THE RAKE AND THE BISHOP'S DAUGHTER (The Friendship Series Book 3)

by Julia Donner

  Olivia smiled, confident and serene in her understanding of Harry no matter what Asterly had to say. She couldn’t blame his brother for wanting to warn her off. She and her family had done nothing to deserve this man’s good opinion.

  “My lord, I’ve spent enough time with your brother to comprehend his personality. He possesses a remarkably easy-going nature.”

  “Most of the time, ma’am. But not all of the time. What he displays to the world is not what or who he is in private.”

  Keen to hear, she watched Asterly lean an elbow on the unlit fireplace mantel and look out the window at the autumn gloom. “I am very much like my father, but Harry is Mother all over again. To describe him as mercurial would be an understatement. She had the sweetest nature. Until pushed. Then her temper became legendary. She’d been known to scream and throw bits of bric-a-brac. She was no stranger to revenge.”

  Olivia interrupted, “I must protest. I’ve never seen Harry in anything approaching a tantrum. Everywhere one goes, people say how even tempered he is, how jovial and fun-loving. Newspapers go on and on about his cheerful disposition.”

  Asterly pulled his gaze from the window. “Ma’am, those are the impressions of the public, mere acquaintances. He cares little for them, scarcely knows they exist. I will agree that he has impeccable manners and shows excessive thoughtfulness in his ways. It’s merely a public persona he manufactured long ago. Society is full of people he cares nothing about. It is only when he cares for someone that his temper shows its face. He loses patience. He can be quite cutting if someone he cares about is diminished in any way.”

  She glanced away, trying to absorb and accept Lord Asterly’s comments. The person he described was nothing like the lad she met as a girl nor the man who’d stayed with her at Beechgate Cottage. There had been no sign of an unseemly disposition.

  “My lord, I cannot picture it.”

  A half-grin curved lips like Harry’s. “This comes as no surprise. He loves the company of ladies as much as gentlemen, but he shows us a much different face. In your case, ma’am, I tend to think his temper will prove to have a shorter fuse than usual and go off like a cannon.”

  He paused and looked down at his boots. Pursing his mouth, he inspected the glossy polish. “There is something else you should know if you wish to understand him completely, something he’ll probably never tell you. Not because it’s a secret or anything like that. It was a defining moment for Harry, a hurt that changed him profoundly.”

  A spark of curiosity brushed aside her concern for the difficult side of Harry she’d never seen. “Then I must be grateful for your willingness to explain, my lord.”

  “Please, Peregrine. Or Perry, if you prefer.”

  What did she prefer? Perhaps to run back to the quiet of Beechgate Cottage? She must go through with the marriage. She really had no choice and must somehow develop a rapport with the family and friends Harry respected.

  Achieving a sense of comfort with his aloof, powerful brother would take time. His personality differed so much from Harry’s. No matter what he said, she sensed that Asterly still held part of himself back and didn’t fully trust her. He’d been in the military for many years, away at war, or part of Wellington’s immediate staff, but she began to think his reticence to trust her had more to do with the concern that she would hurt Harry.

  Careful with her tone and phrasing, she said, “I saw something in his eyes once, a darkness, like the shadow of a memory, there and gone in an instant. His disposition is always so sunny and carefree that I could not help but notice. If there is a subject or incident that distresses him, I should be grateful for anything you are free to tell me to avoid speaking of it. I wouldn’t want to cause him pain with an inadvertent comment.”

  Asterly nodded and began to slowly pace, hands clasped behind his back. “When a boy, my brother was given a calling, a sincere one, to enter the clergy. He wasn’t suited to the military, so this made for a happy decision. Mother was overjoyed. She never much liked my choice of the younger son’s tack of taking the king’s coin. She preferred to have her chicks not far from her hem.”

  He sat across from her and she wished she didn’t have to hear what was coming. As the daughter of a clergyman, she had firsthand experience with all aspects of confessions and revelations. Most were distressing or unpleasant.

  “One day, a cleric, new to our parish, ended my brother’s calling. When Harry approached the young vicar for study assistance, something went awry. Perhaps it was jealousy on the young man’s part. In any event, he had no compassion for Harry, no respect for his decision to enter the clergy, his keenness to do the work of God. The cleric told an impressionable boy filled with so much eager hope that he was too pretty to be a minister. Everyone would look at him and never hear the homilies. Worse, he’d have female parishioners fawning over him and not giving their due attention to God.”

  Asterly paused then unclenched his jaws to say, “To this day, I can scarcely contain the urge to thrash that clod for his hypocrisy. The need to do so is as strong now as it was when I heard and saw my brother devastated.”

  Olivia blinked the sting from her eyes. Having suffered through a number of discouraging remarks in her youth, she sympathized with what Harry had experienced. Not certain what to say that would help, she devised a careful suggestion.

  “At least he had you to confide in.”

  Asterly grimly said, “He never told me. Has always refused to talk about it. You see, I overheard the entire conversation. I’d been waiting for him outside the chapel steps and went inside to find him. I sat in the family pew up front. They were in a room off the sacristy. Harry came running out with tears in his eyes. Rushed right by me. The curate watched him from the doorway with a repellant smirk.”

  Olivia felt no reason to conceal her outrage when she whispered, “I have to believe that Christ has something specific to say to that horrid man. Our Lord never did care much for hypocrites. And if you do ever come across that fiend, who crushed Harry’s heart, I expect you to hold him fast long enough for me to slap him soundly. What a horrible, horrid thing to do to a tender-hearted child!”

  Asterly’s sudden smile surprised her. Some of Harry’s infectious glow lit the baron’s harshly handsome face. She quelled a cringe when he strode to where she sat.

  Taking her hands, he pulled her up to stand. “There’s the Olivia my brother sees. Now I know why he can’t live without you. You’re just like Mother.”

  A bit shaken by what she’d heard and Asterly’s intimidating presence, she concentrated on keeping her hands relaxed in his. “I very much doubt that, my lord. Harry described her beauty as magical.”

  He released her hands and laughed, as Harry did, throwing his head back. “Not that! Not even Lady Ravenswold is as beautiful as Mama. I meant you would have done what she did.”

  Leery of asking, but too curious not to inquire, she said, “What was that, my lord?”

  A playful scowl ruined his attempt to sound stern. “I don’t think I care for that standoffish manner of address. I’m your brother now.”

  “Oh! I see. Peregrine, then. Tell me, what did your mother do?”

  “Got the heftiest farmer in the district, drove to the manse, and drummed the fellow out of the parish. Actually had him grabbed by the seat of his trousers and tossed into a turnip wagon.”

  “Excellent!” Then happiness faded with comprehension. She looked up into Asterly’s blue-green eyes. “Ah, now I see what happened. Harry swallowed his bitterness and stubbornly went about doing everything to prove that ghastly man right. Now it’s Harry that I want to shake. It’s not like him to allow an injustice to prevail, is it?”

  “No. Not for others, but he’ll do nothing when it’s directed at himself, but we shan’t worry about that any longer. From now on, he has you to thrash anyone who thinks to do him a disservice.”

  “Yes, Peregrine, you are absolutely right. He does have me for doing just that. Woe to the fool who thinks to b
esmirch our lad.”

  Asterly tucked her hand into his elbow. “I believe my wife would like you to join us for luncheon. Do you like mutton?”

  “Peregrine, I like anything and everything that I don’t have to cook. Will Harry be there?”

  “We’ll ask when he finishes the fencing lesson. It will be concluding soon.”

  “What about your appointment?”

  “It’s been rescheduled. I’ve succumbed to rabid curiosity about the lady who has taken hold of my chameleon brother and turned him inside out. How did you do that?”

  She doubted that she had done anything of the sort, but if Harry wished to spare her public embarrassment, she could easily play along with his game. “I’m sure I don’t know how it came about. I wonder, is there a way to view the lesson in progress?”

  “Certainly. There is a musician’s mezzanine above the pavilion.”

  He escorted her up the staircase to the first floor gallery and through a set of double doors. They strolled the length of a long room studded with magnificent paintings. Lady Asterly had a penchant for art and artists. Interspersed between the masterpieces were family portraits.

  Olivia stopped to stare at a pastoral setting with a woman seated on a tufted bench. Two young boys stood with her. Happy hounds sprawled at her hem. The tow-headed boy held her hand in a possessive grasp. A solemn-faced boy stood with one hand on her shoulder.

  “My lord, is that your mother?”

  “Yes. She had a devil of a time getting Harry and I to stand still. It was done indoors, of course, but the background is the park at Marshfield. The trees in the distance block the view of the channel.”

  “She’s so beautiful. The painter captured her sweet nature.”

  “Harry told you about her? Of course he did. He adored her, and they had a special bond. Perhaps because they were alike in so many ways. She compensated for that by saying I was her comfort, since I’m more like my father.”

  “Neither of you knew him before he was lost to you?”

  “Very little. We were eight when he died.”

  Another shout, issuing from the far end of the room, broke her fixed attention on the late Lady Astlery. Her beauty was indeed magical, like Harry’s.

  Asterly touched her elbow and they continued down the long room to a set of doors at its end. When he opened the door for her, humid warmth rushed by, carrying the lush scent of flowers from an attached conservatory on the south end of the long receiving room below. A curving staircase swept off one end of the music mezzanine and down to the pavilion floor.

  The clash and slither of connecting blades made Olivia’s flesh crawl. She peered down over a metal railing and saw Lady Ravenswold, extraordinarily tall for a female, fencing with a man her own height and of wiry build. His longish, black hair floated around a swarthy countenance that would have matched the romantic quality of his hair but for the fierce intensity of his concentration. He moved with the kind of confidence that bordered on menacing, but his threatening attacks appeared to have no effect on Lady Ravenswold, who moved with agile grace to Harry’s shouted instructions.

  Asterly leaned down to quietly say, “Harry mentioned that you’ve met Lady Ravenswold. The gentleman sparring with her is the Honorable Alfred Bates, heir to Viscount Grieves. We’ve been friends since schooldays. He doesn’t care much for fencing. Prefers pistols to blades. Best shot in all of England.”

  Olivia quietly asked, “Is he the one known as Arm-Winger Freddy?” When Asterly nodded, she said, “Wasn’t there a law passed to prohibit dueling?”

  Asterly merely smiled. The glint in his eyes explained that on some occasions certain rules might be ignored. Olivia had been too young and naive during her come-out to realize there were many levels and nuances of society. Men had their own ways, vastly different and unfamiliar to women, just as women had their own set of rules and silent language. When Asterly closed the subject by looking down at the activity on the pavilion floor, she returned her attention to the fencing lesson.

  The men had stripped down to shirts and stocking feet. The countess wore britches not quite as snug as the men’s and had plaited her red-gold hair into a tight braid. She and her opponent wore thick, sleeveless leather vests to protect their torsos. Not wearing a vest, Harry paced on the sidelines, calling out instructions as the fencers moved forward and backward, a ballet of parry and thrust, directed by Harry’s shouts.

  “Cass, mind your balance on the riposte! Lift the front of your foot on the advance to keep your posture. Freddy’s letting you get away with it but won’t for long.”

  The countess laughed around gasps for air. “If we were in a real fight, my balance wouldn’t matter!”

  “Freddy, show her!”

  With controlled grace, Alfred Bates pressed an attack that forced the countess to retreat. Perspiration glowed on her face as she parried the flicking blade. Irritation pressed her lips into an angry line. She quite obviously didn’t like to lose and with a shout, suddenly lunged forward, but missed her strike. Her opponent neatly tagged her right shoulder and stepped back.

  Harry strode across the floor and stood in front of the countess. A few inches taller, he stuck his nose in her face. “I told you to never lose your temper and concentration. Freddy played with you like the beginner you are, tricked you into a stupid move.”

  Scowling, the countess snapped back, “Show me then. Show me what I’m doing wrong. Illustrate it with Freddy.”

  Bates wiped his forehead with a shirtsleeve. “Oh, no. I’m not fighting with this one. He goes mad when he gets a blade in his hand.”

  Lady Ravenswold cracked a taunting laugh. “Cowards! Bates, you’ve got no stomach without a pistol.”

  Bates snorted at her attempt to bait him. “But I do have a brain in my head when it comes to the odds. This fellow can’t hit the side of a building with a barker but is not to be faced off with when he’s got any sort of blade in hand.”

  Smirking, Lady Ravenswold teased, “Squeamish babies, the both of you. Come along, Harry. You promised to teach me. I hold you to it. Show me. A teacher must demonstrate.”

  Harry took the epee Lady Ravenswold extended. She ruined the graceful handoff when she stuck out her tongue at Bates, who sighed and resumed an en guard stance.

  With wrist raised and foil pointed downward, Bates said in a doomed voice, “Be gentle, Harry, and remember, we’re friends.”

  Harry’s grin flashed. “Are we? I’m recalling that day on the commons when you let it slip about Althea Brimsley.”

  “Blast it, Collyns! Will you never forget and forgive? And t’was scarcely my fault that you got caught snuggling the headmaster’s daughter.”

  Lady Ravenswold hooted a mocking laugh. “Snuggling? Is that what you call it? Not our Harry!”

  Bates readjusted his stance, and with resignation muttered, “Do your worst, friend.”

  Asterly broke through Olivia’s rapt attention when he murmured, “Ma’am, have you ever seen men fence?”

  “A visiting cousin had lessons on the lawn, but I never paid them any notice. Why does Mr. Bates not wish to perform a demonstration for the countess?”

  “Because Harry is utterly wild and reckless. He has no style, other than aggressiveness, even in retreat. Which means that there is little chance of attempting to rely on a strategy built on an opponent’s repeated actions. Harry has none, and he punishes any weakness. I never fence with him. It’s too bewildering.”

  She didn’t move her attention from the men below when she said, “He told me that you were the better boxer. Does his poor vision create a problem seeing his opponent?”

  “You know about that, do you?”

  “The reason for his curricle accident, I’m sure. Shouldn’t Harry wear a protective vest?”

  “Too sure of himself and a tactic to overset his opponent. Or he knows you’re up here watching and is showing off.”

  “How silly. He might be injured.”

  “Not Harry. You’ll see. And th
e blade tips are buttoned.”

  Harry took his place, a relaxed en guard, and began to speak before moving. “When advancing, raise the front of the foot. You constantly forget to do that, and if you don’t, it’s difficult to maintain balance. Without balance, you lose flexibility for swift advance and retreat. You attempted the fleche in a bungled sort of lunge. The fleche should never be attempted by a beginner, because unless you strike your opponent, the attack leaves you open for a lethal strike. You can only hope he will duck to avoid the blade, giving you time to escape retribution.”

  Olivia gasped when Harry suddenly moved, an explosive advance that had Bates in swift retreat. Foil movements flew too fast for her to understand.

  Asterly murmured with pride and satisfaction, “Now watch closely. He’s like a spider. He’s about to draw Freddy in, make him think he’s retreating, then he’ll press him forward and back, and at the precise moment—”

  Harry flung forward in flight, arm and body extended almost parallel to the floor, a fearless attack that laid him vulnerable, and when Freddy stumbled back to avoid the blade tip, Harry caught him on the vest’s left shoulder.

  Olivia lowered the hand she’d unconsciously pressed over her heart. “That was terrifying to watch.”

  Asterly said, “The fleche is a chancy maneuver. I doubt he’d ever do it in an actual duel, but then, with Harry, one never knows. It’s what makes him a challenging opponent.” Asterly placed his hand on the metal railing, and called down, “Harry! You have a visitor.”

  Harry dragged a sleeve over his brow and squinted up. “Has Lizzie returned early?”

  “Come up and see for yourself! I dislike shouting.”

  “I need a moment to get Cass out of her vest.”

  Lady Ravenswold presented her back and upraised arm. Harry unbuckled her vest and peeled it away from her perspiration-soaked blouse. A plump, blond-haired maid rushed out from underneath the mezzanine floor and flipped a cape over the startling sight of the cloth sticking to her ladyship’s chest. The maid began to scold her mistress in a manner unusual for a servant, a blessed distraction from the uncomfortable recollection of her immodest behavior under the rainspout.