The Reigning and the Rule

by Calia Read

  Abruptly, he stops spinning the globe and mulls over my question. “I am,” he finally confesses. “Asa mentioned it would be a good investment months ago.”

  My heart races. “You’re good friends with Asa?”

  “Good friends is a bit of a stretch. I prefer close acquaintance. I met Asa through Étienne and Livingston,” he explains.

  “Of course, you did,” I mutter under my breath.

  “Since I’ve been in Charleston, I’ve learned nearly everyone in the South knows who Asa Calhoun is.”

  At that, I snort. “Ain’t that the truth. I’ve been meaning to speak to Asa about something, but he’s been away on business for the past few weeks. I’m getting tired of waiting.”

  Frowning, Nicholas looks at me. “No, he hasn’t. I spoke with him last week.”

  I tilt my head to the side and stare at Nicholas. “Excuse me?”

  “I spoke with him last week,” Nicholas repeats. He goes back to spinning the globe. He doesn’t notice the anger building in my eyes. “It was about business matters, so it was very brief, but I assure you, I saw him.”

  “So let me get this straight. He’s been in Charleston the entire time?” I ask through gritted teeth.

  Nicholas lifts his head at the tone of my voice. He looks at me carefully as it registers in his mind that he might’ve said the wrong thing to me. His hand drops from the globe. “Well, I’m not sure. But I know he left for New Orleans with a business colleague, and he won’t be back for a few—”

  “Son of a bitch,” I hiss.

  “You certainly have a mouth on you,” he murmurs.

  I’m so mad at Étienne I ignore Nicholas’s remark and begin pacing in front of the window. First, the stock with Livingston’s name on it, and now this. Étienne fucking lied to me. I trusted him, and he lied. The sneaky bastard.

  “Who lied?”

  I’m so wrapped up in my thoughts it takes me a second to realize I’m muttering my thoughts aloud. I stop pacing and glance at Nicholas. “Uhh...a mutual friend of ours.”

  Nicholas stares at me sharply. I think he knows who I’m referring to, but he won’t say. The minutes tick by, and then Nicholas walks over to a stack of newspapers Livingston keeps on the end table near the upholstered chair. Livingston has a strange habit—as does Étienne—of amassing newspapers from surrounding cities to read them. Unlike Étienne, Livingston does his reading at night. That is, when he isn’t drunk or with a woman.

  Judging from the healthy stack on the end table, it’s been a while since he’s read a paper.

  Nicholas searches through the papers before he pulls one out. “Ah! The Herald and News. Just what I was looking for.” He scans the front page before he walks over to me and points at an article in the middle of the paper. The small headline reads, “SUGGESTS CHANGE OF NAME,” and beneath that is, “Capt. Calhoun Proposes Plan for Clemson College.”

  Without thinking, I grab the newspaper and scan the article. I lift my head once to stare at Nicholas and re-read the article. The Cliffsnotes version? Clemson College would receive millions of dollars. The stipulation being they had to change the institution name to Calhoun College and have the college placed under the control of the State of South Carolina. This was said by Capt. John C. Calhoun, grandson of the South Carolina statesman John C. Calhoun while he was in town visiting family and friends.

  I glance up at the top of the newspaper. The date is January 13, 1914. That was two days after I arrived. I look at the location of the publication: Newberry, S.C.

  My eyes veer to Nicholas. “Where is Newberry?”

  He leans in, his shoulder pressing into my arm. “I’m not sure. You forget I’m from New York. Perhaps near Columbia, South Carolina?”

  I think I know where Columbia is, but if I’m honest, my sense of direction is complete shit. Even when I’m back in my own time, I’m focused on two things: getting back to Étienne and Charleston. Nothing else.

  “So John Calhoun is a relative of Asa’s,” I say slowly.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And I’m assuming John visited Asa here in Charleston while he was attempting to have Clemson College’s name changed.”

  “That’s how it seems.”

  All my heart hears is, Étienne lied. Étienne lied. Étienne lied.

  The letters are expanding in my chest and spreading through my body, making my blood boil until I practically have the newspaper wadded up in a ball. I shove the paper at Nicholas’s chest. He grabs it with both hands and looks at me with shock.

  “I need to go.”

  Nicholas places the wrinkled newspaper on the end table and observes me. “Go where?”

  “To Belgrave. I need to speak with Étienne,” I say as I walk toward the door.

  “This has nothing to do with what I said, does it?”

  “It has everything to do with what you told me, but will I rat you out? No,” I call out over my shoulder.

  Nicholas hurriedly grabs his hat and coat from the butler while I walk out the front door. Who needs a jacket when you have anger to warm your blood?

  The ride to Belgrave isn’t tense.

  It might be for Nicholas. I don’t know. My mind is focused on one thing. Finding Étienne and ripping him a new asshole.

  The methodical beat of my heart is replaced by a short, staccato chant: Étienne. Lied. To me.

  Étienne.

  Lied.

  To.

  Me.

  To know he looked me in the eye and lied about Asa and had ties to Emmeline and my family’s business is akin to putting mud on an open wound.

  The brakes creak in protest as Nicholas parks his car in front of Belgrave. I’m out of the car and rushing up the steps before he has a chance to open his door.

  “Serene! Wait!” he calls from behind me.

  Without warning, I burst through the front door, causing Ben to jolt. Nicholas, who’s running, almost slams into me.

  “May I help you?” Ben asks.

  Impatiently, I turn toward Ben. “Where’s Étienne?”

  From the sitting room, Nat peeks her head out of the door and frowns. “Serene? What’s wrong?”

  “Why are you here? You should be at the hotel.”

  “I realized I didn’t have my camera packed, and I don’t know where I misplaced it.”

  “Oh. Well”—I take a deep breath—“where’s Étienne?”

  Nat’s eyes veer back and forth between Nicholas and me. She sighs. “Lord have mercy. What did Étienne do?”

  “I just need to talk to him for a quick second.”

  She points at the ceiling. “He’s in the ballroom with Livingston.”

  I don’t ask questions. I take the stairs two at a time, ignoring the familiar curve of the banister beneath my grip.

  “Please say you’ll tell me everythin’ once you’re done yellin’ at him,” Nat hollers.

  I mutter something unintelligible as I reach the second floor. Nicholas catches up to me and tries to reason with me. “Perhaps you should take a deep breath before you go in there.”

  Stopping in front of the closed ballroom doors, I look at Nicholas and inhale for four seconds before I exhale slowly. “There. Happy?”

  Before he can reply, I burst into the ballroom. What do I find? Étienne and Livingston fencing. At first, I’m so taken aback by the sight, I freeze in the middle of the doorway.

  The two of them are so concentrated on attacking the other with their swords that neither one notices Nicholas and me. The tapered blades move so fast it’s hard to tell if they even touch. At this point, I’m convinced they’re simply moving the air around them. Their posture is rigid, yet their footwork remains graceful. The angles of their bodies continuously change as they lunge, parry, and attack.

  This clearly isn’t the first time they’ve fenced. But I didn’t come here to watch the two of them break a sweat, so I clear my throat loudly. “Oh, Étienne,” I say in a singsong voice. “We have got to talk.”

  With
in seconds, his body freezes. His head jerks up. Livingston uses the moment of weakness to his advantage and charges toward him. At the last second, Étienne lifts his sword, preventing Livingston from getting the best of him.

  Livingston backs up, wiping the sweat off his forehead using his dress shirt. “Let’s stop for a moment,” he tells Étienne before he wags his sword in my direction. The steel bending ever so slightly it almost appears to be a trick of the imagination. A twinkle brightens his eye. “Did you miss my handsome face, Serene?” Livingston asks. “Are breakfast and dinner simply not enough for you?”

  Ignoring Livingston’s barb, I walk deeper into the ballroom, my heels echoing around me. I cross my arms and stare daggers at Étienne. He boldly stares back. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up. The veins in his arms are more prominent. His jacket and vest are nowhere to be found. Sweat travels down his neck. The top two buttons of his shirt are undone. My eyes make the slow trek down his body when my mind screams at me, Eyes up. Stay focused, Serene!

  “Livingston, go. I need to talk to your brother.”

  “We’re busy,” Livingston replies although he begins to walk toward the chair where his jacket is.

  “Must we speak now, Serene?” Étienne asks.

  “Yes, we must.”

  At the tone of his voice, my anger boils over. He’s acting as if I’m inconveniencing him. I’m having flashbacks to the first time we met, and he was a pompous asshole. He gets like this when he’s in a rush, or he has something on his mind. This is probably for the best. I don’t mind screaming at asshole Étienne.

  “Are you positive this cannot wait? We are almost finished,” Étienne says impatiently.

  “Don’t talk to me like that. Your fiancée might let you get away with that, but I’m two seconds away from choking you out.”

  A burst of laughter escapes Livingston. “Sounds awfully important. Want to take my spot?”

  He’s just kidding, but these past few weeks have been agony for me. Pointing a sword at Étienne and trying to stab him? That might help take the pain away.

  I smirk and plant my hands on my hips. “You know what? That’s a fantastic idea. I would be happy to take your place.”

  In unison, Étienne and Livingston’s mouths drop open as they turn my way.

  “Serene, I was jestin’ with you,” Livingston says as he rushes toward me.

  “And I’m not.” I step forward and clap my hands. “Hand over the sword.”

  “Do you even know how to use this?”

  “No, but I have enough anger to fuel thirty men.” I glance at Étienne. “Something tells me I’ll be able to figure it out.”

  He waves his sword in my direction. “I’m not fencin’ with you.”

  “Afraid I’ll kick your ass?”

  Nicholas and Livingston are quiet as they gauge Étienne’s reaction. Étienne stares at me, pure anger in his eyes because he knows that I know he can’t back down from a challenge. While he stares me down, Livingston hands me his sword.

  Étienne shakes his head. “You can’t possibly be serious. I’m not going another round.”

  Nicholas raises his hand. “I’ll step in for you.”

  I swear Étienne growls and mutters under his breath, “Like hell.” Except his lips never move as he stares sharply at Nicholas. Nicholas arches a brow, waiting for Étienne to say something that everyone in the room can hear.

  Livingston shows me how to properly hold the sword. My skirt is a bit restricting, but it won’t stop me from going for Étienne. Livingston pats me on the shoulder and backs away while his twin clears his throat.

  “Very well. One more round,” Étienne says.

  “How kind of you,” I say dryly.

  We stand a healthy distance apart as Livingston explains that Étienne and I need to salute each other. I don’t ask why. I just follow along. The faster I get this whole rigmarole over with, the closer I am to attacking Étienne.

  “En garde!” Livingston says.

  Étienne’s body jumps into the fencing stance. I mimic his body language and hold out my sword.

  “Prêts?”

  Étienne keeps his eyes on me while nodding at his brother. I follow his lead. Livingston’s eyes volley back and forth between the two of us. He backs away and shouts dramatically, “Allez!” then under his breath, he says, “And Godspeed, Étienne.”

  The two of us are hesitant to make the first attack. For me, I have no idea what I’m doing. For Étienne, he’s holding back, thinking he’s doing me a favor by doing nothing at all. I’m going to charge at him, but I know once I start, I won’t stop. First, I need to ask a question. “When is Asa coming back home, Étienne?”

  The frown marring his face is the only indication he heard me. His body language is still the same, and his sword remains in the same position. “I don’t know,” he slowly replies. “I already told you he’s away on business.”

  “You’d never lie to me, would you?” I ask innocently.

  “No,” he answers without missing a beat.

  That two-letter word is what drives me forward. The lie flowed so effortlessly from Étienne’s tongue. Just like all the other lies. I want him to pay. “Liar,” I growl as I lunge toward him, my weapon aiming straight for his heart.

  “Shit,” he hisses and blocks my sword with his own. He’s wearing an expression of pure shock, but it’s quickly replaced with fury.

  “I’m going to repeat the questions. When is Asa coming back home?”

  “I already told you. I don’t know.”

  “Give it up, Étienne. I know you’re lying to me about a lot of stuff,” I say. The whole time, I try my hardest to find an opening to take a jab at him. He fights back, albeit reluctantly. His weapon hits mine, but the strength behind it is no match for mine. I keep up a good fight: dodging a thrust of his sword here and there, but soon, I can feel sweat trickling between my breasts.

  “What do you know?” he asks.

  “That you lied about Asa. He hasn’t been gone the whole time. He just recently left.”

  “Who told you that?”

  I lunge toward. “Who do you think?”

  Étienne can’t help himself. He looks at Nicholas. Those two seconds become my advantage, and I point my sword at his chest. He turns toward me just as the tip of my blade tears the side of his shirt, revealing the left side of his ribcage. Étienne glances at his stomach and back at me. “You cut my shirt!”

  “Yes. I apologize. I was aiming for your heart. Next time, I won’t miss. Now tell me why you lied!” I shout.

  “No!” His voice rises.

  Heat flushes his cheeks. He’s growing angrier by the second. If he’s waiting for me to shrink away or faint at his feet, he can look somewhere else. I hold my ground, my gaze, my sword.

  One second passes. Two. Three. Then four. By six, my eyes narrow. I have tunnel vision. The noises of the outside world are muted. Anyone in the room with us ceases to exist. I see one person: Étienne. And I have one thought: get the truth out of him if it’s the last thing I do.

  It’s that simple and hard at the same time.

  “All right,” Livingston draws out slowly, “this is gettin’ intense. I’m leavin’. Nicholas, would you care for a drink downstairs?”

  What Nicholas says is lost on me because I’m too busy staring daggers at Étienne and trying to plan my next attack. Étienne keeps his eyes fixed on me.

  I wait for the doors to shut behind Livingston before I drive my sword in the direction of Étienne’s crotch. Swearing beneath his breath, Étienne’s weapon slices through the thin air. The light blade clashes against mine.

  I was so, so close.

  Next time, I won’t miss. Of that I’m certain.

  “Answer my question,” I demand.

  “No.”

  It’s only been minutes, but with the way the muscles in my arm are quivering from holding the sword, you’d think it’s been hours. I have so much adrenaline rushing through me that the idea to s
top and rest doesn’t even enter my mind.

  “You don’t want to answer that question? That’s fine. I have another. Did you invest in Hambleton’s?”

  Three. That’s the number of times Étienne blinks in two seconds. Our bodies move and feet all but glide across the floor. We’ve created our own tension-filled dance in this elegant ballroom.

  “Yes.”

  Étienne’s quickly approaching the corner. Smoothly, he pivots. When he does, the sunlight streaming through the window momentarily blinds him. Every jab I get in is a lucky shot. Right now, Étienne’s guard is down, and I take it. The tip of my blade hooks around the thread holding the top button of his pants together and easily slices through it. The button falls to the ground while Étienne’s pants sag on his narrow hips. I move onto the second button, but Étienne dodges out of the way.

  Finally, he’s told me the truth. There should be relief. Instead, all I feel is resentment. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

  “Honestly? I don’t know.”

  Everything I’ve uncovered in the past thirty seconds should make me question Étienne’s honesty, but right now, I know he’s telling the truth. It hurts to hear.

  “Why would you not tell me?”

  “It was an investment opportunity Asa presented to Livingston and me months ago. I couldn’t pass it up. I wanted to tell you, and many times, I was tempted. And I lied about Asa being out of town because I was worried if you found out he was in Charleston, you would speak to him and time would take you away from me.”

  “Of course, I would speak to him!”

  We continue to battle with our weapons, but Étienne’s holding his pants up with one hand and fighting me off with the other. Our fight is coming to a close, so I give it all I have and aim for the buttons on his shirt. Luck isn’t on my side this time, though. Because before I get remotely close to his chest, he disengages me with a flick of his wrist. My blade jerks to the side, giving Étienne an opening. For the first time since our sparring match, he takes it. His sword lines up with my chest.