Verity took up the folded clothes and followed the girl from the room, down the long hallway, and then up the winding staircase to a chamber. It was a very elegant room done in brocaded blue and silver flowered wallpaper, a large four poster bed dominated the room, and a chaise longue rested close to the dancing fireplace. The room felt warm and inviting, and smelled like roses.
Soon her gown, chemise, corset and laces, and pantaloons were removed, and Verity was dressed in men’s clothing. The shock of it had almost stolen her breath. Grace had assisted her in binding her breasts, until to Verity’s mind, she could pass as a young lad. Then she had donned a fitted white shirt, a dark brown waistcoat, and black jacket and trousers. The trousers clung to her frame a bit too snugly, but the jacket fit perfectly. Next a white muslin cravat was tied around her throat. Atop her head, a short dark wig was fitted with pins.
Verity belatedly realized that she was dressed as a fashionable young gentleman, and as she stared at her reflection in the cheval mirror in the room, she laughed. All sense of her identity had been suppressed, and a pretty but dignified dandy stared back at her. Grace seemed pleased with her work.
“My lord is waiting for you, milady.”
Verity nodded and made her way down the stairs, and to the large exercise room. There the earl waited, similarly dressed in dark evening clothes-black jacket and trousers, white undershirt, a silver waistcoat, and an expertly tied cravat. The man even had on a top hat and a cane.
“My lord,” she murmured, then attempted to clear the huskiness away.
Admiration flashed in his eyes. “You make a credible young man.”
The pit of her stomach felt strange and fluttery. “I gather we are not starting our lessons tonight?”
He came toward her. “What do you expect?”
She searched for the hidden meaning in the cool expression staring at her. “To learn to fight.”
“And what does that mean, Lady Verity? To learn how to form a fist? Punch someone? Know when to retreat and run if necessary?”
Perhaps. “Yes.” A blush warmed her skin at her naivety.
“As like most young ladies of theton, I gather you have been cossetted most of your life. Have you ever seen someone fight?”
“No, of course not,” she said in a horrified tone.
“Tonight, I am taking you to a club.”
“A gentlemen’s club!” she gasped. “My lord…that…that is simply too—” she objected, considerably surprised.
“Improper, outrageous?” he demanded with a mocking smile. “I assure you I am still a bit perturbed by our arrangement.”
Casting him a glance of acute suspicion, Verity asked, “What is at this club?”
“Fighting. Many gentlemen have never been in a fight. They may have learned fencing, and perhaps even boxing. But never real fisticuffs—the kind that draws blood, and hurt, the kind that is necessary to protect dignity and life. When footpads accost them, or anyone else they freeze, and they are taken advantage of badly. You, my lady, are even more ignorant and naive when it comes to what is expected when accosted.”
The truth of his words hammered at her, and memories of how helpless she had been as the marquess pinned her to theearth with his large frame and ripped at her dress made her tremble.
“I take you to the club tonight simply to open your eyes and prepare your mind. If after tonight you wish to continue…then we will.”
Verity stared at the earl, equally shocked and enthralled. Learning to fight had been an idea borne of desperation, which had sounded powerfully freeing. A fighter seemed like one who was courageous, and would not fear a simple outing, or being in the same room with an odious bully. She had not honestly thought of the rudiments, or truly, even fighting herself. Somehow learning had become a symbol: to show she was once again courageous, and the witty, freedom-loving girl she had once been. But what if she were truly called upon to use her skills? The very idea made Verity feel faint and desperately afraid. And that made her angry for she was tired of feeling fear. “Take me,” she murmured, lifting her eyes to meet his.
His gaze glittered with admiration and it made her feel warm inside. The earl said nothing more but led the way outside to a waiting carriage. They entered, and she sat opposite him and folded her hands in her laps. She closed her eyes briefly, an awareness of her life altering persistently buffeting her senses. Then she smiled. Only forward, Verity…and with courage.
Words her father had said many times to her over the years, especially as she had learned to ride horses, for she had been afraid of the animals. Words her nightmares had obscured for too long. How patient and loving her papa had been. How encouraging. She took his words, wrapped them in her heart and whispered, “And with courage, papa, I promise it.”
Lady Verity smoothedher palms over her thighs once more, a nervous gesture she had repeated at least five times. James had no words of comfort to offer, and he leaned back against the squabs as the carriage rumbled over the cobbled streets of London to their destination. He hadn’t believed she would dare show up for their lessons. That was why he had deliberately informed her of their first meeting a week in advance, enough time for her nerves to desert her, and for the lady to rethink her decision.
Most, if not all, young ladies were ruthlessly groomed to believe in adhering to the strict and proper rules governing polite society. For an unmarried society girl, any suggestions of unique individuality were frowned upon. Yet this lady had the audacity to do so…and he admired her for it. Ardently. The awareness pulled a smile to his lips and an odd lightness lifted his heart.
Not for the first time, James wondered if he was doing the smart thing in taking her to the club. While she was not the typical, wilting, hysterical miss, she was a lady of quality. Tonight would distress her sensibilities. Yet he wanted her to understand the stark reality of what she sought. Understand the risks, the consequences, the violence, and the raw emotions of guilt and acceptance that came with lifting a fist to someone else. Whether in attack or defense, it took a different kind of strength to follow through.
“There is a rumor that you made your fortune in the fighting pits,” she said unexpectedly.
James observed the fright in her eyes, and realized she wanted conversation of some sort to calm her nerves. For amoment he felt flummoxed. Most of the discourse he had with ladies of society were quite bland, uninspired, and was scripted by etiquette and an elevated sense of what was proper and just. This was not such a question. He found her forwardness refreshing, though, given their circumstance he couldn’t expect differently. Even if she only sought to ease her nerves. He wanted to relieve her anxiety. It made him feel contemplative. Tenderness, that most alien and disconcerting of emotions, swelled and roiled through James. “I did make some of my wealth in that manner. The gambling tables and a few investments also helped.”
“You are an earl,” she said with a soft sideways glance.
