. “Uppity
women! That’s what happens when you don’t put them in their place.
Nothing but trouble, mark my words, gentlemen!”
Damery was the first to
comprehend that this confrontation was about male rivalry for the
affections of a lady, probably because he was the only man in the
room who did not have designs on the rich young widow. Even Mr
Blague, for all his misogynist bluster, had kept one eye on the
Countess for most of the night. The Russian ambassador had
engineered several encounters with the Countess all evening, adding
fuel to the rumour he and the princess were estranged and she had
moved into Clarges. And his old friend, de Merville, had freely
admitted he was considering matrimony. Now these two fine officers
were in the running too. The personal fortune she was said to
possess was a desirable draw card of course, but there was no
denying her provocative allure.
If this situation wasn’t nipped
in the bud in this room it could take on a life of its own. There
was also the small problem of the Countess being discovered alone
with Moriarty. Her reputation would suffer enormously once it
became known publicly. The four of them could have kept it to
themselves but once Major Nash arrived and this flare up had turned
into a conflagration there was no putting out any spot fires.
Sir James Damery understood
everything but he had no solution. “Colonel Moriarty, are you
suggesting Major Nash may hold a grudge against you because of a
certain lady you are both hoping to pursue?”
General de Merville was
incensed at the audacity of the two hot-blooded young bucks who
believed they could steal the rich young widow from under his nose.
“Dammit, Damery! Stop couching everything in diplomatic terms. Both
these men should be locked up in the brig until we can sort out
what the deuce is going on.”
“The sun will soon be sinking
on the British Empire,” predicted the American. “It will come about
from allowing uppity women to run amok.”
“In my country this matter
would be dealt with swiftly,” mused the Russian, lighting up a
black cigarette in lieu of sampling some shisha.
“How so?” asked Damery, who
still couldn’t see a face-saving solution to this mess.
“A duel,” replied the
Russian.
Such a proposition would
normally have been dismissed, laughed off even. Duelling might be
fine in Russia where personal honour took precedence over the law
of the land, but in England a man could be charged with murder,
which is exactly what happened to the Earl of Cardigan when he shot
one of his former officers in a duel.
“It just so happens I have two
duelling pistols in my carriage,” added the Russian, flicking ash
on the floor as he sauntered around the outskirts of the round
room, looking bored.
“Duelling is against the law,”
pointed out Damery.
“Duelling was forbidden by Tsar
Peter in our country too but the ban runs counter to the noble
spirit of men and the romantic Russian soul. Pushkin fought nearly
thirty duels. Every Russian worth his salt has fought a duel.”
The fact the Russian had
brought duelling pistols with him to the New Year’s Eve ball sent
cold shockwaves through the men assembled under the roof of the
Mughal dome.
As well as the rumour of the
estrangement of Prince Sergei and Princess Paraskovia, it was also
rumoured that she had taken a lover. It was not yet
Similar Books
