“Gentlemen, will you not be reconciled?”
Morning sunlight streamed through the leaves of the trees in the little forest, dappling the world and the three people beneath the canopy.
The other men looked at each other.
“John, will you defer to me in the matter of the heart and hand of Elizabeth Parkwood?”
“Andrew, I fear I shall not do so. Will you defer to me in the said matter?”
“No, John, I fear I shall not do so, either. We are not reconciled.”
Morton sighed. As the mutually agreed second for both duelists, he opened the box containing the pistols and began preparing them for use. The pistols belonged to John’s family, and they had all shot with them for sport. Morton knew the guns to be exceptionally good ones; nothing within fifteen paces stood a chance of survival.
He was about to lose one of these friends.