Today's Reading
Good God, the child didn't need a rapier to know exactly where to place the knife in his gut and twist. Yes, he was American. Yes, he was damned out of place here on this cold, foggy island, and in the fencing parlor, and in the House of Lords. And no, he hadn't been to Eton and Oxford, and no, he didn't know how to convince the Court of Chancery to give him guardianship of Freddie and Lu, and no, he didn't know how to get Lu on his side.
And no, and no, and no.
But for the rapier, he could say yes.
"I mean to demand satisfaction," Lu murmured, almost inaudible over the sounds of the street. "From the world."
God, she was a terrifying creature.
"Good," he said. "Let's buy you a rapier. But listen, Lu, don't talk, all right?"
Her brows drew together. "Whyever not?"
"Because you sound too much like a small, bad-tempered lady."
She glowered. "I am no lady."
"Well, you sound like one, so keep quiet."
"How would you know? Are there ladies—"
Peter frowned at her, and to his surprise, she closed her mouth mid-sentence. Frowning? Was that how he was supposed to act like a guardian? God, he hoped not, because the expression on his face made him feel like his father, and he resented it with every fiber of his being.
"In New Orleans?" he finished for her. "Yes, Lu, there are ladies in New Orleans. My mother was a lady."
"Oh," she said.
Beneath Lu's chastening hand on his shoulder, Freddie said, "Was?"
"She died," Peter said, "a long time ago."
"Our mother died too," Freddie said.
"He knows, Freddie," Lu said irritably. "That is why he is trying—and failing—to pry us away from Great-great-aunt Rosamund."
Ah, yes, their current guardian. The beloved Great-great-aunt Rosamund, who was not, as far as he could discern, actually related to the children, and who did not appear to recognize them whenever he returned them from one of their outings.
After their mother's death, the children had been passed like unwanted puppies from household to household, settling most recently upon a very elderly thrice-removed aunt. Rosamund nodded off mid-conversation. She rarely rose from her chair. She occasionally referred to Lu as Lucinda, but sometimes she called her Lettice and sometimes Horatio Nelson.
But despite all that, Lu acted like she wanted to stay with the woman—even though Peter could buy her a whole room full of fencing masters and send Freddie to Eton and give them everything he'd always wanted and never had.
"Lu," he said now, "I'm telling you, if you talk, it's not going to work. So show me how much you want the sword by keeping your mouth shut, and we'll walk out of here with one strapped to your hip."
She scowled, but she did it. They strolled quite casually into the fencing parlor.
A quarter of an hour later, they strolled back out. Lu was red-faced at the extravagant lies Peter had invented to account for her refusal to speak. Freddie buried his laughter in his hand, and Peter held the sword nearly above his own head to ensure that Lu couldn't stab anyone with it.
Which was how he found himself—bracketed by children and with a small sword held aloft out of a still-sputtering Lu's reach—when they collided with Lady Selina Ravenscroft.
...
