Eloisa James - Duchess by Night (12 page)

Not that I know of, Jem said. A footman offered a huge slab of red meat, so rare it practical y quivered. He gestured toward the empty spot. Our guest is starving. Give him a large piece. He himself took just a sliver. He didnt need red blood, the way Cope did, and he preferred eggs.

So what does he do? Eugenia asked.

Nothing, Jem said. Most men dont do anything.

Her brows knit. Im glad Im not a man, then.

Most women do less than nothing.

Its impossible to do less than nothing, she observed, accurate as always.

I mean that they create busywork for themselves.

You are very cynical, Papa. From what I have observed, many women work hard, al day long. For example, my chambermaids name is Hannah. She works from the very moment of dawn until after dark. Did you know that there are nine separate stages to washing lace, Papa? Imagine how long that takes. A great many of my dresses are edged in lace. And your shirts too.

I didnt mean the chambermaids.

They are women, Papa. And they work very very hard, I assure you. I think the laundry maids work the hardest. They have to heat al the water in a copper holding. And I do like clean clothes, Papa. Sometimes I feel guilty about that.

It was moments like this when Jem real y wished that Sal y hadnt died. I suppose I didnt mean women. I meant ladies. Ladies often dont work terribly hard.

I havent met very many, Eugenia said thoughtful y. She accepted a toast finger with marmalade. And then: Papa, have I ever met a lady?

Yes, he said. Your governess is a lady. And Mrs. Patton is a lady. She visited last year, do you remember?

The door opened and Cope entered. My daughter, Eugenia, Jem said brusquely. Eugenia, this is Mr. Cope.

Jem rather liked the way that Cope eyed the quivering beef on his plate.

Ive already eaten twice that amount, he told him unrepentantly. Itl do you good. With eggs to fol ow. He gestured to a footman, who promptly placed two yel ow eggs on Copes plate.

The man wasnt a lily-liver. He clearly didnt like what was before him, but he took up a knife and fork and attacked it anyway.

Eugenia behaved very properly and waited to be spoken to.

Im afraid I know little about the interests of smal girls, Cope said to her. What kind of things do you do with your day?

That, of course, was al the invitation Eugenia needed. She reeled into a discussion of mathematical angles, her curiosity cabinet, her col ection of tradesmens cards. But what I like best of al is reading plays, she finished. Papa owns the Hyde Park Theater, and he causes the company to perform their dress rehearsal here, so I see everything before it goes to London.

I see you are a theatrical family, Cope said politely enough.

The comment poked at Jems conscience. He probably shouldnt have actors around Eugenia, not to mention the fact that he should be screening her reading material. When he inherited the theater from his father, inviting the actors to rehearse at Fonthil had been a careless decision when his attention was focused elsewhere, probably on the Game. It had turned into a tradition before he knew it.

Beer for both of us, he told the footman, who promptly poured a great foaming tankard for Cope.

Jem took a deep swal ow. He wasnt a proponent of beer, in truth. After a good decade of hard drinking and hard living, hed stopped drinking almost entirely when he realized that Eugenia was a person rather than a squal ing nuisance off in the nursery.

Cope sipped his tankard. That was another thing hed have to teach him, Jem thought, adding it to an ever-growing mental list.

No sipping. Men dont sip.

Papa wont let me quote plays anymore, Eugenia was tel ing Cope.

Cope raised an eyebrow. Is it the act of quotation thats banned, or the plays?

Her governess was concerned that she was forgetting normal speech. Everything she said was in blank verse and written by another person.

Thats not correct, Papa, Eugenia said with great dignity. Its merely that I love to memorize, and there are so many moments when a quotation comes to mind.

It wasnt only the fact that she spoke almost entirely in blank verse, Jem told Cope. It was the selections she chose.

I like old plays the best, Eugenia said.

Old bawdy plays, Jem said.

Theyre funny!

I forbade her reading for a month after she asked me what it meant to have sweet violet beds, pressed to death with maidenheads .

Oh, Cope said.

Jem saw with some satisfaction his utter inability to answer that particular question reflected in Copes face. He pushed away from the table. Were going to have a fencing lesson now, poppet. Youd better go back to the nursery.

Please let me come, Eugenia said. Im so lonely by myself. She looked truly distraught, except that Jem had known her long enough to instantly recognize every dramatic scene she had in her repertoire.

Ah Cope said.

Im al alone in the nursery, Eugenia said, clasping her hands and getting into her stride. She tried fluttering her lashes at Cope, but he just looked bemused.

Jem snorted, but on the other hand, he didnt want to be alone with Cope. God forbid he should find himself in another discussion of hair color. Not that it was Copes fault exactly, but he just seemed to bring out a side of Jem thatthat Didnt exist.

Al right, he barked. You can watch us if you stay out of the way.

He led the way to the portrait gal ey in the east wing, listening with half an ear to the lively discussion behind him. Just as Vil iers had described, it appeared that Cope had hardly even visited London, and so hadnt seen any current plays. But like Eugenia, hed read quite a few. Eugenia was breaking the rules and quoting a line here or there, but Jem didnt feel like scolding her in front of a stranger.

Though Cope was quickly turning into something other than a stranger.

A few years ago, Jem had had al the portraits in the gal ery taken down and put in the attics somewhere. They werent of his relatives, anyway, just moldering old courtiers who came along with the house.

Instead the long corridor was lined with glass cases stuffed with curiosities. Some things stil interested him, and others hed ceased to care much about. But he liked the idea of col ecting them al in one roomand the portrait gal ery was the only space large enough for a stuffed ibis, not to mention the crown of an African prince, featuring orange-, blue-, and green-tipped plumage.

Eugenia pul ed Cope over to the display cabinets. Jem leaned against a wal to watch. He hadnt let a male guest put a finger on Eugenia since she turned five, but there was something about Cope that told him clear as a bel that the man was no danger to a little girl. He might be unable to perform with one of the Graces when it came down to it, though Jem hoped for his sake that wasnt the case. He might even turn out to be a mol y.

Jem had had plenty of men of that persuasion visit the house over the years, and he knew wel enough that sin has nothing to do with the gender of a bed-partner.

Cope was nothing to worry about, not with those eyes. So he turned away as Eugenia pul ed Cope from case to case, pointing out the supposed unicorns horn and the white swamp-hen from Australia.

Povy had the practice rapiers laid out. Jem pul ed off his jacket and boots, tested the steel, and made some practice forays.

Lets do this, shal we? he final y cal ed.

It turned out that Cope had trouble pul ing his own boots off. Jem didnt curl his lip too much, merely noting the obvious: a man should be able to valet himself.

Cope didnt reply, just wrenched at his boots until one came off. Eugenia came to help, squealing with giggles as she tried to pul off the other boot, so final y Jem had to take over, to his disgust. He tossed the boot to the side of the room.

Coat off, he cal ed. Waistcoat too.

Cope took off his coat, but then got very obstinate about his waistcoat and claimed it was cold in the gal ery.

Are you cold, Eugenia? Jem asked.

Not at al , Papa, she said promptly.

He turned to Cope.

Her lips are bluish, the man pointed out. Probably she would turn herself into a block of ice for the pleasure of your company, but I am not so taken with it myself.

Jem looked closer at his daughter and cursed. He flung open the door and bel owed for a footman to bring Eugenias pelisse, mittens, and hat. Of course, it was a trifle chil y in the gal ery, but they were planning on exercise.

Run around, he barked at Eugenia. Keep warm or its back to the nursery with you.

Then he turned to Cope. The key to fighting with a rapier is to twist your wrist. As you parry a blow, a twist of your wrist wil send the rapier sliding past the opponents blade and into his body.

He eyed Cope. Widen your legs. And hold your rapier in your right hand. Youre going to have to rely on wit rather than strength.

He took him through the first three basic moves. Then:

Lets have a match, he said. Povy didnt provide rapier caps, so try not to injure me. He laughed.

Cope looked startled, but Jem was already circling him. He could feel frustration surging through his veinsthe frustration that had been building since the moment he caught himself looking at Cope.

It wasnt the mans fault, by God. But the blood was beating through Jems body and he wanted to fight.

Eugenia clapped and cheered, and Cope started circling too. Jem could see the sudden wariness in his eyes. Suddenly he no longer looked like a child holding a rapier, but like an alert man, smel ing danger.

Good.

It was al part of becoming a man, Jem told himself. Not that he planned to draw blood or anything.

Now Im going to parry, he announced. See how my left arm has tensed? You need to watch every motion of your opponents body because it wil tel you what hes about to do before he does it. Slowly Jem started a sweeping attack, a demi-volte .

Rather surprisingly, Cope didnt fal back, but swung his rapier up and actual y managed to deflect the blow before his rapier spun out of his hand and fel to the ground.

Jem barked with laughter. Not bad!

Cope straightened from picking up his rapier. His color was high and his eyes looked furious. You struck hard! he accused.

No point in babying you, Jem said, grinning. He started to circle again. Some day you might grow up and meet someone on a dueling field at dawn. Il do exactly the same approach again. Try parrying it on the horizontal, rather than the vertical.

Cope backed up, his lips tightly pressed together. Already he looked less effeminate, Jem thought with satisfaction.

Al right, he cal ed. Watch my left shoulder. You can actual y judge the type of blow once you get more experienced. The moment my left shoulder tenses, you should be assessing what and where Im planning to strike. Again he launched into a swirling, driven demi-volte .

This time Cope managed to get his rapier horizontal rather than vertical, and he didnt drop his blade, though the blow knocked his arm almost to the ground.

Damn, but youre weak, Jem commented.

Thats not a very nice comment, Papa, Eugenia said.

He blinked and turned around. Stay wel away from the fight, poppet. Im afraid that Mr. Copes blade might fly from his hand again.

She shouldnt be here, Cope said, catching his breath.

Jem narrowed his eyes. I can watch out for my child.

You may be able to watch, but I cant guarantee that I can hold onto my rapier, given the forcefulness with which you are conducting thistutorial.

Wel , who would have thought? The little chicken was turning into a rooster. Jem turned to Eugenia, but she forestal ed him.

Il go behind the cabinet, Papa. I can see through, but a rapier could never reach me. She ran behind a tal glass cabinet.

Jem tossed his blade slightly until he had the right grip. Mr. Cope?

One more time, Cope said rather grimly. My shoulder wont take much more of this.

Wel play again tomorrow morning, and the next, Jem said cheerful y. In a week or two youl be on the attack yourself. Then, seeing how low to the ground Cope held the blade, he added: Perhaps.

Copes jaw tightened and he raised the blade.

Same again, Jem said. Watch my shoulder.

This time, as he came in a swirling attack from above, Copes blade fel smoothly into the proper horizontal position, slid along his blade and damned if he didnt pink him.

Bloody hel ! Jem said, dropping his rapier.

Cope put down his own blade in a very unhurried manner. How unfortunate, he said, coming over and peering at the smal trickle of blood coming from Jems arm. Perhaps we should have waited for rapier caps.

Jem growled.

Cope was grinning; he was definitely grinning. A mere twist of the wrist, I think you described it. Then he turned to Eugenia.

Shal we escort your father downstairs? He needs the attention of his valet.

Eugenia was bending over Jems arm. I think its quite al right, Papa. Look, its already stopped bleeding. You must be careful, though, Mr. Cope. My father is not as young as you are.

Wonderful. Now Jem felt prehistoric.

He stode to the door, Eugenia skipping before him. Il go back upstairs now, Papa, she said, trotting away.

Il visit before supper, he cal ed after her.

Oh, Lord Strange, Cope said from behind him. If you wil al ow me, I am the bearer of a letter for you.

What?

Cope handed over a folded piece of foolscap. Jem opened it and then waved it in the air to dispense with the burst of perfume.

My God, its a poem. Anonymous too. Who gave it to you?

I couldnt say, Cope replied.

He had laughing eyes. For a moment, Jem found himself grinning in response, before he pul ed himself together and turned back to the letter.

He read it out loud:

The dark is my delight,

So tis the nightingales.

He turned the page over. Thats it? Two lines?

He caught himself, about to ask Cope if he wrote it. He? If Cope wrote such a thing he wanted nothing to do with it. Besides, obviously Cope didnt write it. The paper was drenched in perfume, and Cope actual y had a clean smel , a bit like soap.