Wednesday arrived, shadowed by the evening to come and the threatened encounter with Gideon. Lewis had fully expected to hear his brother’s malevolent laugh as they’d pulled away from him in Piccadilly the other day. The mist must have swallowed it.
Miss Spain had done well, far better than he. It was some comfort that Gideon’s only insult to her had been by inference, in thinking her stupid enough to fall victim to his charm a second time. Yet it galled him that he’d found no cutting, unanswerable retort on her behalf.
Lewis could have used a ride this morning to clear his head. But Jack seldom awoke early enough these days, and when at length he staggered from his room, he was surly. Lewis blamed it on late nights and cheap liquor.
It was past noon before Jack was ready for their planned visit to Angelo’s fencing academy today. They headed out the door to find Captain Fuller on the step outside, his hand raised to the knocker.
“My sister’s not at home,” Jack said in lieu of a greeting. A less good-tempered man than the captain might have been discouraged from further inquiry.
“Where are you two going then? I have the afternoon free.”
When Lewis told him, he invited himself along. “It’ll be good fun watching you novices play around with those silly foils. You should try a real weapon sometime.”
Lewis laughed, while Jack grumbled at the good-natured gibe. “Don’t know where you think you’ll use a sabre, now that Bonaparte’s out in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Might be you should learn to fight like a gentleman.”
The day was warm and the instructor worked them hard. Their blades snicked and slid against each other as Lewis pushed Jack across the floor, determined to score another touch before they quit.
Jack’s retreat was clumsy, and a growl of anticipation rose from the small group of onlookers watching them practice. Pressing his advantage, Lewis lunged. Jack attempted a parry but engaged only the foible of his weapon. A meager defense.
“Oh, mal-paré!” someone called out. Lewis drove through and pressed the tip of his foil to Jack’s chest. In a scramble to avoid the touch, Jack lost his balance and fell ignominiously onto his backside. A scattering of applause broke out. Grinning, Lewis reached a hand down and pulled Jack to his feet.
“Eh bien,” said Monsieur Fortier. “Almost, today, you look like un duelliste, Monsieur Aubrey.”
Lewis bowed. “Merci, monsieur.” Stripping off their gloves, they vacated the piste for the next pair of fencers, crossing the room to the benches where they sat to cool off.
Captain Fuller strolled over to join them as they wiped down the equipment and themselves, offering compliments for them both. “I saw some good footwork and strong concentration. Wedbury, you’d do well to spend some extra time on defensive strategies, like—”
“I know, like walking backward.” Jack spat the words out. Evidently, the exercise had not improved his mood. Lewis suppressed a sigh.
Another man came up behind them and surprised Jack with a clap on his shoulder. “Chin up, old chap. A little more practice and you can drop Aubrey on his arse.”
Jack laughed, finally. “Ha! Were you watching, Lindale? I didn’t see you.”
“Came in just at the end. In time for the kill, you might say.” Jack seemed happy enough to treat that as a joke.
Lindale was one of Jack’s new friends. This was the first time Lewis had seen him during daylight hours—he’d had the impression the man lived only at night, like a bat. He was the fourth son of the Earl of Malbury, one of those reputable families Lewis had mentioned to Jack’s parents. He must be a decade older, yet he had welcomed the two of them into his odd nocturnal circle. Jack found it flattering; to Lewis it seemed a bit sinister. The dramatic birthmark that covered most of one cheek and descended underneath his cravat didn’t help matters. Lewis was determined to last through a night sometime soon so he could take the measure of Jack’s new friends.
Problem was, he had no interest in gaming, still less in petty vandalism, and he cringed at the way his feet stuck to the floor in the grimy places where they drank between their other pursuits. Once he’d had a few drinks, he found himself watching the dark corners for cockroaches, both insect and human. It was about that time he usually headed for home.
“I’m glad I happened upon you,” Lindale said, propping one foot on the bench between Jack and Lewis. “Some of the fellows are planning to visit the theater at Covent Garden tonight, and I hear there’s a cockfight in Seven Dials. You should join us. Your military friend as well, if he’s interested.”
Thus reminded of the social niceties, Jack introduced Lindale and Captain Fuller.
Lewis was not sorry to have an excuse for the evening. “Unfortunately we’re committed to Almack’s tonight. Thank you for—”
“Maybe you’re committed,” Jack exclaimed. “I’m not about to spend the night dancing if there’s something else to do.”
“But, Jack.” Lewis kept his voice low, tamping down his irritation. “You were out with Lindale just last night. You said you’d stand up with Miss Spain.”
Jack’s chin jutted forward and his eyes narrowed in the stubborn look Lewis knew well.
“Almack’s closes early,” Captain Fuller said. “We might have to miss the theater, but we could meet up with the others later on.”
“The cockfight starts at two or thereabouts.” Lindale patted Lewis on the head. “That might be late for Aubrey here.”
Lewis ducked aside and turned to scrutinize Lindale’s expression, but could discern nothing but friendly ribbing. They always laughed at him when he left them to their night’s revels. If they had anything more disparaging to say, they saved it until he was gone.
Jack was not so tactful. “Almack’s!” he railed as they walked toward home along Bond Street. “What a stale old man you are. Could you not see how revolted Lindale was? What do I care about Miss Spain, when I could be down in the pit at Covent Garden with Lindale and Creech and the rest of them? They’re my friends, Lewis.”
Lewis might be his oldest friend, but no longer his best, it seemed. “What is the play?”
“Lord, how should I know? We don’t go to watch the play.”
Lewis sighed. No one seemed to watch the play, whether they sat on a wooden bench in the pit for a couple of shillings or paid a great deal more to rent a box for the Season.
Finally, Jack offered a concession. “I’ll go to Almack’s if you go to the cockfight.”
If Jack was willing to compromise, Lewis could do no less. It would be a very long night, but he refused to leave Anna Spain in the lurch.