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Authors: Bronwyn Scott
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and try it now with the steady wrist, no flicking this time.â
They moved together, stepping and striking. âThere, do you feel how much stronger the bladeâs position is without the flick at the end? Good. Whoever taught you that was more interested in showmanship than real prowess.
âNow, try it against me.â Jack left her and picked up his own foil. She felt strangely abandoned without the warmth of Jack, the feel of Jack, behind her. Dulci was half-tempted to ask him to show her the move again. The only thing stopping her was her pride. Such a trickwas a ploy other women would use. She would not stoop, hard as it was.
Dulci gamely readied herself and engaged. This time the move worked and Jack found himself disarmed in short order.
âVery good,â Jack applauded, his admiration obvious, as was his approval. Overt approval was not something she was used to. Men might admire her, and she knew very well that many did. But admiration was not the same as approval. It had taken her a long time to understand the nuances that separated the two.
Men who considered them selves modern and above the traditions of their station might enjoy privately fencing with her, might take pleasure in discussing her collection of histories and artefacts, might even applaud her personal studies from a distance. All of that was well and good in their minds until it came to marriage. A man could admire such traits from afar, but no man wanted to be shackled permanently to a woman who possessed those traits. It had taken six marriage proposals for her to fully under stand.
But Jack was different. She supposed it was because heâd openly declared himself not the marrying kind and she could trust him to stand by that declaration unlike Gladstone, her sixth miserable proposal. Gladstone had declared no more than friendship and respect for her and then surprised her with a marriage offer accompanied by a list of demands regarding the things sheâd need to give up as his viscountess.
In those terms at least there was no risk of such a misunderstanding with Jack. She under stood Jack perfectly. Rumour could be trusted in this regard: he offered a moment of physical pleasure, no promises attached.A relationship would last only as long as Jackâs work didnât encroach. In many ways, a relationship with Jack was over before it started. A woman who gave herself to Jack would have to be happy with whatever she could salvage. In the long term, Dulci doubted she could do such a thing. But it hardly mattered. She wanted only the experience he offered and then they could go their separate ways.
The thought haunted her through out their work out. Dulci was glad for the excuse of exercise. She could pretend the flush on her cheeks was from their exertions.
They worked a while longer on footwork and various techniques until both were well exercised from their efforts. Dulci stopped and wiped her face with a towel. âIâm finished, Jack. How about you? Iâll have a tea tray sent to my collections room. We can eat a little supper and Iâll show you the new batch of artefacts. Iâve just begun cataloging them. You can see for yourself that Iâve not been hood winked into buying fakes.â
Â
The collection room far exceeded any of Jackâs preconceived expectations. Two adjoining drawing rooms had been devoted to Dulciâs work, the dividing doors between them pulled back to maximise the space; tall windows overlooking the back garden let in copious amounts of light during the day. Where the light was best, a long work table sat against a wall, strewn with stones, statues and wood carvings. Bookcases were laden with atlases and treatises from the Royal Geographic Society. Free-standing curio cabinets with glass shelves stood about the room, compelling the visitor to wander, stopping to look at each treasure.
And they were indeed treasures, Jack noted, studying each case in turn. It
They moved together, stepping and striking. âThere, do you feel how much stronger the bladeâs position is without the flick at the end? Good. Whoever taught you that was more interested in showmanship than real prowess.
âNow, try it against me.â Jack left her and picked up his own foil. She felt strangely abandoned without the warmth of Jack, the feel of Jack, behind her. Dulci was half-tempted to ask him to show her the move again. The only thing stopping her was her pride. Such a trickwas a ploy other women would use. She would not stoop, hard as it was.
Dulci gamely readied herself and engaged. This time the move worked and Jack found himself disarmed in short order.
âVery good,â Jack applauded, his admiration obvious, as was his approval. Overt approval was not something she was used to. Men might admire her, and she knew very well that many did. But admiration was not the same as approval. It had taken her a long time to understand the nuances that separated the two.
Men who considered them selves modern and above the traditions of their station might enjoy privately fencing with her, might take pleasure in discussing her collection of histories and artefacts, might even applaud her personal studies from a distance. All of that was well and good in their minds until it came to marriage. A man could admire such traits from afar, but no man wanted to be shackled permanently to a woman who possessed those traits. It had taken six marriage proposals for her to fully under stand.
But Jack was different. She supposed it was because heâd openly declared himself not the marrying kind and she could trust him to stand by that declaration unlike Gladstone, her sixth miserable proposal. Gladstone had declared no more than friendship and respect for her and then surprised her with a marriage offer accompanied by a list of demands regarding the things sheâd need to give up as his viscountess.
In those terms at least there was no risk of such a misunderstanding with Jack. She under stood Jack perfectly. Rumour could be trusted in this regard: he offered a moment of physical pleasure, no promises attached.A relationship would last only as long as Jackâs work didnât encroach. In many ways, a relationship with Jack was over before it started. A woman who gave herself to Jack would have to be happy with whatever she could salvage. In the long term, Dulci doubted she could do such a thing. But it hardly mattered. She wanted only the experience he offered and then they could go their separate ways.
The thought haunted her through out their work out. Dulci was glad for the excuse of exercise. She could pretend the flush on her cheeks was from their exertions.
They worked a while longer on footwork and various techniques until both were well exercised from their efforts. Dulci stopped and wiped her face with a towel. âIâm finished, Jack. How about you? Iâll have a tea tray sent to my collections room. We can eat a little supper and Iâll show you the new batch of artefacts. Iâve just begun cataloging them. You can see for yourself that Iâve not been hood winked into buying fakes.â
Â
The collection room far exceeded any of Jackâs preconceived expectations. Two adjoining drawing rooms had been devoted to Dulciâs work, the dividing doors between them pulled back to maximise the space; tall windows overlooking the back garden let in copious amounts of light during the day. Where the light was best, a long work table sat against a wall, strewn with stones, statues and wood carvings. Bookcases were laden with atlases and treatises from the Royal Geographic Society. Free-standing curio cabinets with glass shelves stood about the room, compelling the visitor to wander, stopping to look at each treasure.
And they were indeed treasures, Jack noted, studying each case in turn. It
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