Campbell Townhouse, Berkeley Square — Early Evening
The Campbell townhouse was in a state of elegant uproar.
Servants rushed discreetly along the corridors, footmen whispered about "the incident at White's," and even the butler—usually stoic as a marble statue—kept glancing nervously toward the drawing room doors.
Inside, the atmosphere was positively glacial.
Duchess Catherine Campbell stood in the center of the drawing room, arms crossed, her face the picture of aristocratic fury.
Beside her sat Marchioness Josephine Fiennes, hands folded neatly, breathing deeply through what she suspected was the beginning of a migraine.
On the chaise, Lady Beatrice Campbell sighed into her handkerchief, muttering prayers for patience.
The door opened.
Duke Alexander Campbell entered first—shoulders stiff, expression stony—dragging his fourteen-year-old son by the upper arm.
Victor Campbell, miniature cane in the other hand, looked quite proud of himself.
"Here he is," Alexander announced grimly.
Catherine placed a hand on her hip. "Victor. Sit."
Victor sat.
Perfect posture.
Perfectly unrepentant.
Josephine exhaled slowly. "I fear I already know," she murmured, "but please—tell us what happened."
Catherine fixed her son with the kind of stare that could fell a lesser man.
"Victor," she said icily, "why did you sneak out to White's—an establishment you are absolutely forbidden from entering—and proceed to insult the Seymours?"
Victor straightened, smoothing his waistcoat.
"Well," he began, "Cousin Sophia is being insulted by Lady Margaret Seymour. So, naturally, I took matters into my own hands, since I am a man."
Three things happened simultaneously.
Beatrice choked.
Josephine gasped.
Catherine's eye twitched.
Alexander sank into a chair, whispering to himself, "I should have married a quieter woman. Then maybe the children would be normal."
Victor continued, oblivious, "And since men handle disputes in gentlemen's clubs, I went to the nearest one. It was quite simple."
"SIMPLE?" Catherine repeated, incredulous.
"You infiltrated White's, drugged your governess with warm milk, insulted Baron Seymour, insulted Lord James, and then started a political lecture!"
"It was necessary," Victor said matter-of-factly.
Josephine blinked. "A lecture?"
Victor nodded proudly. "Yes. On the peerage. And on how barons are inferior—"
"Victor Alexander Campbell," Catherine snapped.
"—in rank," Victor amended quickly. "Not morally. Though possibly morally."
"Victor!" Catherine almost shrieked.
Beatrice covered her face.
Josephine, massaging her temples, leaned forward.
"My dear boy," she said gently, "Sophia does not need you to duel the entire nobility on her behalf."
Victor sniffed. "With respect, Auntie Josephine, she clearly does. Since she refuses to defend herself properly."
"Sophia defends herself quite well," Josephine replied firmly.
Victor shook his head. "She insulted Margaret subtly. That is far too civilized. Margaret deserves a direct strike."
Catherine made a noise halfway between a scream and a groan.
Beatrice finally spoke, exasperation dripping from every syllable.
"Victor, why, in the name of every ancestor we possess, would you insult the Seymours in front of ALL of White's?!"
Victor lifted his chin. "Because they insulted Sophia. And she is my cousin. And I am an heir. And heirs protect their family."
There was a collective pause.
Josephine exchanged a look with Catherine.
Beatrice sighed, but her eyes softened.
Alexander muttered, "He gets this from your side of the family."
Catherine glared at him. "Do not test me, Alexander."
Victor sat straighter, sensing the room's disappointment but entirely unmoved.
"I only did what honor demands," he insisted.
"Oh?" Catherine raised a brow. "And what does honor demand you do next?"
Victor considered this. "…draft a formal statement?"
Catherine massaged her temples. "Absolutely not."
"…challenge Lord James?"
"NO."
Josephine stepped in before Catherine combusted.
"Victor," she said softly, "your loyalty is admirable. Truly. Sophia would be touched."
Victor perked up.
"But," Josephine continued, "Sophia would also be horrified if she learned you risked your reputation—and insulted a baron—in her name."
Victor paused. "…Horrified?"
"Deeply," Josephine said.
He deflated. Just a little.
Catherine approached and crouched to his eye level, cupping his cheeks.
"My darling boy," she murmured, "you cannot fight every battle for your cousin. And you cannot start wars in gentlemen's clubs."
Victor frowned. "…What if she needs me?"
Beatrice moved to sit beside him, squeezing his hand.
"She does," she said softly. "But not like this. She needs you to be thoughtful. Mature. Strategic. Not… incendiary."
Victor sighed.
"I was strategic," he mumbled.
"No," Beatrice corrected gently, "you were Sophia."
Victor blinked. "…Oh."
Josephine stifled a laugh.
Alexander stood.
"Victor Campbell," he declared, "you are confined to the townhouse for the next week."
Victor's jaw dropped.
"A week?! But—Papa—my cousin needs—"
"No," Catherine cut in. "Sophia needs peace. You need discipline. And Miss Sinclair needs a vacation."
Victor pouted.
But he didn't argue.
Not this time.
He simply muttered, "Very well. But I still stand by what I said. The Seymours are foolish."
Beatrice groaned.
Catherine threw her hands up.
Josephine promised to pray.
Alexander pinched the bridge of his nose.
And then—
A sharp knock.
A footman entered, bowing deeply. "Your Graces… Marchioness… a courier from Seymour Townhouse."
Duke Alexander's expression darkened. "Bring it here."
The footman handed him a sealed letter. The red wax bore the unmistakable impression of Baron Seymour's crest.
Josephine inhaled sharply. "Oh no."
Alexander broke the seal, unfolded the parchment—and went utterly, murderously still.
Catherine snapped, "Alexander, what is it?"
Her husband read aloud with iron in his voice:
"To His Grace, Duke Alexander Campbell.
Your son, Lord Victor Campbell, has gravely insulted my daughter's honor at White's. I therefore demand satisfaction.
My second shall be my son, Lord James Seymour.
We meet at dawn.
— Baron Seymour."
A beat of horrified silence.
Then Catherine shrieked, "DUEL?! With a FOURTEEN-YEAR-OLD?"
Beatrice clutched her head.
"Mama, Papa, do something!"
Josephine stood abruptly.
"This is absurd. Baron Seymour has lost his mind."
Victor, instead of panicking, only lifted his brows with practiced hauteur.
"Well," he said calmly,
"I suppose my words struck a nerve."
"VICTOR CAMPBELL!" Catherine exploded.
Alexander rounded on his son next. "Do you understand what this means?"
Victor blinked. "That Baron Seymour is insecure?"
Alexander's voice dropped to a dangerously low register.
"He means to duel you. With pistols. At dawn."
Victor frowned. "Yes, but surely he cannot shoot the heir to Sutherland. It would be treason."
"Victor—" Catherine looked ready to faint. "He could kill you!"
Beatrice threw her hands up. "You are a CHILD, Victor!"
Josephine collapsed into a chair, whispering, "Oh sweet heavens, Sophia will faint when she hears of this."
Victor huffed. "I was merely defending Cousin Sophia's honor—"
"BY STARTING A DUEL?" Catherine cried.
Alexander pinched the bridge of his nose. "This ends immediately. I will write to Baron Seymour at once and remind him that dueling a child—let alone a ducal heir—is a punishable offense."
Beatrice glared at her brother. "What on earth possessed you to speak like that in White's?"
Victor shrugged, utterly unrepentant. "His daughter insulted our cousin. I retaliated."
Catherine threw a cushion at him.
Victor dodged elegantly.
Josephine whispered, "I need to speak with Mama immediately."
Alexander paced. "We will settle this without bloodshed. I refuse to allow this idiocy to escalate."
Victor muttered, "He started it."
"ENOUGH," his father thundered.
The footmen outside flinched.
Catherine approached her son, gripping his shoulders tightly.
"You will stay home.
You will not leave.
You will touch no more milk.
You will cause no further diplomatic incidents."
Victor raised his chin.
"I was protecting Sophia. It was my duty—"
Catherine cut him off. "YOUR DUTY IS TO STAY ALIVE," she snapped.
Alexander exhaled sharply. "I will handle Baron Seymour."
Dawn, outskirts of Hyde Park
Fog clung low over the grass, the early morning air cold enough to bite.
Baron Seymour stood rigidly near the marked dueling ground, coat buttoned high, gloves immaculate, jaw clenched with righteous fury. His son, Lord James, loomed beside him, breath forming small puffs in the frosty dawn. A valet and footman hovered nervously in the background, clutching a polished case of pistols.
James checked the horizon for the fifth time. "Father… Campbell is late."
Baron Seymour huffed. "Dukes always are. They think tardiness proves power."
James gave him a sidelong look. "And Victor? He is fourteen. Surely he isn't—"
"His age does not absolve him," Baron Seymour snapped. "He insulted our family in public. Honor demands—"
Hoofbeats thundered across the still morning.
Father and son turned sharply.
A single rider approached— tall, commanding, wrapped in a dark riding cloak that billowed like storm clouds.
Duke Alexander Campbell dismounted in one fluid motion. But Victor was nowhere in sight.
James muttered, "…this cannot be good."
Alexander strode toward them, boots crunching frost.
Baron Seymour stiffened. "Where is your son, Campbell? This is his duel."
Alexander pulled a sealed parchment from his coat. "I bring an answer," he said, "but not the one you expect."
The Baron frowned. "What is that?"
Alexander held it up, the wax seal catching the weak morning light—
the royal crest.
James blanched. "That—surely that is—"
Alexander's voice rang sharp and unyielding:
"By order of Her Majesty Queen Charlotte, this duel is hereby forbidden."
The Baron's face twisted. "Forbidden? The boy insulted my daughter!"
Alexander's glare cut like a blade. "And your response was to challenge a fourteen-year-old to pistols at dawn. Her Majesty considers that an embarrassment to the realm."
The footmen looked away, wisely pretending to be scenery.
James sputtered, "But—Victor must learn the consequences of—of—"
"He will," Alexander replied coolly. "Through discipline. By us. Not by bullets."
The Baron scoffed. "So the Duke of Sutherland thinks himself above honor."
Alexander stepped forward, eyes hard as winter steel. "What I think, Seymour, is that men of our age do not aim loaded pistols at children."
Even the fog seemed to hesitate.
Baron Seymour opened his mouth—then shut it again when Alexander unfurled the decree.
He read aloud:
"Let it be known that no duel may be sought with or against minors of the peerage.
Any attempt shall result in forfeiture of rank and summons before the Crown."
— Charlotte Regina
James nearly dropped the pistol case.
Alexander folded the decree away.
"And," he added calmly, "my family offers a compromise."
The Baron scowled. "What compromise?"
"Victor," Alexander said dryly, "shall be accompanied by a governess at all times. In public. In private. In every room he enters. Especially near gentlemen's clubs. Particularly White's."
James blinked."…He'll be supervised? Constantly?"
Alexander nodded once. "Miss Sinclair will shadow him like a prison guard. There will be no more infiltration of White's, no more political declarations, and absolutely no more milk-based sabotage."
The Baron's eyebrow twitched. "Milk?"
Alexander closed his eyes. "I do not wish to discuss it."
A beat.
Then another.
Finally, Baron Seymour exhaled sharply through his nose. "A governess as punishment…" He folded his arms. "And it spares my daughter the humiliation of another scandal."
James added grudgingly, "And…it prevents Mother from fainting again."
Baron Seymour straightened his coat. "Very well. We accept the compromise."
Alexander nodded curtly.
"Good."
A pause.
"And Campbell—" the Baron added stiffly, "do keep your boy away from my daughter."
Alexander allowed himself the faintest smirk. "My boy has no interest in your daughter.
His interests lie in… other directions."
James blinked. "What directions?"
Alexander mounted his horse. Pray you never find out."
And with that, the Duke turned his steed, leaving the duel ground behind as the sun broke over the fog.