After struggling for nearly an hour with translating a single page of Spanish into English, she put down her pen in frustration.
Don’t.She stared at the scribbles.Don’t listen to the devil-damned whispers seeking to stir up trouble.“Haven’t I had enough trouble of late?” she muttered, knowing full well the right answer.
And yet . . .
She sat quietly for several more minutes and then surrendered with a silent oath. What harm could come from taking a short break to clear her head? After all, their surgeon friend Henning had encouraged physical activity as an integral part of restoring her health.
It was only a short carriage ride to the Strand and the discreet storefront located at No. 132.
“Thank you, José,” murmured Arianna to their household’s head footman as he unfurled an umbrella and escorted her to the front door. “You may return to fetch me in an hour.”
The mellow tinkle of a brass bell announced her entrance into the main display room, and a moment later, a short, whip-cord thin man, his silvery hair pulled back in an old-fashioned queue appeared from one of the private workrooms.
“Ah, what a pleasure to see you, Lady Saybrook,” he announced, bobbing a quick bow as he hastily rubbed the grease and grit from his hands with a chamois cloth.
She smiled. “And you, Mr. Egg.” Ursus—known as Durs—Egg was considered one of the finest gunmakers in all of Britain.
“I appreciate your recommending my pistols to your husband.” His brows rose in question. “I do hope he is satisfied with his recent purchase?’
“More than satisfied, sir,” she replied. “Not to make Joseph Manton jealous, but Saybrook says the craftmanship of your weapon is superb.”
“That is high praise, indeed,” said Egg, looking both pleased and relieved. “Joe makes very fine pistols. I’m honored to share the patronage of such a superb marksman as His Lordship with him.” He paused. “Is there something in particular that I may help you with today?”
Arianna possessed an innovative two-shot pocket pistol made by Egg’s nephew, Joseph. And in fact, it had saved her life.
“Have you perchance a dueling pistol that might be light enough for a lady?”
Egg pursed his mouth in thought. “Give me a moment. Joseph may have something in his workroom that will suit.”
He returned shortly with a weapon whose lethal sleekness was tastefully accented with a decorative silver trigger guard and butt cap. “I trust you don’t have an affair of honor scheduled at Hounslow Heath,” he murmured, only half in jest. “I would never forgive myself if I aided and abetted you in taking such an awful risk.” A nervous smile. “And neither would Lord Saybrook.”
“Put your mind at ease, sir,” soothed Arianna. “I simply wish to improve my marksmanship, and rather than borrow one of my husband’s weapons, I thought it might be helpful to own a pistol more practically suited to me.”
He brightened. “A very sage idea, Milady.”
“In fact, I was hoping I might engage in a bit of target practice now.” Egg’s shop included an indoor firing range in which patrons could testtheir purchases. She also happened to know that Egg allowed certain people—like ladies and notable aristocrats—who wished to practice their skills out of the public eye to use his facility.
He hesitated as a muted bang echoed in the back of the building. “Alas, there is another patron beginning a practice session.”
Arianna was familiar with the firing range, as she and Sophia had spent some time there before heading to Paris. “If I stay far to one side, and he stays far to the other, I daresay we won’t distract each other.”
“Will you give me a moment to inquire?” asked Egg. “He can be very particular.” Egg blew out his breath. “And to be honest, he is not someone I wish to offend.”
Arianna held back a huff of impatience and gave a polite nod. “Of course.” However eager she was to test her nerve by shooting a pistol, it was unfair to expect Egg to create ill-will with a regular patron.
The gunmaker returned faster than she expected. “The gentleman has no objection,” he announced. “Please follow me, Milady, and we’ll fire a few test shots so I can adjust the sights and trigger for you. Thomas, our head range attendant, will then assist you in loading the weapon, and you may practice as long as you wish.”
“Excellent!” replied Arianna. “I’m much obliged to you, Mr. Egg.”
With the center four firing lanes left unlit, the entrance to the shooting range was shrouded in shadows. Without looking at the far side of the space—she, too, was happy to have her privacy—Arianna proceeded to her station before removing her bonnet and pelisse, which the range attendant took from her and hung in the cabinet by the back wall.
She and Egg fired a half dozen test shots, with the gunsmith finetuning the trigger pressure and sight alignments until he was satisfied. “The pistol is very well balanced for you, Milady, and with these minute changes, it should serve you well.”
Arianna cocked a small salute as Egg stepped back, the weapon feeling perfect against her palm. “Again, my thanks, sir.”
“Allow me, Milady.” Thomas held out his hand, which was grey with gunpowder. “I shall prime and load for you.”
The two of them worked in companionable silence, waiting between shots for the target attendant to call out where the bullet had struck on the large paper bullseye. Arianna was just taking aim for another try when a voice from behind her nearly made her jump.
