Thank God. Callie pounced on the offer. “I should like that very much.”
The steward gave a little bow and, with the wave of a hand, guided her through a mahogany door to one side of the foyer. On the other side of the door was a long, narrow hallway with chambers on either side, each numbered. “These are the practice rooms,” the steward intoned, before turning a corner and pointing to a large door, “That is the club’s social room. Once you have donned your fencing attire, you may wait there for another member with whom to practice.”
Callie’s eyes widened at the thought of entering a room filled with men, any number of whom might recognize her. Quashing her alarm she attempted a calm reply, “And if I do not wish a partner? Have you any rooms that include a sandbag for practice?”
The steward cast a questioning look in her direction before saying, “Indeed, sir. You may use room number sixteen. Once you have completed your solo practice, should you decide you would like to parry with a partner, simply use the bellpull by the door, and we will be happy to find another athlete to join you.”
He paused outside another row of doors, opening one to reveal a small, private room. “I shall leave you here to outfit yourself in your fencing suit.” He indicated the small bag she held in her hand. “I see you did not bring your own foil; there are practice foils in each of the rooms.”
She knew she’d forgotten something. “Thank you.”
He dipped his head. “Enjoy your practice.”
She stood aside, waiting for him to pass before entering the dressing room and closing the door firmly. She released a long sigh. The walk to the dressing room had felt like a fencing match in itself.
Shoring up her confidence, Callie began to dress, opening the canvas bag that Anne had packed and removing the pieces of the fencing uniform. Once the suit was laid out, she went through the challenging process of changing from one set of clothes completely foreign to her into another outfit, equally bizarre.
Once stockings and special fencing breeches were on, she wiggled her way into her plastron, designed to provide added protection on her sword-arm side. Callie struggled to tie the bows of the one-armed shirt herself, but found that between the discomfort of the bindings on her breasts and her own lack of experience, she could not fasten the garment.
She stopped, leaning against the wall of the dressing room breathing heavily for a moment before realization dawned. She was only fencing in a practice room; she wouldn’t be facing an opponent. Why wear the unwieldy garment?
She cast the plastron aside, instead reaching for the tight canvas jacket that would cover all of her upper body. Callie looked askance at the jacket and the peculiar croissard that connected its front and back pieces—snugly between the legs. Taking a deep breath and ignoring the wave of embarrassment she felt at the idea of wearing such a revealing piece of clothing, she stepped through the strap and pulled the jacket on, buttoning it carefully up to the high collar.
She pulled on her mask next. Pulling the mesh hood over her head, she took care to ensure that every bit of her hair was tucked inside the bib of the helmet. She smiled within her dark, wired cocoon. She hadn’t put fencing on the list because it was a sport that lent itself to disguise, but she was thrilled that she could walk among the male members of the club completely covered, unafraid of discovery.
Gloves were the final touch, covering the last, small areas of skin—one long, complete with gauntlet to prevent blades from entering her sleeve, the other smaller, but still ensuring that her pale, delicate hands were invisible.
“Excellent,” she whispered, the words echoing around her in the chamber of the fencing hood. With a deep breath and pounding heart, she exited the room and made her way back down the empty hallway to practice room number sixteen.
She pushed open the door to the room and had hurriedly entered before she realized that the sandbag at the side of the room was in use. Swaying back and forth, the bag blocked the fencer who had obviously just delivered a blow of considerable force to the hanging sack.
Catching her breath, Callie spun around to exit the room as quickly as possible, so as not to be discovered by the room’s occupant.
“I was wondering when they would find me a partner,” he said dryly.
She stilled at the words.
The fencer continued, “I see you are already masked and ready. Perfect.”
Callie turned slowly toward the sound, eyes squeezed tightly shut, willing her instincts to be wrong. Willing him not to be who she thought he would be. Forcing them to open, she cursed her luck.