“He loves them both, Violante. He loves them both so much you ought to make him a striped waistcoat, orange and purple together. Perhaps with some nice red taffeta for the back,” I told her firmly. “And great buttons all down the front, green ones.”
She beamed at me, and I beamed back at her, baring my teeth in a fond smile. I was quite beginning to like the girl.
Violante and I chatted haltingly for some little while as we paced the length of the ground floor. She told me about the baby and I pretended to be surprised, and by the time we finished, she seemed much more cheerful than she had been when I found her with Hortense. At one point she threw her arms around me, kissing me soundly on the cheek.
I patted her shoulder a little awkwardly. “How very sweet you are, Violante. Now, why don’t we go and find Lysander? It is almost time for tea.”
She nodded enthusiastically. “I like tea. It is very nice.” Verra nice.
She looped her arm through mine while we walked like two schoolgirls on holiday, searching for Lysander. The library and music room—his likeliest haunts—were quite empty, but as we quitted the latter I detected a faint roar. I turned to Violante.
“Did you hear that?”
She cocked her head, jetty curls spilling over one shoulder. “The growl? Like the boar?”
“Bear,” I corrected. “Yes, that is precisely what I meant.”
I led the way down the corridor, and as we moved closer I distinctly heard another muffled growl and an unmistakable metallic clang. I groaned.
“What is it?” Violante demanded, her eyes wide as she clutched at my arm.
“A prime display of male conceit is what it is,” I muttered.
We had reached the door of the billiard room. It was closed, but I did not need to see inside to know what mischief was afoot. Carved from the great width of the south transept, the billiard room was a vast open space. Previous earls had found it a useful place to store weapons. The walls were studded with every conceivable variety of blade and bow, axe and arquebus. It was also the room where all of my brothers had received their fencing instruction. Father had shoved a billiard table into a corner and renamed the place, but to us it would always hold fond memories as the armoury.
I threw open the door and crossed my arms over my chest. As I expected, mock combat was under way. Lysander and Plum were engaged, while Ludlow sat at a safe distance, instructing Charlotte in the finer points of swordsmanship. To my shock, I saw another pair of duelists, Alessandro and Brisbane.
“This cannot end well,” I said, more to myself than Violante. I motioned for her to follow me and we skirted the fencers, making our way to where Ludlow and Charlotte sat on a bench of polished oak. They greeted us, Charlotte rather more coolly than Ludlow. Violante took no note of the snub, and I welcomed it. It saved me the trouble of being nice to her. Violante and I seated ourselves and I turned my attention eagerly to the bouts already engaged.
The gentlemen combatants sported various states of undress. Plum had removed only his coat, while Alessandro and Ly had discarded their waistcoats as well. Brisbane had retained his waistcoat, but lost his neckcloth at some juncture, and his shirt was open at the throat.
“It is a friendly bout,” I told Violante. “Do you see that each of the swords wears a blunt tip? And none of the gentlemen wear a mask. That means they agree to direct their thrusts away from the face.”
I had thought to reassure Violante, but in truth I was the one heaving a sigh of relief. For one mad moment when I had spotted Brisbane parrying a thrust of Alessandro’s, I had feared the worst.
Violante asked a few questions then, and I answered her as best I could. What facts I forgot, Ludlow was prevailed upon to supply, and he pointed out a particularly nice bit of footwork on Plum’s part.
Charlotte gave an ecstatic little sigh and looked at him worshipfully.
“Beh,” Violante said. “Lysander, he is faster than Plum, and his sword is much nicer. See how pretty,” she said, pointing toward the finely etched hilt of Lysander’s weapon.
Charlotte set her mouth in irritation, and Ludlow suppressed a smile.
“I believe the quality of the blade, not the beauty of the hilt, is of primary importance, Mrs. Lysander,” he said kindly.
Violante, utterly unconcerned, shrugged and watched the fencers with interest, clapping and cheering for Lysander, booing Plum with enthusiasm. I did not have the heart to tell her such things were not done, and as I watched her face, shining with pleasure, it occurred to me Ly had done rather well in finding a bride to fit into our family.
“You seem to know a great deal about swordsmanship, Mr. Ludlow,” I remarked during a lull in the bouts. “Did you have a go with the others?”
Ludlow smiled. “I did. I believe Mr. Lysander thought it an unfair advantage that I wield a sword in my left hand, but Lord Wargrave fought me right-handed and thrashed me soundly. It did not seem to confound him in the least.”
Just then Lysander and Plum executed a series of complicated maneuvers, each of them moving smoothly, although Ly seemed a little off his footing. Plum was attacking rather aggressively, and Ly was determined not to let him land a blow. They seemed likely to resort to fisticuffs soon, and as I watched them I realised what Ludlow had just told me. Ludlow was left-handed. He and I had been seated next to one another at the luncheon at Uncle Fly’s. We had spent half the interval apologising to one another for our colliding elbows. I had known it, but I had not translated it within the context of our murder. The syllogism was a simple one: the murderer was right-handed. Ludlow was not right-handed, ergo Ludlow was not the murderer.
Lysander rallied then, posting a series of deft attacks that left Plum breathless. After another bold maneuver, Ly had the tip of his sword at Plum’s chest. Violante cheered loudly, and Plum stepped forward, slapping Lysander’s sword aside to punch him soundly on the jaw.
Lysander staggered back, then dropped his sword and came back at Plum, fists swinging.
“Well, honestly,” I muttered. The scuffle was over as quickly as it had begun. Plum was bleeding profusely from his nose, and Lysander’s lip was split open cleanly. They circled each other warily as they moved apart, each of them mouthing profanities.
Violante was shaking her head. “Lysander must learn to move his head to the side. He should have ducked and hit Plum in the—what do you call this?” she asked, pointing to the small of her back.
“Kidneys?” I hazarded.
She nodded. “Si, the kidneys. That is how to hurt a man,” she concluded sagely.
Charlotte stared at her in horror, then rose to go to Plum, clucking and fussing as she handed him her handkerchief to stem the flow of blood welling from his nose.
“And how do you come to know so much about the finer points of grappling, Mrs. Lysander?” Ludlow inquired politely.
“I have eight brothers.”
I gestured toward Lysander. “Should you not go to him?”
She waved a hand. “It is only the lip, he be fine. I only worry if there is enough blood to need the mop.”
She called encouragement to her husband who blew her a kiss. Brisbane and Alessandro had halted, swords at their sides, when Plum and Ly had sunk to brawling, but they resumed their bout. Lysander came to sit with Violante, while Plum and Charlotte took chairs on the opposite side of the room, both of them casting dark looks toward Lysander. Lysander made a few jests as he took his seat, but I noticed his eyes strayed more than once to our brother, and when they rested on Plum, his expression was thoughtful.
Like Plum and Ly, Alessandro and Brisbane fought with blunted tips, but one would never have guessed from their expressions that this was a friendly duel. Alessandro’s eyes gleamed with ferocity, and Brisbane’s face was a study in concentration, his eyes fixed upon the younger man’s sword hand.
“He is hurt. Why does he fight?” Violante inquired, pointing at Brisbane.
“Because, like all men, he is proud,” I returned.
�
��And stupid,” she added. Lysander bristled, but Violante and I exchanged knowing nods. I could piece together well enough what had transpired. Alessandro, perhaps feeling a trifle neglected and perhaps a little jealous of my friendship with Brisbane, had challenged. Brisbane, proud as an emperor, would sooner have cut his own arm completely off than admit he could not spar with a younger opponent. And Alessandro, who ought to have taken Brisbane’s injury into consideration, was instead taking advantage of the situation, attacking with all the ferocity of a lion cub pouncing on his first prey.
“Poor Alessandro,” I murmured. “He will regret this.”
But if Alessandro had thought the inability to use his left arm would hinder Brisbane, he had underestimated him badly. They had chosen smallswords, and these lighter weapons needed less of a counterbalance than a heavier rapier would require. The technique lay in the footwork and the dexterity of the wrists, both of which Brisbane possessed in abundance. But even I could see that for all his excellent defensive maneuvers, he was holding something in check, refusing to mount an attack. No matter what devilish move Alessandro threw at him, Brisbane countered coolly and withdrew, never engaging further than necessity demanded. It was a deliberate strategy, and one that was rattling Alessandro badly. His face was flushed, his hair curling damply at the temples, and he was breathing quite quickly, tiring himself on his endless assaults but never gaining the advantage. He was quickly growing fatigued while Brisbane looked as though he could carry on for days.
It was not long before Alessandro’s mounting fatigue turned to outright frustration. His lunges became more desperate, his footing more uncertain.
Suddenly, he took a deep breath as if to rally himself and thrust deeply, a well-placed stroke that a lesser opponent would have been at great pains to meet. But Brisbane parried and riposted; their swords connected in a great clash of steel, and in a swift glissade, Alessandro’s blade rode up the end of Brisbane’s weapon. Without warning, Alessandro flicked his wrist, circling the tip of his blade around Brisbane’s, aiming directly for Brisbane’s face.
One of the ladies—it may have been Charlotte—screamed, and with a roar of pain, in a movement so swift the eye could scarcely follow it, Brisbane thrust his left hand up and out of the sling, gripping Alessandro’s blade in his bare palm. Brisbane’s face was white with fury as he jerked Alessandro’s sword toward him, bringing the younger man’s face within inches of his own.
Instantly, Alessandro’s face drained of colour as he realised what he had done. “Signore, you must accept my apologies, I am most abjectly sorry.”
Brisbane said nothing for a long moment. Then, with infinite slowness and perfect disdain, he pulled Alessandro’s sword from his hand and dropped it to the floor. Alessandro winced as it clattered on the stones, and it was still echoing when Brisbane stalked from the room, closing the door softly behind him. I think I would have preferred if he had slammed it.
Violante put a tentative hand to my shoulder. “Giulia, are you all right?”
“Of course. I am perfectly all right. Should I not be?”
She shrugged. “You screamed, very loud.”
“I most certainly did not.”
Violante gave me a little push. “You did.”
I drew myself up to my full height and smoothed my skirts. “I most certainly did not. Now, if you will excuse me, Brisbane seems to have left his coat behind. I will make certain it is returned to him.”
As I gathered up Brisbane’s coat, I noticed Alessandro, still standing where Brisbane had left him, defeated and a little shocked. I ought to have said something encouraging to him, but Ludlow and Plum had already taken him in hand, and I wondered if perhaps this was one time the company of other men was preferable to a lady’s society.
I gave a quick backward glance as I left. Alessandro was staring after me, his expression anguished. It would have been a kindness to offer him a smile of absolution, but I did not. I was not feeling particularly kind, I reflected sourly. And Alessandro had just revealed a little too much of what mettle he was made of.
THE TWENTY-THIRD CHAPTER
Things without all remedy should be done without regard. What’s done is done.
—Macbeth
I made directly for Brisbane’s room in the Galilee Tower. It seemed likely he had withdrawn there to attend to his shoulder. I mounted the staircase slowly. It was possible the violent movement of his left arm had opened the wound, and I was no Nightingale to look easily on blood. Better to let him see to that himself in privacy, I decided, and not suffer distraction when I informed him of my revelation regarding Henry Ludlow.
As I rounded the corner into the bachelors’ wing, I heard a door close and saw Aquinas coming my way carrying a tray.
I gestured toward the tray. “I presume you have been playing nursemaid to the patient?”
Aquinas gave me a short nod. “I believe his lordship is in considerable pain, but the wound opened only a little. He refused to permit me to put in a stitch, so I packed it with Lady Hermia’s green salve and bandaged it.”
I glanced down at the tray and saw a pile of cotton strips, streaked with blood.
“Very good of you, I’m sure.” I looked up at Aquinas, but his face swam out of focus.
“My lady, are you quite all right? You have gone very pale.”
I blinked hard and swallowed. “Quite well, thank you. Brisbane left without his coat. I will return it to him now.”
If he thought it unseemly I would visit a bachelor in his rooms, he betrayed no sign of it. He merely inclined his head and went about his business. Portia had told me before that whatever I paid him was undoubtedly not enough, and once again I was forced to believe her. Discretion is an invaluable commodity in a servant.
I tapped at Brisbane’s door and waited a moment. When there was no reply I knocked, quite loudly, and he growled for me to enter.
I was not surprised to find he had flung himself into an armchair. He was sucking hard at the mouthpiece of his hookah pipe, drawing in great choking lungfuls of smouldering hashish.
I waved a hand, clearing the atmosphere just a little.
“Good heavens, Brisbane, you are as bad as Sir Cedric. I thought I would choke on the stench of his cigars this afternoon.”
Too late I realised I had betrayed myself. In spite of the narcotic fog, Brisbane’s wits were undulled. He looked up at me inquiringly.
“Sir Cedric indulges only in the smoking room,” he said slowly. “When were you there? And more to the point, why?”
I thrust his coat at him irritably. “I went to ask him about Lucy. I learned nothing of importance, save that he is a thoroughly nasty man. Here is your coat. You left it in the billiard room after that revolting display.”
He blew out a great exhalation of smoke. “Am I to deduce you blame me for what happened?”
I took the chair opposite, flopping gracelessly with my elbows on the padded arms. “I do. I do not believe for a moment you challenged Alessandro. It was entirely within your power to avoid such a confrontation by not accepting his challenge. And then to bait him—”
“I did no such thing.”
“You most certainly did. You pranced about, refusing to engage him. It was insulting. You patronized him and deliberately frustrated him to the point of rashness.”
Brisbane lowered the mouthpiece. “I never prance. I would not know how to begin to prance. And you are quite wrong in any event. I did challenge him.”
I sat up, staring in disbelief. “I do not believe it. Even you could not be so willfully stupid. That shoulder is not healed. You have a bullet wound scarcely a fortnight old—”
“I fell off my horse.”
“You do not ride! For the love of heaven, can we not have the truth between us?” I cried. “You were in Trafalgar Square during the riot and you were shot!”
Brisbane leaned forward, his pupils indistinguishable from the rest of his piercingly black eyes. “I. Fell. Off. My. Horse.”
; “Oh, you are the most maddening man I have ever known. If stubbornness were water, I could sail on you to the ends of the earth.”
Brisbane resumed his pipe, giving me a sardonic smile. “Well, we have that in common at least.”
“Whatever do you mean? I am the most amiable of women.” I felt a little insulted. I had never thought of myself as stubborn, and it was hurtful of him to say so.
He laughed. “You might have been, a year or two ago. Now you are unmanageable as any March.”
“Then we ought to both be grateful it is not your task to manage me,” I retorted hotly.
An uncomfortable silence fell between us. I do not know what thoughts ran through his head in those moments, but I would have given my last farthing to know. He merely sat smoking, inscrutable as a pharaoh, while I hated myself only a little less than I hated him.
“Why did you challenge Alessandro?” I asked finally.
“I wanted to take the measure of him. Your brothers were feeling restless, so Lysander suggested a friendly bit of exercise with swords. And for my purposes, fencing is as useful as chess in learning one’s opponent.”
“And what did you learn of Alessandro?”
Brisbane shrugged, then winced sharply as he eased his wounded shoulder back into place. He made no sound, but he had gone pale under the deep olive of his complexion.
“I learned he wishes to be taken seriously. He is a man, but not yet respected as such. He feels any slight to his dignity deeply, and when he is frustrated, he is apt to strike without thinking.”
I felt my blood running cold in my veins. “You think he murdered Lucian Snow.”
Brisbane took another deep draw of the pipe, exhaling slowly through his nose. Sir Cedric had done something similar with his cigar, but from him it was faintly grotesque. On Brisbane, the gesture was suggestive of something altogether more sensual.
Silent in the Sanctuary Page 28
