Chapter Text
Sometime in November 2021
The thirteenth Duke of Halstead stood at the windows of his study, gazing out at his estate and sipping a darjeeling. It was November, and the grounds were soggy, brown, and dreadfully dull. The taste of the tea was pleasantly sharp, as Eddie had asked the staff to skip the milk and sugar. Still, it wasn’t enough to distract from his boredom. Freddy and Tamsin were getting an early start on wintering in Tenerife, and while Eddie had thought he would enjoy being free from the burden of babysitting his older brother, the unusual quiet was beginning to grate.
When he was bored like this, he would usually drop in on Geoff for one of their chats, which were more like long stretches of silence punctuated by grunts of understanding. But it was one of the gamekeeper’s afternoons off, and Eddie was too polite an employer to impose on his subordinates' free time, even a subordinate who was practically a member of the family. Besides, he had heard Geoff and his mother planning to go enjoy some local heritage cattle show.
Unbidden, the thought wandered through his mind that he had used to have friends. Yes, friends. Bright, well-off fellows like himself from his school days, crazy about rugby, girls, and booze. But somehow they had all seemed to float away into the worlds of elite finance and law once he had joined the army. And all his former fellow officers were still deployed, and certainly not available to be rung up on a dreary autumn afternoon.
There was, of course, Alistair. How long had it been since he had seen his childhood friend? Not since his father died, most likely, and Alistair had stood behind him in debonair sympathy at the funeral. They had made plans to reconnect, but, of course, certain events had gotten in the way, and Eddie had never responded to any of Alistair’s texts inviting him to one London shindig or another with anything more than a, “Now’s not the best time, mate, but soon, I promise.” Eventually, the texts had slowed. Then they had stopped altogether. Damn Freddy. And damn Bobby Glass, too. And, most of all, damn his father.
Thinking of the Glass family, he heard her well before he saw her – high heels striking the lobby floor with the staccato precision of bullets. A slash of colour in the dismal day, she swept into the study without bothering to knock. Nonplussed, he stared as she walked over to the sideboard, poured herself a hefty serving of whiskey, gulped it in one, then poured herself another.
“Good evening, Susie,” he said drily. “Please, come in. Would you like a drink?”
She swept him a haughty glance before draping herself in his desk chair. On the surface, she appeared much as she always did – plaid jacket, velvet hat, and chin tilted as she sized him up with cool eyes. But judging from the way her eyes gleamed and her fingers drummed against the desk’s mahogany surface, she was up to something. Mischief? Anticipation? Fun? Eddie gave a small huff of exasperation before pouring himself his own scotch (neat, no ice), and seating himself in a leather chair that had once belonged to Wellington (and which had been patched and repaired to such an extent that Charly fondly called it his “Chair of Theseus”). Their eyes met and held.
“Edward.”
“Susan.”
She smiled. “Your services have been requested.”
He arched a questioning eyebrow at her. “What type of services?”
“The type that you are uniquely positioned to provide.”
“How so? Freddie’s not around, so operations have been quiet, smooth, and profitable – which you know, because you’ve barely been here. Some days, I almost wish Jimmy would lose another van of weed, just to have something to do.” His eyes brightened. “Has Jimmy lost another van of weed?”
Her lips curved, mirroring the arc of her hat. “No, nothing’s wrong. The services requested, Eddie, are unrelated to our business. I’m referring to your services as a duke. I am not your partner in this matter – merely an emissary.”
His hand froze in the middle of raising the scotch to his lips, and he narrowed his eyes at her over the rim of the glass. “Emissary from whom?”
“I’m not at liberty to say. For now, know only that it is someone who should not be refused.”
“Since my services are the ones requested, perhaps I’m the best judge of that?”
“Not in this case,” she said simply. “The matter is too sensitive. But there is something that must be done. And it must be done by a member of the aristocracy. Unfortunately, too many of our noble gentlemen no longer possess the attributes needed for this sort of task. Attributes that you, your Grace, possess in abundance.” She gave him a sardonic grin, and let her gaze briefly drift in open admiration over the muscled form before her.
Eddie coughed and shifted uncomfortably in his new wool sweater. Trying it on that morning, he’d worried it was a bit too small, and now he was certain it was. But blast Susie for noticing. Still, was he an English aristocrat or not? If his sort were skilled in anything, it was deflecting with sarcasm. “Well, what’s it going to be this time, Susie?” he asked mockingly, standing up and taking a few slow, swaggering steps towards her. “Hijacking a billionaire’s yacht? Smuggling ancient artefacts? Kidnapping a hitman’s dog?”
“Oh dear, nothing that exciting.”
“Lucky old me,” he grumbled.
“Simply put, there’s a certain gentleman who’s been very naughty. He must be taught a lesson. And you are just the man to do it.”
“You mean … a duel?!” he asked, unable to hide his astonishment.
“Technically, a duel requires swords or guns. As a duke, Eddie, I thought you'd know that.”
He put his hands in his trouser pockets, leaning forwards in a mock professorial manner. “You know the British aristocracy has evolved a wee bit since ‘pistols at dawn,’ right, Susie?”
“Have they?” she asked archly. “Well, regardless, this isn't a duel, because it’s a boxing match. A duel would be too … risky.”
“Then have your brother do it.”
“Can’t. Jack's not a duke.”
“Good gosh, what is this, some sort of Fight Club for aristocrats?”
She only smirked, then stood up and walked around the desk to stand before him. She sipped her whiskey and looked up at him solemnly. “Eddie, your country needs you. Don’t you trust me?”
She was awfully close. “On some days less than others, if I were being honest,” he murmured.
“Let this not be one of those days.”
“Well, what’s the danger?”
She laughed. “Danger? To you?” Again that bold gaze that raked him disconcertingly up and down. “Absolutely none whatsoever, your Grace. At least not immediately.”
His judgement told him to refuse. Those words – At least not immediately. – were quite concerning. And things were going well – why risk upsetting everything for another one of Susie’s escapades? But as he looked down and saw the challenge in her eyes, he somehow couldn’t.
“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”
“Does that mean that you agree?”
“Let’s just say that curiosity has gotten the better of me. I assume you’re an emissary for whoever it is who wants to teach this gentleman a lesson?”
She didn’t answer, but a knowing smile tugged briefly at the corner of her mouth, before she once again assumed an expression of nonchalance and slung an exquisite tote over her elbow. “Excellent,” she said. “Well, go get some sleep. We’re leaving at four o’clock in the morning.”
“What?!”
“The match is tomorrow morning, Eddie, and your client believes in rising early. The drive is several hours.”
“I’ve changed my mind,” he growled.
“Can’t,” she said cheerfully. “It never was really a request, you know. Knowing how you dislike commands, I just thought you might whinge less if I gave you the illusion of choice.”
“God dammit, Susie.”
“Oh, hush, you’ll enjoy this. And we’ll be friends again tomorrow. You’ll see.”