Page 10 of The Highwayman's Bite

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 dart board. 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 bad.

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 varieties all sorts of people 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.

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