Buffington reached the spot where she had stood and spun in puzzlement.

In that moment, Jane saw her course. If she could but keep the two men from seeing one another, then perhaps she might delay the duel until they saw some sense. Breathing deeply, she formed two more Sphères Obscurcie and pushed them around each of the participants. It taxed her to form the Sphères so far from her, but the sudden curses each man emitted as the other vanished were enough reward for her effort. She tied them off and the strain eased immediately.

Until Captain Livingston stepped out of his. “Clever idea, but it does demonstrate why we do not use such things in the field.”

She moved the Obscurcie to engulf him again, aware as she did so that all he had to do to overcome her was to continue moving about. Tied off as it was, her own Obscurcie would remain intact, even if she fainted, but it took too much effort to keep Livingston masked; and the farther he roamed from her, the harder it was for her to control the threads. She must think of another course.

There was another way to hide them from view, even if it lacked subtlety. Jane reached for the darkest, heaviest folds she could. Weaving them densely, she made a patch of night and placed it like a wall between Mr. Dunkirk and Captain Livingston. She blew it larger, like the bubble of light which made a Sphère Obscurci, but this bubble absorbed the sun and hid it away, casting everything within it into deepest shadow. It passed over her, hiding the field in utter dark.

She gasped with the effort, trying to breathe in the entire world, but kept pushing the walls of the darkness past where the duelists had stood.

Mr. Dunkirk cried out in frustration and rage. As the unnatural night swept over the field, one of the horses screamed in panic. Hoofbeats stampeded across the field as the beasts tried to find their way out of the dark.

Reeling with dizziness, Jane tied the threads off as a horse snorted and drove past her. She staggered on the uneven ground and fell to her knees. For a moment, Jane rested her hands in the dry, invisible grass, trying to gather enough of her remaining energy to reason with the men. “Please, Mr. Dunkirk, let the matter drop. You will do no good to anyone by this route.”

From the darkness to her right, Captain Livingston barked a laugh. “It has gone too far for that, Miss Ellsworth. He has insulted my honour with his accusations.”

“Your honour!” Mr. Dunkirk shouted. “Is it honourable to compromise a young woman’s integrity as you have done?”

Though Jane could not see her, Lady FitzCameron’s cultured voice was unmistakable. “I regret the pain that your sister has suffered, Mr. Dunkirk, but I must protest on my nephew’s behalf. Henry is too kind in his attentions, and Miss Dunkirk is not the first young woman to mistake that for an especial regard.”