Then she read the simple, direct text which was even accompanied by a few drawings to aid those who might struggle to read it. Shocked, she put the leaflet down. But then she picked it up again and read it through.
Fascinating.
As she read, however, she smiled wryly. One thing was sure: Elf did not expect her to lose her remaining ignorance with Lord Rothgar. He must surely know all these interesting techniques.
Chapter 8
It seemed in keeping with the snarled state of Diana’s life that she woke the next morning to the splatter of rain on her window. A glance showed the sort of sullen gray sky that offered no hope for her carefully planned outdoor pursuits. Now, when she wanted to be rid of the Mallorens, she’d have them underfoot all day.
With a sigh, she rang for Clara and considered indoor occupations. The billiard table might amuse the gentlemen, and perhaps some of the ladies played. Would the ladies be content all day with chat, music, and cards? What would the children do? Though she’d had the nursery floor freshened and prepared for them, she had not expected to provide entertainments. Wondering what had happened to her childhood toys, she sent for her housekeeper.
Darkling thoughts of the uninterested marquess caused her to choose a simple dress of buff and green and to fill in the low neckline with a demure fichu. There. If he held any suspicions about her desires last night, this outfit should allay them.
She ate breakfast while dealing with papers and household matters then, equipped with one of the housekeeper’s keys, she ventured up to the nursery floor.
The two infants seemed happily engaged in making mess with their breakfasts. The Steen’s three older children, however—Eleanor, Sarah, and Lord Harber—were looking disconsolately out at the dismal weather. She heard the older girl say, “I hate Yorkshire,” before they became aware of her and gave flustered curtsies and a bow.
She smiled. “Bad weather is a horrible burden, isn’t it? And I foolishly didn’t make provision. However, I once had toys and I have hopes that some are still in the storerooms at the end of this floor. Would you care to come and explore with me?”
With gleeful smiles, the three ran to the door and Diana followed, her own smile doubtless as bright. She’d not thought of her toys for years, but there had been some splendid ones. She led the way toward a door at the end of the corridor, unlocked it, and pushed it open. She had to admit to some disappointment. Though she’d known the place would be kept clean, a part of her had hoped for mystery.
“Alas,” she remarked, “no gloomy corners or moldering corpses.”
Rewarded with giggles, she led the children to one large armoire and opened a drawer. “Clothes. You could play dress-up.”
They smiled politely, but it was clear this was not their idea of prime adventure. She turned to the boxes stacked nearby, each neatly labeled. “Gloves?” she asked.
The three shook their heads.
She peered at the next. “Artificial flowers?”
Three more shakes, but a glimmer of excitement starting. They had realized she was teasing.
She moved to a larger box. “Winter stockings…”
“Lady Arradale!” Eleanor complained, laughing.
“Oh, you think there might be toys here somewhere. very well, come with me.” She opened a door to reveal another well-lit room, many more boxes, and a number of large, shrouded objects.
“I give you permission to uncover one each,” she said. “But be gentle. They might be breakable.”
The three moved forward, clearly deliberating as to which was most likely to be exciting.
Sarah declared that as eldest, she should choose first, and lifted off one heavy cloth. “A rocking horse!” she exclaimed. “A splendid one!”
The other two turned to gather around Bella, and Diana stroked the real white mane on the dappled horse she’d enjoyed so much as a child. The scarlet leather saddle and reins were still in excellent condition, still hung with silver bells that tinkled as Sarah made it rock a little.
“May I ride it, my lady?”
Diana made sure the rockers were free of other objects, then said, “Certainly. You may all have a turn.”
Sarah mounted neatly, arranging her full skirts, and set the horse into jingling motion.
“What is it?” Charlie asked.
She turned to see that he and his sister were unwrapping his choice. Sarah slid off her horse and came over to look at the wooden cabinet on legs.
“It’s a magical picture box.” Diana went forward and opened the doors to show the tube. “You look down this.”
Charlie put his eyes somewhat tentatively to it, but said, “I don’t see anything.”
“You need both light and something to see.” She opened a drawer, took out one of the disks, and slid it into place. Then she wheeled the box next to the window. “It’s best with a candle, but if you look through the glass and turn the handle, you will see pictures of people moving.”
The boy put his face to the view piece again and began to turn the handle. “It is! It does!” He stepped back. “Try it, Nell.”
His sister, teeth sunk in lower lip, eagerly pressed her face to the viewer and turned the handle. “Those people look as if they’re moving!”
After a while, the lad said, “If you don’t give me another chance, Nell, I’m going to make your choice for you.”
The girl leaped back. “Don’t you dare!” She hurried over to her shape—and began to pull at the covering cloth.
“Gently, Eleanor,” Diana reminded her.
The girl obeyed, and worked the sheet off more carefully. “It’s a doll,” she said. “A large doll.” A life-size boy of about five stood against a rock, a drum around his neck, sticks in his raised hands. “His hair’s real, Charlie,” Eleanor said, touching the blond curls gently. “And his clothes.” She turned to Diana. “What is he?”
The girl sounded a little uneasy, and Diana felt the same way. She’d assumed this item had been disposed of decades ago, for her mother had never liked it. When the novelty had worn off for Diana, it had disappeared.
She smiled for the children. “There’s a handle at the back of the rock. If you turn it carefully just twenty times, you will see.”
“I know what it is,” Charlie declared, reaching the handle first. “It’s an automaton like the ones Uncle Bey has!”
The marquess had a number of automata? She wouldn’t have thought him a man for toys, and the devices were expensive and rare. At least the children would be unlikely to be alarmed at the figure’s lifelike behavior. She remembered being frightened when first seeing this one in action on her sixth birthday.
When they reached twenty she told them to stand clear and then pushed down the lever that started it.
The wheeze of the machinery was audible, but it still startled when the child turned his curly head to look at them, blink, and bow in greeting.
One child whispered, “Oh.”
He turned then, eyes first then head, toward a bird sitting on the rock behind him. The bird came to life, spreading its wings for a moment, then raising its head to start a trilling song. The boy turned forward again and began to beat time on his drum, toe tapping, body moving a little in time with the music. Sometimes his eyes moved from drum to audience as if gauging their appreciation.
Then, with a twang one hand went limp while the other tapped on.
“Oh!” It was all three children at once.
Diana leaped to switch it off. Silence settled with the figure caught eerily looking at her as if in reproach. “Oh dear,” she said.
“Oh dear, indeed,” said a voice behind and she turned to see the marquess in the doorway. “Unwise to play such an instrument without carefully checking it over, Lady Arradale.”
He came over and touched the curly hair. “Pauvre enfant.” He traced the arm that had stopped, running fingers down the blue suit of clothes, then raising the jacket. “If you will permit, mon brave.”
One of the children
giggled, but they all pressed close to look at the complicated rods and wheels that disappeared into the rock where the principal mechanism lay.
One rod hung loose.
“Not too serious a problem,” he said, looking up—at the children, not at her. “But it shouldn’t be played again until it has been thoroughly checked.”
He rose smoothly and spoke to Diana. “A very fine object, my lady. Made by Vaucanson, perhaps?”
“I don’t know. My father gave it to me for my sixth birthday. I didn’t know it was still here.” She turned to Eleanor. “I think you should pick another toy to unwrap, dear.”
In moments, Eleanor had uncovered a small theater complete with puppets and the three children were engaged in devising a play. Diana turned back to the marquess, regretting—though only for a moment—her sober dress. Begone, folly! “You wished to speak to me, my lord?”
“I came up to visit the children.”
Diana gave thanks for her unenticing dress.
He turned back to the automaton. “I am curious about this. You must know how precious it is. Why is it up here, neglected?”
“I have no idea. I enjoyed it, but something about it made me uncomfortable, so when it disappeared, I suppose I didn’t ask. Looking back,” she added, “I think my mother did not like it.”
“I see why.”
She stepped up beside him to share his view of the figure, but saw nothing unusual. “Why?”
He looked down at her. “It is a boy child.”
Diana stared at the innocent thing. “My father would never have meant that,” she said, but she could see how it might have seemed to her mother. She’d been wife—and a rather unworthy one, too, being merely the daughter of a local gentleman—to a man of great title and long heritage. In ten years of marriage, she had produced only one child, and that a girl.
Had her father meant this subtle reproach? Diana had always been aware, despite loving parents, of the fierce hope for a son. It had only been when she was about twelve that her education for future responsibilities had begun. That had marked the point of abandoned hope.
The marquess gently raised the drummer boy’s chin. Because of the mechanisms, she supposed, it moved hesitantly, rather as a shy child’s head might. The wide blue eyes ending up looking into his. “A pretty infant,” he said, “with a marked resemblance to the portrait of you as a child that hangs in the countess’s bedchamber.”
With a breath, Diana went closer. Indeed, with shorter hair it did. “He had it made from the picture… ?” How much worse that was. It must have looked to her mother exactly like the son she had not produced.
“He likely thought it only a pleasant whim,” the marquess said.
“With part of his mind.”
Those dark eyes looked down at her, understanding a great deal too much. “Yes, we do sometimes act from more secret places, do we not?” He studied the child again. “A pretty infant,” he repeated, “with spirit and willfulness already established, but showing warmth and great charm. I have thought so of the portrait, too.”
Oh no, don’t do this now. I’m too shaken by the automaton to know what to do, what to say.
He carefully let the chin lower and turned to her. “If you don’t know anyone able to mend and tend it, I can take it to London and give it into the hands of a Mr. Merlin. It is an interest of mine.”
“So I gather,” Diana said, striving for a cool tone. “I confess to being surprised. Toys, my lord?”
“Machines, Lady Arradale. Ones that, when well made, do complex things precisely to order. A pleasing notion, is it not?”
“With a touch of magic? Merlin?”
“It really is his name. And the Duke of Bridgewater builds canals and aqueducts that go over rivers.”
“And Byrd wrote choral music to rival birdsong?”
The corners of his lips deepened with humor. “It makes one wonder, does it not, about the power of names.”
“Arradale carries no particular meaning other than the dale of the Arra. Rothgar, however, does suggest wrath, my lord. And Bey, which I gather your family call you, an eastern potentate.”
“And Diana is the huntress. What, I wonder, do you hunt?” Before she could think of a clever reply, he said, “I understand that you have a shooting gallery here. I confess to being curious about your skill with a pistol.”
Uncomfortably reminded of the events of last year, Diana seized on the children as an excuse and turned to them. “Come. You must return to the nursery. I will have these objects and some of the boxes taken there for you.” She shepherded them out and made the arrangements, then turned to find the marquess behind her, still politely waiting.
“Are you suggesting a shooting contest, my lord?”
“Why not? The men will doubtless enjoy it, and Elf is quite skilled. And I wish to see you shoot.”
As hostess, she could hardly refuse, but as she led the way downstairs, she said, “Why this interest in my abilities, my lord? Last year I had a pistol pressed to your back. I could hardly have missed.”
“You missed Brand.”
“I was flustered and he was moving too fast.”
“You would rather have hit him?”
“Of course not, but it irritates to have made that mistake. What if he’d been a villain about to shoot me?”
“You would, I fear, be dead.”
She cast him a quick look. “Quite. I do not intend to be flustered the next time.”
Rothgar watched with amusement as the countess organized the shooting contest. She set herself high standards, and was used to meeting them. Most interesting. Unfortunately, everything about the Countess of Arradale was interesting, and much of it was dangerous.
He had no doubt that in the past year she had been working not just on aim but on the mind. However, he did not believe any skill stayed within bounds. There was a reason to train a boy in weapons and Greek, and in this world, reason not to so train a girl. Perhaps if he’d not let Cyn and Elf grow up together, Elf would not have thrown herself into such wild adventures. It had turned out well, but could have been a tragedy.
The countess carried the same fizz of frustration and boldness. In some ways, she would make an excellent man, but she was not one. Nor was she the type of woman able to drive out her femininity and live in manly ways. This made her a dangerous, disturbing woman—to him, to others, and to herself. And now he had the king’s commands regarding her.
Lady Arradale had apparently petitioned the king to be allowed to take her earldom’s seat in the House of Lords. It was, of course, out of the question. Parliament was for men only. Rothgar could see why she would want the tradition changed, but he was sure the king could not. George was very conventional about such things.
George was so conventional that he’d flown into a rage at the thought. It didn’t help that he’d suddenly become aware that a young, unmarried woman wielded a great deal of power in his realm. That was intolerable, too. The letter commanded Rothgar to study this unnatural creature and report back to him about what could be done to restrain her.
On second thoughts, this shooting match had perhaps not been a wise suggestion. The last thing needed was for the king to learn she was skilled in such a manly sport. He followed the countess’s straight back down a corridor, disturbed to have been so thoughtless, and aware that it might be symptom of worse.
He’d have to warn the others not to speak of it.
By the time they arrived at the long chamber lit by high windows, servants already had four pairs of pistols out and loaded. The targets, he noted, were of human figures, two men and two women with heart shaped “bulls” pinned to their chests.
“ ‘Pon my soul,” Steen said. “We’re to shoot at women?”
“Women,” Rothgar pointed out, “are not always harmless.”
“We most certainly are not,” the countess agreed without a trace of womanly modesty or gentility. “If a woman was firing at you, Lord Steen, it would be folly to hesitate
to fire back.”
“Firing at me?” echoed Steen, clearly at a loss.
“Portia fired at me,” said Bryght.
“Elf just threw a knife at me,” said Fort.
“I did not,” Elf objected. “I aimed at the paper you were holding, and hit exactly where I aimed!”
“A foolish trick, all the same,” said Rothgar. He turned to the countess. “How will this be arranged?”
“Closest to the center of the heart wins.”
Rothgar looked at the pistols. “Are those yours, Lady Arradale?” he asked, indicating a slightly smaller pair.
“Yes. Elf can use them, too, if she wishes.”
“But in that case, the gentlemen should use their own, don’t you think?”
“You have dueling pistols with you?” she asked, clearly startled at the thought. It was oddly pleasant to shock her.
“One never knows…” he murmured. But then he admitted, “No, but I have my own custom-made traveling pistols.”
He looked at the other men, and Bryght, as he’d expected, admitted to having his own, too. His brothers were well trained. With a shrug, Elf confessed to having her own pair with her, making Fort roll his eyes, but humorously. That match was turning out surprisingly well without Elf having to try to hide what she was. A Malloren, through and through.
Servants were sent to bring the familiar weapons, and as they waited, Rothgar asked, “And the prize, Countess?”
She turned to him, suddenly guarded. “What would you suggest, my lord? I think none of us here would care about a purse of money.”
“For love, then,” he said deliberately to disconcert her. “We are family, after all.”
“I am not.”
“By connection. Do we draw for who shoots first?”
Her color blossomed interestingly before she turned to pick up a dice box. “We roll for it.”
He gestured and she rolled the dice, getting eight. He rolled ones so when his pistols arrived and he had loaded them, he went first. He made no attempt not to put a pistol ball in the dead center of two hearts, one male, one female.
If it came to a contest, he wanted her to know what she faced.
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