Mist curling above the dew-soaked grass, Lieutenant Andrew Parkes loaded his pistol with trembling hands, acutely aware of William’s steady gaze across the field’s narrow span. In the pale light outside Hyde Park’s western gate—where London’s gentlemen sometimes settled their grievances—neither man spoke of the scandal that had burned through their families and upended their boyhood trust.

Andrew’s second counted the paces with practiced calm, but when the call came—“Turn and fire!”—Andrew hesitated, thumb brushing the ring still hidden in his coat. William raised his arm, met Andrew’s eyes, and for a heartbeat, both stood silent, the city waking to distant bells. Andrew slowly lowered his weapon, the morning chill biting through his uniform, as William’s hand shook for the first time and his shot hung in the air, unanswered.