Page 40

Chapter

TWENTY

When Lottie had taken an hour’s respite in her room while Lady Frinton enjoyed her afternoon nap, the subsequent planned activity had been a ramble in the woods.

That was why she had donned a summer walking dress and a pair of sturdy boots.

By the looks of all the debutantes in their fashionable, floaty muslins and ridiculously large and overly decorated bonnets, they had believed the same.

Even Lord Wennington, who still could not look at her without his eyes hardening, was braced for an arduous afternoon in the great outdoors helping his silly entourage over imaginary tree roots that those simpering girls would not be able to climb over without his manly assistance.

However, it now appeared that there had been a change of plan and by the twin gleeful expressions on Lady Frinton’s and Lady Wennington’s faces as they called for the amassed to all gather round, the two older women were up to something.

Something they had neglected to tell Lottie.

“In honor of this windless afternoon, we are going to partake of one of my son’s favorite sports—archery.

” Lady Wennington smiled at him and his eyes narrowed.

“Please do not panic if you have never tried it before, as he will give you personal instruction before the tournament commences.” Right on cue, all the silly girls began to twitter like the dawn chorus at the prospect.

“How exciting!” The entire shrubbery of silk flowers on the elder Miss Harper’s hat wobbled as she bounced on the spot. “I am bound to be useless with the bow and will need plenty of instruction.” A sentiment that was doubtlessly shared by the rest of this shameless gaggle.

As if she’d heard her, Lady Wennington continued with some bad news.

“Fortunately, we have two proficient archers with us today who can help you learn the sport, including one who claims to shoot an arrow straighter than Robin Hood.” She did not need to direct her gaze to Lady Lynette because all eyes swiveled her way anyway.

“And thank you, Lady Lynette, for telling me that this morning over breakfast as you are personally responsible for giving me this wonderful idea.”

Hoisted by her own petard and now in no position to dominate the viscount as she had so far all day, Lady Lynette’s smile was tight as she acknowledged that with a regal nod of her head.

“Now if you will all follow me out onto the lawn.” Lady Wennington waved a piece of paper. “I shall allocate the teams.” The statement started a stampede as most of the debutantes did their utmost to get out of the French doors first.

Lottie hung back as a good lady’s companion should and resigned herself to an afternoon of dull spectating while the young ladies all fell over themselves to make an impression on Guy.

No doubt by being pathetically needy rather than shining at the sport.

Once outside, she wandered to the bank of chairs that had been set up for the parents and felt a pang of pity for poor Guy, who stood amongst his wittering entourage only a few feet away, noting that he already looked like he wished he were dead.

She couldn’t blame him. It was doomed to be a long and, for him, a very trying afternoon.

“What the blazes are you doing sitting down, gal?” Lady Frinton unceremoniously nudged her from behind with the tip of her cane. “Go and compete.”

“Absolutely not!” Completely forgetting her place, Lottie glared at her employer. “It wouldn’t be proper. I am your servant, not a guest.”

“Since when have you cared about propriety, Travers?” Unmoved, Lady Frinton jabbed her again.

“And remember your mission.” Her conniving gaze wandered to the debutantes and back to Lottie as she whispered, “You are my eyes and ears, gal, and you can’t do that from here.

” Before Lottie could argue, the old dragon flagged down her sister. “Constance! Which team is Travers on?”

Rather than issue Lottie with the reprieve she craved, Lady Wennington consulted her list. “Miss Travers is on Lady Lynette’s team.” Marvelous. Now Lottie wished she were dead too. “Have you ever shot an arrow before, Miss Travers?”

Lottie sighed as she shook her head. Because why on earth would she when archery wasn’t a useful skill for either a farmer’s daughter or a lady’s companion?

And the absolute last thing she wanted to do was take any begrudging instruction from that angry, hurt, and rude oaf, Lord Wennington. Or worse, Lady Lynette!

“Splendid! You are just in the nick of time for the lesson!” Lady Wennington gestured her over and arranged her at the end of the long line of debutantes awaiting their private moment with the viscount. Then she deferred to her frankly horrified son. “The floor is yours, Guy.”

“Right,” he said, eyeing them all with understandable trepidation. “Why don’t I just demonstrate what to do and you all give it a go?” Ignoring the disappointment on the debutantes’ faces, he grabbed a bow and set about showing them how to hold it and how to prepare the arrow.

Lottie could not help but admire the sublime visual sorcery that occurred in the muscles of his arms and shoulders as he aimed at the target and pulled back the taut string.

Nor could she help noticing how many of the other young ladies ogled him too, experiencing a proprietorial but futile pang of jealousy as they did.

However, she flatly refused to be party to the pathetic sigh they all emitted when his arrow flew through the air and hit the target straight in the bull’s-eye.

“Who wants to give it a go?” His eyes widened as all of the debutantes took a rapid step forward, but it was the shameless Miss Maybury who dashed to his side and claimed him by grabbing his arm and clinging on like a barnacle to a boat. Even after a footman handed her a bow.

Guy extricated his sleeve from her grip and took several paces back, explaining the steps, which all seemed perfectly simple to Lottie.

Brace your feet. Clip the indented feathered end of the arrow—the nock—to the string in the center, align the pointy bit onto the arrow rest in the middle of the wooden bow.

Raise your bow to a right angle with the ground until the arrow is perfectly horizontal, line up the target, pull back the string, release the nock from between your gripped fingers, and let physics do the rest.

Instructions which even an idiot could have followed the first time.

But, of course, instructions that Miss Maybury struggled with at every juncture.

She made such a hash of it that Lord Wennington had to step behind her and move her apparently useless limbs into the correct position.

Something she made an absolute meal out of with a calculated expression of triumph that he could not see from his intimate position behind her.

The conniving witch!

But alas, it proved to be the standard for the next half an hour as desperate debutante after desperate debutante feigned complete and utter uselessness so that they could all flutter their eyelashes up at him pathetically while they basked in Guy’s strong arms.

Then it came to Lottie’s turn and he stiffened. “Let’s see what you’ve got, Miss Travers.” The way he said that made it plain that the six feet of ground that stood between them wasn’t anywhere near enough space.

She sent him a defiant look back, marched to the spot, set her feet, aimed, and fired without waiting for his critique. By some inexplicable miracle, her arrow flew to the target and lodged itself in the outer rim, clearly surprising them both.

“That was an excellent first attempt, Miss Travers.” From her position nearby, his mother clapped her hands. “You are a natural. With a few minor tweaks in your technique, you could hit the bull’s-eye. Position her, Guy, so that she is perfect.”

A nerve ticked in his cheek as he moved toward her, his expression a barely disguised mask of distaste.

“If I can shoot an apple off of your head with my father’s bent and battered old pistol, I sincerely doubt it will take me long to master this without your help.

” Lottie threw him that barbed bone because she felt awkward enough and hurt enough already by his behavior.

“All I need is some private time to practice.”

“Oh, pish,” said his mother. “Never be too proud to learn from an expert, Miss Travers.”

“Just do as you are told, gal,” shouted Lady Frinton from the spectators’ chairs. “You are representing me, after all.”

Trapped, Lottie had no choice but to raise her bow again and suffer his ministrations. The flesh on her back tingling with unwelcome awareness as he positioned himself behind.

“Line up your shot,” he said in clipped tones much too close to her ear.

Lottie did as instructed and heard his sharp intake of breath before he used the tip of his index finger to briefly touch her elbow and raise it a millimeter. He then practically leapt back as if he feared he might catch some fatal disease from her.

“Now fire.”

If they hadn’t had an audience, Lottie would have rebelled. Turned around and given the stubborn wretch a piece of her mind for his continued childish petulance, but as all eyes were on them, she had no choice but to grit her teeth and do as she was told.

She was about to do just that when Lady Lynette piped up in a loud aside to Miss Harper that Lottie was clearly intended to hear.

“Let us hope she hits it. I cannot believe that we are delaying the start of the tournament for Lady Frinton’s servant when we invited guests are all chomping at the bit to begin.

It isn’t as if Miss Travers is one of us. ”