hilt: taking a chair without permission, helping himself to the brandy—an equal interacting with another peer.
‘It’s time she marries,’ Julian repeated. ‘A husband, a family, is what she needs. She’s twenty-eight. Most of her friends have long since wed.’
‘I know.’ Antoine’s eyes were thoughtful. ‘I’ve been thinking about it for a while now. Perhaps it’s time to give up the ruse and accept the fact that I will never walk again. We could sell and Alyssandra could go on with her life.’
Julian interrupted abruptly. This was not where he’d imagined the conversation heading. If Antoine were to sell, it would be devastating to him. ‘Why not have the best of both worlds?’ he prompted in silken tones. The salle d’armes was Antoine’s other weakness. It meant the world to him. He must be worried indeed about Alyssandra if he was willing to consider giving it up. ‘Keep the salle, you can “retire” if you like, but let Alyssandra and I run it as husband and wife. I am offering myself as a husband for her.’ He said it quietly, humbly, watching Antoine’s eyes lose some of their softness and become shrewdly assessing.
‘You?’ Antoine said.
‘Yes. Who better? I have been with your father and with you. All total, I’ve spent twelve years in the service of your family. I have known Alyssandra since she was sixteen. I have been with you through death and through despair. What better than to have your sister marry your friend and keep your father’s fencing legacy, your fencing legacy, alive? Some day, there may even be a nephew to look after that legacy.’
Antoine smiled at that, as Julian had known he would. Family was important to Antoine. ‘What does Alyssandra think?’
Julian shrugged. He chose his words carefully. This answer had to be handled delicately. ‘She’s a wild creature. I don’t know that her opinion is the one that matters most here. She may not know what is best for her over the long term.’
Something affirmative moved in Antoine’s brown eyes, and he gave the most imperceptible of nods. Julian pushed his advantage. ‘I fear her head may be turned by the Englishman. He is a fine figure of a man,’ Julian offered. ‘But I think it is nothing more than a sign of how lonely she is, how ready she is to move on with her life. It is too bad Etienne DeFarge has wed.’ The reference to Alyssandra’s old fiancé would make Antoine feel guilty.
‘I like the Englishman, although I’m not sure of his motives. So many of them are just passing through,’ Antoine said tentatively but it was enough to ring alarms.
‘I’m sure North is a fine man. He’s a real man’s man. The other men at the salle seem to enjoy him,’ Julian put in blandly, wondering what Antoine was thinking. He took a swallow from his snifter, hoping Antoine would elaborate.
‘He has desirable qualities; a title in England, wealth, good manners,’ Antoine mused out loud. Julian wanted to argue the last. Those manners had his hands on Alyssandra and his tongue in her mouth. ‘Alyssandra is not without recommendations of her own. He would be a good match for her, and the salle could use him.’
Julian felt his insides freeze. He’d been right not to tell Antoine about the park. It would be all the provocation Antoine would need to start negotiating a marriage. He’d not counted on this. Antoine agreed with him on marriage, but not on the groom, and now Antoine was thinking of giving the Englishmana place at the salle, too. Julian’s ego didn’t like that one bit. He was the senior instructor and he didn’t like to share, which was precisely what he’d be doing.
Julian gave a sigh. ‘That’s a nice fantasy, Antoine, but I don’t suppose it will work, do you? He’s a viscount, heir to an earldom. He’s not going to want to work as a fencing instructor.’
Antoine was far too quick to clarify. ‘Of course not! He would be an owner. If he married Alyssandra, I could leave the salle to them and you certainly. I could retire and you could carry on. He could show up and offer instruction whenever he felt like it, make it a hobby for himself. He’s talented enough.’
Julian took a healthy swallow of brandy. This was getting worse by the minute. It would be complete torture to have to answer to Haviland North at the salle every day, knowing North was going home to Alyssandra every night. He’d have to live every day with the man who’d taken everything from him. That was a lot of ‘everys’ and it was not to be borne.
‘I think you’re forgetting one thing.’ Julian gave a sad half smile as if commiserating with Antoine. ‘He’ll want to go home some day. He’ll have to go home when he inherits. There wouldn’t be much good in that for us.’ This was the second time Antoine had mentioned retiring. It was a bit disconcerting.
Antoine nodded his head. ‘Well, still, it’s a nice fantasy to think of Alyssandra with him, happy, safe, secure. I think she fancies him, and he’d be a fool not to fancy her.’
There was nothing left to say. Antoine seemed determined to ignore his own offer and now was clearly not the time to push it. Julian could only hope a few of his doubts would take root in Antoine’s thoughts. Meanwhile, he needed a secondary plan. Alyssandra could not marry a man who wasn’t there, nor could Antoine hire a man who couldn’t fence well. It might be time to call in a few favours from the streets. With the tournament nearing, there would be ample opportunity to eliminate Haviland North.
* * *
Haviland was not going to let one Frenchman stand in the way of his training. Or maybe two Frenchmen depending on how Leodegrance had taken the news about the park. Haviland couldn’t imagine him taking it well. He squared his shoulders as he entered the Leodegrance salle d’armes on Rue Saint Marc.
He was unsure of his reception. Perhaps it was good news he had yet to receive a challenge. He had no desire to fight a duel with the master. For one, the outcome would be uncertain at best. He had yet to beat the master in their lessons. And two, fighting a duel abroad over a foreign woman was exactly the type of scandal his family had prodigiously avoided for generations. His father would be appalled if news of such a thing reached English shores. It would validate all the reasons his father wanted to keep him close to home. ‘Going abroad to sow wild oats suggests there’s something wrong, something that can’t be aired in public at home,’ he’d argued on more than one occasion when Haviland had brought up his desire for freedom.
Inside, the salle was busy, filled with the clash and slide of steel on steel. It was mid-afternoon and all three fencing salons were busy with clients, pupils and day guests. The sight brought a smile to his face and he allowed himself a moment to drink it all in. Whatever else the reclusive Leodegrance might be, he’d certainly made a little world for himself here. From the moment Haviland had first entered the salle, he’d felt the energy of the place. To his right was the long day salon with its medieval shields and antique swords decorating the walls to set a tone of respect. This was the place where clients could pay by the day to use the services of the salle. Haviland had noticed the price was slightly more than the other salles in the city, but perhaps that increased the prestige. The fee included the use of the salle’s changing rooms and its weapons for those who didn’t have their own.
In the centre was the large main salon for members only. It looked more like a ballroom with its two enormous chandeliers at either end. Weapons and fighting equipment through the ages adorned these walls too, interspersed with silver cups set in niches bearing testimony to the greatness of Antoine Leodegrance and his father before him. The elegance, the trophies, the historic weaponry only a noble family would possess were all subtle, or perhaps not-so-subtle reminders that the fees for this club were well worth it.
