London, England, September 1814

A response to the letter Jonathan had sent along with Jake the following morning had been returned that very same day in the afternoon with the response they had expected – apology refused, and the duel was to take place. In addition to the refusal, the kind request for the choice of weapons and whether Sir Thomas’s Berkshire estate would serve as a suitable venue had been included in the writing for the second time.

Jake’s plan was not over yet. He had Jonathan promptly respond with the offer that the two aggrieved parties meet in person to discuss other possible avenues. This epistle had been delivered the next morning and promptly refused that very same afternoon. Furthermore, the demand for an immediate response as to location and weaponry had been added – the pressure was increasing.

After that, Jake had written to Sir Thomas’s second, requesting an appointment in person to discuss terms for a possible annulment of the hostilities. A gentleman could never refuse such an entreaty. So, the next day, a letter came, inviting Jake to the White’s Club in St. James, London. The historic club, founded in 1693, was the oldest and most exclusive gentlemen’s club in the entire city if not the world.

That was where Jake was off to now. He had left Jonathan back at the townhouse, brooding. He had donned his best suit for the occasion and obtained a carriage to take him there. Jake was not a nervous man, but Chives, the butler, had described the club to him in great detail. As it turned out, it was a venerable institution where only the elite roamed. Jake was a simple man who never frequented such establishments.

Thinking about his predicament and what he was going to say, he barely heard the coachman calling to him, telling him that they had arrived. So soon? His heart rate increased, pounding a staccato beat in his chest. Come on Jake, ye have faced marauding seamen that all wanted to kill ye on board a burning ship and ye never wavered. Now, this is not the time to start. With that thought, he slid over the leather bench and stepped out of the carriage.

He told the driver to wait for him because he hardly expected the meeting to last long. He was well aware of the fact that this was only a formality. After this evening, Jonathan’s fate would surely be sealed.

Looking as confident as possible, he walked up to the imposing front door of the building. The edifice was white and made of Portland stone. Jake stopped and looked up to study it more closely. It was impressive. The Palladian façade that adorned so many of the buildings in the city oozed power and privilege.

He walked on. The portico was screened by two large black lamps to the left and right. He greeted the two doormen that stood there politely. They asked him his business. Jake only needed to mention the name of his host and the door was promptly opened for him.

When he entered, he was ushered to a dark wooden desk that barred the way to the main club. There, he was asked to sign in, as they obviously did not recognize him. Jake repeated the name of his host and that he expected him. On cue, the demeanour of the rather insipid looking man miraculously changed to one of charming courtesy. “Please allow me to escort you, Sir. It is very easy to get lost in here.” The usher chuckled to himself in little snorts.

Jake gulped when he stepped into the purely masculine domain that hosted the elite of Britain. Chives had not been lying. Everywhere Jake looked within this imperious structure; he could ascertain the power of the British Empire. Men stood hither and thither discoursing on all manner of things – the main topic being politics, power, and money. The place was so masculine that Jake imagined the members would not even deign to discuss their mistresses here.

The floor was covered with white stone that had intervals of black in it, in imitation of a checkerboard. The walls were of a darkish satin, but Jake was not sure – this was not something that usually interested him. In the centre of the hall, there was a large wooden staircase with a dark carpet on it.

Taking a deep breath, Jake continued to follow his escort who had remained completely silent as if he was in a burial procession. They soon entered into a large rectangular-shaped drawing room. The far wall was white with a large portrait hanging in the centre. A large hearth below boasted a crackling fire. Next to it, the walls were thick oak panelling.

The room that was more of a hall was full of men dressed in meticulous suits. The unpleasant usher directed Jake to a table located before a bow window. It was obvious to him that this was a seat of distinction. Here sat the most socially influential men in the club.

And so, it was – as it turned out, Jake was not to be alone with his counterpart for the discussion that involved two men’s lives. Four men sat at the table. When Jake and his temporary escort came to a halt, the staff member cleared his throat. Jake assumed that he practiced this on a daily basis in front of the mirror. He slowly lowered his head until his mouth was right by one gentleman’s ear. He began to whisper. When he was finished, he returned to his full height, bowed slightly and without another word walked back in the direction he had come.

“Good evening, you must be Mr. Jake Farrows,” said a man Jake assumed to be in his fifties. Contrary to his good friend Sir Thomas, he was as thin as a reed. It almost appeared that his clothing might slide off his frame. His face was a different matter. It effused confidence and something else that Jake recognized as ruthless business acumen.

“Yes, Sir…delighted to make yer acquaintance,” Jake said, holding out his hand.

“Excellent, I am Sir Arthur Cartwright, 4th Baronet of Wycombe…your servant, Sir,” he said, getting to his feet and taking Jake’s hand. Then, he swept his arm over the table. “You are very fortunate this evening Mr. Farrows…we are in exalted company.”

Jake arched his eyebrows as he scanned the other men at the table. There was one very fat man in his fifties and two much younger men. One of them was fiendishly handsome in a slightly effeminate way. But that was not what caught his eye the most. It was his attire. The other gentlemen present were impeccably dressed, but this man carried his clothing as if he were born in it. There was nothing too different about the colouring or the fabrics or his waistcoat – small details like the way he wore his neckcloth or how his waistcoat fell made him stand out. It almost made Jake feel totally inadequate.

“May I present to you George Augustus Frederick, His Royal Highness the Prince Regent.” Sir Arthur bowed theatrically, indicating with a floating arm in the corpulent man’s direction.

Jake’s eyebrows arched of their own accord. He could not believe that he was in the presence of the prince regent. This was worse than being on board the Triton in the middle of a sea battle. His heart seemed to stop beating, and his breath got stuck in his throat, as he bowed automatically. When he finally straightened, he thought that he was going to pass out.

The fat man was the Prince Regent. Jake could barely hide his surprise at the royal’s chubbiness. He reminded him of a whale he’d once seen while sailing with Jonathan. And the elaborate outfit - it made him look like something from the court of Versailles of old.

“Mr. Farrows was just passing by to pick up a spot of news, weren’t you, Sir,” said Sir Arthur, becoming unfriendly the moment the introductions, that included the chief members of the ‘Dandy Club’ in the form of Beau Brummell and Lord Avanley, had been completed. The Prince Regent turned away upon hearing this, clearly disinterested. The other two men immediately began to regale him with talk.

Jake sneered at him. “And I think I can imagine what the news might be.”

“There’s no need to be un-sporting about it,” said Sir Arthur, noticing his scorn. “I am afraid there is nothing for us to discuss this evening concerning the duel. Sir Thomas flatly refuses any form of entreaty. He is rather keen on getting this thing done, Sir.”

“Well then, I suppose I better get going,” said Jake, starting to turn around.

“A duel, a duel, how exciting,” said the Prince Regent, getting to his feet. “Who is taking part?” He almost jumped up and down on the spot with excitement.

“It is nothing of consequence, Your Royal Highness,” said Sir Arthur, trying to avert the conversation going any further.

“It’s between my friend, Jonathan Mitchell, Commodore in the United States Navy and Sir Thomas, 1st Baronet of Windom, Your Royal Highness,” Jake said while bowing.” He paused. “They will be fighting with pistols,” he added for Sir Arthur’s benefit.

The regent arched an inquisitive eyebrow. “Now this is truly exhilarating – an American here in the middle of a war.” He frowned. “What on earth is he doing here?”

“My friend is here for an English lady, Your Royal Highness,” said Jake.

“How absolutely scandalous – I love it! We shall make a grand festivity of it. There will be an orchestra, plenty of tasty morsels and dancing to conclude the event. It will, of course, be hosted at Carlton House – I will broach no argument on the matter – I absolutely insist.”

“Your Royal Highness, don’t you think dancing and a banquet might be construed as tasteless and slightly how shall I say gauche,” said Sir Arthur, looking extremely worried.

The regent laughed in a high-pitched tone. “My dear, Sir Arthur, I think everyone will be thrilled. It is not often we get the chance to host such an event – an Englishman against an American. Nothing could be more aptly suited, especially with a war going on.” The regent chuckled again. “And besides, I really don’t think anyone will have any trouble with an American getting shot, eh?” The prince laughed hysterically, inducing the others except Jake to join in.

“Your Royal Highness…I don’t think that this is a good…”

“How dare you interrupt me when I am in mid creative flow, Sir Arthur.” The prince thought for a few moments. “Yes, you shall tell your friend…his name…what’s your friend’s name, Sir?” He continued to mumble something and looked at Sir Arthur fiercely while tapping a finger on the table.

“Sir Thomas, 1st Baronet of Windom, Your Royal Highness,” added Sir Arthur in assistance.

“Yes quite…that’s the one. You shall inform him that the duel shall be held at Carlton House.” When Sir Arthur sighed and made to sit down, the prince frowned. “Now, what do you think you are doing? Didn’t I tell you to do something?”

“Now?”

“Of course, now, you fool.” The prince inspected his nails. “Your company bores me anyhow…so, off you go and be a good gentleman…make haste; the poor man must be informed of his fate.” When the chastened peer scampered off with his tail between his legs, the regent turned to look at Jake with a large smile on his face. “And you, dear sir, shall tell me all about America…you are American, eh?” When Jake nodded, the prince laughed. “Excellent! Now spare no details. I want to hear it all, good sir.”