Page 9

Chapter Six

Sebastian

When in doubt, speak with confidence. That had been Yorke’s main advice. He was an aspiring politician, after all. She won’t know a flintlock from a matchlock, so it makes no odds whether you do.

Sebastian happened not to know the difference, despite Yorke having drawn multiple examples of both, for he had no real firearms in Town. But Sebastian knew a thing or two about confidence.

The strangest thing, however, was the realization he had come to over the past few days: he truly wanted to impress Mrs. Lawrence.

He wanted her to like him, and not just because he needed her to.

He genuinely admired her and enjoyed being with her.

She was intelligent, witty, and engaging—and he had reason to hope that she reciprocated his admiration.

And if that was indeed the case, this could be a natural courting. And her fortune? Simply a result of the match. An acutely necessary result, but a result nonetheless.

When he reached Number 14, he was taken to the study, where he was surprised and gratified to be met by Mrs. Lawrence alone. Miss Grant was at Hyde Park with the Winsers.

Sebastian had not made a point of courting women over the past few years.

He had been occupied doing everything in his power to seek financial solvency so that he could care for his siblings.

Even the women with whom he had enjoyed some form of flirtation had never received him without a chaperone present.

Such was the benefit of courting a widow.

The study had a formal air, being centered around a large desk, across which were spread a dozen firearms and various related equipment. The curtains of the window just behind the desk had been drawn open, allowing light into an otherwise dim room—Mr. Lawrence’s past domain, it seemed.

“You did not change your mind after all,” Mrs. Lawrence said with a smile, coming up and offering him her hand.

He masked his surprise at the familiar gesture and bowed over it. “Why would I have done such a thing?”

She lifted one shoulder. “You have no obligation to assist me with this task. I am sure you have better things to do with your time.”

“Impossible.” The fact that he was about to blunder through evaluating hunting equipment about which he knew not the first thing made it all the more impressive that he meant it.

Her eyes searched his for a moment, then she turned toward the desk abruptly. “Shall we begin?”

“By all means,” Sebastian said with a distinct jolting of the heart as his gaze fell upon the hunting gear.

His eyes ran over the lot while his mind grasped at the information he’d had from Yorke.

While Yorke was a decent artist, however, it was a very different matter to study rude sketches rather than real, metal-and-wood firearms.

Mrs. Lawrence went to the edge of the desk. “You are an avid hunter, I take it?”

Sebastian opened his mouth to confirm, but he found it difficult to lie so blatantly and chose another route instead. He chuckled. “It would be very silly of me to offer my assistance if I were not.”

She laughed softly. “Very silly indeed.”

“And you are not an avid hunter, I take it?” It was a clumsy way to ensure she would not discover his ignorance.

She smiled widely at him. “It would be very silly of me to ask for your assistance if I were.”

“Very silly indeed,” he agreed with relief. He faced the first firearm. “Let us see what we have here.” It was extremely long and wooden, with a single barrel and brass fittings at the top and sides. Thankfully, he remembered what Yorke had said about such things. “A beautiful fowling piece.”

“Is it?” she asked, full of curiosity.

“Oh, yes.” He picked it up with a confidence he was far from feeling. If he did not manage to blow his own head off today, it would be from sheer good fortune. “You can always tell the quality by the weight of the…uh…counterbalance.”

“Ah.” She tilted her head to the side curiously, as though looking for a part called the counterbalance.

Before she could ask about its location—for Sebastian had plucked the term from a discussion on swords—he ran a hand along the barrel, wishing he had the first notion whether it truly was a fine fowling piece that merited keeping. “I would not for the world give up such a piece.”

“Then I would not dream of doing so, either. What of this one?” She moved to the next one, and Sebastian set down the firearm in his hands to follow her.

It was slightly shorter but, in most regards, nearly identical to the first. The brass was less polished, perhaps, and the ornamentation less detailed, but he could more easily have chosen between two bonnet ribbons than these.

He picked up the piece, then shook his head. “No, no.”

She frowned. “What is it?”

Sebastian raised the fowling piece to his shoulder as though to practice shooting it. The last time he had discharged a weapon, a dog had nearly died. The memory was enough to cause him to lower it rapidly, set it on the table, and step away from it. “Far too long in the…mouth.”

“The mouth,” she repeated with uncertainty.

“You needn’t bother your head about these silly terms we crack shots often use. But you may safely dispose of that piece—or sell it, if you can convince anyone to take it off your hands.” He gave an incredulous chuckle.

“Thank heaven I have you to guide me, Mr. Drake.”

And so, the blind guided the blind through the assortment of firearms on the desk, with Sebastian giving his entirely uninformed opinion about which ones merited keeping and which ones were fit only for a refuse pile.

He found Mrs. Lawrence eager to learn and defer to his judgment, which fed his confidence.

He had plenty of opportunity to observe her over the course of the hour they spent in the study, and the more he saw, the more he felt certain that marriage to Mrs. Lawrence was the best possible outcome of an increasingly dire situation.

It would be no trial at all to be married to her.

Quite the reverse. He could easily envision a future with her smile, her laugh, and her wit as his constant companions.

As they looked over the last of the rifles—a double-barreled something-or-other—Sebastian felt confident enough to make a small but important step in his relationship with her.

He faced her and handed her the last rifle. “Feel it for yourself.”

She took it warily, as though he was handing her a volatile bomb rather than an unloaded rifle.

At least, he hoped it was unloaded. Suddenly, he was not so certain. With the host of servants Mrs. Lawrence employed, surely the firearms would have been cleaned and unloaded after their last use?

“Note the perfect counterbalance of the…breech.” He was fairly certain Yorke had used the word breech at some point. Or perhaps Sebastian was simply remembering how much he had admired the breeches Yorke had been wearing.

It made little difference as long as he spoke with certainty.

“I fear I am too stupid to take note of such details,” Mrs. Lawrence said with a little laugh.

“Nonsense,” he replied. “Here.” He reached toward her to situate her hands around the rifle in the way he thought they should be. Whether that position had any relation to the proper way to handle a rifle was another matter.

His focus was not on such unimportant details but on watching her expression.

At the first touch of his hand, her body went still.

For a heart-thudding eternity, Sebastian waited for her to revolt or chastise him for his forwardness.

Instead, she relaxed, letting him guide her hold.

Success. Except now he was suddenly aware of the warmth of her hands beneath his and the delicate way her fingers curled around the wood of the rifle.

She glanced up at him through her lashes, and his heart stuttered.

Was she, too, conscious of the current running between them?

“So that is the way,” she said.

“That is the way,” he repeated, sincerely hoping she would have no occasion to soon encounter a man who truly knew the way to hold a double-barreled whatever-it-was.

“And then”—she raised the rifle slightly, and he reluctantly released her hands—“I do this?” She leveled the rifle so that it was aimed directly at Sebastian, her eyes fixed on him.

He cursed, covered his head, and darted to the side, his heart beating like a man who had just escaped the guillotine.

Mrs. Lawrence lowered the firearm, her eyes wide. “Oh, dear. Did I frighten you?”

Sebastian let out a nervous laugh and reached for the rifle. “No, no.” He colored up at his dramatic response. “I was merely surprised to be staring down the barrels. Best not to aim it at people.” He gently took the rifle from her, smiling as he did so to rob the action of offense.

“Forgive me,” she said. “I fancied myself a true sporting woman for a moment there and was not thinking.”

“No need for apologies.” Sebastian set the rifle back in its place.

“Perhaps a respite is called for. Would you care for some tea?”

“I would welcome it.” Apart from nearly having his head blown off, Sebastian’s descriptions and evaluations were growing more and more desperate.

Perhaps due to the term “muzzle” being shared between hunting and horses, he had fallen back on equine terminology, using words like “flank,” “bridle,” and “girth” when his memory had failed him.

Mrs. Lawrence led the way to the morning room, then excused herself to speak with the housekeeper.

Sebastian let out a long, slow breath once she was gone. All in all, it had gone better than he had anticipated. She had not rebuffed him when he had touched her, which was something indeed. And all in a day’s work.

Of course, it was entirely possible that he had just instructed her to dispose of her late husband’s most valuable firearms. He consoled himself with the fact that she had mentioned already having an entire room full of hunting equipment at her country estate.

Sebastian observed the room in which he found himself, noting the fineness of the furnishings and the simple elegance it all exuded, from the Axminster carpet at his feet to the vase of fresh tulips on the mantel.

He admired such things, just as anyone would, but their importance was less due to his hope of possessing them and more for how the Court of Chancery would respond to such wealth.

How could they possibly allow Hollis to retain guardianship of Margaret, Hugo, and Felix when this was the alternative?

The door opened, and Mrs. Lawrence came in, followed immediately by the housekeeper.

It was not until the door had been shut behind them that Sebastian noticed that the tea tray was not the only thing the housekeeper held. On her shoulder was perched a small and curious gray creature with a long tail that curled up into a small spiral at the end.