Nine Rules to Break When Romancing a Rake
Page 55
“You’ve thought of everything!” Mari said with pride.
“I hope so,” Callie said nervously. “Do you really think I can pass as a man?”
Mari clapped her hands twice in excitement, “Oh, yes! I’m your sister, and I was fooled!” She leaned forward. “Callie, let me come with you!”
Anne and Callie shared a nervous look. “What? No!” Callie looked at her sister in horror.
“I could steal some clothes from one of the footmen. We could go together!”
“Absolutely not! Think of your reputation!”
“That doesn’t seem to be stopping you!”
“Mari,” Callie said slowly, as though speaking to a child, “I’m on the shelf. You’re to marry a duke in a month. I don’t think the ton would take well to a ruined duchess.”
Mari tilted her head, considering Callie’s words for a moment before heaving a giant sigh. “Fine. But at least let me help you get to a carriage.”
Callie smiled. “That, sister, you can do.”
“Excellent.” Mari met Anne’s eyes. “You realize that if you aren’t back before dinner, we shall have to send Benedick to find you.”
Callie went pale at the thought. “You wouldn’t!”
“Indeed, we would,” Mari said, turning to the maid for confirmation. “Wouldn’t we, Anne?”
Anne nodded vehemently. “Of course! We couldn’t very well ignore your not returning. What if something were to happen to you?”
“What could happen to me at a fencing club?”
“You could be run through,” Mariana speculated.
Callie gave her sister an exasperated look. “I shall be fencing in a practice room. With a bag of sand.” Was it her? Or did Mariana look disappointed? “I shall be home by dinner.”
“If you aren’t back…” Mari started.
“I shall be.” Callie straightened her coat. “Now, if you’ll help me get out of this house, I have fencing to do.”
Mari clapped her hands again, eager for Callie’s adventure to begin. She leapt from her spot on the bed and clasped Callie to her. “I’m so proud of you, sister. I cannot wait for you to return with tales of the foil!” She stepped back and assumed the en garde position, then giggled. “Oh, Callie! To be you!” she said dreamily.
Callie shook her head at her sister’s response before accepting gloves and a cane from Anne. Yes, to be me. An aging spinster with a newfound penchant for the ruin of her reputation.
It did appear that Mariana no longer considered her passive, however.
That was something.
Thirteen
Callie took a deep breath, bolstering her courage as the carriage slowed to a stop in front of Benedick’s sporting club.
After waiting several long moments for the driver to open the door to the vehicle and help her out, then realizing that he would do no such thing for a man, she scrambled out of the hack, landing unceremoniously on the gravel roadway. Keeping her head down for fear of being discovered, Callie peeked at the gentlemen around her on the street. She recognized the Earl of Sunderland heading straight for her, and she snapped her head away, eyes closed, certain he would discover her. When he passed by, paying her no mind, she let out the long breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
She approached the door to the club, remembering to brandish the cane as though it were an extension of her arm rather than a cumbersome thing to carry. The door opened, revealing a footman standing to the side of the entryway, the portrait of disinterest. The disguise was working!
Entering the foyer, she gave a quick prayer of thanks that it was empty, save the club steward, who approached her immediately. “Sir? May I assist you in some way?”
Now came the hardest part.
She cleared her throat, willing the deep voice she had practiced to come. “You may.” No going back now. “I am Sir Marcus Breton, of Borrowdale. Lately of Cambridge. I’m new to town and in search of a sporting club.”
“Indeed, sir.” The steward seemed to expect her to continue.
“I so enjoy the foil.” She blurted out, uncertain of what else she should say.
“We boast the finest fencing facility in town, sir.”
“I’ve heard as such from friends.” The steward’s gaze turned politely curious, and Callie realized she had to press on, “Like Allendale.”
Invoking Benedick’s name opened the gates. The steward dipped his head graciously, then said, “We, of course, welcome any friend of the earl. Would you care to visit a practice room and test out the facilities?”
Thank God. Callie pounced on the offer. “I should like that very much.”
The steward gave a little bow and, with the wave of a hand, guided her through a mahogany door to one side of the foyer. On the other side of the door was a long, narrow hallway with chambers on either side, each numbered. “These are the practice rooms,” the steward intoned, before turning a corner and pointing to a large door, “That is the club’s social room. Once you have donned your fencing attire, you may wait there for another member with whom to practice.”
Callie’s eyes widened at the thought of entering a room filled with men, any number of whom might recognize her. Quashing her alarm she attempted a calm reply, “And if I do not wish a partner? Have you any rooms that include a sandbag for practice?”
The steward cast a questioning look in her direction before saying, “Indeed, sir. You may use room number sixteen. Once you have completed your solo practice, should you decide you would like to parry with a partner, simply use the bellpull by the door, and we will be happy to find another athlete to join you.”
“I hope so,” Callie said nervously. “Do you really think I can pass as a man?”
Mari clapped her hands twice in excitement, “Oh, yes! I’m your sister, and I was fooled!” She leaned forward. “Callie, let me come with you!”
Anne and Callie shared a nervous look. “What? No!” Callie looked at her sister in horror.
“I could steal some clothes from one of the footmen. We could go together!”
“Absolutely not! Think of your reputation!”
“That doesn’t seem to be stopping you!”
“Mari,” Callie said slowly, as though speaking to a child, “I’m on the shelf. You’re to marry a duke in a month. I don’t think the ton would take well to a ruined duchess.”
Mari tilted her head, considering Callie’s words for a moment before heaving a giant sigh. “Fine. But at least let me help you get to a carriage.”
Callie smiled. “That, sister, you can do.”
“Excellent.” Mari met Anne’s eyes. “You realize that if you aren’t back before dinner, we shall have to send Benedick to find you.”
Callie went pale at the thought. “You wouldn’t!”
“Indeed, we would,” Mari said, turning to the maid for confirmation. “Wouldn’t we, Anne?”
Anne nodded vehemently. “Of course! We couldn’t very well ignore your not returning. What if something were to happen to you?”
“What could happen to me at a fencing club?”
“You could be run through,” Mariana speculated.
Callie gave her sister an exasperated look. “I shall be fencing in a practice room. With a bag of sand.” Was it her? Or did Mariana look disappointed? “I shall be home by dinner.”
“If you aren’t back…” Mari started.
“I shall be.” Callie straightened her coat. “Now, if you’ll help me get out of this house, I have fencing to do.”
Mari clapped her hands again, eager for Callie’s adventure to begin. She leapt from her spot on the bed and clasped Callie to her. “I’m so proud of you, sister. I cannot wait for you to return with tales of the foil!” She stepped back and assumed the en garde position, then giggled. “Oh, Callie! To be you!” she said dreamily.
Callie shook her head at her sister’s response before accepting gloves and a cane from Anne. Yes, to be me. An aging spinster with a newfound penchant for the ruin of her reputation.
It did appear that Mariana no longer considered her passive, however.
That was something.
Thirteen
Callie took a deep breath, bolstering her courage as the carriage slowed to a stop in front of Benedick’s sporting club.
After waiting several long moments for the driver to open the door to the vehicle and help her out, then realizing that he would do no such thing for a man, she scrambled out of the hack, landing unceremoniously on the gravel roadway. Keeping her head down for fear of being discovered, Callie peeked at the gentlemen around her on the street. She recognized the Earl of Sunderland heading straight for her, and she snapped her head away, eyes closed, certain he would discover her. When he passed by, paying her no mind, she let out the long breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
She approached the door to the club, remembering to brandish the cane as though it were an extension of her arm rather than a cumbersome thing to carry. The door opened, revealing a footman standing to the side of the entryway, the portrait of disinterest. The disguise was working!
Entering the foyer, she gave a quick prayer of thanks that it was empty, save the club steward, who approached her immediately. “Sir? May I assist you in some way?”
Now came the hardest part.
She cleared her throat, willing the deep voice she had practiced to come. “You may.” No going back now. “I am Sir Marcus Breton, of Borrowdale. Lately of Cambridge. I’m new to town and in search of a sporting club.”
“Indeed, sir.” The steward seemed to expect her to continue.
“I so enjoy the foil.” She blurted out, uncertain of what else she should say.
“We boast the finest fencing facility in town, sir.”
“I’ve heard as such from friends.” The steward’s gaze turned politely curious, and Callie realized she had to press on, “Like Allendale.”
Invoking Benedick’s name opened the gates. The steward dipped his head graciously, then said, “We, of course, welcome any friend of the earl. Would you care to visit a practice room and test out the facilities?”
Thank God. Callie pounced on the offer. “I should like that very much.”
The steward gave a little bow and, with the wave of a hand, guided her through a mahogany door to one side of the foyer. On the other side of the door was a long, narrow hallway with chambers on either side, each numbered. “These are the practice rooms,” the steward intoned, before turning a corner and pointing to a large door, “That is the club’s social room. Once you have donned your fencing attire, you may wait there for another member with whom to practice.”
Callie’s eyes widened at the thought of entering a room filled with men, any number of whom might recognize her. Quashing her alarm she attempted a calm reply, “And if I do not wish a partner? Have you any rooms that include a sandbag for practice?”
The steward cast a questioning look in her direction before saying, “Indeed, sir. You may use room number sixteen. Once you have completed your solo practice, should you decide you would like to parry with a partner, simply use the bellpull by the door, and we will be happy to find another athlete to join you.”
