Chapter 11 #2
“Again?” Oliver queried, clearly puzzled and, in his haze of love for Phoebe, having forgotten how he’d lost the wager that got him to the Westleigh estate for Christmas in the first place. “What do you mean again?”
Oliver swung his gaze to Laertes, and Laertes then swung his gaze to Mulvaney. “Do I have to? I’m barely in his good graces right now, since I’m courting his sister.”
Oliver snorted. “That’s not true. You’re not barely in my good graces.
I actually know all about the fact that you’re next door to her.
The dowager duchess told me before she put Seraphine there, and I approved it.
I want Seraphine to be happy. So, make her happy.
Now, do you understand? You are entirely in my good graces at present.
And I want you to stay there. Doing whatever Mulvany says won’t change that. ”
Laertes gaped at his friend. He’d never expected Oliver to say that to him. It sounded far too much like a Briarwood, but he gave a quick nod. “If that’s what you command, Your Grace.”
“It is,” Oliver said, rolling his cuffs back from his forearms. “Now let’s get on with this, and don’t worry anymore about me murdering you because of Seraphine.
I’ll murder you if you don’t get her to marry you.
You understand? I want my sister to know the joy that I know, and I think you’re the only person who can make that happen.
I’ve seen the way she looks at you. I’ve seen the way she acts with you, and I have not seen that sort of joy in my sister ever, except for perhaps when we were very small.
She and I were both frozen when we were quite little. ”
“She’s beginning to unthaw,” Laertes breathed, stunned.
“Exactly,” Oliver said, a strange sheen glimmering in his gaze. “So, don’t let either of us down now.”
It felt like a great responsibility, but he was willing to take it because he loved her.
Oliver grinned. “There, I see it. You’ve decided, haven’t you? You’re not going to let her go.”
“I never want to let her go.”
“My God, are we talking about love or are we fighting?” Hartigan cut in.
“Can we not do both?” Laertes drawled.
Mulvaney rolled his eyes. “The next thing I know, one of you is going to start spouting Shakespeare.”
Laertes waggled his brows, feeling an odd relief that Oliver approved so heartily, even if he did feel uncertain about Seraphine’s ability to say yes. “I could do Macbeth.”
“Not Macbeth,” Mulvaney barked. “Too much bad luck.”
Oliver laughed. “Ah, the madcap nature of you lot, how I love it. Now, why are we still standing here?”
“Laertes,” Mulvaney said, “go ahead.”
But Laertes gave his friend one last look. “Are you certain about this?”
Oliver rolled his eyes. “How many times do I need to tell you? I want to learn.”
“All right. You’re going to protect him, aren’t you, Mulvaney?”
“Yes,” Mulvaney said with a wicked gleam in his eye.
“Protect me from what?” Oliver asked.
And then Laertes took a quick step forward and, out of instinct, Oliver snapped his fists up, but Laertes was not going to go for his face.
A look of remembrance flashed through Oliver’s eyes. “Bloody hell,’ he said.
Laertes was going to go for his feet. He bent down fast, crouching to the ground, and kicked his legs out from under him.
It was no easy thing because Oliver was a giant of a man, but his weight had been distributed in just enough of an off-balance manner, and he’d had the advantage of speed and surprise.
Oliver’s eyes widened as his feet shot up from the ground. “I should have remembered this,” he growled, just before he flew into the air and started crashing backward.
Mulvaney caught him and cushioned his head before it could crack on the floor. “Again, yes, you should have,” Mulvaney said. “This is how we met. Do you remember now?”
“It is and I do.” Oliver sighed, gazing up at Mulvaney, bemused. “You have a very graceful hold.”
Mulvaney laughed. “Why, thank you, Your Grace.”
“Why the bloody hell did I forget?” Oliver demanded.
“A great deal has happened in the last days,” Mulvaney pointed out. “And I’m the one who knocked you off your feet last time, not Laertes.”
“I think I like fighting with rapiers better,” Oliver said as he hoisted himself back to his feet.
“That’s because you’re so good at it,” pointed out Mulvaney. “We’re going to get you good at this too, Your Grace. Don’t you worry. It’s just a whole other way than the one you are accustomed to.”
A whole other way.
Wasn’t that where Laertes was now too? Not just Oliver?
He’d always anticipated falling in love, all Briarwoods did, but this was so different.
It shouldn’t have surprised him. He knew that love didn’t always come easily.
Some Briarwoods thought it did. But as far as he could see, every single one of them had faced terrible challenges, and there had been a moment in almost every Briarwood love affair that had seemed like it was going to end and never go forward.
Some grew complacent and simply believed that, of course, all would work out. It would work out, but there was always the possibility that the working out could be so unpleasant that one might end up alone.
He didn’t like to think that maybe he was supposed to be alone. No. No, that would not happen. He had to believe that.
Oliver was right.
Laertes had to win her. He had to make her see. He had to ask her to be his wife, no matter how frightening that was.
Oliver brushed his hands on his breeches and drew in a breath. “All right, let’s try this again.”
“Don’t think about the upper body,” Mulvaney said.
“That’s easy. That’s what the average fellow is going to do.
They’ll try to crack your nose in or something like that, as you suggested.
The real trick is to get them on their backs with a hold on their neck so fast that they don’t know what’s happening. Then you’ve won.”
“Well, that sounds like fun,” drawled Oliver.
“Oh,” Laertes said with a wink, “it is, my friend. It is.”
He only hoped that life did not knock him down when it came to Lady Seraphine.