Clarence nodded and left, as though by skipping his half of the farewell they were not truly parted.
Outside, a bird sang; a horse whinnied.
From the side of her eye, Celia caught Marsh fiddling with something, heard a metallic click.
“What was that?” Celia turned quickly. “You don’t tell me that you have borne arms in my own tearoom?”
Leavenworth threw back his head and laughed, rich as honey. “Mrs. Alcott, I’ve had a sword on my hip this entire time. Why do you think I dressed two hours before dinner?”
“But it is surely…” Celia put a hand to her heart. “Adecorativesword?”
Everyone began laughing then, and Celia was carried away with their merriment. Just a little bit hysterical.
Janie giggled, pointing at Marsh. “You are prickling like a hedgehog, sir! Show your hand!”
Chuckling, Marsh reached into his jacket and dropped a gun on the table. Or perhaps it was a pistol, or a musket; Celia really didn’t know. It had a long snout.
“Oh dear.” Celia put her hands on her cheeks. “It was only my brother!”
With great relish, JC removed his own gun from his belt.
Marianne whooped, doubling over.
Laughing, Bridget shook her finger at Leavenworth. “So you depend on your henchmen, then?”
“Not at all,” Leavenworth answered. He reached into his coat pocket and held out his hand to Celia, displaying a small pistol, with mother-of-pearl and gold inlay like jewelry.
“You are impossible! All of you!” Celia shook her finger but couldn’t stop a burst of giggles. “There are four of you and one of him! How many firearms do you think you need?”
At this, both Leavenworth and JC produced a second.
“Mine has two chambers,” Marsh explained.
“We merely travel well prepared, madam,” Leavenworth explained, as though five guns and a dress sword were reasonable accessories for any afternoon tea.
Five? Celia turned to her husband, recalling the scent on him last night. “And you, sir?”
Sheepishly, Peter slid a hand under his lapel and produced his own pistol. It was small and plain.
Using two fingers, Celia placed it gingerly on the tea table. “You do not always carry it,” she clarified, half a question.
“Not always,” Peter agreed. “Only when there’s trouble brewing.”
Janie laughed and elbowed Marsh, who steadied her. “So what do you do, when you’ve used your two shots to put holes in the wallpaper?”
Marsh withdrew a knife from his belt.
“I prefer fists in tight quarters,” JC added, slipping something heavy and ominous over his knuckles.
“I fought enough battles to wear mine openly,” Leavenworth rumbled, touching the filigree at his hilt.
“I thought I was making it all up!” Celia exclaimed, not sure if she was laughing or crying. Dangerous assignations at night, indeed!
“What about yours?” Bridget asked.
Peter reached down and touched his pant cuff, and before Celia could quite register what was happening, her own husband produced a thin and wicked blade. From…his stockings?
“What a clever device!” Marianne leaned over, examining. “May I have one?”
