Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
“You little cheater,” he said, as his friends surged to their feet and cheered. “You weren’t tired at all.”
“No, I don’t tire easily.” She gave him an impish grin. “It’s from my voice training. I’ve got very good breath control.”
He couldn’t stay angry when she smiled at him that way, although he still itched to turn her over his knee for her cursed playacting. If his friends weren’t there, he would have.
“Good show,” said Marlow, shaking Ophelia’s free hand. “I knew you would best him.”
“He’s like a great, clumsy oaf beside you,” August agreed, “and you so light on your feet, you could fly away.”
“I’m not like a great, clumsy oaf,” said Wescott. “She cheated by pretending she was tired so I’d lighten my attack.”
“And then she stabbed you in the heart,” said Marlow with far too much enthusiasm. “Thus is the great, golden-haired Marquess of Wescott brought low.”
“Save your poetry for the ladies, you wordy fool.”
After a bit more good-natured ribbing, he noticed that his wife was growing tired, for all her proud smiles. She’d also need to change clothes before dinner, and brush out her wild, blonde locks so Rochelle could make her look a proper hostess to their visitors.
“Leave me your sword,” he told her, “and go inside to put away your sparring clothes. We’ll be there presently for dinner.”
“Yes, my lord.”
As he took her rapier, he leaned close for a fleeting kiss. “I’m sorry I cheated,” she whispered next to his ear.
“You’ll be sorrier still, once we get a moment alone.”
His quiet threat had the desired effect. By the time he let her go, she was in full blush, her blue eyes dancing with a mixture of pleasure and dread. It took some effort not to stare after her retreating figure.
“Things are better between you, then,” said August in a quiet voice. “I’m glad for it.”
“I reckon teaching her swords was the best thing you could have done.” Marlow reached for one of the rapiers, testing its strength. “Did she ask you to show her?”
“She made herself at home in the Abbey’s armory, at my father’s urging. She liked the way it sounded when she sang in there. I figured I’d better teach her something of weaponry before she slaughtered herself by accident.”
“She’s singing too?” Marlow whistled and handed the sword back. “Then I suppose everything’s come around.”
“It has.” He didn’t have to go into specifics for his friends to know what he meant. He was sure the look in his eyes said enough. “She’s learning Welsh, too. She’s made a great deal of progress, for my cousins won’t stop chattering at her.”
“That’s the best way to learn a language,” said August. “Although your cousins have chattered at me for years and it still sounds like a load of gibberish. I suppose your wife’s a bit more intelligent than me, though.”
“A bit?” Marlow drawled, poking his friend.
Wescott set the swords aside so Marlow and August wouldn’t use them to turn on each other, then sat on the grass to rest. He’d never admit it, but his wife was a challenging opponent now that she’d mastered the rudiments of swordplay. His friends followed suit; they all sprawled on the grass as they’d done when they were boys.
While dusk deepened, his friends recounted their most recent adventures in London, and told him that Pearl’s Erotic Emporium was up and running again in a new location, thanks to a handful of wealthy sponsors. He didn’t ask if they were part of that group, but he guessed they were.
Talk turned to family news, who had gone to the country and who was staying in London, and who was adding to their nurseries. They had a dozen sisters between them, nearly all of whom were married by now. Townsend’s sister Rosalind and Wescott’s sister Hazel would be the last to the marriage market, he supposed, and then Elizabeth, if they could ever get her married off to a proper gentleman deserving of her hand.
As his friends chattered on, he thought with a twitch of surprise that it might be his wife increasing soon, his own son or daughter being added to the long list of Oxfordshire babies.
“Did you hear me?” asked Marlow, waving his hand before Wescott’s face. “Are you dreaming?”
“What?” He pushed his hand away. “My mind wandered for a moment.”
“We’ve got news of Townsend,” said Marlow. “Nothing dire, just that he’s coming back to England soon. His parents have summoned him home.”
“Have they?” Wescott kept his voice carefully neutral, and so did they.
August picked at the sole of his boot. “They want him back in England before winter sets in. I think they fear he’ll give his heart to some ninny in a far-flung village instead of marrying a proper London girl.”
“There are a great many who’d be happy to have him,” said Wescott.