Chapter 18
A week later Sarah Leighton was sitting in the drawing room at Borden trying hard to concentrate upon her embroidery at which, somewhat to her surprise, she was developing some skill. On this occasion however, her eyes were frequently drawn to the window through which a view of the drive could be seen. She did not see what it was she hoped to see and after an hour she gave up and set aside her work.
“Mother, Maman, explain to me why he does not come?” She asked in a voice that showed she was genuinely perplexed.
“My Dear,” responded Madame, “why should he?”
“The bar to our marriage no longer exists. He made it go away.” Sarah said, surprised. “There is now no reason why we cannot marry.”
“How do you suppose he felt when you refused him?” Marta asked gently without looking up from her work. “He offered you his heart and you threw it back at him because you were concerned he might regret marrying you because of who you are.”
“But – but he understood, he told me so.”
“Are you sure of that? Even as tolerant a man as the Duke of Sale has his pride. He offered for you in full knowledge of who you were. That was his choice to make and you wouldn’t have him. Now, because you discover you are as well born as he is you expect him to come back to you? He will not do it. You will have to go to him. You will have to take a risk.”
The following day the Duke was up early to see one of his tenants. Returning at about eleven o’clock he was met by the intelligence that Miss Leighton, Mrs Leighton and Madame Leighton had arrived about half an hour ago to see him and awaited his pleasure in the Long Gallery.
“I apologise for keeping you waiting……Good God!” As the Duke walked into the long gallery a minute or so later he experienced a sense of déjà vu. Miss Leighton had pinned Francis against the wall on the end of her foil and was looking at him fiercely. Martha and Madame, on the other side were sitting in the window apparently completely unsurprised at the bizarre scene in front of them.
“Please excuse me Your Grace,” said Miss Leighton not looking away from Francis for a second. “I do need to speak to you, but first there is something I have to say to this person.” As she spoke she twitched the tip of her sword and Francis, still not entirely sure he wasn’t dreaming, flinched. “How dare you trifle with my mother’s affections?” she said steadily. “I assume your recent coldness arises out of some misguided belief you are not good enough for her. That is not your choice to make.”
“It is quite alright dear,” Marta said serenely, “if John does not want to marry me then you will not force him to do so at the point of your sword.”
“Not want to marry you,” said Francis eying Miss Leighton warily, “of course I want to marry you. But married to me you won’t be able to go to society parties. Society will reject you. I can support a wife but I can’t give you a home with servants ...”
“And when,” said Marta walking over to him and putting a hand on his arm, “have I ever given you to suppose that those are things I crave? I would not insult you by asking my parents to assist us but even so we shouldn’t be poor and I can work. In fact,” she smiled reassuringly, “I should prefer to work, I enjoy it far more than parties.”
“Answer my Mother Sir.” Miss Leighton demanded, becoming impatient when Francis did not respond.
Francis very deliberately reached up with his left hand and grasped Miss Leighton’s weapon, pushing it down and away from his chest, all the while holding Marta’s gaze,
“Then, if,” he said reaching out and taking Marta’s hand “you will do me the honour of becoming my wife, I will spend my life making sure you never regret it.”
After a few moments observing her Mother’s passionate response to Francis’ declaration with a look of deep satisfaction on her face, she turned to the Duke.
“Francis did to my Mother that which I did to you. Neither of us were right.” She picked up a foil from the floor and tossed it towards him and watched him catch it. She was pleased to note that the Duke of Sale had an extremely wary expression on his face. He had not yet divined her purpose. Sliding a button on to her own weapon she walked into the middle of the room. “You need satisfaction. If you win you, can take whatever spoils you wish.”
The Duke stared at her intently for a second, an intent look on his face, then he strode out to face her.
“En Garde.”
The couple saluted and then took their guard. The Duke tried to circle around his opponent but she immediately moved to close him off. The Duke smiled to himself, he had been trying to place Sarah so that she faced into the sun shining through the large windows. She was having none of it, clearly if he was to win then she would not make it easy for him. The Duke recalled when she had first asked him to teach her, he had wondered, if it was a real competition, would he be able to forget his opponent was a lady and do what was necessary to win. Although he had concluded he would be able to do so he realised that he had ignored one key factor. At stake on this occasion was the one thing he wanted more than anything in his life. He smiled wryly to himself, Miss Leighton’s foil stood in the way of his happiness. He had to win. He attacked and found that she was just doing enough to keep him at bay allowing him to expend his energy while she conserved hers. Again, the Duke agreed with her tactics, if the matter came down to who was the fittest he was bound to win. He slowed the pace down a little but keeping on the offensive and making her parry to the left and right watching her style. It was not long before he concluded he was unlikely to break through; she could defend against almost any attack he had. While she continued only to defend all he could hope was to wear her down. He was sure he would be able to do this in the end but winning because she could no longer lift her foil was hardly a glorious victory. Little by little and so slowly that he hoped she would not see what he was doing he made more ferocious and determined assaults knowing eventually she would have to riposte as the best defence to ensure he kept his distance. It was almost ten minutes before she responded by which time he had almost begun to believe that he would never provoke a response, as he came forward she neatly deflected his blade down and to the left and lunged believing his blade was bound to pass her by. The Duke took his chance, he lifted his arm directing her Lunge over his shoulder while rolling his wrist and bringing his weapon over the top of hers and pointing directly at her heart.
Miss Leighton immediately dropped her weapon and saluted his victory,
“Neatly done sir. Had I not seen it I would have never believed such a thing could be done.”
“I count myself fortunate Ma’am that I had not the chance to give you more lessons. You fenced well, I could never have, except by force, broken your guard.”
“I would, perhaps have kept you at it a little longer,” admitted Miss Leighton, “but I am not sure the outcome would have been any different.” She looked up proudly, staring him full in the face,” I trust you are satisfied, Sir?”
“Not quite,” responded the Duke, stepping forward. Catching Sarah forcefully by the sword arm he pulled her into his arms kissing her ruthlessly. After a full minute during which Sarah dropped her sword and responded as enthusiastically as he might have wished, he stepped back, “Now I am satisfied,” he remarked.
“Are you sure?” asked Sarah in wistful tones but with a mischievous expression on her face, “I’m quite happy to give you more of that type of satisfaction any time you wish.”
“Imp,” said the Duke appreciatively drawing Sarah back into the curve of his arm “Mrs Leighton, Madame Leighton, I wish you will tell me to whom the devil I must apply in order to obtain permission to marry Miss Leighton, It seems to me she has two Mothers, one Father, an Uncle, a Grandfather and a Brother.”
“Please,” Marta, said with heavy emphasis, “please, just take her, and the sooner the better.” The Duke silenced the outraged expression which was just about to vent from his beloved’s lips in the manner men have been silencing their ladies for centuries. Looking a
pprovingly in the Duke’s direction Mrs Leighton silently slipped out to the room indicating that her betrothed and Madame should follow.
Much later. Sarah was heard to heave a deep sigh of satisfaction as the newly affianced couple sat together in the window. Snuggling deeper into the shoulder which presented itself as most convenient for a lady of limited inches she asked,
“What do you like to be called? I will not call my husband ‘my Lord Duke’ or ‘Your Grace’ and while I shall certainly call you ‘Sir’ when I am out of temper with you, it is not a term of endearment.”
“My cousin Gideon calls me Adolphus which makes me sound like relief lifted from Lord Elgin's marbles. Most of my family call me Gilly, which is friendlier but rather childish and reminds me forcibly of fish. If you insist I could learn to bear it from you. For the last few years I have been introducing myself as Vernon and I rather like it. If I have my choice, I think I should prefer this name over the other two.
“Vernon, it is then.” Sarah said happily, “and, as it is my second name, you may call me Hortense ....”