Stephen winced. He could not bear to read any more. But there was more. There was a hint of the practices in which Mr Fainlove indulged; and these were such which he could not allow to go unchallenged.

He said: ‘You will write a reply.’

‘It needs more than a written reply, Stephen.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘There is only one answer to this. I must call him out. This is death ... to one of us.’

‘No!’

‘My dear boy, that is what Pulteney intends, and I should be called a coward if I did not meet the challenge. I could not face the Court again if I allowed this to pass.’

‘But he does not mention you by name.’

‘My dear Stephen, you are wilfully blind. There is no one at Court who will read this ... and you can be sure everyone is reading it at this moment ... who will not know that Mr Fainlove is John Hervey.’

‘But ... a duel! You cannot.... You must not! ‘ ‘You seem to think that I shall be the loser.’

‘This is not a battle of words.’

‘No ... of swords. Have no fear. I shall give a good account of myself. And it is the only answer, for the girlish creature he makes me out to be would not be capable of crossing swords with such an opponent.’

‘I am ... terrified.’

‘You shall be my second. Now do not try to persuade me from this. It is inevitable. The battle has gone beyond words, and only the sword will defend me now.’

In the Park, behind Arlington Street on a bitterly cold morning, Pulteney and Hervey faced each other.

In an agony of fear Stephen Fox looked on, too disturbed to feel the cold cutting January wind which whistled across the park.

Lord Hervey had been very cool and had declared that nothing would make him give in now although all the way to the scene Stephen had been urging him to turn back.

Pulteney looked equally grim. The fact that they had once been friends made them both the more bitter.

They approached each other; they drew their swords; the signal was given and for the first few seconds no sound was heard but the clash of weapons on the still morning air.

Stephen felt himself ready to swoon as Pulteney’s sword caught Hervey’s arm and a dark stain was visible on his friend’s sleeve.

But now Pulteney was showing blood. Hervey’s sword had touched his neck. There was grim determination in their faces. On this cold and snowy morning one of them was going to die.

Pulteney was the better swordsman; that became evident to the watchers. Stephen was almost fainting with fear; but Hervey seemed unconcerned. At least if this were the end, it would be a dramatic exit—the sort that would be expected of Lord Hervey.

Pulteney believed the victory was his. At any moment he would run his adversary through the heart. He thought of Molly of whom he was fond. What would her reaction be to the man who had murdered her husband? And what happened to a man who killed another in a duel? Would he be obliged to flee the country?

This was folly, madness! How had they allowed this matter to come to this point?

He was ready now, the advantage was his. His sword was poised. In a few seconds Lord Hervey would be a dying man.

Pulteney’s foot slipped on the snow. Was it by accident? None of the watchers could be absolutely sure. But the moment of decision had come ... and passed.

Pulteney’s sword had gone wide of its mark. Hervey gave a little shout of triumphant relief. And then Stephen had run out and placed himself between the two opponents.

‘This has gone far enough,’ he said. ‘You have both proved your courage. No good can come of proceeding further.’

Pulteney’s second joined his voice to Stephen’s. This was the best way in which to end a duel. Each had been wounded; none was the victor. But they had both shown that they were ready to die to defend their honour. Wise men ended at this point. No good could come of continuing.

Pulteney was only too glad to end the affair. He had no wish to kill Hervey, nor to be killed by him.

He held out his hand. Hervey was secretly exultant too. Who wanted to die in one’s prime when life offered so much that was exciting? But Pulteney had made wounding ... and damaging comments.

He ignored the extended hand, bowed stiffly and leaning on Stephen’s arm walked away.

Stephen took him to his house and there dressed the wound in his arm; and all the time he was congratulating his friend on his escape from a situation which must never be allowed to arise again and yet had defended Hervey’s honour.

His courage vindicated, Hervey stayed briefly at Court. He saw a little of Frederick but Anne Vane kept out of his way. The Queen was courteous and kind; and quite clearly showed that she was glad he had had the courage to face his adversary; and she was even more glad that he had come through that dangerous affair unscathed.

He went back to Ickworth where Molly greeted him as usual. She had heard of the duel, but since he had returned safely and suffered no ill she saw no reason to dwell on the matter, and it was forgotten.

Molly was pregnant and in due course a son was born. Hervey decided that he should be called Frederick after the Prince of Wales and asked Frederick to come down to Ickworth for the christening. This Frederick declared himself delighted to do and the christening was performed to Molly’s satisfaction and the great joy of the neighbourhood.

Frederick gave no sign of his changed feelings for Hervey. In fact when he was with his old friend he easily slipped into the old habit of friendship and the Herveys had no idea that anything had changed.

When Anne Vane had received Hervey’s letter she had been furious. If he thought she was sitting in her apartments waiting to hear from him he was mistaken. In some respects she preferred Frederick. He was less du monde perhaps; but he was the better for that.

She re-read the note.

To act as his spy! This was a joke, and she would teach Mr Hervey a lesson.

Should she show the letter to the Prince? It might not be a bad idea when she had prepared him. But the impertinence of Lord Fanny!

In her apartments she was preparing herself to receive the Prince. He came without ceremony, for that was how he liked it. They had a great deal of fun together, riding out in the streets in hack Sedans, being carried side by side and pretending to be on the fringe of the Court. It was much more gratifying to be the Prince’s mistress than any other man’s at Court—not excepting the King. Ugh! Fancy being George’s mistress. Not much fun in that. Poor Henrietta Howard, who had held the post for so long and got all the scandal with none of the glory!

Oh, yes, it was very different to be the beloved of the Prince of Wales.

There was a little trouble looming in the not very distant future. She was certain now, but this of course wasn’t the time to mention it. However, she had made up her mind that the infant was going to be the son ... or daughter ... of a Prince. Neither Harrington nor Hervey were good enough to be named as the father of her child.

She was setting a tiny black patch close to her eyes when the Prince entered. She leaped from her stool and embraced him.

‘My Prince!’

He was delighted with her. A simple young man really; and she had had such experience of young men, so she knew exactly how to treat him.

Later when they lay side by side in her bed she talked of Hervey.

‘I have a confession to make. I feel that I can no longer keep this to myself. You mean so much to me that I can’t bear to have a secret from you. You are not my first lover.’