Regency Masquerade Read Free

to anywhere in
particular?  If not, perhaps you would like to join me at Mancini’s Fencing
Salon?  He has a new thrust he has promised to show me.”
    Frances’
eyes lit up. “That would be fascinating, I accept with pleasure sir!”  Only
then did she remember, too late, her vow to steer well away from Mr Carleton! 
Oh well she mused philosophically, I’ll just have to avoid him tomorrow. They
turned off Oxford Street shortly and soon found themselves climbing the steps
to the two upstairs rooms where M. Mancini conducted his fencing lessons.
    He
was a short, dark-eyed Italian and Frances heart gave a sudden lurch of fear
that she might have met him in Italy before she realised he was a complete
stranger.  He came quickly forward to greet her companion, hand outstretched. 
“Ah my Lord Carleton, you have come to learn the “kiss of death” yes?  And your
friend?  I have not met him before I think.”  The inquisitive brown eyes were
turned directly on Frances and she gazed steadily back, masking the jolt his
use of “Lord” Carleton had given her.  A Lord?  She should definitely have
avoided his company.
    She
bowed in the Italian style and introduced herself, “Peter Francis, Maestro.” 
The eyes lit up.  “You speak Italian?  Have you learned your sword play there
as well?”

 
    CHAPTER
THREE
     
    Rather
reluctantly, Frances nodded.  “I had a few lessons with Maestro Ricardo.” 
Surely it would do no harm to mention this?  It was the truth after all and one
of the first lessons for an adventurer was to stick to the truth as often as
possible!
    “Ah
...” Mancini looked at her with interest.  “Perhaps when I have finished the
lesson with Lord Carleton, you would care to...?”  He broke off as Frances
shook her head.
    “I’m
sorry Maestro,” she said, flushing a little.  “I’m afraid I cannot afford
lessons at the moment.”
    Mancini
looked a bit taken aback then said enthusiastically, “No matter.  This time
there is no charge because I would like to see something of how the great Ricardo
teaches”.  Frances bowed to inevitability and accepted the offer, inwardly
fuming at her own recklessness which had led her to accompany Carleton in the
first place.
    Carleton
regarded her quizzically, “You have hidden depths, Francis.”
    “So
do you, ‘my Lord’”, she retorted.
    “Come,
come,” urged Mancini, “Let’s start, my Lord”.
    Carleton
took off his coat and selected a buttoned foil.  “En guard”.  The two men went
quickly through a series of warm up movements before they began fencing in
earnest, Mancini occasionally commenting on his noble pupil’s performance. 
“Higher there my Lord ... well done ... no!  wait til I am fully extended
before you try that one ...”  Frances watched interestedly, her gaze moving
from one man to the other.  Mancini was obviously the professional.  He moved
with practised precision, his wrists as flexible as India rubber and his speed
sometimes almost faster than the eye could see.  Carleton on the other hand was
a good amateur, who was strong in defence and quick in attack.  He gave a good
account of himself and twice got a blow through Mancini’s guard.
    Frances
began to prepare herself for her own bout to come, taking deep measured breaths
and flexing her knees and wrists.  She watched closely as Mancini demonstrated
his “kiss of death” to Carleton.  It involved an orchestrated clash of blades
at a certain angle and then a carry on thrust to the throat.  It reminded
strongly of a manoeuvre Ricardo had taught her, although she thought hers might
be trifle neater.
    All
too soon the men were saluting each other and Carleton was moving to one side,
wiping the sweat off his brow.  “Your turn Francis.”
    Outwardly
calm, she moved forward to select a blade, forcing herself to think solely of
the techniques she would use and to think of nothing else beyond the next ten
minutes. They were more evenly matched for