Page 11 of The Highwayman's Bite

“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?”

“A merchant is supposed to arrive tonight with everything you require to practice in safety.” He was unable to continue, for Vivian launched herself out of her chair and hurled herself into his arms. He patted her back awkwardly and cleared his throat. “We should probably head down to supper before your companion starves. She has quite the appetite.”

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.”

Aldric’s countenance softened, and he reached across the table and patted her hand. “I understand your concern, but allow me to reassure you that things are different in the country. Many gentlemen here do not care for the bustle of the Season. And there are likely gentlemen who would not care a whit about your so-called scandal. I daresay, some may even admire you for having the backbone to stand up for your own honor.” He withdrew with a look of slight surprise, as if he were unaccustomed to affection. His reassuring smile deepened. “And if there are any qualms, they can easily be assuaged if I increase your dowry. Your father has a respectable sum set aside, but I think some land would hold more appeal.”

Fitz, the butler, interrupted the talk of marriage and dowries by announcing the arrival of the merchant. For a few blissful hours, Vivian forgot about her marriage prospects and delighted in her new fencing costume and mask as Uncle watched her duel with Madame Renarde in the ballroom.

The tight, though protected, knickers gave her freedom of motion that she’d never imagined, and the padded vest granted a sense of security and confidence to attack and defend without holding anything back. Uncle also surprised Vivian and her companion with new practice swords, foyles, that had small ball tips to avoid one being hurt. Madame Renarde’s swords lacked those tips, so they always had to hold back on their thrusts.

Vivian smiled at her uncle before saluting Madame Renarde. This new practice sword felt perfect and well-balanced in her grip, but she still preferred the real, unsharpened rapier that she’d wielded against the highwayman. It had given her power.

Now, as she sparred with her companion, she fantasized about a rematch.

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