by Amy Corwin
“You could do that tomorrow. You do not have a class until four, unless you have so many students you must have an earlier class as well.” Margaret watched her with bright, bird-like eyes.
Olivia shook her head. “No. I must do it today. If there is anything amiss, I can correct it before the first class.”
“You sound so responsible,” Margaret murmured, wrinkling her nose. “And stuffy.”
“I am responsible. Now if you will excuse me, I need something from the library.” Olivia strode to the wide door and hesitated, glancing over her shoulder at her sister.
“Go on.” Margaret waved her hand before she walked past her to the wide, colonnaded gallery leading to the wide staircase. “You have my permission.” She smiled sarcastically as she headed for the branch of stairs leading up to the second floor. “I believe I shall help Hildie with her sewing.”
Olivia sighed as she watched her younger sister ascend quickly and disappear above her into the shadows of the second floor. She had to admit that she was nervous about her fencing class tomorrow, and she wanted to review Edward’s copy of fencing master Domenico Angelo’s L'Ecole des Armes, published in London in 1763. If she didn’t at least glance through it again, someone would undoubtedly ask her some esoteric question and embarrass her on her first day. After all, it wasn’t all just the thrill of crossing swords; there was technique and an underlying philosophy as well.
Locating the leather-bound volume in the huge library was easier than she anticipated. Book in hand, Olivia ensconced herself in one of the huge green brocade chairs by the fire to escape the icy drafts wafting past the heavy green and gold silk curtains over the windows at the rear of the room. Warmth gradually vanquished the chill, and as she skimmed through the book, her hands slowed. The words on the page in front of her blurred. Her head drooped to her chest, and she sunk into a light slumber.
The rumble of men’s voices awakened Olivia. She jerked her head up and glanced around. The fire in front of her was still burning merrily, so she hadn’t been asleep for long. Her eyes stung as she focused on the book lying on her lap. She rubbed her right eye and almost stood when she heard her brother, Edward, speak.
“I don’t know how to advise you, Underwood,” he said. His voice sounded strained and slightly angry, as if he were being asked to assist in something with which he wanted no involvement.
“You must help me,” Gregory Underwood said, his voice rising in desperation.
Olivia squirmed in her chair. The two men sounded as if they were standing near the windows behind her, but the high winged back of the chair hid them from view. Clearly, they had not seen her when they entered the library. She desperately wanted to leave, but she sensed that the tense discussion was intended to be private, and she didn’t want to embarrass either her brother or poor Mr. Underwood.
Mr. Underwood, in particular, struck her as a shy, intensely private man, and she often felt the urge to pat him on the dome of his egg-shaped head and reassure him that he had no need to worry so. His pretty, fair-haired wife was even more retiring and seldom attended social events. Olivia had rarely seen Mrs. Underwood without her small, nervous hand clinging to her husband’s arm, and she often wondered if Mrs. Underwood would simply collapse into a quivering puddle of skirts without her husband there to support her.
However, despite their exasperatingly shy dispositions, Olivia had always liked the pair. They were both kind and always too happy to receive a last minute invitation to a supper — if there were not too many other people attending — to even up the numbers. And Mrs. Underwood had a delicious sense of humor when she relaxed enough to display it.
The last thing Olivia wanted to do was to cause Mr. Underwood embarrassment.
“How?” Edward asked again, impatient.
Olivia could hear the muted thuds of her brother’s firm tread as he paced over the thick green, crimson, and gold carpet. Even without seeing him, she knew he would have his hands clasped behind his back and his dark brows drawn down in a frown.
“Grantham…some sort of journal…claims to have a letter.…” Mr. Underwood’s voice faded in and out as he talked, and she only heard half of his words. “You must help me, please.” His voice grew louder as he pleaded with Edward. “My wife is in a delicate condition.…” Again, he dropped into the low murmur of a whisper. “… lost two infants already…will kill her. Just speak with him.”
Mr. Grantham? What did he have to do with Mr. Underwood?
Olivia couldn’t help but wonder at Mr. Underwood’s agitation. She didn’t realize the two men knew each other, much less imagine what Mr. Grantham might have done to upset him so much. Mr. Grantham had been a friend of the Archer family for years, and he’d always been so respectable. He was not the sort to do anything disagreeable, at least not on purpose.
Although she strained to hear, the conversation at the other end of the room dropped in volume until it was just a low rumble of voices as the two men moved closer to the window. A few minutes later, footsteps padded closer to her and then passed behind her as Edward escorted Mr. Underwood out of the library.
Olivia remained seated for several minutes, her gaze fixed on the crackling yellow and orange flames, troubled by what she’d overheard. She sighed. It would gain her nothing to question Edward. He was unlikely to confide in her whatever he’d been discussing with Mr. Underwood and would probably lecture her about the evils of listening to private conversations. Sometimes, her brother’s sense of honor was annoyingly inconvenient.
Flipping through the pages of the book in her lap, she tried to focus on the fencing treatise. Unfortunately, her thoughts kept returning to Mr. Grantham and Mr. Underwood. She frowned and massaged the skin between her brows. Poor Mrs. Underwood. Clearly her husband had been worried about her and her delicate condition. He’d said she’d lost other babes, and Olivia’s heart went out to her. The shy lady’s lovely, pale face and shadowed eyes seemed to stare at Olivia from the shadows. What should she do? Worrying would surely make matters worse for the Underwoods.
If only Edward would confide in her. Olivia was sure she could find a way to help them if she knew what the difficulty was. If there was one thing she detested, it was a problem with no clear resolution. It was like the constant itch of a flea bite between the shoulder blades where she could neither scratch nor ignore it.
When she glanced at the clock, she realized she’d been in the library longer than she’d thought. If she hoped to visit her academy while it was still daylight, she had to leave soon.
Chapter Two
Olivia put the fencing book back on the lower shelf between two other volumes on the subject and left the library. She walked thoughtfully to the grand staircase, which rose in a broad sweep to the first floor where it bifurcated into two galleries, one on either side, set off by beautiful marble Corinthian columns. On the right, the staircase ascended again to the second, third, and fourth floors. Works of art, mostly English pastoral scenes, lined the red-painted walls of the gallery, and high above was a domed ceiling painted with rosy clouds floating in a pale blue sky and cherubs peeking down at those using the staircase.
A smile tugged at her mouth. How many times had she, Margaret, and Hildie hidden behind the columns in the gallery and then peered through the railings to watch their mother, glittering in diamonds, silk, and frothy lace, glide down the stairs to join their father for a ball somewhere in London? She could almost smell her mother’s lovely rose perfume and feel the effervescent pride every time she climbed the stairs.
The broad staircase was exquisitely designed to allow anyone in the gallery to view those ascending or descending the marble stairs, or simply walk along the colonnaded space to view the paintings on the walls. And the long gallery had been the perfect place for children to surreptitiously watch the adults in their magnificent finery leave for the theater or a ball.
Halfway down the stairs, Margaret halted to frown at her as she stood in the hallway. “Are you not going with us aft
er all?”
“Yes, I am,” Olivia replied hastily, stepping onto the first stair. “I won’t be a minute. Please, wait for me.”
“Very well, but don’t take too long. You know how impatient Edward can be.” At the sound of footsteps clattering down the marble staircase, Margaret raised her head. “There he is.” A lighter, faster pattering echoed the first set. “And Hildie. Do hurry.”
Olivia nodded and ran up the staircase, meeting her siblings halfway. Edward and Hildegard were already dressed for the brisk February weather, wearing warm clothes and stout boots for walking.
“Are you going with us, Livie?” Hildegard asked, adjusting the tilt of her new bonnet to a saucy angle. The cherry-red ribbons brought out the color in her rounded cheeks, and her gray eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, her face charmingly framed by the soft, pale blue brim of her bonnet.
“I’m not going to Hyde Park. I’m going to the academy. I must make sure everything is perfect for tomorrow.”
A little of the sparkle went out of Hildegard’s eyes. “Surely, you could go tomorrow?”
Edward turned to frown at Hildegard. “Your sister’s notion to run an academy may be ludicrous, but she is, at least, behaving with a great deal of sober maturity in her handling of the matter. Do not annoy her, Lady Hildegard.” Edward nodded at Olivia, and then his glance slid past her. Frowning slightly, his gaze drifted to the window above the door. “If we wish to walk, we must do so soon. The weather appears unsettled.”
Olivia’s gaze was drawn to follow his. “Yes, well, don’t let me delay you.” The weather hadn’t improved since morning, and the sky looked heavy with thick banks of gray-tinged clouds that hid the afternoon sun. She shivered and decided she didn’t need her academy ledger at that moment. If she were going to the academy, better to leave now before it started to rain again.
She followed her brother and sister down the staircase and gladly accepted her warm poke bonnet with the blue velvet lining and curling white plumes from Latimore, their butler.
His arms were full of hats, gloves, and coats for them to choose from, and he handed the items around briskly. Latimore had been with them since before Olivia’s birth and seemed almost fatherly to them, particularly after their papa’s death. He stood now with one white-gloved hand on the doorknob, studying all of them with an indulgent smile barely curving his mouth as he made sure they were all dressed for the uncertain weather. He was so careful in his duties to the family that Olivia sometimes wondered if he would simply refuse to open the door if she didn’t don the appropriate bonnet or wear her gloves.
Edward questioned her about the school as he took his hat from Latimore, making Olivia increasingly nervous that she had forgotten something that would embarrass her tomorrow when she faced her first students.
No, no, I am prepared, she thought. She just needed to make sure the charwoman, Mrs. Adams, had swept out the rooms adequately and that there were sufficient split logs and kindling to keep the front sitting room warm. While the ladies would certainly be warm enough while practicing in the ballroom, they would most assuredly want a place to rest, and it wouldn’t do to let them grow chilled.
Simple enough. So why did ticking off each item in her mind make her so nervous, as if there were one more line on the list that remained invisible? She rubbed her hands together, her fingers feeling cold and damp even though she had yet to leave the warmth of the house.
“You can't go by yourself, Lady Olivia,” Edward protested when he finished adjusting his hat at a rakish enough angle to satisfy him.
“I certainly can,” Olivia replied, pulling on her gray kid leather gloves and wriggling her chilled fingers. Her hands didn’t feel much warmer, even encased in the gloves.
“Nonsense. It just isn't done,” Edward said firmly, as if the matter were settled now that he’d pronounced judgment.
“Shall I send for the maid, sir?” Latimore asked in sonorous tones.
“Yes.”
The butler glided forward and yanked one of the bell pulls.
When a flustered maid appeared, wiping her reddened hands on her apron, Edward said, “Notify my brother, Mr. Peregrine Archer, that his presence is required.” He paused to consider this for a moment before adding, “And he should be prepared for a brisk walk.”
“Yes, sir,” Mary, an extraordinarily tall and gangly maid, replied before dashing off in the direction of the library. Her limbs were so long and thin that in her black and white uniform, she looked like a loose-legged stork flapping her way down the hallway.
“Peregrine?” Olivia asked her brother in a dry voice. “Are you quite sure his attendance is better than going alone?”
“He is nearly an adult. It is about time he acted like it.” Edward dismissed her questions with a flap of his gloved hand.
While she had nothing against her younger brother, he was only one and twenty, and most of the time, if one were unaware of his age, one might think he was almost thirteen. So while he was a male as required for a proper escort, she felt uncertain about his usefulness if they should meet footpads or other violent individuals. Peregrine was far too “Hail, fellow, well met!” to be any danger to a criminal. In fact, he reminded her of a big-eyed, curly-haired spaniel just thrilled to meet anyone new, regardless of social status or threatening appearance.
Despite that, she had to smile. Of all her brothers, he was her favorite. His relentlessly cheerful demeanor always managed to scare away her worries, even when she had a strong case of the dismals. It was just too bad that his speech was marred by a severe stutter they seemed unable to cure.
Peregrine was definitely better company, though, than her far too serious and staid brother Edward, or the sharp-eyed Margaret. At least Peregrine was enthusiastic about her endeavor and had tried several times to convince her to accept him as a teacher to lend a little color and interest to the academy.
He didn’t quite understand that she was trying to avoid color, or anything that would make the parents of her prospective students decide against allowing their daughters to apply. Olivia had to avoid anything too improper or scandalous, and took pains to describe fencing as an invigorating exercise that would only be conducted in the company of other ladies. Her fencing academy would be a place for wholesome health and conversation, nothing more.
Olivia smiled as Peregrine came flying down the hallway toward them, heels clattering on the marble, and his coat tails flapping behind him. As he catapulted toward her, she held out a gloved hand to stop him from ramming into her. He gripped it, whirling her around and smiling as if a simple walk were the most enticing prospect imaginable.
Laughing, she shook her head, resigned and relieved to his boisterous company. He was just what she needed to lift her mood on such a dull and dreary day, and in truth, she didn’t particularly want to visit the empty academy alone.
The fencing academy was set up in an elderly townhouse owned by her brother Harnet, the Earl of Wraysbury, and while it had lovely, large rooms and was more than adequate for a school, it had been abandoned for several years. As a result, the dusty, echoing rooms often unnerved her for no reason except that she heard the rustling scurry of rats in the walls more times than she cared to, and she’d had the persistent feeling of being observed. The only eyes present were those painted on elegant ladies and gentlemen sauntering through the Roman murals adorning some of the walls, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone else — someone very much alive and not overly fond of her — observed her.
Of course, her nervousness was sheer nonsense. The building was in the middle of a block of similar structures and only had windows at the front and the back. No one was interested in the old house, and there was very little chance of being observed. It was only the dingy walls, the scarred wooden floors, and the general gloom that bothered her.
The dingy walls were to have been painted a lovely pale yellow yesterday, so the rooms she intended to use should be much brighter and more cheerful.
Peregr
ine released her hand with a bow, and she finished buttoning her pelisse. Her brother took his beaver hat from Latimore and set it at a jaunty angle on his brown curls, his gaze fixed on the front door. His gray eyes danced with excitement at the prospect of accompanying Olivia to her school, a destination she’d previously denied him based upon the fact that he was likely to be a nuisance and would make far too many nonsensical suggestions about her plans.
Now it no longer seemed so terrible to have him wandering around the empty building, opening doors, thrusting his head into cupboards, and staring up chimneys.
“W-well, so I get to see t-the famous fencing academy, after all,” he stuttered in excitement as he pressed his hat more firmly on his head. He caught Olivia's right hand, threaded it through his elbow, and dragged her in the direction of the front door.
Latimore opened the door as they approached and bowed solemnly.
“I'm not sure this is necessary, after all.” Olivia grinned as she tried to tear her hand out of her brother's grasp.
“Of c-course it is necessary,” Peregrine countered. He pulled her down the front steps and through the black wrought iron gate to the busy sidewalk. “A w-woman c-cannot w-wander around London on her own, you know. You w-would be accosted by the v-vilest sorts imaginable, Ollie.”
She laughed at his use of his special pet name. “Ollie” was the one word he could say without stuttering, and he never failed to accompany it with a wide grin. The gleam of triumphant pleasure in his eyes brought another giggle and lingering smile to her lips. The name was like some charming childhood secret the two of them shared.
“We won’t be gone long. I simply want to ensure everything is prepared for tomorrow,” she said as he held the black wrought iron gate and stepped aside for her to pass onto the walkway.
“T-tomorrow is the day, t-then?” He dragged her forward at a faster rate, as if he were even more anxious to inspect the school than she was.
