Page 16 of Hastings (Brothers in Arms #15)

CHAPTER 16

“E ssie,” Madelyn said at breakfast two days after the picnic, “I have decided to teach you how to be a lady.”

Hastings choked on his sausage and made a sound halfway between laughing and coughing. “Why?” he finally gasped after Essie had thumped him on the back repeatedly.

“Yes, why?” Essie said, her lip curled in distaste. “I already told you I’m not putting on skirts.”

“Oh, I don’t mean how you dress. I would imagine if you had to wear specific attire when you’re doing a job for Sir Barnabas, there are people to help with that. No, I mean how to talk and carry yourself.” Madelyn looked very pleased with her plan.

Stephen set his correspondence down on the table next to his empty plate. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” he ventured, looking at Essie, who had a decidedly mulish look on her face.

“You don’t think?” Hastings said, his voice still rough from choking. “You can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.”

“That is uncommonly vulgar and rude,” Madelyn said in that prim, great-aunt voice she adopted when she was trying to be a lady. Hastings was beginning to like it when she put on airs. He’d figured out she mostly did it when she was nervous.

“I would be better at teaching her how to be a lady than you,” Hastings said, refusing to acknowledge the hurt he saw flash in Madelyn’s eyes at his disparaging comment.

“I’m sure Madelyn would be a brilliant teacher,” Stephen stated, smiling at her. Her return smile lit up her face. She was clearly falling under Stephen’s spell and vice versa.

Every time she flashed that bright smile at Stephen and fluttered her long lashes, flashing those big blue eyes at him, Hasting disliked her more. Stephen was always quick to defend her, even when she was being ridiculous, like now. And Hastings had caught him watching her when he thought no one was looking.

Hastings had never, ever, approached another man the way he had Stephen. What had he been thinking? Of course, Stephen wasn’t interested in someone like him—a killer who’d been raised on the street, who was no better than he ought to be. He’d been good for nothing but killing, and that’s exactly what Sir Barnabas had seen in him when he’d scooped him up and trained him. Despite the way Stephen had reacted to his kiss, Hastings was not for the likes of a gentle man like him, who saw only the good in people. There was very little good in Hastings. But he didn’t think there was much good about Madelyn Hyde, either, other than her beauty. And that, combined with her intelligence and confidence, made her more dangerous, not less.

“Fine,” Madelyn said with a defiant look. “Let’s see who’s the better teacher, shall we? We will both teach her. I dare say you will show your colors soon enough.”

“Are you challenging me?” he said incredulously. “I’ll have you know I’m one of the Home Office’s best agents. I’ve prepared many other agents for undercover work. This is what I do for a living.”

“Phfft.” Madelyn’s dismissal was insulting. “Quite simply, you are not a woman. You don’t understand the nuances of being a woman required to teach her.” She stressed the fancy word as if to prove she was smart. Hastings noticed she did that, used sophisticated words as if she was trying them out.

“Did you learn that from one of His Grace’s books?” he asked snidely, and her blush revealed the answer.

“Hastings,” Stephen said with a sigh, his disappointment palpable. His tone made Hastings angrier at Madelyn. Everything had been fine before she arrived. Now it seemed that all Stephen felt was disappointment when he looked at Hastings.

“Why are you so horrible?” Madelyn asked furiously, keeping her voice down.

He guessed she was trying not to let Mrs. Tulane hear her. That lady still adored Hastings and treated Madelyn as if she was sent from the devil. It was obvious she feared Madelyn would corrupt Stephen, which was ironic since it was Hastings who kept turning up naked in his bed and had kissed him in the maze. Unfortunately, Stephen had not mentioned the incident in the last two days, and so Hastings hadn’t either.

“Just because I’m right doesn’t make me horrible,” Hastings replied. He kept baiting her out of jealousy, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. “All right, I’ll take your challenge.”

Essie stopped chewing and stared at him. “Don’t I get a say in this?” she said, her mouth half full. “I don’t want to be a lady. I might like to do a lady, but I don’t want to be one.” She laughed loudly.

Stephen sighed and closed his eyes. “Perhaps we could not discuss sexual relations at the breakfast table,” he chided gently.

Essie swallowed and had the grace to look ashamed. “Sorry, parson,” she said.

“Perhaps a few lessons in table manners and such would be a good idea,” Stephen said, his voice still gentle. “I mean nothing disparaging, Essie,” he assured her. “But Madelyn is correct that there may be circumstances where, for safety’s sake, you may need to fit in…a little better.”

Essie narrowed her eyes at them all. “It’s like that, is it?” she accused them.

Madelyn grabbed Essie’s hand. Hastings had noticed she did that a lot to her and to Stephen. She had never grabbed Hastings’s hand, which was a good thing. He’d throw hers right back at her.

“Essie, darling,” she pleaded. “I’m bored. And I must figure out something to do when this is all over. I thought perhaps I could teach etiquette.”

Hastings snorted with barely suppressed laughter. Madelyn glared at him before she focused on Essie again. “I need the practice. Please?”

Essie sat back and blew out a breath that sounded suspiciously like resignation. Traitor that she was, she gave in to Madelyn all the time it seemed, just like Stephen.

“Fine,” Essie said sharply. “But I don’t have to like it.”

“Thank you,” Madelyn cried out, so happy she bounced in her seat.

“Yes, thank you,” Stephen said to Essie. “It is very generous of you.”

“Ha,” Hastings said. “I’ll teach you, Es. I know what you need to know and what you don’t.”

“It’s not a competition, Hastings,” Stephen said, picking up his letter again, giving him that look over the top of the paper.

“Everything is a competition,” Hastings told him. “Most people just don’t realize it.” He met Madelyn’s gaze and saw the same understanding there. He turned away, not willing to admit they had anything in common.

That afternoon found Maddy and Essie in the parlor, already starting her lessons.

“You want me to do what?” Essie said, sounding very uncooperative.

“You put this book on top of your head, like so,” Maddy told her, demonstrating with the copy of Marmion she’d found in the library. “Then you walk across the room without letting it fall.” She walked across the parlor as she spoke. When she reached the windows, she turned gracefully and then pulled the book off her head with a smile. “See? It’s easy.”

“Why do I need to put a blasted book on my head? Is this what you ladies do when you get together? Do you at least bet on it, make it more sporting or something?”

“It’s not a sport, Essie,” Maddy said, reining in her patience. “I told you it helps with your posture when you walk.”

“My posture is fine,” Essie said, leaning against the doorjamb in a slouch. “I haven’t fallen over yet, have I?”

“Oh, Essie,” she said impatiently, losing the battle. “Good posture is the first mark of being a lady.” She didn’t care for how like Mrs. Delancey she sounded right now. She had to suppress a shiver at the memory of her old teacher, who liked to emphasize her lessons with a thin wooden rod to the back. “I didn’t want to do it at first, either,” she admitted to Essie. “It seemed foolish. But it really does work.”

“Next you’ll be making me read the blasted things,” Essie muttered, grabbing the book Maddy had given her off a table where she’d discarded it. She slammed it on her head and Maddy winced at the impact. Essie didn’t show any signs of feeling it. She was hard-headed, after all.

“Now what do I do?” Essie turned to look at her and the book fell off. “Damn it,” she muttered.

“Language,” Maddy chided softly. “A lady does not curse in polite company. Or ever, I suppose,” she quickly amended with consternation. It was a rule she often found hard to follow. But being here in the parsonage made her want to be better about it.

Essie gave her an incredulous look. “If you expect me to hold my tongue every damn minute of the day, this is going to be a failure from the start.”

Maddy silently agreed. “Perhaps we could start with just watching our language around Mr. Matthews?” she suggested. “I believe I, too, have been guilty on several occasions of letting inappropriate language escape in the past few days.”

“I suppose I can curtail it around the parson,” Essie grudgingly agreed. “Here, how about we put a bet on it? First one to break owes me a quid.”

“A quid?” Maddy exclaimed. “Not on your life. You’ll get no more than a bob out of me.”

Essie was shaking her head. “You’ve got to make it worth my while, girl,” she said. “A crown, then.”

“Sixpence, and if you keep going it will just be for pride.” Maddy looked at her sternly. “And don’t think I didn’t notice that you think you are going to win.”

Essie laughed. “Deal. I would’ve settled for a simple penny,” she bragged. “I just want you to remember you lost when you hand it over.”

Maddy was about to make a scathing reply when Hastings sauntered into the room. He looked the ruffian, with his cravat and jacket missing. “Already accepting that she’s going to lose, then? Excellent. I should have bet money, too.”

“Bet?” Mr. Matthews poked his head around the doorframe. “Who is betting? Not here, I hope.”

“A friendly wager, parson,” Essie assured him. “Mads and I?—”

“Madelyn,” she corrected with resignation. She didn’t care for her full name, but it helped sell the role she was playing. Ladies were not called Maddy. They were called Madelyn, or so Mrs. Delancey had told her.

“—have made a bet that we can stop cursing in front of you,” Essie continued as if Maddy hadn’t spoken.

Mr. Matthews came fully into the room, holding a book, with a pair of spectacles resting on the end of his nose. He looked absolutely divine in Madelyn’s opinion. I could just eat him up , she thought, gazing at his strong forearms exposed by his rolled-up sleeves. Somehow not wearing a jacket just made his manliness more appealing, unlike Hastings, who looked like the brigand he claimed not to be.

“While I appreciate the thought, making a wager on it negates any positive aspects,” Mr. Matthews told them.

He’d stopped next to Hastings, who looked over his shoulder at the open book in his hands, and without any words exchanged the parson closed it so Hastings could see the cover. Their interaction made Maddy frown. She wasn’t going to make any headway with Mr. Matthews with Hastings sniffing around him. It was clear the two had formed a close bond since Hastings’s arrival—oh, how Maddy wished she’d been here to see that!—and she couldn’t blame Hastings for trying to have more. After all, she wanted more with the sweet parson as well. And lately his attentions made Maddy believe she had a chance for more. Hastings may not realize it, but there were two competitions going on, and Maddy did not like to lose.