Chapter 10

The entertainment Lady Milthorpe had planned for the following morning was archery. Five targets had been arrayed in the formal gardens behind Milthorpe Manor against a tall wall of hedges. At even intervals along the graveled path, the servants had set up corresponding stations with racks of bows, buckets of arrows, and tables with an assortment of bracers and shooting gloves.

The skies were swirling with dark clouds, ready to burst open at any moment, and only a handful of guests had opted to come out. Felix and Pippa were shooting at the target on the far-left side of the range and having a marvelous time by all appearances, in spite of the weather. Eleanor, Clarissa, and Kate had claimed the target in the very center where they could watch over their youngest sister from a discreet distance.

Clarissa had been filling Eleanor in on what had transpired down at the barn yesterday afternoon. “We hadn’t been there ten minutes when who should show up but Felix.”

“Felix was there?” At Clarissa’s nod, Eleanor continued, “That was lucky.”

“So you would think!” Clarissa frowned as the wind picked up her arrow, causing it to go flying into the hedge behind the target. “But guess who followed close on his heels?”

“His brother?” Eleanor guessed.

“Wrong—it was Anna-Maria and Lucas Robertson!”

“Oh, dear. I hope you behaved yourself,” Eleanor said.

“She did not,” Kate observed.

Clarissa narrowed her eyes at her younger sister. “I did what was necessary under the circumstances.”

Eleanor rubbed her brow. “What happened, Kate?”

“Pippa and Felix were down on the floor playing with the kittens, as you would expect,” Kate explained. “Well, Miss Robertson didn’t want to soil her gown, so she came and stood behind my stool. She was trying to make conversational overtures in order to gain Felix’s attention, but he remained absorbed with Pippa and the kittens.”

Adjusting for the wind, Eleanor sent an arrow flying toward the target. It landed a few inches from the bull’s-eye, but she thought it a decent effort, given the conditions. “Did Miss Robertson grow discouraged and leave, then?”

“No,” Clarissa said, “they stayed and made themselves bothersome.”

Eleanor cast Kate a skeptical look, but Kate nodded. “They truly did. I had just finished making a few sketches of the kittens in Pippa’s journal. I had placed it beneath my stool with my other art supplies. Miss Robertson picked it up and tried to leaf through it.”

“I immediately explained that it was not a sketchbook, but a personal journal,” Clarissa said. “But instead of giving it back, she tried to make off with it!”

“I thought Clarissa and Miss Robertson were going to come to blows,” Kate noted. “They each had one end of the book, and neither would let go. Meanwhile poor Pippa was in distress that Miss Robertson might read it aloud, especially with Felix looking on.”

Eleanor snorted. “I’m sure Anna-Maria Robertson didn’t stand a chance against Clarissa.”

“Unfortunately, you would be wrong,” Clarissa noted. “She’s surprisingly wiry. And I was wearing cotton gloves, so I couldn’t get a good grip.”

“But, upon seeing how upset Pippa was, Lord Felix intervened,” Kate explained. “He stood up and demanded that Miss Robertson turn the book over. Once she did, he handed it to Pippa unopened.”

“That was gallant of him,” Eleanor observed.

“Yes,” Clarissa agreed, “and he didn’t look very impressed with Miss Robertson’s behavior. She left in a sulk five minutes later and took her brother with her. So at least we were soon rid of her. But I’m telling you, Eleanor—that woman is trouble.”

Eleanor couldn’t disagree. “Well, Felix looks as besotted with Pippa as ever.”

They surreptitiously glanced toward the far end of the garden. Pippa loosed an arrow which flew wide. Felix laid down his own bow and took up a fresh arrow. Coming up behind Pippa, he placed his own hands over hers on the bow. Her back was to his front, and although he allowed a respectable gap between them, he was all but holding her in his arms. It was difficult to say who looked more delighted by this development—Pippa, or Felix.

“Felix!” barked a deep voice coming from the direction of the house. “Come here now!”

Eleanor sighed. It was not difficult at all to say who was the least delighted by Felix and Pippa’s near embrace.

The Duke of Norwood.

She turned her head, and, surely enough, there was Jasper St. James, jogging down the four stone steps that led into the gardens. This time, he had on a charcoal grey tailcoat paired with a burgundy waistcoat. As always, he looked absurdly virile in spite of his fine clothes, as if he were on his way to strangle a lion or wrestle a hydra or perform some other Herculean task.

The duke bore down upon his brother with his long-legged stride. Unless Eleanor was mistaken, Felix was growing weary of his brother barking orders at him. His jaw was clenched, and he was studiously ignoring his brother’s repeated commands to come away.

Finally, the duke reached his quarry. “Felix!” he snapped. “Did you not hear me—”

“Miss Weatherby,” Felix interjected, “would you permit me to present my brother, the Duke of Norwood? Brother, this is Miss Philippa Weatherby.”

Pippa sank into a very proper curtsy. The duke cringed, seeming to realize his own boorishness. “Miss Weatherby,” he said, bowing stiffly over her hand. “A pleasure.”

He didn’t infuse his voice with much sincerity, but Pippa did not seem to take offense. “Do you enjoy archery, Your Grace?”

“I do,” he said in a clipped voice. “Why do you ask?”

Pippa’s eyes creased with befuddlement. “Oh, I—I thought that might be the reason you were here. At the archery range.”

The duke seemed to notice the presence of an archery range for the first time. “Oh, er—yes. Of course.”

“Won’t you join us?” Pippa asked politely.

“Oh, yes,” Felix said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “How we should love to have you.”

Narrowing his eyes at his brother, the duke took up a bow.

Clearing her throat and giving her sisters a significant look, Eleanor did the same. They needed to make some pretense of enjoying the activity at hand, rather than standing there openly eavesdropping. Clarissa in particular made a poor effort of it, not even taking her eyes off the spectacle unfolding to their left long enough to make her shot. Her arrow went flying into the hedge, ten feet wide of the target.

“At least look where you’re shooting,” Eleanor hissed. “You’re going to kill someone!”

Clarissa rolled her eyes. “It’s not as if anyone’s over there trimming the verge.”

An ominous rumble came from the sky overhead. The De Courcey sisters, who had been making use of the target on the far right, laid down their bows and headed up toward the house. Glancing around, Eleanor saw that the Weatherby sisters and the St. James brothers were the only ones left in the garden.

As Kate made a great show of selecting an arrow, Eleanor watched the activity on the far range out of the corner of her eye. The duke drew back the bowstring and sent an arrow flying directly into the center of the bullseye. It hit the target with such force that the arrow buried itself in the baled straw halfway up its shaft.

Pippa and Felix had been standing together, selecting their next arrows. Scowling, the duke wedged himself between them, forcing his brother to take a step back. Eleanor had never seen the affable Felix look so annoyed.

Pippa merely smiled. “I had the pleasure of meeting your dogs the other day. Beatrice and Benedick are delightful.”

Eleanor watched with increasing annoyance as this pattern played out again and again. Felix would attempt to speak to Pippa. His brother would shoulder him out of the way.

Pippa managed to ignore the duke’s boorish behavior and make polite conversation. But Felix was becoming increasingly annoyed.

Finally, Felix could take no more. “Apologies, Miss Weatherby. I fear I am not feeling my most sociable this morning.” He directed a glower at his brother. “I will return to the house and hopefully speak with you this afternoon when I am in a better humor.”

The duke’s smile was triumphant, and Eleanor saw red. Why, that villain! It vexed Eleanor to see him get his way through such repugnant behavior.

The duke turned toward the rack of bows, setting his own weapon down, clearly meaning to follow his brother back to the house. Annoyed, Eleanor yanked an arrow from the bucket, then muttered a curse when she saw she had grabbed a bird bolt, an arrow with a broad, blunted tip, often used by children first learning to shoot a bow.

Suddenly the wind kicked up, sending the tails of the duke’s coat fluttering to the side and presenting Eleanor with an irresistible target.

Before she had time to think better of it, she nocked the bird bolt in her bow and launched it at Jasper St. James’s impressively taut derrière.