Gail Whitiker - Revenge In Regency Society - Brushed by Scandal / Courting Miss Vallois

Having casually dropped his bomb, the marquess strolled away. Barrington, aware that the eyes of the room were on him, allowed nothing of his anger to show, knowing it would incite too many questions he wasn’t prepared to answer. But he was angry. Furiously so. Someone had been playing with Peregrine Rand—and, by association, with him.

‘Good m-morning, Sir B-Barrington,’ Lord Gerald Fitzhenry said, coming up to him. ‘It’s v-very good of you to d-do this for me.’

Lord Yew’s youngest son was a quiet, unassuming young man, who, though raised in an atmosphere of wealth and privilege, had managed to lose none of his good nature as a result. Perhaps the stutter kept him from becoming too arrogant, Barrington reflected. It wasn’t a fashionable affectation, but a lifelong affliction, one the boy had desperately tried to overcome. But it was exacerbated by nerves and, given the unexpected turnout in the room, Barrington knew this morning’s performance would be more difficult for Lord Gerald than usual. As such, he turned to face the lad with a reassuring smile. ‘You show a great deal of promise, Lord Gerald. Perhaps I can point out a few things that will help you become an even better fencer.’

The boy’s face shone. ‘I would l-like that, very much.’

‘Good. Then shall we take our positions?’

As Barrington led the way onto the floor, he was conscious of every eye in the room following him. He was acquainted with many of the gentlemen present and knew that some of them were decent fencers and were here for that reason alone. Having been taught by one of the finest swordsmen in France, Barrington possessed skills few others did and the chance to watch him spar today was an opportunity too good to miss.

But not all the gentlemen in the room had come simply to observe his technique. A movement at the far end of the room drew Barrington’s attention. Looking up, he saw Hayle leaning against the wall, sword in hand. He had come to fight. He’d made that very clear.

Barrington had no intention of indulging him. Men like Hayle only wanted to prove their superiority over others. It was likely one of the reasons Hayle resented Rand’s presence in the house. Though Rand offered no tangible threat, he was a competitor for the earl’s attention, perhaps even for his affection. And if Hayle believed that Rand was his half-brother, he would naturally assume there was an affinity between his father and the other man he couldn’t affect or control.

He wouldn’t like that. Hayle needed to be seen as the only cock of the roost, and, so far, he had. Lord only knew what would happen if and when he found out otherwise.

An hour later, it was all over.

‘You did well,’ Barrington said, removing his mask and walking towards Lord Gerald. ‘But you would do better if you kept your arm straight and the weight of your body on the front of your feet. You need to be able to move quickly around your opponent. Try to catch him off balance.’

‘Yes, Sir B-Barrington,’ said the grateful but sweating youth.

‘And don’t forget what I said about practising your double and triple feints. They’ll stand you in good stead when you find yourself pushed to defend yourself. If you like, come round to the house and I’ll lend you a couple of books that helped me when I was where you are.’

The boy’s face shone as though he’d been given the keys to the kingdom. ‘Thank you so much, Sir B-Barrington. I will t-try to d-do that.’

Barrington smiled and clapped the lad on the shoulder. He was glad now that he’d agreed to the lesson. Lord Gerald had turned out to be a surprisingly good swordsman and he was appreciative of the time he’d been given. He would benefit by what he’d learned today.

‘Who’s next then, Sir Barrington?’ someone called out from the crowd.

Despite the cheers that greeted the man’s words, Barrington shook his head. ‘Sorry, gentlemen, the show’s over. You can all go home now.’

Amidst the rumble of disappointment, another voice said, ‘But this was to be a demonstration. Surely you wouldn’t send everyone away without giving them what they really came here to see.’

Barrington’s mouth compressed into a thin line. So, Hayle would challenge him publicly. A foolish thing to do. ‘I’m sure there are others who would favour you with a match, Lord Hayle.’

‘But it is with you I wish to engage, Sir Barrington,’ Hayle said softly. ‘Will you not stand and face me? I have been acknowledged a better than average fencer and would welcome an opportunity to go up against the best.’

Hearing the room suddenly fall silent, Barrington sighed. ‘My purpose this morning was to instruct Lord Yew’s son. It was not a general invitation to spar.’

‘But surely there can be no harm in engaging in a friendly match,’ Hayle said, advancing on to the floor. ‘You are acknowledged the finest swordsman in England. Every one of us here could benefit by watching and learning, and I am willing to put myself forward as your student. If nothing else, I promise you a better match than the one you just concluded.’

‘I was not engaged in a match,’ Barrington reminded him. ‘I was giving a lesson.’

‘Then consider me your student and this an opportunity to improve my skills,’ Hayle said with a grin.

Hearing murmurs in the crowd that were pushing for the match, Barrington sighed. Hayle obviously wasn’t going to back down, especially if he felt he had the backing of his friends. And while he needed a lesson, Barrington knew it was in humility rather than sword play. ‘Very well.’ He walked back into the room and donned his mask. ‘Prepare to engage.’

An excited murmur rolled through the crowd. Men who were halfway to the door quickly turned around and ran back into the room, aware that a far more entertaining show was about to get underway. Triumph and anticipation suffused Hayle’s face as he stripped off his jacket and donned a mask.

In silence the two men made their way to the centre of the floor. After offering the traditional salute, they both took their opening stance.

It didn’t take long for Barrington to assess his opponent’s level of skill. Hayle was a showy fencer and quick on his feet, but there was no strategy to his play; at times, his technique was downright sloppy. Barrington easily scored five hits in a matter of minutes—and watched his opponent’s face grow redder with each one.

‘I think that’s enough for one morning,’ he said, starting to remove his mask.

‘Stand your ground, sir!’ Hayle shouted. ‘I will say when this is finished.’ He took up his stance again. ‘En guarde!’

Barrington saw the anger in the other man’s eyes and knew this could only end badly. He had no wish to humiliate Hayle in front of a room full of his friends and acquaintances, but neither was he about to throw the game in order to appease his vanity. ‘Very well. We shall play one more bout and then call a halt. Does that meet with your approval?’

Hayle gave a terse nod and resumed his position.

The match recommenced. Barrington tried not to make the other man look bad, but the more desperate Hayle became, the more careless his play. He was caught flat footed several times and as the bout went on his moves became more and more erratic. After receiving his fourth hit, he shouted, ‘Damn you, Parker!’, then, abandoning sportsmanlike conduct altogether, he lunged, aiming the point of his sword directly at Barrington’s throat.

Barrington heard the gasp from the crowd, but was already out of range. He stepped lithely to one side and quickly raised his own foil, deflecting the blow. Hayle spun around and was about to charge again when a voice rang out, ‘Enough, Edward! Put down your sword! This engagement is at an end!’