Chapter 11
Laertes hoped that he was not about to die or be skewered like a pin cushion. Both things were most definitely possible.
“Right. Come in,” Oliver said, grabbing him by the shoulder and dragging him into the room they had dueled in not so very long ago.
Just days, really.
There they had fought with rapiers. For practice. Not out of some call to defend honor. Well, Oliver had been in a state and had needed to get his emotions out some way. He’d been happy to oblige.
Now, he wasn’t so certain, given he had no idea what was about to happen.
In fact, he worried that Oliver might seize one of the rapiers down from the wall covered in arms and make mincemeat of him. While he was quite a fan of the pie, he did not want to end up in bits and pieces like its contents.
“Are you going to kill me?” Laertes asked.
Oliver quirked his brow. “Why in God’s name would I kill you?”
“Because…” His voice tailed off.
Oliver began to laugh, clearly amused, and yet there was an edge there.
“Now, dear friend, you are not to worry,” assured Oliver, despite the glint in his eye. “You see, I’ve become a lover, not a fighter.”
And yet Laertes didn’t quite trust that statement. “I see,” he said.
“Now, I see your skepticism,” tsked Oliver as he looked to the many rapiers and fencing blades hung with care upon the walls.
“I have no desire to turn you into a series of ribbons. I, instead, wish to work on my fighting skills, and you’re the best person for that. I’ve invited someone to join us.”
“Join us,” Laertes echoed.
“Me,” Hartigan Mulvaney drawled as he strode into the room.
The brawny Irishman folded his big arms over his broad chest and grinned.
“His Grace here thought it would be a good idea to start those lessons we talked about.” Mulvaney snorted.
“I thought he was never going to do it, so consumed with the love for our Lady Phoebe, he is.”
“She does consume all of my thoughts,” Oliver admitted, his face transforming with his adoration. “And I have never been happier.”
“Glad to hear it,” Hartigan said.
“You do love to see someone fall in love, don’t you, Mr. Mulvaney?” Oliver mused. “You actually were rooting for it to happen. I guarantee it. In fact, I’d wager money on it.”
“Well, isn’t that how we got here in the first place?
” Hartigan returned merrily. “With a wager? And yes, I do love to see people fall in love. I knew it was going to happen to you, Your Grace, if you could just get out of your own way. It makes my day, my week, my month, my year to see people fall for the Briarwoods. The Briarwoods are masters at it, and it looks like it’s happening again. ”
Laertes shifted uncomfortably.
Oliver swung his gaze back to him. “Yes, it does. Doesn’t it? Are you going to marry my sister?”
Laertes coughed.
“Take off your coat,” Oliver instructed, as if he hadn’t just asked about his sister’s potential nuptials.
Laertes tensed. He did as was expected, quickly divesting himself of his bottle green coat.
He felt unsteady. In mind as well as body. He knew he was at one of those moments in one’s life where a decision was to be made that would dictate the future.
He rather hoped that Oliver would be pleased that he was in love with his sister, but it was hard to know with such circumstances.
Laertes hadn’t yet had a conversation with Oliver about his pursuit of Seraphine because Oliver was so intensely consumed by his falling in love with Phoebe. And Laertes had not wanted to bother their love nest.
In truth, Laertes had been quite reticent at first about the relationship between Oliver and Phoebe, fearing that his friend would not be able to eschew the past, but he had. He had shed it brilliantly and was going to be the most wonderful husband to his dear sister.
He could only hope that Oliver would feel the same about him.
If she would even consider it. He feared she would not.
He feared that these twelve days would merely be a dream, a brief spot of joy that would be seized from him if she could not see that she was worth so much more than what her mother wanted for her.
“Don’t look so frightened,” Oliver declared.
“I promise not to kill you. Besides, I’m outnumbered here.
While I am going to be a member of the family, there are still dozens of you here.
It would be incredibly unwise of me, since I plan on spending so much time with your family, to attempt any sort of harm to you. ”
“I’m glad you can see that,” Laertes drawled.
Oliver stretched his arms. “Now, when are you going to ask her to marry you?”
“I beg your pardon?” Laertes asked, the words tumbling from his mouth.
Hartigan rolled his eyes. “Must so many clever people be so dim when it comes to love? Did you not hear what he said? He and I actually want to know when you’re going to ask Lady Seraphine to be your wife.”
“She doesn’t want to be my wife,” he replied tightly. It was the truth. Even if he wished it was different.
“Of course she does,” Oliver said matter-of-factly.
“No, she doesn’t,” Laertes countered, though she had given in quite splendidly to their relationship, to their love affair, and he was going to hate it if she decided not to stay.
He truly hoped that he could convince her to be his wife.
He had this thought over and over, like a theme in a tune that kept repeating.
In fact, it was rather distressing, that repeating refrain.
But he did not yet feel fully convinced she would agree if he asked.
She seemed like perhaps she might, but he was wary of asking until he was certain of it.
Getting a no out of her now would be quite difficult.
“Listen, dear friend, Seraphine is in love with you,” Oliver rushed. “There’s no question in my mind. I’ve never seen her like this. She is chomping at the bit to be with you. She is ready to shrug off the bridle of our mama’s expectations.”
“Quite the metaphors,” he returned with a sigh. “But like you, she is quite bridled by the past. I am not certain she has shed it yet like you have, and I’m not certain how to get her there.”
Hartigan gave him a hard stare. “You can’t. You know that, don’t you? Briarwoods usually know that.”
His insides twisted. He did know. God, he did, but he didn’t want to admit it. He wanted it to be different for him. He wanted to be able to save her, to change those thoughts in her head.
Oliver scowled. “It’s true, actually. The only way for her to get there is for her to choose herself and not Mama, but in the meantime, you and I can have a good bout.”
Hardigan smiled. “My favorite thing in a gloomy world. There’s always time for a good bout. Now, take your stances.”
Laertes proceeded to shrug off his waistcoat and cravat. He didn’t fancy getting strangled.
Oliver winked at him and followed suit, the big brute. The duke was handsome, taller than most men, and physically very capable. He was best with rapiers and had trained a great deal at boxing, but boxing wasn’t real fighting.
Not street fighting anyway. A boxer could, of course, kill a man, but when one was in a pub or a tavern or on the street in the East End, boxing really wasn’t that helpful. At least not the kind taught to gentlemen.
Hartigan Mulvaney’s style of fighting was extremely helpful, and like all the Briarwood men, Laertes had been training with him for years.
“All right,” Hartigan said with a nod, spreading his legs apart slightly, clearly ready for the lesson to begin.
“So the first thing that we’re going to teach you, Your Grace, like I teach everyone, is that all fights end up on the ground.
You already know that though, don’t you?
Since you nearly ended up on the ground during our first meeting. ”
Oliver scowled again and lifted his fists. “I’ll be ready this time.”
Laertes sighed. It was the curse of humanity to believe that this time would be different. Without actually changing anything, it was never different. And he knew Hartigan was about to teach that to Oliver.
It might be hard to watch, but he’d be happy to help.
“Put those down,” tsked Mulvaney.
“But,” Oliver protested, “aren’t we going to…?”
“Spar? No,” said Mulvaney.
Laertes grinned, enjoying the reprieve from the ache in his heart. Hartigan always had the ability to pull him out of the darkness, or at least light a spark there so it was bearable.
Mulvany arched a brow and Laertes eyed his friend. This was going to be very, very good.
When one was used to strict rules like Oliver and his sister were, they did not have the ability to think beyond those rules. Oliver had been under very strong strictures his whole life, but the Briarwoods had helped get rid of some of that for him.
He hoped that soon Seraphine would follow suit. She certainly was taking to it faster than Oliver had done, but Laertes knew that roots often ran deeper than one could see, and they could not be got out.
“All right,” Oliver said, resting his hands and changing his stance to a more neutral one, waiting. “I don’t put my hands up to spar.”
“Good, but don’t put your feet side by side,” Mulvaney said, examining Oliver’s stance. “You still do want to stand with your feet slightly adjusted, so that I can’t push you over easily. Now, tell me what you think happens in a real fight.”
Oliver glanced at Laertes and winked. “I jab him in the nose.”
Mulvaney let out a sigh. “One might hope.”
Laertes laughed.
“Surely, I should hit hard and hit hard again?” Oliver asked, surprised.
“That is an objective choice,” Mulvaney said carefully. “But the real object in a fight is to not get hit and to, of course, outpace your partner, thereby exhausting them. You want to basically nullify them as quickly as possible.”
“Nullify?” Oliver’s frowned. “How the bloody hell do I do that?”
“Like this,” Mulvaney said. “His Grace has forgotten our very first lesson. Laertes, go ahead and show him. He needs the lesson again.”