Free Lucy Lane and the Lieutenant by Helen Dickson Page A

carried them north out of town and approached a pair of tall iron gates. A gatekeeper stepped out of the keeper’s cottage and after Nathan had spoken to the man they were permitted to pass. They swept along a curving drive with extensive lawns to the right and left of them. Lucy’s eyes became fixed on a large imposing house that appeared against a backdrop of sweeping parkland, rising to a height of three storeys. Evidently it was the property of a man of some consequence.
    ‘What a beautiful house,’ she murmured, unable to tear her eyes away from the twinkling expanse of mullioned windows. ‘Who does it belong to?’
    ‘A relative of mine. My uncle. He’s away in foreign parts at present.’
    ‘Is he a spy, as well?’
    ‘No,’ Nathan replied, helping her out of the coach. ‘He’s a gentleman. Come along. I’ll introduce you to your mount. We’ll ride out so you can get used to being back in the saddle. Tomorrow you will receive instruction on how to use a firearm—something small that is adaptable to a woman’s hand. You will have to learn how to use a dagger. I pray you never have to use either weapon, but it’s as well to be prepared for every eventuality.’
    The stables were at the back of the house, a dozen stalls set around the stable yard. Most of them were occupied. Grooms and stable boys were going about their daily chores. Nathan was familiar to them and they greeted him in a friendly enough fashion. One of the grooms approached them, leading a chestnut mare.
    ‘Come and make friends. Her name is Jess and she’s as docile as the proverbial lamb.’
    Lucy loved her. It was good to be back on a horse, to ride across the vast green acres of parkland. However, not having had the opportunity to ride for a long time, she was soon stiff. Nathan informed her she sat like a sack of potatoes and held the reins all wrong. She told him to take a flying leap and said she was going home. He told her she’d leave over his dead body. She said it was not a bad idea.
    A look of sorely strained patience crossed his face as he caught her by the waist and lifted her down from the saddle after one particularly gruelling session. ‘God help me if I ever injure my back,’ he quipped.
    ‘God help you if you ever turn it,’ she snapped, her body sore, aching and exhausted, but she was beginning to enjoy herself.
    * * *
    The following day she had instruction on how to use a dagger, lunging and sidestepping and often being thrown to the floor and dancing out of her instructor’s way. Nathan was filled with admiration, telling her she fought well, that he had no idea a woman could be so ruthless.
    ‘There’s Lady Macbeth,’ Lucy pointed out with a wicked twinkle in her eye.
    He laughed. ‘There is that. Most women of my acquaintance are not trained in such matters. You may not even need these skills. However, it is always best to be prepared for the worst.’
    Learning how to use a firearm was not as difficult as she had imagined. She surprised both herself and Nathan. He presented her with a pocket flintlock pistol, its small size making it more adaptable to a woman’s hand. After showing her how to load it, he handed it to her, watching as her graceful fingers trained for etiquette now gripped the firearm.
    Her instruction was given in an outbuilding adjoining the stables. She proved to be an exceptional shot. Her aim was true and she was an apt pupil. However, it was one thing to try to aim at a makeshift target, but she wondered if she would ever have the courage to actually pull the trigger if the situation arose.
    Try as she might to keep herself aloof, her entire being was attuned to her instructor’s presence. It was necessary for him to come close, to stand behind her and guide her arm. Her composure was sorely strained. He was so close she could feel his warm breath on her neck. It was familiar. At those times everything else ceased to exist for her except for the man in such close proximity to