by Brooklyn Ann
For the next hour, they spoke of the goings-on in Town, the balls, operas, weddings, children born, and the weather. Aldric studied Renarde, watching for signs of disingenuousness, yet all he could discern was that this companion genuinely appeared to care for Vivian. And that may be sufficient for Aldric to refrain from telling Vivian’s father about Renarde’s secret.
Maybe.
When his guests were visibly concealing yawns of exhaustion from their journey, Aldric had the servants heat tubs of water for baths, and bade them good night.
He was tempted to ask more about their encounter with the highwayman, but decided it could wait. For now, it was enough that his niece had arrived safely.
Instead, he left the house to seek his meal for the night and ponder on this firebrand niece of his.
This one was as free-spirited as his sister had been. From the scandal Vivian caused and her unconventional friendship with her companion, Aldric suspected that she’d cause a fair bout of mischief before she left his home.
All the more reason to ensure she did not remain here long. Although he did enjoy providing a haven for his mortal family from time to time, he could not risk having his own secrets discovered.
The scandal about her attempted duel was far more serious than he’d anticipated. Very few gentlemen would countenance having such a willful, rebellious wife. Furthermore, she was untitled, and her dowry would have been nonexistent had he not contributed a generous sum. Still, the pot would need to be sweetened further.
Perhaps if he deeded her some land, a match with her would be more appealing to a worthy suitor. Aldric had properties throughout England as well as one in Spain and another in France as vampires had to move every half century or so before the local humans noticed they did not age. But he did not wish to part with those. He did hold mortgages to a few farms, however, and he was intending on foreclosing on the Berwyn land. The widow of the wastrel who’d tricked Aldric into loaning with no ability to repay had been putting forth a valiant, yet pitiful effort to pay Aldric off, but even a halfwit could see that there was no chance of her closing the debt in her lifetime.
Aldric sympathized with the woman, he truly did. As it was, he’d allowed her to give him her meager payments and care for her children, giving her time to find a new husband to perhaps take over the loan, or for her to give up and find some relatives to stay with or a situation in service.
And yet the stubborn wench clung to her failing farm and Aldric eventually lost patience and demanded full payment at months’ end. Then he would seize the farm. The fields, orchard, and buildings were in dreadful shape, but land was land. Perhaps it could go to Vivian as part of her dowry.
He rose from his desk and rubbed his temples, between providing for his wayward niece and dealing with the widow’s mortgage, he’d have no peace in the foreseeable future until both were resolved.
Chapter Four
Vivian yawned again as she made her way downstairs for breakfast. She’d barely gotten a decent wink of sleep last night. Her body was still jarred from the long carriage ride, her mind worried endlessly about how she and her uncle would get on, and her heart pounded from memories of the highwayman’s indecent kiss.
If she’d known kissing could be so spellbinding, she very well could have been ruined in a more traditional manner. Not that she would have allowed Lord Summerly or even any other gentleman of her acquaintance to get so far. None of them captivated her like the mysterious thief had. If Vivian closed her eyes, she could still see the rakish glint of his eyes, his flashing smile, and hear his decadent, low laughter.
Frowning, she paused on the stairwell and took a few deep breaths to calm her inappropriate thoughts. Was she mad? The man had held up her father’s carriage, pointed a gun at her, and robbed her and her father’s coachman. She shouldn’t be simpering after him like he was one of King Arthur’s knights.
Madame Renarde was already seated at the table with a heaping plate of morning victuals. “Good morning, Cherie. Did you sleep well?”
“Not really.” Vivian smiled at her friend’s ever hearty appetite as she took her plate and served herself a few pieces of bacon, a sausage, and a scone. “Did you?”
“Like the dead.” Madame Renarde spread jam on one of her pieces of toast. “The carriage was so dreadfully uncomfortable that I could never nod off properly since we left London. And the inns on the way were little better.”
Vivian couldn’t disagree with that sentiment. The bedchamber her uncle had given her was more luxurious and comfortable than her own at home, yet she’d tossed and turned all the same.
Blast that man! She didn’t even know his name, and if God was good, she’d never see the scoundrel again.
She needed to put him out of her mind. There were more important matters facing her. Such as her uncle’s knowledge of Madame Renarde’s identity. Both he and the highwayman had known right away when countless others had taken Vivian’s companion at face value. What had tipped them off?
Vivian nibbled on a piece of bacon and surreptitiously studied her companion. Her chin was free of stubble. Her neck was covered with the lace collar of her modest dress, so no Adam’s Apple could be discerned, though from what Vivian had seen, it wasn’t very prominent anyway. Madame Renarde’s corset gave the impression of a bosom, especially as she was on the plump side and though her jaw was square, she’d met biological women with more masculine features.
“Is something wrong?” Madame Renarde asked. Her blue eyes were wide with concern.
Should she tell her friend that her uncle knew her secret? Vivian weighed the idea carefully. On one hand, it would be courteous to give Madame Renarde a warning in case her uncle wrote Father, for she would be sacked immediately if that happened. On the other hand, Uncle had seemed to be very understanding of the situation and willing to consider keeping the secret. Vivian didn’t want to worry her friend needlessly if all would be well. She decided to hold her silence and observe Uncle’s interactions with Madame Renarde to see which way the wind blew.
Vivian shook her head and voiced another concern. “I am only worried how I will get on here. Uncle is known to be eccentric and reclusive, and though I am not a picture of normalcy either, I do not know if he will like me. He interrogated me quite rigorously about the scandal I caused.”
“Did he seem angry?” Her companion signaled the footman to clear their plates.
“I couldn’t tell.” She shrugged as she rose from the table. “He is more difficult to read than Father.”
Madame Renarde nodded. “Yes, he was quite enigmatic. Do you suppose he’ll be down for breakfast soon?”
Vivian shook her head. “He said his illness keeps him from being about during the day. He will be down for supper, though.”
“That poor man.” Madame Renarde sounded genuinely sympathetic, but then she smiled. “That could work in our favor for our exercises. Shall we explore the estate?”
Vivian grinned. A good bout of fencing was just what she needed. Perhaps it would banish the memories of her last match. “That sounds lovely.”
Arm in arm, they walked through the rooms of the main floor, but didn’t venture upstairs so as not to disturb Vivian’s sleeping uncle. Madame Renarde was delighted with the game room, complete with a billiards table and dartboard. Vivian preferred the library, with its walls of books, massive fireplace, and cozy chairs. The ballroom was the most neglected, its scratched floor and aged décor making it apparent that Lord Thornton did not entertain often. Vivian was somewhat relieved. She was never comfortable when hordes of people invaded her home in London.
Quite hypocritical since she didn’t mind invading others’ homes for balls and musicales, but Vivian never claimed to justify her sentiments.
They then walked the grounds outside. Vivian lifted her face to the warm sunshine, a rarity in England in the Autumn. If she’d still been in London, she would have been forced to shield her face with a parasol or bonnet. Perhaps being exiled wouldn’t be so b
ad.
Lord Thornton’s gardens were simple almost to the point of being crude compared to others Vivian had seen. The rose bushes were a wild thicket of buds and thorns, the shrubs were shaggy, and there was very little in the way of other flowers.
However, between the thick wall and the tall shrubbery, the place would be perfect for her and Madame Renarde to practice their fencing. Vivian saw the same idea reflected in her companion’s twinkling eyes and satisfied smile.
“Shall we fetch our rapiers?”
They practiced for two hours, blades ringing in the peaceful afternoon.
“You are getting to be quite proficient.” Madame Renarde saluted Vivian with her blade. “No wonder you were able to hold your own against that brigand.”
Heat crept up Vivian’s cheeks. Drat. Why did Madame Renarde have to remind her of him? “He was holding himself back intentionally because I amused him.”
“Perhaps,” her companion said agreeably. “I think more because you are comely, and he liked you. From the look of that kiss, it is fortunate that we likely will never encounter him again.”
Vivian gasped. “You saw that?”
“I saw everything.” Madame Renarde’s blue eyes sparkled with mischief. “I recovered my sword quick enough and was about to return to the fight, but I saw that you were doing quite well on your own. There was no need for me to interfere until he disarmed you. But then the sheer cheek of him asking for a kiss compelled me to remain behind and see how that played out. A most riveting diversion, I confess.”
“You’re supposed to protect my virtue,” Vivian said with a laugh.
“Eh, in France, kisses are not seen as the hazards they are in this country.” Her companion gave a shrug that was decidedly French. “Besides, I had his pistol pointed at him the entire time. If he’d tried for more than your lips, I would have put a ball in his head.”
Vivian shuddered at the gruesome image even as she beamed in admiration. Back when she was a Monsieur, Renarde had been a soldier. She would have indeed been capable of killing the highwayman if she’d had the inclination. Thank heavens Vivian had Renarde with her rather than a dour dragon of a companion who would have likely fainted at the sight of a highwayman and left Vivian with no knowledge or capability of defending herself.
She embraced her companion with a laugh. “Oh, how I love you, dear friend.”
“And I love you, Cherie,” Madame Renarde kissed her cheek. “You have a pure heart, to accept me as I am. I do not have to hide from you. Do you have any notion as to how rare that is?”
Vivian shook her head, though she had an inkling. After all, Madame Renarde was the only person she who understood and accepted Vivian’s oddities. “I wish more people would at least tolerate those that do not fit the common mold of society. I wish society wouldn’t try to break down individuality and would instead welcome people of all varieties so long as they were good. Like nature gifts us with wildflowers of all colors, yet in our gardens, the roses are one hue.”
Madame Renarde nodded thoughtfully before rising from the bench. “Come, we should take our swords inside and change before His Lordship comes downstairs for the night.”
When Lord Thornton did come down for supper, Vivian was warmed at his genuine kindness and sincere efforts to get to know her and Madame Renarde better. Conversations with her father at meals had been stilted and dull, but in Thornton Manor, the lively talk went on for hours. Uncle had long been known to be a recluse, but perhaps he hungered for news of the outside world.
It was only when her uncle left the table to embark on a solitary walk when she noticed that he’d barely eaten.
And that was only the first of many oddities she observed about him. It seemed that nighttime walks were a routine for Uncle that he followed religiously. With his illness keeping him from going out during the day, she could understand that he’d want a bit of fresh air, but his absolute insistence on going alone struck her as queer. Most people of her acquaintance preferred company when they took a stroll.
Another strange thing was the fact that Lord Thornton had very few servants, and most were elderly at that. There was only one butler, Fitz, the housekeeper, Mrs. Potts, and one footman, Jeffries, who also doubled as a driver. The chambermaid also assisted the cook. There was no valet, and Madame Renarde had to act as Vivian’s ladies’ maid. Vivian knew the skeleton staff was not due to Uncle having a lack of funds, for it was well known that he was a wealthy man. Perhaps he just did not bother to have so many people about caring for one man. After all, the estate was in capital shape. Villagers came in three times a year to dust the manor from top to bottom, and a crew of gardeners tended the grounds once a month.
Despite Uncle Aldric’s eccentricities, Vivian quickly became quite fond of him. They played chess together in the game room and he even taught her how to play billiards. He recommended excellent novels from the library and they spent many delightful hours discussing them.
After only a week at Thornton Manor, Vivian realized she was happier here than she had been in London. The neighbors came calling too early for the nocturnal schedule they’d adopted, but out in the country, things were not as rigid as in Town, so the visitors forgave Vivian’s yawns and some even vowed to come by later.
The closest neighbors, the Carringtons, brought Vivian and Madame Renarde on a carriage ride through the village of Blackpool. Vivian breathed in the salty sea air, cleaner and brisker than the London air and admired the sight of the waves lapping the stony shore of the coast. Beautiful cottages lined the straight streets, and elaborate hotels stood near the beaches for all who visited to indulge in sea bathing.
The best aspect of staying with her uncle came when he once more abruptly called her to his study.
He poured them glasses of wine and did not prevaricate. “I am told that you and Renarde fence in the afternoons.”
Vivian’s glass paused on its way to her mouth. Would he forbid it? Would he tell her father? “We do,” she answered warily.
“So you were not jesting when you intended to duel that rake in London,” Lord Thornton inquired in an unreadable tone. His eyes narrowed. “And where did Renarde learn to fence?”
Vivian wondered if his insistence on leaving off the Madame when referring to her companion meant he had her confused with a lady’s maid, who was to be addressed by surname only, or if Uncle was merely unwilling to refer to Madame Renarde with a female address. “She was a student of the Chevalier.”
To her disbelief, her stoic uncle laughed. “I should have guessed.”
Le Chevalier was a French spy who was exiled to England after declaring to the king that he wished to live out the rest of his days as a woman. She’d been a notorious figure in Britain until the end of her days. She’d even defeated Monsieur de Saint-George in a match while wearing full skirts and petticoats. Vivian had been fascinated when Madame Renarde spoke of her old friend.
“So Renarde still fences and taught you.” Aldric took a small sip of his own wine, wishing he could drink like a mortal man. This night, he needed more fortification. “How did that come about?”
“She found me in the garden weeping. I felt the confines of my life pressing upon my soul most dreadfully. She thought a new hobby would lift my spirits. And it did. With a sword in my hand, I feel some semblance of control over my fate.”
“Yes, life can be difficult for women.” Uncle sighed and trailed his finger around the rim of his glass. “Although I hear your skills are impressive, I feel it is much too dangerous for you to be playing with swords in skirts and with your face unprotected.
Vivian’s heart sank. Closing her eyes, she waited to hear him claim her favorite pursuit to be verboten.
“So,” he continued, “We shall have to see you equipped with proper garb and masks before you are harmed under my care.”
For a moment, she stared at him, flabbergasted at his words. “Oh, Uncle,” she breathed, heart too full of hope to dare believe. “Do you truly mean it?”
Vivian grinned and drew back. “That she does.”
Supper began amiably, with Vivian and Madame Renarde expressing their delight at the prospect of receiving proper fencing equipment. Lord Thornton even discussed the possibility of finding skilled gentlemen who would be willing to participate in matches.
But then, Uncle brought the cheer of the evening crashing to a halt. “Speaking of matches.” He cleared his throat. “We’ve been invited to the Galveston’s ball on Friday. I will not be able to attend as I have an engagement I cannot put off.”
Vivian’s shoulders relaxed in relief, though she didn’t know why. She enjoyed dancing and sipping champagne.
“However,” Uncle continued, “I think you and Madame Renarde should go. Your father had been trying to find a husband for you and I see no reason for the search to end simply because you are here. There are plenty of eligible gentlemen in Lancashire.”
He wanted to marry her off? Vivian’s vision darkened and narrowed as dizziness made her head feel as if it were caught in a storm-tossed sea. She’d thought she’d have at least half a years’ reprieve, if not more. Panic made her stays feel over-tight as her heart thudded against her ribs.
Uncle Aldric’s dark eyes narrowed as he frowned at her over his hardly-touched dessert of blackberries in clotted cream. “Vivian, is something amiss?”
How could she explain this terror that swarmed through her soul when she had no means of explaining its source? Quickly, her mind struggled for a means to prevaricate. “It is just... with my scandal, I am uncertain that attending a ball so soon would be the wisest course.”