Page 11 of A Sporting Chance (The Chances #8)

L eopold inhaled slowly, deeply, feeling his chest rise and expand and fill with the calming, hot summer air. The bow in his hands moved slightly, but as he blew out the breath, slow and steady, his arms stilled.

The perfect moment.

That was what his old archery tutor had spoken to him about. The perfect moment, the perfect balance between inhaling and exhaling, when you realized there was a stillness within you that went beyond just not moving.

A stillness that told you that you were precisely where you needed to be, when you needed to be there.

Leopold searched for it, straining for the balance, seeking the perfect moment.

It did not come. He loosed the arrow.

“I knew I’d find you here,” came a cheerful voice.

Leopold did not need to turn around to recognize it. “What are you doing here?”

“Cannot a man go searching for his little brother?” said Thomas, grinning as he stepped between Leopold and the butt, which had been hit squarely in the center.

It was a challenge not to roll his eyes. “ Little brother —I am six and twenty years old!”

“You’re fifteen months younger than me, so I am afraid you will always be my little brother,” rejoined Thomas with a laugh. “And don’t get too irritated, because I’ve brought with me… a surprise.”

“It’s been years since I’ve been here,” came the quiet voice of the Dowager Duke of Cothrom. “It hasn’t changed a bit.”

Leopold straightened up, tension immediately coursing through his shoulders. “Father. What an honor.”

And it was, in a way. Oh, William Chance was hardly a recluse; he liked his routines, that was all, and archery had never factored into his routines, as far as Leopold could remember.

Wait—the archery club hasn’t changed a bit?

“I suppose old Cooper is still here,” said Leopold’s father with a dry laugh, his salt-and-pepper hair no hindrance to his good looks. “He once had to reprimand your Uncle John for shooting at him in the dark. Uncle John thought he was a fox.”

“Surely, Cooper cannot have been here all those years later,” Leopold pointed out.

“I believe it is the grandson of the former Cooper who now serves as footman,” Thomas explained. “Is that not right, Father?”

It was all Leopold could do to quell his smile.

He liked his brother—he really did, which he knew made them unusual in the noble families of England.

Thomas was a good man; a trifle irritating at times, and altogether far too eager to please their parents, but there it was.

Yes, he’d risked then spent the family fortune; yes, he’d then married a fortune and somehow managed to make the woman fall in love with him; and yes, it had turned out that Thomas’ spendthrift ways had actually been to support an orphanage, which had only endeared him further to the family.

That was how it was with Chances, Leopold thought ruefully. There was always more to the story.

“Hmm. I dare say you are correct,” replied their father with a nonchalant shrug. “Is this where you have been spending all your time, Leopold? We hardly see you anymore, your mother and I. You would be a useful chaperone for Maude.”

It was not a rebuke, not as such. As the sun poured down and sweat threatened at his temples, Leopold knew that if it were a rebuke, he would be in absolutely no doubt.

But it was not far shy of a rebuke. He had responsibilities—they all did. They were Chances. They had to appear in Society, had to make good names for themselves and uphold the family name…

It was all so trying—especially when he could be here, practicing his archery.

“I’ve been mostly here, Father,” he said aloud. “I recently assisted Cousin Evelyn in a painting too. But I hope I have not neglected Mama and Maude overly much.”

“Hmm,” said his father.

It was worse than affirmation. At least then, Leopold could have debated the point with him.

“I am afraid I have commitments here,” Leopold said quickly, as though that could explain his absence from the family home. “I… I am teaching someone archery.”

It was immediate, the stiffening, the discomfort, the look of mortification on the dowager duke’s face. “Leopold Chance, you are working ?”

“No! No, not at all, no money changes hands. It is a pastime, not a profession,” Leopold said hastily.

God forbid one of the Chances work for their bread.

They were nobility. Beyond gentry, most definitely beyond those who had to work for a living or had the ignominy of working in trade.

His father’s features softened, but only slightly. “Oh. A favor, then, for a gentleman who never had an archery tutor of his own?”

Precisely what made him stay silent, Leopold did not know. He certainly could have corrected his father. It would not have been difficult.

“I don’t believe it,” said Thomas.

Leopold turned to his brother with wide eyes. “You do not believe I would make a suitable teacher?”

Thomas had picked up a bow and was waving it about in a most uncouth manner. “Oh, it’s not that—I just don’t think you have the patience for it, that’s all. Teaching. I feel sorry for the poor man who is receiving your instruction.”

“We do not know how inexperienced the gentleman is,” pointed out their father—fairly, Leopold thought, though the guilt of not correcting them weighed heavily on him. “It could be that Leopold is actually quite patient with someone outside the family.”

“No, I don’t believe it, and there is naught you can do to persuade me.” Thomas grinned, whirling the bow around in his hands in a most distracting way.

Leopold glanced down at his pocket watch before returning it to his waistcoat. It was ten past the hour. That meant that any moment now—

“Leopold, I am sorry I am late, I—oh.”

He smiled, his expression surely tighter than was polite, as Miss Kathleen Andilet approached the trio of gentlemen almost at a run. Skirts flying, cheeks pink, a curl of hair that had escaped from her hat and was descending down her elegant shoulders…

Leopold cleared his throat. “Father, may I present to you Miss Kathleen Andilet…my pupil. Miss Andilet, His Grace the Dowager Duke of Cothrom.”

“Your father?” Kathleen said in horror.

“Your pupil?” his father said with just as much horror.

The two looked at each other, evidently astounded at the other person’s existence.

Thomas walked over to Leopold and nudged him in the arm with a grin. “What have you done, Leopold?”

Leopold wasn’t sure. This was either the worst idea in the world, or the cleverest. His father may take offense at the entire situation, offering a taut politeness that would quell any potential for—

Potential for what?

“I haven’t done anyone. Anything,” he added hastily under his breath, trying to ignore his brother’s chuckle.

“Your Grace,” murmured Kathleen as she lowered herself into a deep curtsey.

“Miss Andilet,” said Leopold’s father, inclining his head. He did not bow.

Leopold’s throat knotted as he watched Kathleen straighten and look up, pink in the face, at the strained response from his father.

What was I thinking? This was a disaster. Not that he had any reason for introducing Kathleen to his family. Not that the kiss they had shared had meant anything—she had said herself, it had been naught but a tease.

Not that he had spent the last few days thinking about it, unable to stop, unable to remove from his mind the softness and the eagerness and the—

“Well, I must depart,” said his father curtly. “My brothers require a great deal of management, and I must see them about a certain scandal. Miss Andilet. Come, Thomas.”

“Duty calls,” Leopold’s brother said with a grin as he began to stride away. “Delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Andilet.”

“Oh, yes, acquaintance—hello. Your Grace.” She curtsied again hastily. “The duke?” She looked to Leopold, who nodded, his tongue too tied to make the proper introduction.

Thomas looked about the place, though there was no one else in sight.

“I suppose you could tell me your chaperone is somewhere around a corner here, is she?” He directed an arched brow at Leopold specifically.

Feeling all the more like the little brother, despite what he’d said earlier, Leopold couldn’t help but swallow.

“Oh, uh… I could tell you that,” she said helplessly as the two most senior Chance gentlemen strode away from them, Thomas a distance behind the dowager duke and snickering all the while. “But it wouldn’t be true,” she whispered, the truth spilling out to herself and Leopold only.

Leopold wondered whether it would be possible to merely sink into the ground and become a part of the lawn. It would certainly be better than remaining here to look at the woman he had thoroughly kissed, and who had then been almost entirely snubbed by his father.

Perhaps she had not noticed. Perhaps she was more gentry than nobility. Or more country than Town.

Kathleen turned to him with pink cheeks. “Your father is very…very commanding.”

Leopold threw out his chest and attempted to be nothing but nonchalant. It did not work. “Yes. Yes. He is.”

“I am sorry.”

He blinked. Sorry. “I beg your pardon?”

Kathleen was smiling but there was pain in the smile, not joy. “I embarrass you—my name. I mean, your father clearly knew… And your brother, he was hinting…”

“My father is like that with most people,” Leopold said honestly. “And my brother is just as you saw him, too.” And then, “Your name, what do you mean by that?”

“Nothing,” Kathleen said hastily, her smile broadening as she laughed. “Nothing, I am speaking nonsense, do not mind me. Still, I am sorry that I put you in that position.”

“I am the one who is sorry. My father is a bit cold to strangers. Especially in unexpected situations. And my brother is a tease.”

They both fell into silence, the tension between them achingly sharp.