Chapter 9
Dried and redressed, Anne stretched out on a chaise longue on the terrace.
Miranda and Honoria flanked her, and, from a chair opposite, even Charlotte watched her pensively.
“Goodness. Will you all stop hovering? I’m fine.
” Her throat burned, and her voice sounded raspy as she coughed out the words.
Face grim, Burwood stood behind Honoria at attention. Anne could envision him dressed in his officer’s uniform from his military days.
Only Simon Beckham lightened the mood. “Blast, but I’m sorry I missed it. It must have been a sight. Were you really knocked in by a puppy?”
Charlotte turned to her husband. “Simon, really. This is no laughing matter.” However, a smile ghosted across Charlotte’s typically stern countenance.
“Well, you look none the worse for wear,” Andrew said. “And Harry assures us you only lost consciousness momentarily.”
“Thank goodness Lord Manning was there and acted so quickly.” Alice shook her head. “And to think just moments before he was here on the terrace with the rest of us.”
“It was your talk of suttee that drove him away, Alice,” Andrew said.
“Oh, Alice, you didn’t?” As much as Lord Grump annoyed Anne, she understood why he might have been offended.
“I will apologize, but I’m also glad he did leave to save you, dearest. Perhaps my faux pas will be forgiven.”
As everyone joined forces to reassure Alice, Anne’s mind drifted to how Lord Manning must have felt listening to tales of wives throwing themselves on funeral pyres at the deaths of their husbands.
She stifled a snort of laughter. He was probably relieved the practice didn’t apply to husbands of deceased wives. Although . . .
“We should all give Lord Manning a wide berth, I suspect,” Mr. Grey said. “I would imagine being around all these happily married couples is difficult.”
Anne blinked. For a former naval man who also ran a gambling establishment, Mr. Grey was quite sensitive.
Perhaps . . .
Before she could finish the thought, Lord Grump strolled out onto the terrace. He halted several feet from her, and his gaze shifted around the rest of the group before landing squarely on her. “Am I intruding?”
“Not at all,” Burwood said. “We were just saying how grateful we are you were nearby when Miss Weatherby needed help.”
A certain wariness crossed Lord Grump’s face, his green eyes narrowing just a tad. “Are you feeling better? No lasting . . . repercussions?”
Oh! Understanding the caution in his address completely, Anne tipped her chin up. “Have no fear, sir, that I expect anything from you for your gallant rescue. But you have my gratitude. That is all.”
“Anne!” Andrew shot her a censorious glance.
“It’s quite all right, Mr. Weatherby.” Lord Grouch held up a hand in surrender. “No doubt your sister has been judged unfairly for past events. I apologize for my unfortunate choice of words. What I meant to say was I hope there are no ill effects from the water.”
Something in the twinkle of Lord Grump’s lovely green eyes belied his statement, and Anne suspected he meant exactly what she had presumed. Yet, she accepted his wilted olive branch.
“Apology accepted, my lord.”
“Good. Now, would any of you gentlemen care for a bit of physical activity? I have an itch for a rousing fencing match.”
Ashton shook his head. “Surprising as it may seem given my time as a captain in the king’s service, I’ve sworn off violence, even in play. And Andrew would more than likely fall onto your sword, injuring yet another Weatherby.”
Anne laughed. The duke knew her brother well.
“Harry!” Andrew chuckled. “And I thought you were my friend.”
Mr. Ford shook his head. “Don’t look at me.”
“Burwood? Beckham?” The grump appeared desperate. What was his game?
Mr. Beckham grinned. “I’m a lover, not a fighter.”
Charlotte snorted a laugh.
“Lady Miranda, whom would you suggest?” The grump’s sweet smile could have made bees jealous.
Not waiting for Miranda’s suggestion, Anne had a wickedly marvelous idea. “I think Mr. Grey would be a wonderful opponent. Please, Mr. Grey? Surely your time as a naval captain gave you experience with a sword.” Anne batted her eyes for good measure.
But Miranda surprised them all. “Yes, Mr. Grey. Show us your prowess with a blade.”
Why did she sound . . . angry?
Mr. Grey and Miranda exchanged a look that had Anne’s intuition piquing.
“If you insist, my lady.”
“Foil or épée?” Lord Grump asked as he stripped off his coat.
“Your choice, my lord.”
“épée. Let’s make this a little more exciting for the ladies.” The grouch sent another sweet smile toward Miranda.
Was he flirting with Miranda? An ugly, tight feeling settled in Anne’s stomach.
Two footmen brought the equipment and fencing jackets, while others rearranged the seating on the terrace in a semicircle for the rest of the group to view the match on the lawn below.
Miranda held out a handkerchief. “Lord Manning! For luck.” He accepted the gift, then bent and kissed Miranda’s fingers.
Not to be left out, Anne said, “Quick, Charlotte, do you have a handkerchief?”
Charlotte’s dark brows rose, but she handed over her embroidered handkerchief.
“Mr. Grey!” Anne waved the cloth in the air and glanced over at Miranda.
Miranda ignored her.
“Tie it around my wrist, Miss Weatherby. The épée’s large bell guard will protect it.”
Anne secured the cloth with a double knot. “I have every confidence in you, sir.”
The Grump tucked Miranda’s handkerchief into the waistband of his trousers, the cloth dangling down the right side of his body. “I have no need of extra protection. Your kerchief is safe with me, Lady Miranda.”
The braggart.
Anne’s gaze darted around her, worried she’d voiced her insult aloud, grateful when no one reacted.
The two men took their places on the lawn and examined their weapons. Silence settled over the group as Lord Grump and Mr. Grey stepped closer. After an exchange of words, both men nodded—first Mr. Grey, then the grouch—before they assumed the en garde position.
Time stretched as each man took the measure of the other, checking distances and delivering a few practice thrusts.
Everything stilled, and Anne thought she would die of boredom as neither man moved, but then Mr. Grey lunged forward and attacked.
Honoria turned a concerned look toward Burwood. “They can’t really hurt each other, can they?”
“Relax darling. The practice épée has a blunt tip.” Burwood squinted his eyes toward the men on the lawn. He straightened in his seat, alarm ringing in his voice. “Unless . . .”
Anne’s heart pummeled against her ribcage as her gaze shot back to the two men dueling on the lawn. Oh my goodness!
Colin strained to retain his focus. Damn his pride and stubborn need to save face. When the footman had brought the wrong épées, he prepared to tell the man to take them back and retrieve the correct ones.
But Grey pushed him over the edge to foolish recklessness. “Are you that eager to impress Lady Miranda, sir?”
Was he? And yet, something about the expression in the man’s eyes held a challenge.
And damn if he’d back down from a challenge. “We have our fencing jackets, and I trust we are both experienced and gentlemen enough not to deliver a fatal blow.”
Grey gave a solemn nod and assumed his stance.
Colin studied his opponent. Grey’s height put him at a distinct advantage, especially with those long arms. He didn’t have to wait long for Grey to make the first move, and when Grey attacked, Colin parried, then riposted, sending Grey retreating.
Back and forth they moved in the masculine dance. Grey proved a worthy opponent. For a man his size, Grey was swift on his feet, and Colin had difficulty making contact.
After Colin executed a perfect thrust, which sent Grey stepping back, Lady Miranda’s voice rang out. “Well done, Lord Manning!”
Until that point, the match had remained civil—at least as much as a fencing match could be. Perhaps forgoing practice épées was not as foolhardy as he supposed. And impressing Lady Miranda would go far in Colin’s decision to pursue her.
With a steely determination in his eyes, Grey recovered his guard quickly. “Let’s make this more interesting, shall we?” He tossed the handle of the blade into his left hand.
Hellfire! The man could duel with both hands, even with a right-handed blade! However, it did leave the handkerchief tied around his right wrist unprotected.
And why did the fact that the Elfin Menace bestowed the favor upon Grey bother him so much? He pushed the question aside and concentrated on the bout. But it would be doubly sweet to win the match and retrieve the favor for himself.
Those long arms of Grey’s forced Colin to esquive several times to prevent Grey from scoring a point.
The match became more heated, and Colin knew the moment he’d let his emotions get the better of him. Grey feinted, and when Colin attempted to parry, Grey disengaged, his blade circling Colin’s and rising to meet his chest.
But as Grey attempted to score his point, Colin dodged again, completely forgetting the vulnerable kerchief as he turned his body to the left.
Grey’s blade came down in a slash, tore the handkerchief from Colin’s waistband. As it floated to the ground, Colin doubted the wisdom of using real blades.
Shouts came from the terrace, but both Colin and Grey ignored them and concentrated on the bout.
Anger rallied Colin, and he scored a point when the tip of his blade pressed into the fabric of Grey’s padded fencing white but didn’t puncture it. Satisfaction swelled in Colin’s chest at his demonstration of blade control.
“Well done, sir,” Grey retorted but left no time for Colin to bask in his success.
Grey attacked again, and with the advantages of his height and using his left hand, went for a point at Colin’s shoulder.
Colin esquived again, but Grey’s blade swung high and landed a stinging blow to Colin’s cheek.
Burwood came racing down the terrace. “Enough! What are you two fools doing?!”