The Privilege of the Sword (3 page)

“And a train! I must have a train, for staircases, mustn’t I, Mother? And a peacock feather fan, and shoes with glittery buckles and a velvet cape.” I knew that was all I needed to break anyone’s heart. Let me appear on the right staircase just once in a velvet cape, and I was a made woman.

Now I was headed for one of the most glorious houses in the city, at the invitation of Duke Tremontaine himself. The lawsuit would be withdrawn, my dowry restored, if not, indeed, doubled. I was sure he had a staircase.

So there I was in the carriage, hurtling toward the city, my expectations high. The letter had included all sorts of bizarre rules I was to follow once I got there, like not writing or receiving any letters from family for six months, but that wasn’t forever. I had no doubt that I was doing the right thing, and that all would be well. My uncle might have quarreled with the rest of the family, but he’d never met me. Of course I would have to prove myself to him at first; that’s why he had set up the rules. I was going to be tested for courage, for endurance, for loyalty and other virtues. Once I had demonstrated my worthiness, I would be revealed to the world in my true guise and reap the rewards. The masked ball would turn to wedding feast, the silly comedy to glorious romance with myself as heroine. First disguise, then revelation. That was how it worked. What else could the story possibly be?

It was not at all the way I had ever planned to go to the city, but at least I was going. If my mad uncle wanted me to learn to use a sword, fine, as long as I would also attend balls and meet eligible men. The important thing was, he was inviting me to join his household. The Duke Tremontaine wanted me by his side, and the world was open to me.

chapter
III

A
YOUNG GIRL STEPS OUT OF A TRAVELING CARRIAGE
into a courtyard already in shadow. But all above her, the house’s high windows glitter with the last golden rays of the sun.

She is wrapped in a simple grey wool traveling cloak. As she looks up at the house’s glorious facade of honey-colored stone and many-paned glass, she furls a corner of the cloak like a ballgown, and slowly pivots in place.

M
Y UNCLE THE
M
AD
D
UKE LOOKED ME UP AND
down.

“You aren’t very tall,” he said.

Beyond his face I could see his back reflected in the convex mirror over the fireplace, so that he swallowed up the room. “No, sir.”

It was a delicious room, painted blue and white with touches of gold; very modern, very airy, filled with pictures on the walls and curios scattered on little tables that seemed to have no other purpose but to hold them. Tall glass doors opened onto gardens overlooking the river.

He said, “This is Tremontaine House. It is very elegant. I inherited it from my grandmother, the last duchess.” When he mentioned her, the planes of his face hardened in distaste. I recognized the expression from many family dinners of our own. My uncle’s face kept turning familiar, as though I’d known him all my life. A tilt of the head, a flick of the eye—I knew him—and then it was gone, and I was confronting a fearsome stranger. He had my mother’s long brown hair, which looked very odd. I thought only students had long hair. He’d been a student once, but surely that was long ago.

“But you need not dress for dinner,” the duke said. “Nor for much of anything, really.” He drifted off, his attention caught by a china statuette on a little table. I had never been so effortlessly ignored; it was as if I’d disappeared, as if his attention could only hold one thing at a time. He picked the china up, and brought it close to his eye to examine its gilded curlicues in the light.

“I did bring nice dresses,” I said. He’d almost beggared us, but he needn’t think I could not dress for dinner.

“Did you?” my uncle asked idly. “Why?”

“Why?” I repeated. “To—well, to wear.” His attention returned to the statue in his hands. The duke had very long, graceful hands; just the sort I’ve always wanted, only bigger, and studded with jeweled rings: a whole fortune, riding on one hand. This ill-mannered, well-dressed man, the monster of the family stories, was like nothing I’d ever seen before. I had no idea what he was going to do next—and, I reminded myself, I mustn’t anger him. The family fortunes were at stake. But how to make him like me? I should try being more modest, and display maidenly virtue.

“I’m sure they’re not in style,” I said humbly, “but I could make my dresses over, if someone will show me. I do know how to sew, although I’m not very accomplished.”

He finally turned his head and looked at me. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. Dresses. You won’t be needing any.”

Finally! I thought. I’d been right about one thing: the duke was going to dip into his coffers to provide me with a whole new wardrobe. I remembered my manners and said, “Thank you. That’s very generous of you.”

His long mouth quirked in a half-smile. “We’ll see about that. Anyhow, I’ve arranged for your training to begin tomorrow. You will be living here at Tremontaine House for a while. I don’t like it here. I’ll be at the Riverside house. Unless I change my mind. I’ve got you a ladies’ maid, and a teacher…and there are books and things. You won’t be bored.” He paused, and added coolly, “And if anyone tries to bother you—just tell them I’ve said not to.”

I was gone again; I could see it on his face. He subsided into an armchair. How was I going to charm him with my winning ways if he wouldn’t even look at me? Of no use now, the pretty speeches I’d planned in the carriage mile after mile. I stared at the elegant figure. It didn’t seem rude, since by his lights I wasn’t there at all. The duke had ivory-pale skin, long brown hair and long, thinly-lidded eyes and a long, rather pointed nose. He was perfectly real: I could see the fine lines in the corners of his eyes and mouth, hear him breathe, feel him shift his weight when he moved. But he was still like something in a dream. My uncle the Mad Duke.

He looked up, surprised to find me still there. “I should think,” he said, in a slow, drawling purr, “that you would want to go to your room now…” It was one of the most unpleasant things an adult had ever said to me, awash in surprised scorn: “…after the carriage ride, and having to talk to me.”

I risked a smile, in case he was joking. But he did not smile back.

“I don’t know where it is,” I finally said.

He waved one arm through the air. “Neither do I. Looking over the river, I think: it might smell a bit in summer, but the view is better.” He reached out and found a bellpull. “What was your name, again?”

If he hadn’t seemed simply not to care, I might have lost my temper. Still: “Campion,” I said icily. “Like yours. It’s Katherine Samantha Campion Talbert, in full.”

He was seeing me again. The duke leaned toward me. His eyes were green, fringed with dark lashes. For the first time, his face was edged with humor. “I have been the Duke Tremontaine for something like fifteen years now,” my uncle said. I didn’t see what he found funny about that. “Do you know what my real name is?”

It seemed important to know it. As if, by knowing it, I might prove to him that I was real. Put all his names together, and I might come to some understanding that would tell me what he wanted.

I stared back at him. As if we were mirrors of each other, I felt curiosity, and fear, and excitement—and did not know whether those feelings were his, or my own.

“I know two of them,” I said.
Campion,
and the one my mother had called him. “Three, if you count Tremontaine. I can ask my mother for the rest.”

“No, you can’t. Not for six months, anyway.” The duke swung himself round in the chair, hooking his long legs over one arm in the graceless sprawl of a child settling down with a book. “Don’t you read your contracts before you sign them?”

“I couldn’t sign. I’m not of age.”

“Ah, of course. Your family took care of all that for you.” He swung back around to face me, with an expression on his face that made me feel cold all over. “Do you understand the terms?” he demanded. “Did she even tell you? Or did they just send you here like some sacrificial goat to buy me off?”

I met his fierce gaze, although I hated doing it. “I know about the swords,” I told him, “and the six months. I have to do what you say, and wear the clothes you give me. Of course they told me. I’m not a goat.”

“Good.” He swung away, satisfied.

A very handsome man with short blond curls and a snub nose came into the room. He walked right past me without a glance, and leaned over my uncle’s chair. He leaned down farther and farther, and my uncle reached up one arm and put it behind the man’s head, and pulled him down farther still.

There was no mistaking the meaning of that kiss. This was one, just one of the many reasons my uncle the Mad Duke was not considered fit to know. I could not stop looking.

And I saw the beautiful man as he came up for air cast me a triumphant glance.

He murmured to the duke so I could hear, “Having truck with serving girls, this time?” I tugged at my dress to smooth it. It was not cheap cloth by any means, even if it was plain.

The duke hauled himself up in the chair to a level nearer dignity. “I am dismayed, Alcuin,” he said in that unpleasantly smooth voice, “that you do not immediately note the resemblance. This is my niece, my only sister’s youngest and dearest child. She will be staying here awhile, so you had better keep a civil tongue around her, or you will not be.”

“I
beg
your pardon,” said the beautiful Alcuin. “I see it now, of course—a certain, ah, cruelty about the mouth….”

It took all my self-control to keep from wiping my mouth. The duke said, “Alcuin, you’re not very bright. You’re just nice to look at. I suggest you play your strongest suit.”

The beautiful man dropped his eyes like a maiden. “Certainly, sir, if it pleases you. Will you be my master at cards, as in other things?”

“Always,” said the duke dryly; “and I’m doing you a favor.” Then they started kissing again.

I went and yanked the bellpull myself. Whatever it produced next, it could not be worse than Alcuin.

A boy slipped into the room like a shadow. He nodded at me, but addressed the busy duke: “My lord. Fleming asked me to remind you that your guests will begin arriving in two hours’ time, and do you really want to wear the blue velvet tonight when it’s this warm?”

My uncle disentangled himself from Alcuin. “Guests? What guests?”

“I knew Your Grace would say that,” the boy answered with perfect equanimity. I wanted to laugh, and I thought he did, too. “You invited the poet Almaviva to read his new work here tonight. And you’ve invited a great many people who don’t like poetry, and a sprinkle of ones who do. It’s not really a fair fight.”

“Oh.” My uncle turned to me. “Do you like poetry, Lady Katherine?”

“Some,” I managed to answer.

“Then you must swell the ranks of the believers. Can you drink?”

“What?”

“Can you drink a great deal of wine without behaving like an idiot?”

“Certainly,” I lied.

“Good. Then go have a bath and all that. Don’t rush: it’ll be hours before they all get here so we can eat. Marcus, tell me, did Betty ever show up?” he asked the boy.

“Oh, yes: she’s in the kitchen, practicing her curtsey.”

“Well, she can practice it up here. I expect,” my uncle said to me, “your room will be wherever they’ve put your bags. Someone will know.”