She laughed and gave the blade a quick flourish before holding it up in both hands for Sophia to inspect. “I promise I won’t run you through this time.”

“Good to know, but why are we back to sword play after how far we’ve come, or rather how many times we’ve . . . never mind. You were saying?”

Vic’s face warmed a little bit at the innuendo, but she was too happy to stumble through this story. “This was my grandmother’s. My grandfather had it sent over to her from France immediately after the liberation of Paris in World War II.”

“The spoils of war?”

“Maybe for him, but for her it came to symbolise her power and her new position. She was a young bride even by the standards of the day, and they’d been married mere months when he left in service to king and country. Suddenly, she was the lady of the house and manager of an entire estate.”

“She wasn’t born to such things?”

“She was not poor, not by any means, but she definitely married up. My grandfather’s mother had already passed away, so there wasn’t anyone here to show her the ropes. His father was distant and often away for months at a time tending to government business. She had staff, of course, but most of the men had gone off to the war. The place was being run largely by women. They were making it up as they went along. She took to carrying the sword, first when riding or walking the orchards, and then apparently around the grounds, and sometimes the house as well.”

“And no one dared to question her authority then,” Sophia said.

“They probably thought twice about it, but more importantly it helped her stop questioning herself. She was the first truly modern duchess in my line, a ruling partner, a shrewd businesswoman, stoic and sensible, but with a flair for inspiring confidence.”

“So, it runs in your DNA?” Sophia said playfully. “Here I was crediting charm school all this time.”

Vic’s smile faltered as she took the rapier back and turned it around in her hands a time or two.

“What is it?”

“What? Nothing.” She shook her head and put the sword back into its hook on the wall. “I thought you might appreciate the story, given the role you’re playing.”

“I do appreciate it, but more because of what it tells me about you. The first time I saw that sword in your hand, I thought you were just a privileged rich girl who didn’t like the riff-raff touching her stuff.”

“No, you thought I was a servant.”

Sophia laughed. “Only for a moment. Your bearing made your rank known relatively quickly. Was it the sword that gave you the power of fiery women from generations past?”

“Something like that,” she said with a little twinge in the pit of her stomach.

“Wielding her weapon must—”