Miss Marleigh's Pirate Lord (Regency House Party: Havencrest Book 1)

by Mindy Burbidge Strunk

  "Yes, I believe the pink one is just what I need today."

  Hannah pulled the dress from the wardrobe and gathered it up, before slipping it over Abigail's head.

  "Is that a new dress, Abi? I don't believe I have seen it before." Clara moved closer, picking up the fabric while Hannah fastened the buttons at the back.

  "Yes, it is. I saved up my pin money and bought it before we left for Portsmouth."

  "I am surprised your uncle gave you enough pin money to afford such a lovely dress, even if it is only a morning gown."

  Abigail bit the inside of her cheek. "It was money I had left from before my father died. It was not quite enough for the dress, but Mrs. DuBois was very kind and allowed me to do some stitching for her to pay the balance."

  Clara's eyes widened. "You had to work to pay for it?" She then flashed a look at Hannah, who nodded in understanding. "Not to worry, Abi. Hannah is the picture of discretion. Your secret is safe."

  Abigail ran her hands down the front of the soft linen gown. "I had not planned to make an announcement about it, Clara." She turned toward the bureau and pulled out a cream-colored shawl. Pulling it across her shoulders she turned toward the door. "Really, Clara. I believe I am capable of understanding what topics of conversation are acceptable outside of these walls. I am the one who has had a London Season, remember?"

  Clara let out a breath. "You are right, Abi. I'm sorry. I just know how important it is we find you a match at this party. I don't want anything to keep that from happening."

  Clara tucked her hand around Abigail's arm, tugging her into the hallway. The two walked together down to the morning room.

  Abigail leaned into Clara as they stepped to the buffet table. "Either we are very late in coming down or we are to suffer this morning for the lavish dinner last night. It looks as though eggs and toast are all we shall be receiving."

  Abigail placed an egg on her plate and a slice of bread, then found a place at the table. Thankfully, several jars of preserves had been placed about the table, helping cover the taste of the obviously stale bread.

  "We shall have some time before the fencing begins. I had thought breakfast would take much longer." Clara pushed back her plate of half eaten food. "I think I shall spend my time in the library. I have a poem almost committed to memory. I believe I will have just enough time to finish memorizing the rest."

  Abigail swallowed her bite of toast, dropping the rest of it onto her plate. "I will join you, but the book I am reading is in my chambers. I shall fetch it and meet you in the library."

  Abigail walked into the library, a bit taken aback by the number of people within. Although, with the tempestuous weather outside, she didn't know why she was surprised.

  Abigail spotted Clara, surprised she had not kept a space next to her open for open.

  Finding a vacant seat at the far side of the room next to Miss Felicity and Lady Anslowe, Abigail sat down and opened her book, casting the other ladies a side glance. She didn't know either of them well, and they seemed involved in a private conversation.

  Abigail tried to read, but her eyes kept moving around the room. She told herself she was only looking to see who was about, but when she didn't see Lord Grayson, a frown turned down her mouth and a sudden grumpiness pressed down on her.

  "Good morning, Miss Marleigh."

  Abigail looked up to see Mr. Carter hovering over her. She gave him the obligatory smile. "Good morning, Mr. Carter."

  "Would you care to take a turn about the room with me?"

  Her mood pressed down slightly harder and she had to stifle an irritated sigh. She shut the book, leaving her finger inside to mark her spot. "Thank you for your offer, Mr. Carter, but I have only just come to the most pressing part of the story and I can't possibly abandon it now. Perhaps a little later?"

  She continued to smile at him, hoping she would not appear rude, but also hoping she would not have to consent and go with him. She was not up to listening to him quote himself all morning.

  He looked mildly disappointed but nodded his head. "Yes, yes. As I always say, you can go anywhere with a good book. Perhaps by the time you finish the weather will have cleared and we can walk in the gardens, instead."

  Abigail sighed in relief. "Yes, that is a lovely idea, indeed." She opened the book and returned her focus to the pages, feeling only slightly guilty she did not recognize any of the words before her—so scattered were her thoughts. Where was Lord Grayson? What activity had he found to occupy his time? Abigail doubted he would be participating in the fencing matches. It was doubtful he was healed enough for such a strenuous activity.

  Another shadow fell across the pages of her book. She let out a huff of breath through her nose, her teeth clenching tightly. "I am still not through my book, sir. Perhaps you should inquire of—" She looked up into the face of Lord Grayson, his brow creased.

  "I apologize for bothering you." He bowed and took a step away from her.

  "Oh, no," Abigail stammered. "I am the one who is sorry, my lord. I believed you to be someone else." She slammed her book shut and placed it on the cushion next to her. It slid off the brocade fabric and landed on the floor at her feet.

  Lord Grayson pointed to the book lying on the floor. Abigail reached for it and placed it on the side table next to her.

  He put his hand to his chin, rubbing up and down his jaw line. "I, uh…I wondered if you would care to take a turn, but you appear to be invested in your book. Perhaps another time."

  He turned quickly and stumbled, but quickly righted himself.

  Abigail stood and reached out a hand, placing it on his arm. She pulled it back quickly when his gaze followed her movements. "I should love to take a walk with you, but I find I am not able to do so."

  He scowled but nodded his head and took several more steps away from her.

  Abigail took the same steps forward. "Please, let me explain." She kept her voice lowered, not feeling inclined to have the entire room hear their conversation. "You see, I only just turned down Mr. Carter’s request for a turn because I did not wish to accompany him.” Her cheeks burned at the confession. Lord Grayson would surely think her the worst sort of person. But she continued, needing him to understand why she now refused him. “I used my book as an excuse. I am afraid if I should abandon the story now and take a turn with you, my ruse would be quite obvious, and his feelings may be hurt." Abigail clasped her hands together in front of her, twisting them back and forth. Why did she care if Lord Grayson understood her dilemma?

  His eyes flicked down to the floor, but his face seemed to relax slightly, and he nodded. "Yes, that would surely give you away." His voice did not sound angry, but instead held a hint of amusement.

  Mr. Garvey strolled into the library. "It appears this is where the party has gathered on this rainy day." He clapped his hands together. "Come, everyone. The Great Hall has been cleared and chairs have been placed about the perimeter." He motioned to a table next to the doorway. "Here are the assignments for the first round. Now, let's all move into the Great Hall."

  The library became a flutter of movement as gentleman and ladies made their way to the doorway—each gentleman stopping to check the paper.

  "Are you going to watch?" Lord Grayson watched her closely and Abigail found it difficult not to squirm.

  She shrugged. "Clara seems quite excited at the prospect, so I believe she will insist I do. What of you?"

  He nodded. "When I am not participating. Watching one’s opponent spar with another is almost as crucial as the moves themselves."

  Abigail's mouth dropped open. "What do you mean when you are not participating?" She leaned in closer and lowered her voice. "Surely you can't be serious. In your condition?"

  Lord Grayson grunted. "I’ve knocked swords with greater injuries than this." Then he grinned wickedly. "It will give the other gents a fighting chance. If I were at my best, it would not even be a competition." He stood tall, with his chest puffed out.

  Goodness, he
was handsome. Abigail's cheeks heated. She raised a brow and grinned. "You are confident in your abilities, sir. Are you sure you are up to the task?"

  "It's not just confidence. It is fact. I am very good."

  Abigail chuckled. "Perhaps Clara shall not have to force me to watch, after all. I find myself quite looking forward to it.”

  Chapter 13

  Miss Marleigh turned toward the door, but only took a few steps before she stopped and looked back over her shoulder. "Are you coming?"

  Alex nodded. "Yes. I need to check the paper and fetch my foil. I shall be along shortly."

  Miss Marleigh nodded. “Shall I save you a seat?” She ducked her head as if embarrassed she had asked the question.

  “I should like that very much.”

  She gave a quick nod and continued toward the door.

  Alex waited until she was out of sight before bending over and picking up a paper resting on the floor, just under the edge of the settee. It had fallen out of Miss Marleigh's book when it fell off the cushion.

  Alex fingered the paper, knowing it was not proper for him to look at it. His curiosity, however, was stronger than his sense of propriety and he unfolded the paper. He stared down at two columns of neatly written names. The writing was precise, but beautiful in the way it swished and swirled on the page. Alex smiled.

  His eyes read each name and his smile slowly began to drop. Mr. Carter, Mr. Bradford, Mr. Cavanaugh, Sir Martin and Lord Ainsley were all listed. Lord Nathaniel, Mr. Jennings, and Mr. Poole all had a single thin line running through their names.

  It seemed to be a list of eligible gentlemen. Alex swallowed. He wasn't married nor did he have an agreement with any lady, yet his name was not on the list.

  The burning in his thigh started again, and Alex absently rubbed a hand over the wound, leaning heavier on his stick.

  Alex folded the paper and tucked it into his pocket with his watch. Why was he surprised that his name was absent from the list? If another lady at the party had dropped the list, Alex might expect his name to be listed, but Miss Marleigh knew things the other ladies did not. And Miss Martindale—if the icy glares were any indication—also knew. Or they thought they knew. He was cotton-brained if he thought either of them would ever consider him an eligible match. Alex growled. Had Dennison not taken enough from him already? Did he have to take his chance at happiness as well?

  Alex rolled his shoulders, pushing any pain to the back of his mind. He had not been lying when he told Miss Marleigh he had fought with worse injuries. He had learned early on in his service with Dennison, it was simply a matter of mind over body.

  He limped to the table, anxious to see which gentleman would be the first to meet the tip of his foil. Looking at the paper, a sneer curled his lips. "Ah, Mr. Bradford. It looks like you shall be my first victim. Let’s see how eligible you are after I'm finished with you."

  Alex walked purposefully toward the Great Hall, hardly using his cane as he went.

  Entering the room, Alex immediately found Miss Marleigh in a chair along the wall, her cousin seated on one side of her.

  The seat to Miss Marleigh’s other side was empty. She caught his gaze and gave him a small smile, inclining her head to the chair next to her.

  Alex strode over and dropped into the chair.

  She looked at him with curiosity. "You walked as if you didn’t need your stick at all. How is that possible?”

  He leaned toward her. “An old pirate trick. You just tell yourself there is no pain.”

  Her eyes widened slightly. “And that works?”

  He shrugged. “For a time.”

  “What is your number?" Miss Marleigh glanced to several men on the other side of the room—lunging and flicking their swords about in practice.

  "I paired in the second group, against Mr. Bradford." Alex stared at her, trying to decipher her feelings when he mentioned the gentleman. “Are you familiar with the gentleman? I am afraid I have been away for so long, I do not know many in society."

  Miss Marleigh seemed to search the room until her gaze landed on Mr. Bradford. "I have been introduced to him, but not much beyond that. Have you heard if he is skilled at fencing?"

  Alex shrugged. She seemed interested in how the gentleman did. Alex cast a glare across the room. While he did not know Mr. Bradford well, from the conversations they'd had, he seemed a bit of a nodcock. Certainly not what Miss Marleigh should be looking for in a match.

  Alex grumbled under his breath, his head shaking slightly. "It makes no difference. He will be no match for me."

  Miss Marleigh tilted her head to the side, her brow creased. "Are you angry with him?"

  Alex shrugged. "No more than any opponent." Alex looked to the other side of the room. "I feel the same toward Mr. Williamson, Mr. Carter, Lord Ainsley and Sir Martin."

  Miss Marleigh followed his gaze to the gentleman he named. "I thought you to be friends with Lord Ainsley."

  "We are, but there is no room for friendship when swords are drawn." Or perhaps even after. He was a decent man, but Alex didn't think Lord Ainsley was the kind of man who would make Miss Marleigh happy. Alex breathed in deeply though his nose. Who was he fooling? Of course Ainsley would make her happy. He was the best of men.

  Mr. Garvey had named himself as judge and called the first pair forward.

  "En garde." Mr. Garvey called. Mr. Carter and Lord Nathaniel moved into position.

  Soon the two were lunging and shuffling about. They seemed to be evenly matched and the advantage went back and forth between the men, making the bout take longer than Alex wanted.

  His leg bounced up and down as he anticipated his chance at the Mr. Bradford.

  After what felt like an eternity, Alex and Mr. Bradford were called up. Alex barely heard Mr. Garvey call out pret and allez, so focused he was on his opponent. Mr. Bradford never gained the advantage and in record time, Alex heard Mr. Garvey call arret.

  Alex bowed to Mr. Bradford and moved back to his seat. He chuckled to himself as Mr. Bradford sucked in great breaths of air between shallow giggles, his face red and dotted with perspiration.

  "I am impressed, my lord."

  Alex leaned over to Miss Marleigh, keeping his eyes trained on the next pair. "You should not be. I can't be sure that the gentleman has ever even lifted a foil before."

  Her brows raised. "I believe you are correct about his training. Do you not think you were a little rough on him?"

  Alex rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. Instead of making the man seem weak and pitiful, it seemed she now felt sympathy for him.

  Perhaps it would be better if he didn’t dominate over his opponents, even if he wished to do so. Alex sat back in his seat, his arms folded over his chest.

  Alex rotated his neck from side to side. His muscles were beginning to ache, not from the exertion of his bouts, but from the sheer number of them. It seemed every gentleman participating wanted a chance to give Alex his due. He had done better at controlling himself, making his opponents look as though they were competent. Most were not.

  This was the final round and he found himself facing Ainsley. They had been sparring partners throughout their days at Cambridge and Alex knew the man was more than competent. Not as good as Alex, but with wounds in both his shoulder and his thigh, it was going to be a hard fought win.

  Alex looked over to Miss Marleigh, who waved.

  Alex raised his hand to wave, but dropped it to his side when Ainsley waved back. She had not been waving to Alex. His stomach burned as his hand tightened around the hilt of his foil.

  "En garde," Mr. Garvey called. Alex hopped from one foot to the other and glared at Ainsley.

  "What are you about, Bellingham?" Ainsley looked at Alex, confusion evident on his face.

  "It's Grayson, now."

  Ainsley nodded. "Yes, but you were Bellingham when we were sparring partners. I find I am more comfortable with him, than Lord Grayson. Lord Grayson is different from the man I knew." Ainsley narrowed
his eyes at Alex. "Have I wronged you since last we spoke? You seem more than just competitive today.”

  Alex scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. I desire to win. I am focused, that is all."

  "You have a fierceness in your gaze today. It is no wonder most of these gentlemen gave up before the bout even started."

  "Have you?" Alex asked.

  "Given up?" Ainsley laughed. "Never. I believe someone needs to give Lord Grayson a challenge. Perhaps even teach you a lesson in the process."

  "And what lesson would that be?" Alex twisted his wrist several times, the sword in his hand making large circles in the air.

  "You are a man who needs to learn what it feels like to be humbled."

  "And you intend to teach me this?" Alex guffawed

  Ainsley nodded.

  Alex laughed. "I’ve been hoping for a worthy opponent."

  "Pret." Mr. Garvey shouted, and the conversation ended. When allez was called, Alex was ready, but so was Ainsley.

  They went back and forth, neither one gaining an advantage over the other.

  Ainsley touched Alex, earning him a point. The two men separated and waited for Mr. Garvey to call allez. Ainsley grinned, wiggling his eyebrows up and down.

  Alex growled, his hand gripping the hilt of his foil even tighter. He thought of Ainsley and Miss Marleigh together and growled again.

  Mr. Garvey called out, "allez," and the men shuffled toward each other once more.

  Alex's shoulder pulsed painfully. His thigh stung, sending bolts of fiery hot pain down his leg with every lunge and parry he made.

  Ainsley attacked and Alex only just managed to parry it. He lunged quickly, going for the touch. But Ainsley knocked the sword away. Alex felt the stitches in his thigh pull tight and then slacken, then the blood begin to ooze. Alex looked down and Ainsley lunged, touching Alex squarely in the chest.

  Mr. Garvey awarded Ainsley the point, naming him the winner, at last.

  "You always were a fierce competitor, Bellingham." Ainsley smiled. "I believe without that wound on your leg, you might just have bested me."