Today's Reading
CHAPTER ONE
... You may be interested to hear that Peter Kent has finally inherited. You remember what he is like, do you not? One pities the House of Lords.
—from Lady Selina Ravenscroft to her brother, Lord William Ravenscroft, His Majesty's Army, Seventh Division, 1815
Peter suspected the project was doomed.
It had not been a good idea to begin with. Surely he could have found another way to satisfy his half sister's desire for a rapier—one that did not involve dressing her in boy's clothes and smuggling her into a fencing parlor on Bond Street.
He should have sent for a rapier, not gone out to fit her with it himself.
He could have had someone bring a sword to his house.
He was supposed to be a duke, for Christ's sake.
Peter Kent, the ninth Duke of Stanhope—for all that he'd never set foot in England until two years ago, when he'd become heir presumptive to the dukedom and the Earl of Clermont had dragged him unceremoniously away from his home in Louisiana.
He was the duke now. Had been for three-quarters of a month. People called him Your Grace. He had more money than God.
These facts did not seem to matter to his half siblings.
"Lu," he said to his sister, slightly horrified to hear pleading in his voice. "You sure you don't want the kitten? We might buy it a little collar..."
He'd brought his siblings a soft, fluffy gray kitten in a basket that morning. Freddie, his ten-year-old half brother, had nearly come out of his skin at the sight of the thing, but Lu had quelled Freddie with a wordless scowl.
Freddie, at least, had wanted the kitten.
"No," said Lu flatly. "No kittens. Its tail looked like a chimney brush."
"Its tail looked soft," mumbled Freddie disconsolately.
"It has claws," offered Peter. "And teeth. Sharp little teeth."
He'd felt a right jackass in the carriage on the way to their house that morning, trying to stuff the kitten into the basket. The idea had seemed so promising. What child could resist a kitten? He'd had one brought in from his country seat in Sussex—because, in-bloody-explicably, he had a country seat in Sussex. And people who brought things at his request.
And then the damned kitten kept popping out of the basket and climbing his coat sleeve with its little needle claws and sinking its tiny teeth into his ear and shrieking like the hounds of hell were after it.
Pop pop went its claws as he'd pried it from his coat. Then meeeewwwww as he shoved it into the basket. Then ouch Jesus blasted cockered ratsbane, let go of my goddamned thumb!
And then Lu didn't even want the kitten. She'd turned up her nose as if 'she' were the ninth Duke of Stanhope and not his illegitimate twelve-year-old sister, the natural daughter of a dead man who thankfully would never darken her door again.
Peter hadn't even known about Freddie and Lu until he'd gotten to England. He hadn't been able to protect them from their father's neglect and cruelty. Just like he hadn't been able to protect Morgan.
But he was damned if he wouldn't protect them now.
It would help, though, if he could get the children to trust him. Or at least like him. Or even tolerate his presence without glaring suspiciously in his direction.
"I want a rapier," Lu said. "So that I might stab people with it."
You, her eyes said. So that I might stab you.
"I'm not sure that there's actual stabbing in fencing."
"How do you know?" Lu asked. "Do you fence? Is there fencing in America?"
"I fence."
...
