Fencing for Ladies (The Archer Family Regency Romances #5) (14 page)

He is married and has a child
.

Olivia’s thoughts whirled like dead, brown leaves in a storm. Or he was married — no matter which. What a fool she’d been, pining for him all these years. His amused indifference should have warned her, but she’d been heedless and determined to have her own way.

Although she loved fencing and wanted to share the excitement of the sport with other ladies, she realized now that a small part of her clung to another hope. Her academy represented a last, desperate effort to draw Lord Milbourn’s attention, make him admire her — want her — before it was too late. Panic shivered through her, turning her hands to ice. In a few months, she’d be sewn firmly and inescapably in place as Lord Saunders’s bride.

Too late
. It seemed it had always been too late for her.

He had a daughter…Maria
. Was she dark and sardonic like her father? Or did she take after the unknown mother? She’d probably been beautiful, perhaps Spanish like his own mother had been, with lovely dark eyes and rich black hair. Knowing her handsome father, Olivia couldn’t help but believe the little girl would be a beauty.

She sighed with frustration and longing. She’d always wanted a little girl, a child to dress in ribbons and bows, someone who would shriek with joy and clap her hands when the beagles clattered into the room, upsetting the tea things and making a wild, wonderful mess of the sitting room. They could gossip, go visiting other ladies, and stop for sweets at Gunter’s.

Suddenly, she felt abandoned and lost on a dark path she didn’t want to tread.

Dimly, she was aware that Lord Milbourn and Mr. Belcher were taking leave of them, but it hardly seemed to matter. She nodded, unable to make her stiff lips form any words except rote platitudes.

Then they were gone.

“Lady Olivia!” Edward said in an abrupt, exasperated voice.

She had the impression that he’d already repeated her name several times, and she flushed. “What is it, Edward?”

“What are your plans regarding Alice Farmer?”

“Farmer?” She regarded him with surprise. “I don’t plan to do anything with Farmer. Why?”

“She ought to be dismissed. You can hardly consider her loyal at this point.”

“She was honest and did what was right. By your measure, we should dismiss Latimore, as well. He might at least have warned me.” She pulled her chair closer to the fire and sat again, a shiver going through her. “Would you ring for tea?” She rubbed her arms. “Please?”

Edward scowled at her and grunted, before striding over to the bell pull. “Latimore has been with us for thirty years.”

“I hardly think that excuses him,” she said gently. She should have gone to her bedchamber for a shawl. The cheerful fire didn’t seem as warm as it had earlier, even when she held her hands out toward it.

“I am sure he did what he thought was right, under the circumstances.”

“Then you may apply that same logic to Farmer.” She sighed. “What is done, is done. Farmer found the button and gave it to Mr. Greenfield. We can do nothing about that now, and dismissing Farmer will not change matters.” She smiled ruefully. “In fact, it will only make things worse as I shall be without a personal maid to help me dress. And so will Margaret and Hildie. We all use her services.”

“Then get another maid.”

Another maid, Mary, arrived at that moment, breathless and flushed. When she paused in the doorway, Edward said, “Tea. And make sure it is hot.”

“Yes, sir.” Mary sketched a quick curtsey and dashed off again.

Edward eyed Olivia, and although she’d hoped he had forgotten the topic of their conversation, it appeared he had not. “As I said, you may hire another maid. They cannot be that scarce. Not like trying to find a decent cook, after all.”

“Apparently, Gray was at least partially correct: ignorance
is
bliss — I was a great deal happier before I learned about that wretched button.” She rubbed her forehead again, thinking of Farmer’s skill in creating hot possets that could vanquish even the worst headache. “And while I dislike disagreeing with you, I have to say that while good cooks may be hard to find, a competent personal maid is harder still. So please leave poor Farmer alone. You saw her — she was terrified at the inquest. She did not want to be there. Frankly, I would not be at all surprised if Greenfield forced both the button and a confession out of her.”

“You are a trifle overly solicitous, my dear sister, but perhaps you are right.” Edward sighed. “It shoves you into a devilishly tight corner, however. I don’t like the situation.”

“I cannot claim to be overcome with joy, either.” She shook her head. “And I don’t understand — why did you not mention Mr. Underwood? I told you that he was near the academy, and I thought I heard him mention a journal when he spoke to you. Was he not concerned about Mr. Grantham’s diary?”

“Yes. However, I doubt it is relevant,” he replied harshly.

“Very well,” she said, hurt by the thought that her brother cared more for Mr. Underwood than for her. She looked up at Edward, smiled wryly, and changed the subject. “We Archers seem to be a rum lot, do we not? First Wraysbury was involved with that murder, and now this. I have never heard of a family dogged by such dreadful misfortunes before. Perhaps it is just as well that you studied law.” Her smile broadened in an attempt to treat the matter lightly. “I should have listened to you sooner and not gone to the inquest.”

“It would not have made any discernable difference.” He clasped his hands behind his back as he paced back and forth in front of the door. “However, in the future, perhaps you should consider my recommendations before taking any action.”

“I will.” She bowed her head meekly to avoid letting him see her struggles to suppress her laughter.

He sounded so much like a lawyer, that it was difficult to maintain a suitably serious expression.

His next statement, however, instantly sobered her. “I wish you were safely married. Perhaps we should discuss moving up the wedding date with Lord Saunders.”

“Married?” Her question rose shrilly. “How would marriage help me?”

Before Edward could answer, Mary returned to the room, huffing and flushed. She carried a huge wooden tray, laden with an array of cups, saucers, pots, plates, and silverware. The gold-rimmed china dishes clinked and clattered when she stumbled over the doorjamb, and Edward hastily took the tray from her and set it on the low table in front of Olivia.

“Miss Denholm,” Mary gasped, standing sideways at the door. She glanced through it to the hallway. “And Mr. Underwood for Mr. Archer. I brung extra tea things, Lady Olivia.”

“Thank you, Mary.” Olivia stood as Cynthia Denholm strode briskly into the room.

“Getting to be a habit, Lady Olivia. Ramshackle way to run an academy, if you ask me,” Cynthia said as she walked over to the low table, studied the tea tray, selected a slice of cake, and took a large bite. “Good cake. Who is your cook?”

“Our cook is none of your business,” Olivia snapped without thinking.

Edward looked shocked. His gaze flickered from Olivia to Cynthia and back.

“I beg your pardon,” Olivia said in a calmer voice.

“Not necessary — no offense taken, Lady Olivia. Good cooks are like pearls in oysters. Someone else always finds them.” She threw her head back and laughed heartily at her joke before picking up another slice of pound cake.

“Would you care for some tea?” Olivia asked, gesturing to the seat across from her.

“Delightful to see you, Miss Denholm,” Edward said. “However, I must ask you ladies to excuse me. Mr. Underwood is waiting. And we have an appointment — at the club — I really must go.”

Cynthia’s mouth was full, so she waved him off.

As Edward walked briskly through the door, Olivia pressed her hand to her mouth to keep from laughing. She couldn’t help remembering one particular summer evening when Edward had courteously offered to show Cynthia the rose garden at their country estate. Olivia didn’t know what they’d discussed or what her brother had said to Cynthia, but upon their return to the garden terrace, Cynthia had grabbed Edward’s chin and forced a kiss upon his mouth.

“Wondered about that,” Cynthia uttered cryptically before joining Olivia.

He’d never quite gotten over the shock, and Olivia knew for a fact that he had even begged Wraysbury’s advice on whether he now had to make an offer for the dreadful woman. What Wraysbury had said remained a mystery, but Edward always grew grim whenever Cynthia’s name cropped up in the conversation.

Olivia suspected that Cynthia saw the whole episode as a frightfully good joke, because her eyes sparkled with amusement every time Edward edged out of the room whenever she sailed through the door.

As she turned back to face Cynthia, two thoughts surprised her.

She truly
wanted
the fencing academy to be a success. She adored fencing, regardless of Lord Milbourn’s opinion that she wasn’t particularly gifted at the art, and even if she never saw him again, she desperately wanted to continue. Nothing could match the challenge and breathless exhilaration of a fight, and she couldn’t give it up.

However, she would miss him. He’d provided at least some of the impetus to drive her to strive for more, to do better, to excel. Her stomach burned at the thought of the hole it would leave in her life if she lost his friendship and support.

Marriage to Lord Saunders would never fill that void. Their future together stretched out in front of her, filled with gray, dreary years. But there were worse things, she supposed, even if she couldn’t think of any.

She studied Cynthia. She wanted her other friends to share her pleasure in the art and science of fencing, and Cynthia had certainly felt something that first day. Her blue eyes had gleamed with the thrill of the experience.

To become an expert, teach someone else.

Olivia’s mother had told her that so many times that she could still hear her mother’s voice echoing in her mind. She’d taught Olivia to sew and then stepped aside to watch Olivia teach Margaret. Then Margaret taught Hildie. Poor Hildie had been relegated to teaching one of the younger kitchen maids to sew, but she’d done it.

If Olivia wanted to become proficient, teaching others was the best way to do so.

Perhaps Cynthia was doing her more of a favor than she knew.

Cynthia poked through the pots, rattling dishes, and throwing ingredients together before pouring herself a cup of milky tea. She slurped it down and looked at Olivia. “Excellent tea! Are you ready, then? The other ladies are waiting for us at the academy.”

Olivia’s head jerked up. Her mouth hanging open, she stared at her. “Ladies? What ladies?”

“The other students, I presume.” Cynthia shrugged.

“How many are there?” Olivia asked in a strangled voice.

“Three when I left. Could be more now, of course.” She eyed Olivia and strode toward the door with a brisk air. “Well, are you ready?”

“I — well, yes.”

The explanation for the sudden influx of students had to be the effect of the inquest. The ladies were eager to hear the details and gossip about it, while experiencing the vicarious excitement of having fencing lessons at the very location where two corpses had been discovered.

Perhaps they even hoped for a private tour to see the stained floor, conducted by the presumed murderess, herself.

How ghastly. But their morbid curiosity is my advantage.
A frisson of excitement shook her.

Regardless of their motives, she now had pupils, and she intended to make the most of the opportunity. Once the ladies tasted the excitement of the sport, they would become serious students of the art — Cynthia had already felt the thrill coursing through her veins. And Olivia would soon have friends who understood and shared her enthusiasm.

Olivia had just reached the door when she nearly ran into Latimore.

“Lord Saunders, Lady Olivia,” he intoned sonorously, his impressive nose tilted toward the gilded crown molding.

Lord Saunders stepped out from behind the butler. He glanced from Olivia to Cynthia and frowned.

“Lord Saunders, how pleasant to see you,” Olivia said. “You know Miss Denholm, I believe.”

The two nodded and examined at each other like a pair of pugilists taking the measure of their opponent.

Oh, no, not another scene.
The two didn’t get along, and Olivia glanced from one to the other, unprepared to play the role of diplomat.

“I’m sorry, Lord Saunders,” Olivia said. “We were just on our way to the academy.”

“The academy? Now?” Lord Saunders’s pale brown eyebrows rose toward his receding hairline. “The inquest is barely over. Surely, common decency should prevent you from indulging in such scandalous behavior at such a time.”

As if hearing their voices, Margaret appeared at Lord Saunders’s shoulder. She touched his arm and nodded. “Indeed, my dear sister. Common decency. Mr. Grantham was our dear friend. I don’t see how you can even consider going to the academy at a time like this.”

Lord Saunders smiled at Margaret.

She squeezed his forearm as she returned his smile.