The Muse (49 page)

“Yes.  For your
dishabille
portrait.  Due to its subject matter I will not be sending it to the framer.”  He smiled.  “I get to do it myself, and I must say it feels good to get my hands in this again.”

“Will you show me?”

Graham spent the next minutes showing her how a picture frame was built, his manner quiet and pensive.  “It is unsigned…”

“True.  He was willing to paint it, but said he couldn’t put his name to it.  Tristan said you would understand.”

“Imogene, I am so overcome, still.  The image of you is beauty personified.”  He put a hand to her hair.  “So special and very inspiring.  Your gift has stirred me.”  He stroked over her hair.  “I am feeling the desire to paint again.”  Looking into her eyes deeply, he said, “I want to paint you.”

“Really?”

“More than you could know.”

She thought she detected he wanted to ask her but was hesitant to do so.  “I would love to help you to paint again.  I’ll sit for you if you want.  It will be something we can do together, just us.”

He pulled her into his arms and held her.  “Thank you,
chérie
.  I would so dearly love to paint you.  I was afraid to ask.  Are you sure you do not mind?  You said the
dishabille
was a challenge and I don’t want you to submit yourself to it if you don’t want it.”

“I don’t mind at all, and we could enjoy the time together.  The
dishabille
was a challenge only because it was new and strange, and it was Tristan painting me, and we had to keep it a secret.  It was only a challenge at first, because the sittings became much easier, and by the end, no hardship at all.  Having you paint me would never be strange—it would be special.  How many women have an artist for a husband who could paint them?”

“You make me so happy,
chérie
.”  He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand.  “
Mon trésor précieux
…my precious treasure.”

THEIR house party lasted a good ten days.  Some members leaving and returning as was necessary.  There were ample opportunities to ride for the ladies.  Imogene loved it and made a point to thoroughly enjoy herself while it lasted for she knew her riding would be restricted soon enough as her pregnancy advanced.  Philippa and Mina did not ride, but it was no matter as the two connected instantly, taking pleasure in the other’s company.  Mr. Gravelle brought more horses from his estate at Kelldale, only five miles away.  This insured enough horses for everybody to have proper mounts to select from.

The gentlemen enjoyed the usual manly pursuits, small game shooting, hours of billiards and cards laced with port and brandy, and to the delight of Imogene, many opportunities to fence in Graham’s specially appointed studio.  She was glad he could take up his sport again. Mostly she enjoyed seeing him bond with friends and family in a way he had not allowed himself for years.  At her urging and request he agreed to a fencing display for the ladies benefit to finish out their house party.

The fencing match was to be held outside.  Generally Graham participated in assaults, friendly combat between two fencers without attention to scoring.  But this was a small tournament of sorts and each bout would be scored.  Four judges would be needed—two judges per fencer—at all times to determine whether legitimate hits were made.  The match would be played on a marked narrow strip of grass called the
piste
.  They were to use foils specially fitted with a leather safety tip, or
bouton. 
Each participant wore a metal mesh mask to protect the face and a special one-armed, heavily padded jacket called a
plastron
, which buttoned high up the neck, leaving the sword arm free of a confining sleeve.  In foil fencing, the target area being the torso, excluding arms, legs and head, with the object to score a set number of hits in order to win.  Hits must be made with the point of the sword, thus the need for safety measures.  The first to score five hits would win the bout and advance.

Since Imogene was the most eager for the fencing display, Graham playfully made her the president.  This honor allowed her to give the order to ‘play’ and ‘halt’ as needed.  She could also outvote a tie between the judges.  He had been schooling her on the rules and moves for she dearly wanted to learn.  She would have begged him for lessons in using a sword if she weren’t pregnant, just as she also knew that someday he’d succumb to teaching her.  She loved sport and competitiveness made her yearn to try her hand.

“Take your place, Lady President.”  Graham indicated to her chair, set along the middle of the sidelines.  He leaned in behind her, brushing a kiss at her cheek.

“Wish me luck,” she whispered.  “I am nervous I’ll make a blundering mistake.”

“
Chérie
, you’re the perfect president.  Just relax and remember what I’ve showed you and keep your eyes trained on them at all times.”  He grinned naughtily then. “Good luuuuck!”  She watched him walk away to take his place, feeling both, immensely proud of him and the thrill of the impending fight.

“Play!” she ordered, and it was begun.

The men were ranked prior by their expertise and were eliminated in the best of three bouts between opponents.  John surprised them by eliminating both Tristan and James Burleigh in turn, but was bested by Colonel Hargreave during their match.  Colin won out against the colonel, and then Jules as well, which was unexpected.  Elle’s face was riveted in tension as she watched her beloved cousin and brother battle it out.  She cheered wildly when Colin was declared the winner, much to the chagrin of Jules and the rowdy comments being shouted about.

Colin faced his brother.  “Let’s see what they’ve been teaching you at that school I pay so dearly for,” Graham growled.

“Let’s see how you hold against youth, old man,” Colin retorted.  They gave their bows and at Imogene’s command, began their match.  It went slow at first and dragged out over time for they were very evenly skilled, but Colin had been battling steadily as Graham was his third opponent.  Colin won the first bout, but then lost the next two, eliminating him and advancing Graham.

GRAVELLE knew he was the highest ranked fencer of the group.  He had worked very hard for his skills and would use them with no apology.  Maybe he didn’t possess as much natural talent as Rothvale, but he was consistent in his practice and training, while his friend had been away from it for more than a year while he was attending to family business in Ireland.

Feeling the eyes of the others on them as they battled was a thrill for Gravelle.  The thrill of competition that he craved.  Rothvale was a large man and he moved well—with finesse—but Gravelle was bigger, and the added height gave him a longer reach, and thus a slight advantage.

Advance, retreat, lunge, parry, envelopment, this last being the act of sweeping the opponents blade through a full circle, was, in his opinion, a kind of clashing beauty.  Gravelle won the first bout and Rothvale the second.  For the final bout, whoever won it would be the champion of the tournament and winner of the purse.  They had all contributed to the pot of winnings in good-hearted fun.  But Gravelle did not care a whit about winning the purse.  He had more of an affecting motivation to carry him, that being the art of performing well in the presence of a certain young lady.

They moved stealthily forward and back, and in time, both scored hits on the other.  When they were tied with four hits each, the end was near and it could go either way.  Gravelle thought he needed the win more than Rothvale did.  Rothvale had already won his lady’s heart and was relaxed in enjoying the competition of the fight without pressure to impress.  Gravelle, on the other hand, was propelled to win it, and as most champions can attest, the mental will to prevail is just as important as excellence in technique and skill.  Envisioning of the win is vital, and any hesitation to the fact spells certain failure.  So in short order, an opportunity was offered to him for just that outcome.  Rothvale slowed just a fraction. Gravelle pretended to attack, causing Rothvale to move to parry.  By envelopment he controlled Rothvale’s blade, catching it at the point where it was weakest with the third of his blade nearest the guard where it was strongest, rendering Rothvale’s parry ineffective with a circular motion.

And in that final elegant flourish, the decisive hit was scored.

Everyone erupted.

He didn’t hear Lady Rothvale’s command to ‘halt’ nor did anyone else as they were all storming the
piste
to congratulate the fencers for a tremendously thrilling match.

“Godsblood, Gravelle, that was fine!” Rothvale acclaimed.  “I can’t remember a more exhilarating challenge.  Well played, man.”  He clapped him on the back.

Gravelle bowed. “I had a worthy opponent.  Well played
you
, Rothvale, for truth.  I am so glad you’re back.”

Gravelle spared a look in Miss Wilton’s direction to find her smiling widely and clapping for him, her eyes meeting his from across the
piste
in congratulations.

He felt a painful stab into his heart, too.

THE house party broke up the following day.  Elle would remain at Gavandon as was the original plan, and Colin was still with them for another fortnight.  Gravelle was invited to stay longer and it was thought he would, but he approached Graham with the news he was required in Town on business and would take his leave with everybody else.

Graham’s shoulders fell a little before he answered, “All right, Gravelle, but you will be missed.  I hope you’ll come back to us when you are returned to Warwickshire.  I have enjoyed your companionship and the fencing.  It has been a long time.  Too long…” he trailed off.

“Indeed.”

“When you return, what do you say to a standing appointment?  Pick a day of the week and I’ll make it a priority.  Fencing with you is a reminder of how much I’ve need of it,” Graham challenged cheerfully.

“I am in full agreement.  Consider it done.  I would not pass up the opportunity to baste you weekly,” he laughed.

Graham asked his friend another question.  “Have you heard word of your friend, Trenton?  Do you know if he ever finished his orders?  I told him to write to me, but he never did.”

“I believe he did finish them.  Last word was he was called back home.  Family troubles or some sort.  He has a brother who is a real problem.  It is fair to say he is truly dicked in the nob.”  Gravelle indicated by tapping his head purposefully.  “Causes all sorts of difficulties for their father and the family.  Interesting that you ask, for I was going to search Trenton out when I got in.”