Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

" I thought you had business to attend to?" Rhys Arkwright called out merrily from the archery range that had been set up a safe distance from the cluster of gaily colored tents on the Elliot lawn.

Lucien strode toward him, barely avoiding Grace's brothers as they pelted toward archery butts to retrieve their arrows from the straw bales.

Simon regarded Lucien as if explosives might be involved, understandable since Lucien had just returned from seeing their father. "What are you doing here?" his brother asked.

"He's looking for cake, no doubt." Arkwright quipped. "He's seemed to take a fancy to it of late."

Lucien leveled a deadly glare at his friend, but Arkwright only winked—the insufferable bastard.

"Cake?" Simon's brow furrowed and he turned to Lucien. "What's he on about?"

"Clearly, he's started drinking too early." Lucien straightened his cravat as he scanned his surroundings. A cadre of servants garbed in Elliot livery moved about the tents—while Cassandra's grim Italian maid with her black silk eyepatch stood beneath a tree, watching the proceedings.

Penelope and Cassandra were speaking to an older woman in a cream silk bonnet who clasped her hands in delight when she noted his approach, while Lord Elliot exuded grim displeasure.

But the one person Lucien wished most to see was nowhere to be found. Perhaps Grace had drawn his sister Jane off somewhere quieter.

"Did something go wrong with Father?" Simon pressed him.

"Our meeting went as expected." Lucien masked the resentment that gnawed inside him. After discovering the full extent of the Earl's perfidy two years ago, Simon had shut their father out of his life and never looked back. But necessity demanded Lucien and his father make business decisions regarding the earldom's estates, forced conversations that gradually dulled the cutting edges of past sins. The exchange with Cassandra and Jane at Everdene Hall had sharpened the blade again.

"Everdene," Lord Elliot said stiffly.

"My business took less time than expected," Lucien explained. "I do hope my arrival does not prove an inconvenience."

The woman in the cream bonnet bustled up and took Lord Elliot's arm, her plump face beaming. "On the contrary! You are very welcome, my lord!"

So this was the stepmother who had upended Grace's life, Lucien thought, regarding her with an appraising eye. "You must be Lady Elliot." He sketched her a bow. "Viscount Everdene, at your service. Best wishes regarding your recent marriage."

"We understood you would not be joining us," Lord Elliot said between clenched teeth.

Cassandra walked toward them. "Where is Jane?" Lucien asked.

Cassandra shook out her skirts. "Jane joined mother in Galen's Well for a bit of respite," she said, her eyes locked on him. "Too much time in company troubles her."

My company in particular , Lucien thought with a twinge.

At that moment Grace swept from beneath an awning and bustled toward him, a vision in buttercup yellow. The sleeves of her gown ended in a bell shape just below her elbows, a fichu of fine white lawn was pinned at her throat with a brooch. Her hair was caught up in a loose chignon, and Lucien wondered how many pins he would have to pull from those shining tresses to make them tumble free down her back, the way they had in the kitchen at Everdene Hall.

"Welcome to The Willows!" Grace exclaimed, as the wee pirates surrounded her, one wielding a cricket bat, looking ready to defend her. "Captain Harcourt said you were off to London."

"Far better to avoid cities for now." Lady Elliot gave a delicate shudder. "We've heard the most alarming reports about unrest there. My dearest Lord Elliot and I had to cut our honeymoon in Paris short for safety's sake. The rabble were throwing up barricades and rioting in the streets. One hears the most alarming things about what is happening up north and in London. Is it true mobs even marched up Pall Mall and St. James's, breaking windows at the gentlemen's clubs?"

"Yes. I'm afraid it is," Lucien admitted.

"I was at Whites when the riot broke out," Arkwright supplied. "For once, Everdene wasn't there."

Lucien had been arguing with a cadre of Tory lawmakers about how to deal with the public's growing dissatisfaction, urging them to provide pure water and better drainage in poorer areas, insisting better health for one meant better health for all. He'd have had better luck dealing with a riotous mob.

"Someone tried to shoot the queen herself!" Lady Elliot exclaimed, fluttering her hand in front of her breast.

"It was pure luck her attacker forgot to put a bullet in his gun," Penelope interjected.

"I am sorry the man gave the queen a fright," Grace said, "but we must look to the reasons behind the unrest. People are hungry, and not all landlords are as forward-thinking and caring in regards to their tenants as the Harcourts are."

Her father cleared his throat. "Perhaps we should turn our attention to more pleasant subjects, my dear," he said, looping his arm around his bride.

But Lady Elliot would not be so easily deterred. "I can only say I'm grateful that there are men like Lord Everdene who will crush this anarchy. Especially when we need to prepare for Grace's return to society." She turned to Penelope. "Will you be going to London for the season?" she asked.

Penelope looked as if Lady Elliot were suggesting a visit to the tooth drawer. "Heavens, no."

"Lord Everdene, you will be there, of course," the new Lady Elliot continued, undaunted. "And pursued by all of those desperate women, no doubt." Her lips curled in what passed for a teasing smile. "Yes, my lord. Your wicked fame as the Elusive Viscount E has reached us even here in the country. You know, our own Grace will be making her grand re-entry into society. She has been so good, these past years, caring for her dear Mama and Papa and brothers. But now, I am here, and determined she shall enjoy herself."

Lucien felt a prickle of annoyance as he remembered Grace's confession at Everdene Hall. God knew, she deserved to be released from years of seeing to her family's needs. She deserved trips to the theater, waltzing at balls, all the diversions London could offer. But he suspected Lady Elliot's real motive was to wrest control of the household away from Grace, and it left a bad taste in his mouth. "Have you enquired as to what Lady Grace would prefer?" he inquired.

"What young miss doesn't love a London season? I've never been blessed with a daughter," Lady Elliot continued. "My late husband and I…well, it was not to be. I intend to enjoy every minute of mothering this dear girl." She laid a hand on Grace, and Lucien saw Grace give an uncomfortable smile. "We've gowns to buy and dressmakers to visit. If Mrs. Harcourt can suggest any modistes the ladies of the ton are favoring I would be grateful."

Since Penelope had been a governess before she and Simon met, she'd hardly been frequenting shops Lady Helen might consider.

Simon laughed. "If it was a shop filled with books on architecture, my wife would be waiting with bated breath. She has served as my brother's hostess when necessary, but she'd prefer to be in the study with architectural drawings spread across the desk."

"Architectural drawings?" Lady Elliot looked as if Penelope had just sprouted a Doric column from her head. "How…singular." She turned to Lucien. "Your lordship, I hope we can count on you to see that our Grace's dance card is full. She has been away from London so long, she'll be short of acquaintances."

Grace's cheeks turned scarlet, but before she could speak, her father cut in.

"I am sure Lord Everdene has no time for such frivolous matters." Lord Elliot's brusque tone made his wife's eyes go wide, and startled Grace as well. "His lordship is a very busy man. I am astonished he made time to come here today."

"Of course," his wife said, "but perhaps Lord Everdene could make time for?—"

"My dear, Grace will have no problem finding willing partners. In fact," Elliot pushed on, totally unaware of his daughter's reddening face, "I have received news that the Honorable Neville Freyne is returning from the Americas to take over his father's business concerns."

The fiancé who had jilted her?

Grace curled her fingers into her palms, then gave a brittle smile. "I'm sure his family will be very glad to see him."

Something akin to jealousy stung Lucien. Would Grace be pleased to see the bounder as well? He turned to Lady Elliot. "I will be happy to claim the first dance at any event Lady Grace and I attend," he said. "But first, perhaps, we should enjoy this beautiful day in the country. A little archery, perhaps?"

"A splendid idea," Grace said.

The relief on her face made Lucien want to deal old Lord Elliot and his meddlesome wife a cutting remark. Another time, he promised. He'd not embarrass Grace further now.

With enthusiastic whoops, the three youngest Elliots absconded with Arkwright, all but dragging Rhys to the range set up with miniature bows and larger targets while Grace led their elders to a table where a set of larger equipment lay.

Cassandra went first, followed by Penelope, then Grace, who selected a bow made of yew and a quiver of arrows. Stepping up to the mark, she nocked the arrow and raised the bow into position. She blew a wayward tendril of hair from her brow, and Lucien felt an almost irresistible urge to sweep it back with his fingertips, remembering the velvety warmth of her skin. Instead, he watched as she drew back the bowstring and narrowed one eye. She let the arrow fly, the point striking dead-center in the straw target.

The onlookers clapped in approval.

Lucien smiled. "You always were a keen shot."

Arkwright hastened over to praise her, the small boys trailing in his wake, damn him. "Well done! I can't think when I've seen a lady shoot so well."

Will Elliot laughed. "One can't play Robin Hood without proficiency with a bow and arrow. From the time we were Bennet's age, Grace insisted Maid Marian should have a bow and Guinevere a sword."

"If they had, the legends would have turned out quite differently," she said crisply.

Arkwright laughed."You prefer the romance of earlier days, do you, Lady Grace? Something you and Everdene have in common. You'd think my practical friend would be proficient with pistols, but he seldom bothers to practice. However, present him with a sword and you'll see him in full flower."

"A sword?" Avery—the one who had first thrown a mudpie—exclaimed, his button-bright eyes looking at Lucien with new interest.

"Indeed," Arkwright continued. "I've seen Everdene divest an opponent of his buttons, and clip a lock of hair from our sword master as if it were nothing."

Lucien felt a trifle uncomfortable. "Really, Arkwright, we are occupied with archery. No one is interested in such tales at the moment."

"We are!" the boys cried in unison, Bennet leaping up and down on the toes of his shiny black boots.

Cassandra shot Lucien a condemning glare. "My brother was always running about playing knights when he was a boy. Once, he insisted on hoisting Jane high up in a tree, pretending it was a tower. He was supposed to rescue her, but he forgot to retrieve her until after dark."

Lucien had been pulled out of the game by Father, who'd taken him to meet with a visiting MP, but what followed was an appalling example of heedlessness on his own part. Lucien frowned, remembering Jane's pinched white face when he'd raced out to the orchard and found her, too frightened to climb down.

"No swords here," Bennet complained. " She locked them away." There could be no question as to whom ‘she' was. The boys cut a glare at their stepmother.

Will gave him a stern glance. "Only because you held the vicar at sword point when he stopped by unexpectedly."

"He was looking suspicious," Avery told Arkwright.

"Squinty eyes," Ethan confirmed. He attempted to mimic the expression, but his mischievous face ended up looking like he'd taken a bite out of a lemon.

Arkwright cast a pleading look toward Lady Elliot. "Perhaps we could bring the swords out this once," he wheedled in that tone that made every woman over thirty want to give him sweets. "An exception, so that Lord Everdene can give the lads a quick demonstration."

Lucien straightened his cravat. "I've no desire to disrupt our archery practice."

Lady Elliot immediately set down her bow. "I daresay we'd all love to see it."

The boys shouted with delight, the rest of the party a clamor of encouragement.

Damn Arkwright for even suggesting such a thing. There was nothing for it but to acquiesce and maintain some measure of dignity, or continue to refuse and seem rude. His lips thinned as he nodded assent.

Will Elliot hastened to the house, returning with two rather battered fencing foils, buttons on their points. "I'll give it a go!" Will grinned, eager as a puppy as he handed one blade to Lucien.

Lucien leaned the sword against a chair, then stripped off his frock coat, and unfastened his cuffs, rolling up his sleeves to bare his forearms. Hefting the blade, he turned it over and back to free any tightness in his wrist. Everyone was staring in anticipation. Even the servants had edged nearer. Only Cassandra stood apart, watching under hooded lids.

Selecting a level area, he saluted young Elliot, then began. He restrained himself long enough to save the lad's pride, then divested him of his sword. The foil went flying, landing with a thud on the turf.

One of the boys whistled his approval.

Will laughed. "One minute more and I'd have had him."

Arkwright slapped Will on the shoulder. "My lad, the minutes you did have were a gift. He was holding back out of sheer politeness."

Lucien scowled at his friend. While his father had sought every opportunity to show his superiority at any social gathering, Lucien had come to loathe vulgar displays when people made much of their own talents.

Even so, Will's eyes shone with admiration. "I'd heard of Captain Harcourt's exploits but had no idea you were so skilled."

Simon laughed. "Who do you think I honed my swordplay with?"

"Shall we return to our archery?" Lucien suggested, setting the foil aside, but suddenly Cassandra stepped forward.

"Perhaps you would be willing to indulge me with a little swordplay first?" she said.

The others laughed and Lucien could tell that they thought Cassandra's challenge a show of sisterly teasing, but her eyes were steely as the button on the tip of the swords.

"I think we've had enough," Lucien said. "Shall we withdraw to have some refreshment?"

"I insist, brother."

Was this dare to cross blades the most honest encounter he'd had with her? Was it possible that lashing out at him this way might ease some of the tension that sizzled in her like a coming storm?

"If you wish. I will use my left hand, to even the odds." He slid his hand around the hilt, lifted it.

"How remarkably honorable of you."

Lucien didn't show that her verbal thrust had struck the mark.

Her maid appeared at her side, silent as a wraith, the bit of silk covering her left eye, the other so keen it might have belonged to some oracle in myth. Cassandra stripped off her gloves, and handed them to the woman, then removed her cambric undersleeves, baring her arms. Her sleeves were not in fashion, the puffs allowing freer movement. She tucked her skirts up in the belt at her waist with practiced ease, then scooped up Will's abandoned foil.

Cassandra saluted Lucien as he switched hands. Let her bash away at him for a while, he thought.

The first clash of swords startled him with its force, and it must have shown on his face. She bared her teeth in a rictus of a smile. In a flurry of silver and movement, she went on the offensive. He was vaguely aware of gasps from the onlookers. But as he fended off blows, he realized he had seldom fought a more skilled opponent. This was no game to her. She was fighting in earnest, every muscle in her face tight with exertion.

Sweat broke out on Lucien's brow as they moved about the field. Come on, then Cass , he thought, grateful there were buttons on the sword tips. Get the poison out …He had greater upper body strength, but she was quicker, light on her feet. He didn't want to accidentally hurt her, but it was harder and harder to parry her thrusts without putting his whole weight behind it. Her footwork was flawless, with a skill he'd seldom seen.

She executed a brilliant combination, the crowd applauding.

Their swords gave a metallic twang, grating against each other's length hilt to tip, sticking for a moment before they could yank them free. He and Cassandra sprang apart, circling each other. Her eyes burned now with something he couldn't name. Pleasure? Triumph? No. There was almost a blindness, as if she were in a trance. Something that sent a chill crawling up the back of his neck.

He was frightened for her.

"Cassandra, I forfeit." He started to lower his blade, but she came at him like a fury, slipping under his guard. Pain burned his chest, glancing off his sternum.

What the hell? He leapt back, whipping his own blade up, knocking hers aside. His shirt tore, Cassandra's sword point carving a fiery line across his chest.

He heard Lady Elliot scream from the sidelines. "He's bleeding!"

He could feel it, warm, sticky flowing from the cut Cassandra had made. The button on the point of her foil had fallen off, but Cassandra didn't know it. She kept coming at him, her eyes vacant. Chilling. As if his sister wasn't there…