Angelique instantly fell quiet. Because why on earth should she feel...proud?
Perhaps it was a general kind of pride: everyone under her roof was enjoying each other. But watching Lucien in this context—informed, confident, relaxed, unguarded, thoroughly enjoying himself discussing something so... well, very nearlyboring... was entirely new. She respected Captain Hardy perhaps more than any other man. Who would have thought that one of Lucien Durand’s more dazzling facets would be the ability to hold an ordinary conversation?
Soon a circle of chairs had formed about Lucien and Captain Hardy, who had taken chairs and stretched out their legs. Everyone had a glass of something in hand, brandy or sherry, including Mrs. Pariseau and Dot and Angelique and Delilah. Delacorte was pulled into the conversation about the import trade, then Mr. Cassidy was impressed to give his opinion about cotton and sugarcane, and then the talk got around to guns on ships and then pirates.
“Tell us about that pirate attack, Bolt,” Delacorte demanded, somewhat predictably.
“Well...” He demurred at first. More out of a sense of showmanship than true reluctance.
“Tell us!” everyone echoed.
“Very well, then. I’ll indulge you, Delacorte. Picture this: It was a brilliantly sunny day, hot as the blazes, and we could see the flag of their ship coming, and we knew we couldn’t escape it. We would have to fight. I had survived near drowning, I had survived a fever, and I would be damned, I say, if I would be killed by a pirate that day.”
He reached into his pocket, and with a deft flick of his wrist, hurtled a pence into the jar, and a soft “oooh!” rose from the ladies.
“We could see them coming over the sides, like spiders they were... We were badly outnumbered. But we had the courage. The battle went on forhours.”
Delacorte was enthralled. “Show us! Show us, Bolt! You and Hardy! Show us how it went!”
Lucien turned to Captain Hardy and raised a brow, eyes glinting.
“I’ll be the pirate trying to kill you,” Hardy volunteered rather magnanimously. Given that Lord Bolt was the guest.
“Huzzah!” Delacorte cried.
Angelique and Delilah exchanged a stunned glance. Was it possible Captain Hardy was about to beplayful?
Angelique could not yet decide whether Bolt was a good influence or bad in this regard. But Captain Hardy had gotten to his feet along with Lucien.
“All right, then,” Lucien said briskly. “To set the scene convincingly, we shall needallof you to be pirates. Everyone stand up and make a good deal of frightening noise.”
Dot leaped immediately to her feet and bellowed, “BRAAAAAAAAAAK!”
Poor Delacorte jerked violently as though poked by a hot iron, badly startled. He’d been standing right next to her.
A stunned silence followed. Lots of hands were clapped over lots of hearts.
Fierce, indignant glares were aimed at Dot.
“It was the most frightening noise I could think of,” she explained, meekly.
After a long moment of regarding her with a sort of gleeful wonderment, Bolt said:
“Perhaps I should have been more specific.”
He sought Angelique’s eyes to share his wicked delight. She was struggling mightily not to laugh. “Something along the lines of ‘Grrr, prepare to die!’ or ‘Taste my steel, scallywag’ would suit.”
Much murmured practicing of growling and “Taste my steel, scallywag” ensued.
“You willalsoall need a sword,” he proclaimed, dramatically.
And with a skill any mime would envy, he slowly unsheathed and hefted an imaginary blade aloft. So convincing was it that Mrs. Pariseau actually gasped, though nearly everyone could imagine they saw it glinting. He turned it this way and that, so they could admire its craftsmanship.
“Captain Hardy?” Bolt said.
And to everyone’s astonishment, the dignified to a fault Captain Hardy similarly unsheathed a terrifying invisible sword.
Somehow he didn’t look at all whimsical doing it, either.