Chapter 19: Weapon of Choice

Pavilion Gardens, Brighton, England. July 24th, 1815.

The next lady on the list – only three were left, thank God! – Henry had wanted to do something a little less conventional. But James was starting to get used to unconventional activities with these ladies. First, some of them were wearing pants; some read sociology, others had traveled the world, and one or two yielded swords and other sharp weapons. So, when the activity suggested was archery, it did not surprise him in the slightest.

James had sent out an invitation to the lady in question and was now waiting for her in a remote place in the gardens. Servants had set up two targets and bows, arrows, and arm protective gear on a table next to some refreshments. He was taking off his coat – only wearing a vest over the shirt of which he was rolling up the sleeves – to have freer movements for later on. There was no need for a chaperone – and to be honest he had more than once forgotten to have one – with her since she was also a widow.

"Your Highness," the Countess of Hailey, Dowager Frederika Vaughan, said, coming over. She was wearing a forest green dress with short sleeves and wrist gloves with a small matching hat under a tight bun at the nape of her neck. "Good afternoon."

"Good afternoon, Lady Vaughan." He offered her a tip of his head. "Are you familiar with archery at all?"

"Of course," she replied, already choosing some leather protection for her arm. "I used to do it a lot with my husband," she replied with a nostalgic smile playing on her lips. "We were always competing to see who was the best archer."

"I see. And who was, then?"

Frederika shrugged. "Sometimes, it was me, sometimes it was him. We were quite equal in that sport."

James nodded and also took an arm-guard. "Well, you will most certainly be a better archer than me," he said, adjusting it on his forearm. "I have not done this in quite some time." He paused and thought for a moment. "I cannot even remember the last time I did. Maybe with some friends during a garden party, quite some years ago."

Frederika was already weighing and choosing a bow for herself, testing the strings and the elasticity of the weapons. She laughed softly. "Do not worry yourself, sir," she said. "It will come back quickly, I assure you."

James was surprised at how the awkwardness of their previous encounter had been entirely forgotten. At least she made it seem like so, but he did not want to talk about it at all, not wanting for her to shut down again or make her uncomfortable. If they could simply spend some good time together, it shall be fine.

"Alright, I shall be taking this one," she said, walking away from the table with a bow and a quiver on her shoulder. "Are we counting points, then?"

James raised an eyebrow. "I will be needing some time to practice my shooting, but afterward, yes, why not?"

Frederika nodded and pulled an arrow from her back, placed it on the bow, aimed, and shot. James snorted as is landed in the bullseye. "I see the competition will be quite hard," he admitted. He still had to pick a bow for himself. He quickly looked at them all until he recognized the one he used to use, back in the day. He also shouldered a quiver and stood next to the lady, facing the second target. He ignored her as he prepared an arrow on the bow and aimed and shot.

"Excellent!" she said as the arrow landed on the fourth circle of the target.

"Hardly," he argued.

"At least you touched the target," she teased with a sly smile. "All you have to do now is get closer and closer to the middle. We shall be practicing with three arrows each before starting to count points."

James wanted to argue but he did not want to look like an incompetent donkey so he nodded and practiced on his three other arrows. Not once did he reach the bullseye, and the last one even bounced on the target before falling to the ground. He did not say anything, and neither did Frederika, but he blamed her for distracting him.

"Alright," she said. "Are you ready, then?"

The prince took a deep breath and nodded. "Yes. Let us count points."

So one after the other, they shot their arrows, but James did not have to count his points to know that he had lost. All three of Frederika's arrows landed in the middle of the target while his stayed on the outside rim.

"May I try to help you?" she asked. "Unless you used to be quite the shooter back in the day and you simply forgot how…"

James snorted. "No, I was never the best at it, to be completely honest. But there was always one other who was even worse than me." He paused. "So, yes, please do teach me your ways, master." He offered her a teasing smile and the brunette's cheeks reddened a little.

She nodded once, shaking the awkwardness away. "Very well. Position yourself with an arrow and I will see if your posture is correct." He obeyed and Frederika stood behind him, correcting the angle of his elbow and the bend of his knees. "Now breathe in," she said, "and let your breath go at the same time as your arrow."

James obeyed again, and his arrow landed on the circle right around the bullseye. He smiled at the result.

"Excellent!" she said. They continued to shoot arrows and by the end of the afternoon, he was able to hit the bullseye one time out of three; which meant that she had much more points than him, and he had to bow to her expertise and her win.

They had been shooting for almost two hours and both needed to sit and use the refreshments served on the table for them. James poured two glasses of wine and gave one to her. "You must have played many times with your husband to be this good."

"Yes," she said, a shadow passing in her eyes, but gone as quickly as it had come. "We had an archery range set up on our country estate." She paused. "He was the one who taught me in the first place." They were silent for a moment, sipping on the wine and eating grapes and cookies from a silver platter. "Did your wife teach you something as well?"

"To be able to laugh and have fun," he said without hesitation. "She always found something to brighten a moment; beauty in small things, laughter and fun in even the most awkward of situations." He could not stop the smile from blooming on his lips as the memories chased one another in his mind. Now that she was gone, though, most fun and laughter had vanished from his life.

Next to him, Frederika smiled too, and he found that her smile was extremely beautiful and lightened her whole face. He quickly looked away, focusing on detaching a grape from its stem. He knew he should end their private moment now, claiming that it was time to get ready for dinner, but he did not want to. If only this moment could last just a while longer…

"I think we should get ready for dinner," Frederika said softly, yet none of them moved.

Without thinking, James reached out to take her hand. "I really am sorry for your loss," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "You must have loved him and your son very much."

Frederika nodded and he noticed her eyes were brimming with unshed tears. "I did so, very much," she said, swallowing said tears. "You must have loved Princess Marianne very much as well."

He squeezed her hand. "More than life itself."

They stayed like this, unmoving, holding on to each other as if they were holding on to an anchor, lest they drifted away and drowned in their own sorrow.

"Ah! there you are!" Henry Windsor said as he strode over, happy as always. James and Frederika jumped apart. "I simply wished to– oh– am I interrupting?" the fat man asked, suddenly very self-conscious.

"No, not at all," James said, standing. Frederika stood as well. "We were about to come back to the Pavilion anyway to get ready for dinner." He turned to his companion and nodded once. "Thank you for a pleasant afternoon, Countess." He clicked his boots together and walked away. Had Henry seen him holding her hand? Christ – If he did, he would never hear the end of it.

/ / /

Pavilion, Brighton, England. Later that same evening, July 24th, 1815.

It was already quite late and most of the ladies had retired to their rooms for the night. James was growing impatient as the end of the month neared, bringing him closer to the verdict: were his friends coming to his aid or not? He still had two ladies on his list to have a private moment with, and he could not wait for it to be over.

But for his plan to work better, he needed to put someone in the confidence. Henry was the last person on that list, but his sister was the perfect person. He hoped it was not too late but when he saw light coming from under her bedroom door, he knocked lightly, not wanting to startle her.

He heard a gown ruffling as she came over to open the door. "Oh, it is you," she said a little breathless, and her cheeks slightly pink despite the candlelight.

"Are you waiting for someone?" James asked. "Am I interrupting? I can come later if you–"

"No, no, it is quite fine," she said, stepping aside. "Please, do come in." James walked in and she quickly looked down the hall to make sure no one would see them. It was quite improper indeed for them to be in the same room alone, unchaperoned, and at night no less!

"I was not followed if that is what you are looking for," he said, closing the curtains on every window. He stood by the desk, his hands behind his back, and his brow furrowed.

"What is it, James?" Valery asked, rather unsettled by his presence and his seriousness at that hour in her room. "Has something happened?"

"No," he replied.

"James, what is going on? You are giving me a fright, at the moment."

James tried a tight smile. "There is nothing to fear, Valery." He paused, trying to find the right words even though he had practiced them before coming. "I simply wish to warn you that we shall probably be having some guests at the beginning of the next month."

Valery frowned. "Guests? Who? How many? And next month starts in just a week."

"Now that is the problem," James said. "I do not know how many, nor who will be there, if any, truly."

"James, please be more precise, I do not understand a word you are saying!" she said, sitting down on an armchair, her back straight and her posture perfect.

"Fine," James said, sighing. "I have sent invitations to some friends and acquaintances to come to spend the next month or so with us here."

Valery was silent for a moment as she pieced together all the information she had. "Is that why you wanted to organize a ball?" she asked and James nodded. "Dear Lord... Henry is going to have your head…" she said softly. "Who exactly did you invite? Please tell me you did not invite your cousin Aleksander."

"…I did," James said. "Among others." He took out a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Valery who took it between her elegant fingers. She quickly went over the list, commenting on one or the other as she read. "Cornelius Cavendish," she said. "Is that the Duke of Devonshire?"

"Yes."

"Marianne and he were good friends, I am certain he will come."

"I hope so. I have not seen him in ages."

"Mmh…" Valery continued reading the names. "Oh, I doubt Sir Campbell will come, for he married the daughter of an Earl at the end of the Season."

"I did not know that," James said. "Do you know about anyone else?"

"I think Sir Nathaniel Thornburry was about to leave on another one of his journeys to the East Indies, this summer." She paused. "If you are lucky, he might have received your invitation before he left. Oh, I did not know you were friends with Lord Stephen Russell…"

"I am not," James said. "I am with his older brother, and he has always told me how his little brother needed to marry–" James stopped abruptly as Valery's sharp eyes looked up at him.

"Wait a moment," she said, frowning. "Golly! You are going to make your friends marry the ladies! And hope that none remains for you!"

James scratched the back of his neck. "Yes," he admitted. "That is the best-case scenario."

Valery laughed. It was quite high-pitched and tense as everything finally made sense. "I do not know yet if you are daft or if you are a genius, but I suppose only time will tell. Your father is going have you killed, for certain…"

"He does not need to know."

"He will."

"I will not tell him if you do not."

Valery rolled her eyes at the prince. "You do not understand, James. He– Someone might tell him." She quickly looked away, but James did not notice the mishap she almost made for he was folding the list of men and putting it back in his pocket.

"Anyhow," he said. "I trust you will not tell Henry about all this. They will be arriving on August 3rd for the ball."

Valery rubbed her forehead and nodded. "My lips are sealed," she said. "But you should start thinking of an explanation for him. And your father, for he will learn about this one way or another."

James nodded. "Good night, Valery, and thank you." He offered her a small smile before going to his room.

There, Captain Edward Clinton was waiting for him, standing against the wall. He stood at attention when he saw the prince.

"At ease, Captain," James said. "Was there something you needed? I was about to retire for the night."

"As a matter of fact, yes, sir," Clinton said. "May we speak in private?"

"Of course." He invited the captain inside his apartments. "What is it?"

"I, er, have received a rather mysterious note…" he said, giving a folded piece of paper to the prince, who opened it and read it out loud.

"To Sir Edward Clinton, Captain Esquire of his Royal Majesty. Tomorrow at dawn; bring your sword."James paused and looked at Clinton. "Is that it? No signature?"

"No, only a rather peculiar seal. I did not break it." He fished out of his pocket a handkerchief and took the seal from in it, handing it to James.

James looked at the seal and barked out a laugh. "Captain. I am surprised you have not recognized this signet," he said. "It is a bull, and I believe you have been challenged to a duel by a rather petite Scottish lady harboring the bull on her brooch holding her clan tartan."

Clinton frowned. "A duel? But whatever for? I have done nothing wrong."

"No, you have not, indeed," James said with mirth in his voice. "But I believe the lady wished to spare with you– oh, how I wish I could be there to see it."

"If it is a duel, indeed," Clinton said, "I shall be needing a Second." And of course, James accepted.

/ / /

Pavilion grounds, Brighton, England. July 25th, 1815.

Edward Clinton had barely slept at all, wondering why on earth would a lady challenge him to a duel. He had gone over everything that had happened during their stay in Brighton, but he could not find where he had made a mistake. Perhaps His Royal Highness was right and she simply wished to spare for the sport. But that was rather unusual… People dueled for honor with pistols! Unless maybe they did it with swords in Scotland?

He tossed and turned the whole night and was dressed and ready long before dawn. So was the prince and he met him on the patio, also dressed and ready, a sly smile on his face.

"Please do not laugh, sir," Edward said.

"Captain," James replied, seemingly trying not to laugh. "I have never seen you so anxious. Have you never dueled before?"

"No," he admitted.

"Surely you have fought greater foes?"

There was a short silence before he replied. "Yes," he said. "But what if I draw blood? What if she draws blood? Sir, I cannot let that happen!"

"Captain, please calm yourself," the prince said. "I am certain she has no intention of killing you." He paused. "But if she does, I will make sure the world knows you fought valiantly."

"Killed by a lady?" Clinton said, horrified. "I cannot let that happen. I would rather people think I died while cleaning my gun than being mortally stabbed by a short–"

"Lady McLeod!" James said, cutting Edward mid-sentence. "I hope you have sharpened your sword?"

The lady curtsied to the prince. "I have," she said with a spark in her eye. "I was not expecting ye here, though; no offense."

"None taken," the prince replied. "The Captain wished me to be his Second for this duel." He turned to look at Edward, and the soldier was glad dawn was not bright enough for them to see his reddened cheeks.

"Oh," Lady Beitris McLeod said. "It is not a duel per se, I simply wished to spare with the Captain without having too many people watchin'."

"I see," James said, a slight smirk on his face that made Edward feel like a fool all over again. "I shall leave you two to it then if you do not need me." He bowed his head to them both, turned on his heel, and headed to the stables for an early morning ride.

Edward Clinton finally faced the young Scottish lady with the long blond tresses down her back and her brown very plain dress that was no doubt made for easier movements. "Milady," he said. "Shall we walk away from the Pavilion so as to not wake anyone with our swords clashing together?"

"Aye," she replied with a smirk. They walked in silence, heading to the other side of the lake where the noise would be much subdued for the rest of the people due to the high grass and the water. By the time they had arrived there, the sky had turned a brighter pink and they could actually see each other quite well. The shiny long sword hanging at her hip made her look dangerous, but Clinton reminded himself that it was just for sport andè he made a mental note not to get on her bad side.

"Are ye ready, Captain?" she said, unsheathing her weapon and weighing it in her hands. Clinton nodded and unsheathed his own before getting into position, readying himself for the first blow, for he was not giving it himself. He was a gentleman and he would not be guilty of attacking a lady–

But she was fast and he barely parried her first attack! He needed to focus. As surprising as it was, she was actually extremely agile and quick, and Clinton did not hold back for she was quite the worthy opponent.

Their swords clashed and rang in unison as they parried each other's blows, but Edward did not want to lose face in front of a woman so he upped his game slightly; but so did she.

"Are you holding back on me?" he asked, panting already.

"Why?" she asked. "Are ye?" She twirled around – confusing Edward for a second – before she attacked him and made him lose his sword to the ground and have hers at his throat, stopping barely half an inch before it touched his skin. "Do not let yerself be distracted by a nice twirl," she said with a smirk. "Always keep your eyes on yer opponent's feet, they never lie." She took a few steps away from him, picked up his sword from the grass, and handed it to him, handle first. "Again."

Edward did not want to show her that he was tiring already; instead, he nodded and took off his red coat for some more freedom of movement. They spared like that for another few minutes, but this time, it was Beitris who lost her sword. He could have given her a final mortal blow, but of course, he did not. It made her laugh and she seemed to be coming more alive by the moment. He was not sure if he found that frightening or alluring. Maybe both at the same time…

/ / /

Ballroom, Pavilion, Brighton, England; Later that same afternoon, July 25th, 1815.

There were only two more ladies to go, and James could not wait for it all to be over. Soon, his friends would be there and he could stand on the sidelines watching as their private little Season took place. But for now, he still had a private moment to endure, and Henry had suggested they meet up in the ballroom for some reason, though he had not written the reason on the list.

The grand room was empty but for a pianoforte in the corner near the windows where the curtains had been drawn open to let in as much light as possible. Between each window was a thin table with a majestic bouquet of flowers, and the wooden floorings were bare of any painting; though the servants would soon be working on a design for the ball coming up the next week.

There was a slight knock on the door before the lady walked in, her long wavy red hair flowing behind her, only held back by a long blue ribbon, surprisingly matching her blue eyes and the blue dress she was wearing.

"Your Highness," she said in a perfect English accent despite her Scottish roots while doing a perfect curtsy. Being the daughter of a Marquess, her manners had to be impeccable.

"Lady McIntyre," he replied, bowing his head. "Thank you for meeting me here, though I have no clue as to why this room in particular." He looked around at the empty room.

"Why, to dance, of course," she said with a gleam in her eyes.

"Dancing."

"Yes!" She walked up to him. "It is one of my favorite things to do, and his Lordship has mentioned a ball might be happening at some point this summer." She paused. "I am very familiar with Scottish dances, but I fear my English steps are a little rusty."

"I see," James said, locking his hands behind his back. "But I fear I may not be the best teacher. My dancing is average at best."

"We can help each other out, then," Yvaine McIntyre suggested. "You teach me the steps, and I can help you master them!"

Again, James tried to get out of this affair. "I may step on your toes–"

"I came prepared," she said, lifting the hem of her dress to show him her shoes.

"Leather riding boots instead of dancing slippers," he said, practically scoffing. "I see my reputation as a terrible dancer precedes me." He looked into the lady's eyes, and she was smiling at him but not in a mocking way. "Who told you, then?"

"Oh, I shall never reveal that," she replied, letting the hem of her dress fall on her feet.

But James knew it had to be Henry. "What about music?" he asked, trying one last excuse to stop this terrible dancing idea. "Surely we cannot practice without music."

Yvaine's smile became brighter. "Oh, that is why I asked a friend to help us." She went to the door and opened it, revealing said friend. "I asked the Countess of Hailey to play for us," she said. "And she will also be chaperoning us."

James was not listening anymore as his gaze fell upon Lady Frederika Vaughan standing in the doorway. This couldn't have become any more awkward. Looking at the brunette with her head held high, he could not stop thinking about how warm her hand had been and how perfectly it had fit in his, just the previous day.

Yvaine looked from one to the other. "I do hope it is alright, Highness? We will be needing music…"

"Yes, yes, of course," he answered, nodding.

Lady Vaughan also nodded once and sat at the piano. She opened the lid and silently ran her fingers on the black and white keys. "What shall you be dancing?" she asked.

"If my memory serves right, most of the dances require more than two dancers; but the Walz only needs two, am I correct?" Yvaine said, looking from the prince to the pianist.

Frederika nodded. "A Walz it is, then."

James desperately wanted to leave but Frederika glared at him, daring him to leave. If their deal from their first meeting was still on the table, she was not a potential suitor but was helping him find a proper lady. And Lady Yvaine McIntyre had been on that list she had given him. So of course, she would not let him scurry away: she would make him dance with her. Had their moment the previous day meant nothing to her, then? James mentally kicked himself for even thinking that. Why had it suddenly meant so much to him? He had been able to avoid Henry since that moment, not wanting to talk about it with him.

"Highness?" Yvaine said. "Should we start, then?"

"Yes, I do apologize, I was thinking of something else." He positioned himself with Yvaine in the middle of the room and Lady Vaughan started to play a Walz. James did step on his partner's toes a few times, but she laughed it off and they danced until the music piece was finished.

"I see the steps are not so different than the Scottish Walz," Yvaine said. "May I suggest something, sir, to help you?"

"Of course," he said, even though he could not care less about improving his dancing. She showed him how standing closer to his partner would help with leading the dance and dancing in unison instead of two people dancing somewhat together. She showed him a couple more things to improve before they tried a Quadrille and a Lancers despite them being only two dancers. But they made do and Lady McIntyre was without a doubt enjoying herself.

James, on the other hand, could not stop stealing glances at the pianist who was deliberately avoiding his gaze by keeping her eyes on her hands for she was playing by memory each and every piece they danced to.

"I simply cannot wait to dance at a real ball," she said, happiness on her beautiful visage; for yes, James could tell she was quite beautiful indeed. "I have never attended one before."

That surprised him quite a bit. "As the daughter of a Marquess, you have never attended a ball?"

"No," she admitted. "I have dreamed more than once that I did, but I have been staying home taking care of my younger siblings."

"Ah yes," James said. "I vaguely remember you mentioning that during our first conversation." He paused and rang for a servant to bring them some refreshments, his feet and his mind being tired of dancing. "Might you be able to keep a secret, then?" he said, to which she nodded. "There will be a ball here in Brighton, and sooner than you might think…"


Hello all, thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as each of the characters chose their weapon: the bow and arrow, the cunning, the sword, and dancing. what is your weapon of choice?

anyway, only one lady left to have a date with, and then tadaa... the dudes are coming! yay! (tho there will 1 or 2 things happening before that...)

thanks for your reviews and I can't wait to read them ;) see ya next time!