London - Wednesday 5th April 1780
Motes of dust danced in the sunlight streaming through the window. The only sounds in the room were heavy breathing and the pad of feet as Will and Harry advanced and retreated, thrusting and parrying. After a clash of foils, Will finally managed a hit.
“Touché,” Harry said, stepping back. “A fluke.”
“Don’t I know it.” Will pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his brow, his breathing slowing. “I’ve had enough—it’s too damned warm in here, and I’m woefully out of form.” That was one of only a few hits he’d scored in this bout.
They had the practice room to themselves at this hour of the afternoon; the usual patrons of the fencing salon would be riding or driving in Hyde Park in the unexpected spring sunshine.
“Marriage is turning you soft,” Harry said.
“Far from it,” Will replied, refusing to take offence at his friend’s needling. “I’ll lay you odds I can still outshoot you. But I’ve no-one to fence with in Devonshire. Come and stay for a few weeks, and I’ll soon be back in form.”
“You can’t stay in Town longer?” Harry put his foil back in the rack and picked up his coat.
Will shook his head. “My business is nearly finished, and I’ve been away from Connie and the girls for over a week.”
“Under the cat’s foot,” Harry muttered, just loud enough for Will to hear.
“You should try it, you might find you like it.” Will shrugged into his coat. “And you can stop baiting me—I’m not going to rise to it.”
“Mama invites you to dinner this evening,” Harry said as they left the building. “In fact, why don’t you come over now, instead of going back to your club?”
“Thanks, I will.”
“So I can beat you at billiards, too.”
Will aimed a playful blow at Harry, and the two friends set off down the street. Clouds were gathering, and the air felt moist. Hopefully they’d reach Wimpole Street before the next heavy shower.
Will watched in satisfaction as his cue ball sent the red rolling directly for the end pocket. “Three points. I win.”
Harry laid his cue on the table with a sigh. “Looks like you’ve got your revenge already, Will.”
“I do have a billiards room at Ashton Tracey, and Connie knows how to—”
He broke off as Lady Tregarth walked in. “Harry, this… Hello, Will, I didn’t know you were here already.” She smiled, the laughter lines around her eyes deepening.
Will made his bow. “Good day, Lady Tregarth. Thank you for the invitation to dinner.”
“You’re always welcome here, you know that.” Lady Tregarth turned to her son, holding out a folded paper. “Harry, this letter is for you. I opened it because it was addressed to me. It is very… strange.”
Harry quickly scanned down to the bottom of the sheet, his brows rising as he read the signature. “It appears to be from your wife, Will.”
“What?” Will leaned over and glanced at the sheet. “That’s not Connie’s hand.”
The puzzlement on Harry’s face turned to anger as he read it properly. “This is some kind of bad joke,” he said, holding the letter out to Will. “It says you’re ill at home, and asks me to hurry there as soon as possible.”
“Me?” Will examined the writing more closely and frowned. “It could be from Bella.”
“Your sister?”
“My youngest sister, yes. What on earth…?” He shook his head. “Something’s not right here.”
“If it is a joke, it’s a cruel one,” Lady Tregarth said. “If you had not been here, Harry would have been worried. Very worried indeed, as would I.”
“Would your sister do that kind of thing?” Harry asked. “And why was it addressed to Mama?”
“The staff at Marstone Park would have given any letter addressed to a man straight to my father,” Will said. “This kind of thing doesn’t seem like Bella, though. I’d better go home in case there is something wrong.”
“You were only going to stay a couple more days, weren’t you?” Harry said. “Not too great an imposition, then. Shall I accompany you?”
“You’re going to dignify this… deception… by obeying?” Will waved the letter.
“Curiosity, old man. Should we ride ventre a terre to your bed of sickness, do you think? I’d hate you to be late for your own death.”
“Harry!” his mother said. “This is no joking matter!”
“No, it’s not,” Will said. “There is something wrong, but not illness or accident, I think. If something was wrong at Marstone Park, Miss Glover—the governess—would have written. The letter would have gone to Ashton Tracey, but Connie would have sent any urgent letter on.” He folded the letter and tucked it into a pocket. “I ought to go.”
“Is this connected with Marstone being in Town, perhaps?” Lady Tregarth asked.
“I didn’t know he was here, my lady,” Will said. “I do not follow my father’s movements.”
“Sir John mentioned it the other day. On some matter of business, he said.”
“It’s possible, I suppose. Hopefully there’ll be some news at home.”
“We should set off in the morning,” Harry suggested. “Too late to start now.”
“Tomorrow afternoon,” Will said. “I need to see Talbot before I leave.”
“Take the post-chaise, if you wish,” Lady Tregarth offered. “It will be more comfortable than riding in this changeable weather. Dinner will be served in a couple of hours.”
“Thank you, Mama. That leaves plenty of time for me to get my revenge on Will.” Harry placed the red ball on the spot again.
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