A Bride Unveiled (23 page)

A little past noon he entered the emporium, right in the midst of a gentleman complaining about the exorbitant price of a fish fork the assistant had shown him. Godfrey forced a smile and approached the counter, only to notice another man coming through the door. It was Mr. Pierce Carroll, arguably Fenton’s best pupil, although no one at the salon cared much for him.

Jealousy, Godfrey expected. Godfrey did not care for him, either. Pierce struck him as a person who paid his bills at the last moment, if at all. He fenced better than the other pupils. He disregarded rules as it suited him, and he was attracted to the vulgar women who chased Fenton at performances. Godfrey thought he was not an asset to the school at all.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Carroll?” he said in his most professional manner. “Do you wish to make a purchase?”

Pierce glanced around the shop. He was an attractive young man, neatly dressed, but not one Godfrey would like to meet after dark. To his credit, though, he seemed to be impressed by the well-lit, airy atmosphere. “I was in the neighborhood, on my way to the academy, actually, and thought I might look for a watch. I lost mine last night.”

“How unfortunate,” Godfrey said, already gesturing at a clerk.

Pierce smiled, leaning against the counter. “In a sword fight. A duel.”

Godfrey froze. “Not in an actual duel? You didn’t.”

“I’m afraid I did.”

“Fenton will
not
be pleased.”

Pierce pursed his lips. “Fenton does not know what happened. I haven’t told him yet.”

Godfrey looked him over. “You won, I assume?”

“Oh, of course.” Pierce brushed around him to view the tortoiseshell-encased timepiece that the clerk had placed upon the counter. He examined it and shook his head. “I shall have to return when I’m not in such a rush. I have to put in an hour or two at the salon. I feel a little stiff in the shoulder from last night. There’s nothing worse than coddling a sore arm.”

Godfrey frowned. He had the feeling that Pierce never intended to make a purchase in the first place. He had probably just come here to brag. “I have a lesson myself at five.”

“The master posted a message that he will be gone for most of the day.”

“But I paid my subscription in advance. Where has he gone? He never misses a lesson, and this week is especially important to me.”

Pierce’s narrow shoulders lifted in a shrug. He had arrogant mannerisms, Godfrey thought distractedly. He would probably like the French walking stick that concealed a brandy flask in its ebony handle. “I hope this has nothing to do with your duel last night. Notoriety is acceptable to a point. But a gentleman does not seek genuine bloodshed.”

At least, that was what Fenton had taught his pupils. It would be a ghastly embarrassment if Godfrey were connected with a fencing instructor who violated the law.

“I don’t think Fenton is engaged in a fencing matter at the moment,” Pierce said, nodding toward the door. “I think he’s engaged in a personal affair. You ought to practice with me. Fenton is too easy on you.”

Godfrey took a step forward. A well-dressed couple had alighted from a coach. “If Fenton is not at the salon, I think I shall stay here for the rest of the afternoon. I want lessons from the master, not mere practice.”

“Suit yourself.” Pierce tipped his hat. “Where is your enchanting fiancée today, if you do not mind my asking? The last time she went missing, so did our illustrious sword master.”

“Missing? What the devil are you talking about?”

“At Wenderfield’s party. You were upset yourself that Violet disappeared. Don’t you remember?”

Godfrey bristled. The unmitigated nerve of the man. Who did Pierce think he was? Should Godfrey report this impoliteness to Fenton? Was there, truly, anything of consequence to report? Fenton despised pupils who carried tales like little children.

Fenton and Violet. Violet had been in the pavilion with the marchioness during the breakfast party. Godfrey had seen the two ladies together with his own eyes.

Was Pierce insinuating that Violet and Fenton were engaged at this very moment in a liaison? Impossible. Outrageous . . . and yet it wasn’t as if Godfrey had not sensed a tension between his fiancée and the fencing master.

“Where my fiancée spends her time, Mr. Carroll,” he said, giving Pierce the shoulder, “is not anyone else’s affair.”

Pierce smiled, polite now, perhaps even penitent. “You are correct, sir. My sincerest apology. It is her affair, not mine.”

 

 

Dear Twyford had not said a word to Violet during the drive back to Mayfair. There had been no recrimination in his eyes, only his ever-present concern. She did not doubt that he would lie to protect her. His devotion to her took nothing from his loyalty to her aunt, but he had been butler since Violet was a baby, and no matter what society said, they felt a deep affection for each other. She did not want to land him in trouble with Aunt Francesca over Kit. What had happened today wasn’t Twyford’s fault. Violet had gone of her own free will to Winifred’s rooms.

She had gone knowing that Kit would be there. Yes, she wished she could have seen Winifred, to assure her that she held no grudge, but it was Kit who had drawn her there, Kit she needed and who had accepted her challenge. But was that challenge as easy for him to conquer as he made it seem?

She bathed in warm rose-scented water, preparing to face her aunt, but it did not help. She had no idea how to confess the truth. She knew only that after today she would never belong to anyone else, and concern for her reputation paled in comparison to her passion for Kit.

But if any scandal reached Aunt Francesca, or if Kit confronted her aunt with the truth, the damage inflicted would be unthinkable. Violet had to make her aunt understand. Aunt Francesca had dedicated her life to sheltering Violet.

How ungrateful Violet would seem when she admitted that she could not marry the gentleman her aunt had chosen to be her protector. She needed passion and laughter in her life. Godfrey cared too much for the unimportant things in the world. She wanted the imperfection and inconvenience of children. But most of all she wanted a love built on a foundation of friendship and a man strong enough to defy the world’s limitations and win.

A man who knew her heart.

She dressed slowly and made her way through the hall to the upstairs drawing room. In surprise she noticed a tall, bearded gentleman sitting next to Francesca by the window.

“I didn’t know we had a guest,” she said, hesitating at the door.

He rose from his chair. “Miss Knowlton?”

She noticed the bottles on the tea table, the fashionable cut of his frock coat, his professional tone of voice. “I am the physician to the Marquess of Sedgecroft,” he said. “If I may talk to you in private . . .”

She glanced again at her aunt, who appeared to be drifting into a peaceful doze. “What is it?” she asked when she and the doctor faced each other in the hall.

“Your aunt’s malaise comes from angina, I am sure.”

“From where?”

“From what. It has been suspected by my fellows for some time that excitability of the nerves can cause disorders.”

“What is her disorder?”

“It concerns her heart.”

“Is she going to—”

“I do not believe so. It all depends on the condition of the valves. It will help, however, to keep her calm when she feels any distress. Have her drink peppermint tea before her meals. Call for me if she grows pale or feeble at any time. She may take laudanum if she feels pain, and the drops of digitalis that I have prescribed.”

“Then she cannot leave the house?”

“Good God, of course she can. She must. Light activity is beneficial. What lifts the spirit heals the heart. She is resting now.”

She trailed him to the top of the stairs. “We are supposed to attend a house party together.”

He nodded. “Enjoy yourselves.”

“But her heart . . . Isn’t there anything else I can do?”

He looked down at the butler standing in the hall below. “Yes. You can keep her bundled up in cold weather and discourage her from eating rich foods. Above all, you must not be maudlin about this. Be cheerful, for her sake and your own.”

“Thank you,” Violet said, sighing as he descended the stairs.

To think she’d been so content in Kit’s arms only hours ago. She would never have forgiven herself if anything had happened while she was gone. But by the same token she couldn’t deceive her aunt any longer. She would have to wait now until an opening presented itself. Would she find the words to convince Francesca to accept Kit? To persuade her that the man Violet had chosen for herself was better than Francesca’s choice?

A
change of engagement.

His sword would not win this battle for him.

Kit would need the devil’s luck to pull this off.

He might end up in a duel himself if Godfrey would not release Violet from their betrothal.

He had watched from the window until he saw Twyford escort Violet to the carriage. A few minutes later he took a hackney to his own lodgings to change. From there he went to the Bond Street office of the solicitor that one of his patrons, the Duke of Gravenhurst, had suggested he visit should he ever need legal guidance. He carried the sealed letter that the duke had given him to use as an entrée. He had trained the duke personally in the use of the sword throughout the years of their acquaintance.

The reception room was crowded with men and women from various walks of life. When Kit was finally called to Mr. Thurber’s office, he had worked up a speech to introduce himself.

“I gave His Grace fencing instruction here in London and at his Dartmoor estate, sir. My name is—”

“Fenton. Yes, yes.
The
Fenton. The duke thinks highly of you. I hope you are not here because you have killed a person.”

Kit laughed and withdrew the letter from his pocket. The solicitor took and dropped it, unread, into a portfolio that appeared to be filled with similar missives. “I was led to believe that the duke’s letter entitled me to legal advice and perhaps a small favor.”

“Not a small favor at all, Mr. Fenton,” he said, sinking back in his chair. “A sealed letter like yours is basically carte blanche from His Grace. What is it that you need? You do not appear to be in a desperate situation, but then, appearances mislead.”

Kit slid forward in his chair, balancing his walking stick between his knees. “I am rather desperate.”

“Have you killed an aristocrat in a duel?”

“No.”

“Have you been caught cuckolding a prominent husband?”

“Certainly not.”

“Creditors?”

“None.”

“Then?”

“I am desperately in love with a lady who is engaged to another man. I would like a license to marry her as soon as legally possible.”

“Is the lady in an urgent position?”

“In my opinion, yes. We both are.”

“I meant could she be carrying your child?”

Kit paused. If not for the self-control he had summoned at the last moment today, he would not have been able to answer that question. “No.”

The solicitor stared at him across the desk. Kit had the sense that he wasn’t shocked by the request. But then, working as the scandalous Duke of Gravenhurst’s solicitor, he was probably well-versed in controversy.

“Please submit your name and address to my clerk before you leave, Mr. Fenton. And the same information about the lady, if you please.”

Kit’s walking stick tilted forward. He caught it before it hit the desk. “That is all there is to it?”

“Unless the lady’s betrothed brings legal action, then yes. If he withdraws with grace, that will be the end of the matter. If not, I shall appeal to his finer instincts, and if that does not work, then I shall appeal to his purse.”

“And your fee?”

“That has been covered by His Grace.”

Kit stood, shaking his head. “I don’t know how to thank you. Both of you.”

“In the duke’s case, the less said of him the better. He would prefer that his favors be kept private.”

“On my honor, sir.”

“I hope, then, that you and this lady will be happy together. You will receive the special license shortly at your address.”

“Thank you, Mr. Thurber. And thank His Grace for me.”

The solicitor nodded. “Please let me not read in the papers that your engagement is followed by a duel.”

It was late by the time Kit returned home to wash and dress. He could not show up on Violet’s doorstep to announce his intentions at this hour. And his intentions were to make her his wife before he fulfilled his obligation to perform at the upcoming house party. He could not think of an easy way to tell Godfrey that he was stealing his fiancée. Godfrey would have to accept the loss like a man. Godfrey could demand satisfaction, but knowing what he did about the baronet, Kit thought it more likely he would demand his subscription money back.

Violet’s aunt was a different matter. The thought of facing her terrified Kit. It was doubtful that Lady Ashfield would challenge him to a duel. But at least he could approach her with a relatively clean conscience.

He had left Violet with her virtue intact, and even though his body ached with regret, refusing to take her maidenhead today had been the right thing to do. He had meant it when he’d told her that he was finished with stolen moments and separations.

He went to the academy later that night. He’d missed several lessons today, and with the house party rapidly approaching he could not afford to lose time necessary for last-minute training.

Almost nightly a pupil, current or former, would wander in, pick one of the foils from the wall, and fence with an adversary he might or might not know until he had warded off whatever demon had driven him to the school. A few left money on the hallstand, a sign of the success they had achieved in life, or of respect to the master.