Ambersley (Lords of London)

by Amy Atwell

  Remaining mute, Johnny shook his head.

  “Meet me tomorrow morning by the stream. Now that you are your own man, you’ll need to defend yourself properly.” He motioned to Cushing to follow as he left. The giant hesitated before matching strides with him.

  “Is it wise to be teaching the lad swordplay, Master?” Cushing asked gruffly. “He’s so small and delicate.”

  “Aye, he’ll never be big-boned, but he must be, what, fifteen now?” Derek paused to look back at the cottage.

  Johnny stood in the doorway, hands on his hips. His eyes narrowed with a haunting intensity as he watched their departure.

  Derek turned once more for home. “The lad needs to learn to make his way in the world. His swordsmanship is sound, and it’s a gentlemanly pursuit that may one day help him.”

  Cushing cleared his throat. “Very good, Master. I hope no trouble comes from it."

  ~

  The next morning, Johnny arrived at the stream worrying that Cushing had spilled her secret. Instead, she found the duke awaiting her, two foils in hand.

  “Come. Let’s see what you’ve retained,” was his only greeting.

  Johnny accepted the proffered weapon and weighed it in her right hand. Doubt filled her. With Tom and Martha gone, she knew she should confess her identity and beg for the duke’s mercy.

  He interrupted her reflection, and motioned her into position. He saluted her with his foil and then attacked. Unprepared, Johnny retreated from his advance, flailing her foil in the most elementary defense.

  The duke stepped back. “You fight like a maid, Johnny. Come, let’s mark it together.” He patiently called out the moves, and she copied his actions. Satisfied with her performance, he stood opposite her once more and motioned for her to take the offensive.

  She advanced in small steps, but he parried her attacks with ease. She countered him while her brain reeled. She shouldn’t continue this charade, and yet if she told him the truth now, he’d see her only as a troublesome girl, and she’d be sent off to live with Lady Vaughan. Preoccupied with such thoughts, she barely noticed as the duke deftly turned the attack back on her. Suddenly, she found herself parrying his thrusts, trying to keep the foil from touching her body. In moments, the balled tip of his foil bounced off her arm and then hit home against her chest. She fell backwards with the force, tears of inadequacy filling her eyes.

  “I’m sorry, my lord, I’m not concentrating very well today.”

  The duke looked down on her. “Don’t apologize to me. If this were a real fight, you’d be the one dead now.”

  She stared up at him, surprised by his harsh tone.

  “When someone attacks you, you have no time for any thought other than how to avoid being killed. If you can think of anything else, then you’d better be planning how to defeat your enemy. There’s no room for emotions or excuses of any kind. In a real fight, it’s kill or be killed. Understand?”

  His words reinforced her very reasons for continuing her masquerade. She would risk anything to protect him.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Good.” The duke offered his hand. “Let’s start again.”

  She rose without assistance and dusted off her breeches and waistcoat. With renewed determination to prove worthy, Johnny saluted the duke then met his attack. She predicted his moves and parried with a lightning quick wrist. Sweat dampened her shirt, but despite her aching arm, she refused to forfeit.

  When the duke eased his attack, she took the offensive greedily, lunging forward as if she fought the devil. She feinted left to lower his guard, then lunged deep to pink him in the right shoulder.

  The duke swore in pain and motioned for her to hold. Where she’d ripped his linen shirt, a red stain bloomed.

  “My lord!” She checked her foil to find its tip gone. She dropped the weapon as if it burned her. “You’re hurt.”

  He laughed as he inspected the wound. “’Tis merely a scratch.” He sat on the ground and applied pressure to the nearby artery. “Help me remove my neck cloth. We’ll staunch the wound with that.”

  Johnny’s fingertips shook as she undid the intricate knot at his throat. Only when the neck cloth was wadded in place against his shoulder, did she believe he might actually live. She kneeled on the ground before him, but his color looked normal, and he didn’t appear in any pain. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “My own damn fault for lowering my guard. Don’t blame yourself—you did exactly what I asked. You’re a fighter, and that will serve you well. Remember, even if you’re hurt or believe you’ve lost everything, you must keep fighting. If you give up, you’ll never know what you might gain.”

  She drew strength from his approving smile as she fought down the panic. She might have killed him. Here she’d wanted to help him, and she’d wounded him instead. Of all the people in her world, she loved the duke best. The thought of being separated from him terrified her.

  To stay with him at Ambersley, she would gladly portray Johnny to the end of her days, but one slip, and she feared Cushing would reveal her identity to all.

  ~

  Johnny didn’t count the passing moons, but focused on the changing seasons as she toiled in the gardens surrounding the Hall. Wisteria and lupine heralded late spring. Summer conjured the red and pink sentinels of the rose garden. On long hot days, she trimmed the box hedges along the walkways of the formal gardens until her arms ached.

  The hard work built strength for her ongoing fencing lessons. After the duke left for London, she continued to practice with Cushing who remained behind to train the colts. The big bear of a man was not as young or nimble as his master, but he had a powerful arm. Still, she had to urge him to challenge her. He balked until she discovered his one weakness—Cushing had a yeoman’s heart. He couldn’t disobey an order.

  This knowledge served her well, for whenever Cushing would look askance or suggest she renew her efforts to confess to the duke, she would silence him with the lift of a single eyebrow. They both knew she was a lady born, and now she understood that since Cushing had sworn to Tom to look after her, he would never betray her.

  As one year passed, and then another, Johnny’s frame filled out. But while her jaw was firm, it showed no trace of a beard. She lathered the shaving soap and rinsed the unused razor daily in case anyone should ever suspect she didn’t shave. Each morning, she bound her breasts with torn sheets, wrapping herself until she looked barrel-chested. Well, she admitted looking in the mirror, sort of barrel-chested. She shook her head, her short-cropped hair curling around her forehead and ears. She rarely gave thought to her brown hair with its coppery streaks or her blue-green eyes, except—she tilted her head and raised her brows—she feared her eyebrows were too delicate in shape.

  With a sigh, she turned away from the mirror to slip into her clothes. She’d never truly look like an adult male—she still looked like a lad of fifteen. But once dressed in her breeches and boots, with the long-sleeved linen shirt, brocade waistcoat and a starched neck cloth tied in a simple knot, she knew everyone would accept her as Johnny. It’s all they’d ever seen. It’s all they’d ever consider.

  But there were times when she longed for the duke to see her in a different light.

  ~

  August always heralded the return of Lady Vaughan and Olivia, even if only for a short time. Aged sixteen, Olivia sought out Johnny to renew their friendship but wisely kept their continued association secret. With Curtis away at Oxford, this proved easy. Miss Trent took no notice of her lengthy rides, provided she selected suitable garments and didn’t get too much sun. Mama had as little interest in riding as any other of her daughter’s pursuits.

  Johnny was the only person to whom she could confide, and the rides became an outlet for her frustrations. “Mama’s buried me down here for the fall and says I cannot take part in the Little Season this winter. But next spring, I shall be presented at court, and then I shall attend all the fashionable London parties. We’ll dine at midnight a
nd dance until dawn.”

  “Why would you want to do that?” Johnny wrinkled his nose.

  “To find a husband, silly!” She brushed a fly away from her horse’s neck. “Do you ever dream of going to London, Johnny?”

  “Me? Not a whit. I’m content right here."

  Olivia gave him an appraising look. “Why do you not show me the same deference as the household servants?”

  Johnny flinched at the question. “Lady Olivia, forgive me if I have displeased you.” He bowed his head.

  She waved her crop at him. “That’s what I mean. You never say those kinds of things to me, and when you do, I feel as if you’re laughing at me. Is it because your father was the late duke?”

  “How do you know that?” Johnny sounded surprised.

  “Oh, that.” She curled her lip in disdain. “Curtis told me about it years ago. It doesn’t bother you, does it?”

  “Does it bother you?”

  “Heavens, no. But it’s why I don’t tell Mama about our rides.” Olivia’s hand flew to her mouth as she gasped, “Oh Johnny, how awful! With Tom and Martha both dead, we must be the only family you have, and Mama absolutely forbids us to acknowledge you.”

  Johnny stared intently between her mount’s ears, steeling herself from showing any emotion. “I don’t need to be acknowledged. But thank you for the thought.”

  “There must be something I can do.” Olivia’s brow furrowed as she thought hard before squealing in triumph. “I have it. I shall celebrate your birthday with you!” Her exuberance drove her horse into a frisky trot. By no means an intrepid rider, she squeaked as she started to bounce.

  Johnny quickly laid hold of the mare’s bridle and brought both horses back to a sedate walk. She chuckled at Olivia’s red cheeks. “That’s a generous thought, Lady Olivia, but there is one difficulty to carrying it out.”

  “And that is?”

  “I don’t know my real birthday,” Johnny lied. She couldn’t confess the date, not when some of the tenants still delivered flowers to Amber Vaughan’s memorial each March to commemorate the anniversary of her birth.

  Olivia contemplated this with a nod. “Very well. We’ll set a birthday. We’ll do it next week, and I shall buy you a gift. That is, I don’t have very much money, so maybe I could make you a gift.”

  “You mustn’t give me anything, Lady Olivia. It wouldn’t be proper.”

  “I shall come up with something,” she promised.

  Johnny assumed that would be the end of the conversation. Olivia had a habit of throwing herself into an idea one moment, only to forget it completely the next.

  To her surprise, Olivia hunted her down in the rose garden one afternoon the following week. “Psst, I’ve got your birthday gift.” Olivia giggled with delight. “You must come to the house tonight, and fetch it from my room.”

  “That would be highly improper, Lady Olivia.” Johnny stuck her spade in the dirt and rose to face the girl. While Lady Vaughan was statuesque, Olivia was shorter and finer boned. The top of her head only reached Johnny’s eyes, and Johnny looked down at her with a frown. “I cannot come to your room. Can you not bring the present to me at the stables tomorrow?”

  Olivia stamped her slippered foot on the grass. “No! It must be tonight, and you must come to my room. I will complain of a headache, and I’ll have Miss Trent bring me tea so that we may have a tea party. I have it all planned, Johnny! Don’t spoil it.”

  “Lady Olivia, I cannot do this. Think of the trouble you would be in were we caught. And I might very well get sacked.” For the first time, Johnny appreciated the duke’s concerns about his high-strung younger sister.

  Olivia’s eyes took on a mulish gleam. “If you don’t come to my room at nine tonight, I’ll make sure Derek does give you the sack. You’ll be turned out with no money, no references, nothing. Now what do you say?”

  Johnny tensed at the quicksilver change in the girl’s emotions. “How would I ever sneak through the Dower House to your room?”

  “You’ll have to climb the tree by my window to get in. If we’re quiet, there’s no reason anyone would ever suspect.” She waited.

  Silently, Johnny weighed the risks. She stood a fair chance of sneaking into Olivia’s room and escaping again unnoticed, but if Olivia demanded that Derek sack the stable boy—a sense of foreboding permeated her. “Very well, my lady. I shall be there.”

  This restored Olivia’s good humor immediately. “Good, then. See you tonight.” She waggled her fingers as she backed away, then she lifted her skirts and dashed from the garden. Johnny watched her go then pulled the spade from the ground. Troubling thoughts made further work impossible.

  That evening, the Dower House stood dark and quiet against the lingering velvet blue twilight. Wearing her best breeches and coat, a clean shirt and now gleaming boots, Johnny stood beneath a sturdy oak as she searched for her party.

  “Psssst!” Olivia waved from one of the second floor balconies.

  With a last look around, Johnny pulled herself into the tree.

  “I’m so glad you came!” Olivia’s excitement was contained in a whisper. “Happy Birthday!” Her delight was palpable.

  “Thank you, Lady Olivia.”

  “Come in, but do keep quiet, for Mama’s room is just down the hall. She never leaves her room once she comes up, but then…” Olivia’s words trailed off with a shrug.

  Silently, Johnny agreed keeping quiet would be imperative.

  Olivia’s room was decorated in ivory and pink. The four-poster bed with its canopy above had a quilt of the sheerest fabric Johnny had ever seen, while the room itself was nearly as big as the whole first floor of her cottage. Next to the unlit fireplace, candles burned on a small table holding a teapot, two cups and some cheese and bread.

  Olivia poured tea for them with the elegance of long practice. “Do sit down, Johnny. We’ll have our tea first. Do you feel older?”

  Johnny sat on a cane chair. Unaccustomed to this feminine finery, she didn’t trust it. “Older? No. Does one ever feel older?”

  “I felt ever so much older when Miss Trent let my skirts down, but I suppose it’s different for boys. Your clothes never seem to change.”

  Johnny belatedly removed her hat and laid it on the floor. She fingered her coat as if it might feel as awkward as she. “I put on a clean shirt for this, and I even shined my boots.”

  Olivia beamed at her. “That was so good of you, for it would be impossible for me to explain how my bedroom began smelling like a stable. Do you care for anything in your tea?”

  Johnny shook her head and received her cup then watched Olivia lace her own with cream and dunk two sugar cubes in it. She tried to mimic Olivia’s way of sipping from the delicate china cup, but felt as graceful as an ox sitting across from a swan.

  With a little squeak, Olivia set her cup down. “Let me get your present, and you may open it at the table.” Her pink dress swished around her ankles as she glided to her bed and pulled something small from beneath her pillow. She presented it to Johnny then resumed her seat.

  Johnny looked at the oval-shaped gilt box. It was hinged on one side and had a clasp closure on the other.

  “Open it, silly.” Olivia giggled with her excitement.

  Johnny gingerly worked the clasp and opened the box. It spread open to reveal two miniature portraits and the box became their frames. The man she recognized immediately as the late duke, her father, and the woman in the other portrait could only be—

  “It’s the late duke and duchess. I thought you’d like to have a picture of your father. This has been in my room ever since we moved here. I doubt anyone else even knows or cares it exists. They certainly won’t miss it. You can get rid of the one side if you like. The duchess probably doesn’t mean anything to you.”

  Johnny stopped breathing. She had never seen a picture of her mother, and she recognized the same shape of her face, the same eyebrows, even the same lips. “No, I’ll keep both portraits, for they died togethe
r.” Swallowing the lump in her throat, she whispered, “Thank you.” She closed the box, secured the clasp, and stood to tuck it into her coat pocket.

  “I’m glad you like it.” Olivia glowed with satisfaction. Hopping to her feet, she came forward with hands outstretched. “Now for your birthday kiss.”

  Like a deer held at bay, Johnny froze. All her worries about coming here had not prepared her for this.

  Olivia giggled. “Don’t be shy, for we are kissing cousins in a way. Mama always gives me a birthday kiss, and since you’re a Vaughan, you should have one, too.”