Fencing for Ladies (The Archer Family Regency Romances #5) by Amy Corwin Page B

face wore a lopsided grin.
    Olivia clasped her hands together in front of her to keep from throwing the small china shepherdess sitting on the occasional table next to her at Cynthia to draw her attention.
    “Lord Milbourn is not one of our teachers,” Olivia stated firmly.
    Cynthia frowned. “Well, that is too bad, is it not? Might have managed to attract a few more students.” She waved a hand, dismissing the topic. “Too bad, really, but we must make do. Come on, then. There is still time for our first session.”
    “First session?” Olivia gaped at her. “Have you not heard?”
    “Heard?” Cynthia frowned, her ginger brows jutting out over her blue eyes. Her plump red lower lip thrust out in a near pout, preparing to quiver at the first sign of cruel disappointment. “Heard what?”
    “Why…?” Olivia stumbled to a halt and glanced at Lord Milbourn.
    He shrugged unhelpfully, his dark eyes glinting with sardonic amusement.
    “Well?” Cynthia prompted. “Surely it is not this murder nonsense.”
    A stifled snort came from the direction of Lord Milbourn.
    Olivia frowned at him, but his bland expression didn’t help in the least. “A man was killed at the academy,” Olivia said.
    “They don’t usually leave them lying about forever — I’m sure his body has been removed by now.” Cynthia glanced in the direction of the door with impatience. “And bloodstains don’t worry me.” She laughed. “Might add a few drops ourselves.”
    Olivia looked at Lord Milbourn, feeling overwhelmed at the thought of conducting lessons now, after everything that had happened.
    He merely shrugged and smiled cruelly.
    “It would not be right to continue with fencing lessons at this point,” she objected lamely, unable to think of a better excuse for avoiding the academy.
    Apparently, Cynthia couldn’t understand the sheer horror of returning to the place where Olivia had found a good family friend murdered.
    Her last view of Mr. Grantham returned unbidden. She shivered, the musty smell of the old building laced with the sharp, metallic scent of blood caught at the back of her throat. She remembered her last view of him, his body, slumped in the corner of the wardrobe with the marble cherub peering up at her from his shoulder, and his blood leaking onto the worn, dusty floor. And her small footsteps tracking across the floorboards from the crimson puddle.
    Her stomach clenched at the thought of returning to her office.
    Cynthia guffawed. “What is it? Public opinion? Don’t give in, my dear Lady Olivia. What does public opinion matter? One must be above such things. Ignore it,” she advised in a loud, bracing voice. “Get on with it, post haste. It is the only thing to do.”
    “But the authorities,” Olivia said, trying one last objection to Cynthia’s determination to receive her first fencing lesson at the agreed upon time and place. “They may not wish to have us there. After all, the inquest is tomorrow.” One last notion struck her, and she flung it at Cynthia. “And the place has yet to be properly cleaned. I was going to send Mary to clean —”
    “Dust?” Cynthia threw her head back and laughed loudly enough to interrupt Olivia and make her wince as the windows behind her rattled. “Come now, Lady Olivia. We have an agreement, do we not? Time for my first lesson, and proprieties be damned. If I were interested in such paltry things, I would never have subscribed to your academy in the first place.” Her bright blue eyes flicked from Olivia to Lord Milbourn and back to Olivia, daring her to offer any further objections.
    “Very well,” Lady Olivia said, surrendering to her friend’s overwhelming force. She straightened her slumped shoulders, exhausted but determined not to give in to her desire to run upstairs to her bedchamber, lock the door, and crawl into bed. “Will you join us, Lord Milbourn?”
    He nodded, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. “Of course, mi niña bonita . I would