The colonel, in the middle of settling his cup and saucer, blinked blankly at my sister. “The duel?” he said, his astonishment moving him to utter two direct words.

“Yes,” I said, sitting forward again. “By all reports you were with Mr. Sanderson at the moment of his passing. Is that correct?”

His slightly protuberant eyes swiveled to me. “Mr. Sanderson?”

“Indeed,” I said, trying to keep the impatience from my voice. “Mr. Sanderson.”

“Sanderson,” he echoed. “I have not heard that name for many a year. Sanderson.” He mused for a moment. “Sanderson.”

“Yes, Sanderson,” I agreed. “Would you be willing to relate your memories of that morning?”

“It was twenty years ago,” he said. “I do not have a clear memory of it at all.”

“Please, do try, Colonel,” Julia urged gently. “We would be most grateful.”

Few people can resist Julia’s sweetness. With a sigh, he began a somewhat rambling and patchy account of the duel that did not diverge in any important way from the reports I had already read in the Gentleman’s Magazine: Sanderson had accused Lord Evan of cheating at cards at White’s club; a challenge was issued and accepted. At the dawn meeting, Sanderson was pinked by Lord Evan across the chest and upon that injury had retreated to the tree line with the colonel, Lord Cholton, who was Lord Evan’s friend and acting as his second, and the doctor in attendance. The doctor had then begun to treat the superficial wound, but Sanderson died.

“Were you in attendance upon your friend the whole time?” I asked.

“As far as I can recall, but”—he paused—“Sanderson was not my friend, Lady Augusta. No, indeed, I would not have called him a friend at all.”

I glanced at Julia, whose face wore the bemusement I felt. “But you were his second,” she said.

We had both assumed that acting as Sanderson’s second implied some sort of friendship—a second could be called upon to settle a matter of honor if the challenged, or indeed the challenger, did not appear. Surely, only a friend would put themselves in such danger.

“Yes, yes, I was his second. But not as his friend. It was a business arrangement, you see,” the colonel said.

I did not see at all. “An arrangement?”

“Not sure I should say.” He peered first at me and then at Julia, assessing our suitability to hear his clarification. Evidently, we passed inspection, for he continued. “Well, it all happened a long time ago. Sanderson held a fistful of my vowels—a few months of mischance at the bones—and I was in danger of falling foul, so when he requested me to step up as second with the offer of ripping up the letters, I saw a chance to clear the decks.”

He nodded at this expansion and lifted his cup, taking a restorative sip of tea.