Cope took off his coat, but then got very obstinate about his waistcoat and claimed it was cold in the gallery.
“Are you cold, Eugenia?” Jem asked.
“Not at all, Papa,” she said promptly.
He turned to Cope.
“Her lips are bluish,” the man pointed out. “Probably she would turn herself into a block of ice for the pleasure of your company, but I am not so taken with it myself.”
Jem looked closer at his daughter and cursed. He flung open the door and bellowed for a footman to bring Eugenia’s pelisse, mittens, and hat. Of course, it was a trifle chilly in the gallery, but they were planning on exercise.
“Run around,” he barked at Eugenia. “Keep warm or it’s back to the nursery with you.”
Then he turned to Cope. “The key to fighting with a rapier is to twist your wrist. As you parry a blow, a twist of your wrist will send the rapier sliding past the opponent’s blade and into his body.”
He eyed Cope. “Widen your legs. And hold your rapier in your right hand. You’re going to have to rely on wit rather than strength.” He took him through the first three basic moves. Then:
“Let’s have a match,” he said. “Povy didn’t provide rapier caps, so try not to injure me.” He laughed.
Cope looked startled, but Jem was already circling him. He could feel frustration surging through his veins—the frustration that had been building since the moment he caught himself looking at Cope.
It wasn’t the man’s fault, by God. But the blood was beating through Jem’s body and he wanted to fight.
Eugenia clapped and cheered, and Cope started circling too. Jem could see the sudden wariness in his eyes. Suddenly he no longer looked like a child holding a rapier, but like an alert man, smelling danger.
Good.
It was all part of becoming a man, Jem told himself. Not that he planned to draw blood or anything.
“Now I’m going to parry,” he announced. “See how my left arm has tensed? You need to watch every motion of your opponent’s body because it will tell you what he’s about to do before he does it.” Slowly Jem started a sweeping attack, a demi-volte.
Rather surprisingly, Cope didn’t fall back, but swung his rapier up and actually managed to deflect the blow before his rapier spun out of his hand and fell to the ground.
Jem barked with laughter. “Not bad!”
Cope straightened from picking up his rapier. His color was high and his eyes looked furious. “You struck hard!” he accused.
“No point in babying you,” Jem said, grinning. He started to circle again. “Some day you might grow up and meet someone on a dueling field at dawn. I’ll do exactly the same approach again. Try parrying it on the horizontal, rather than the vertical.”
Cope backed up, his lips tightly pressed together. Already he looked less effeminate, Jem thought with satisfaction.
“All right,” he called. “Watch my left shoulder. You can actually judge the type of blow once you get more experienced. The moment my left shoulder tenses, you should be assessing what and where I’m planning to strike.” Again he launched into a swirling, driven demi-volte.
This time Cope managed to get his rapier horizontal rather than vertical, and he didn’t drop his blade, though the blow knocked his arm almost to the ground.
“Damn, but you’re weak,” Jem commented.
“That’s not a very nice comment, Papa,” Eugenia said.
He blinked and turned around. “Stay well away from the fight, poppet. I’m afraid that Mr. Cope’s blade might fly from his hand again.”
“She shouldn’t be here,” Cope said, catching his breath.
Jem narrowed his eyes. “I can watch out for my child.”
“You may be able to watch, but I can’t guarantee that I can hold onto my rapier, given the forcefulness with which you are conducting this…tutorial.”