“And yet they’re finalists, same as you,” Cassandra said, unable to hold her tongue.
“That they are.” He scowled for a fraction of a second before plastering on a gentlemanly smile. “No matter. Will you cheer your brother on tomorrow during the target competition, or shall I be so bold as to request the honor?”
“Matthew isn’t shooting tomorrow.” Preparing herself for the reaction, she took a deep breath. “Mr. Reeves is.”
A grating silence fell as Colonel Bishop stiffened beside her and stopped moving, causing her to trip on her skirts. If not for her grip on his elbow, she might have fallen. She rebalanced as he remained frozen.
“They’re letting him shoot?” Colonel Bishop erupted in outrage. “This is taking it too far. Bringing along the help and parading him around is one thing, allowing him to compete in a contest among gentlemen is quite another, not to mention theblatantfavoritism. No. This needs to be addressed now.”
The help?
“My lord, Mr. Reeves is an equal partner.” Cassandra matched his volatile aura. They meticulously reviewed the contest rules, and even with Mr. Reeves’s status as a commoner, everything was perfectly within standards. “He has every right to compete. He’s the one that designed the rifle in the first place.”
“What did you say?” Colonel Bishop’s grip on her hand tightened near to hurting, but he didn’t seem aware of it. “Hedesigned the rifle. Mr. Reeves.Notyour brother.”
As soon as she was back in her bedchamber, and not a momenttoosoon, she would sew her mouth shut and leave the thread there for the rest of the stay.So much for having a civil conversation.
“If you have questions for my brother, you should askhim.” She tried to take control of the conversation, but he didn’t relinquish it.
“It’s only natural for you to have loyalties to your brother and hispet.” Cassandra wanted to rip her hand away from his, but there had to be areasonhe was so upset, and she didn’t have enough depth to understand, but he turned on the charm. “I can see that I’ve offended you. I had not intended for our first conversation after such time apart be filled with such matters. If you would allow me the opportunity, I will endeavor to remedy that offense the next time we speak.”
She searched his face, his mask fully in place. This was life in the peerage, was it not? Fake smiles and hidden thoughts. If she hoped to survive, she would need to do the same.
“Of course,” she said, forcing a smile. “Tensions are bound to be high with so much at stake. I believe we’re all due a bit of grace.”
“Sound logic, Miss Cooper. You always were so clever.” His smile didn’t meet his eyes. “I’ll have to bid you goodnight, there is some unexpected business that I need to attend to.”
The clock struck midnight, a series of low chimes resonated, and the orchestra stopped.
“A word of warning.” Colonel Bishop released her hand and spoke to her squarely, “Take care around Mr. Reeves, he’s dangerous.”
He strode from her, leaving her on the side of the room. The clock continued to chime, and alone she returned to Matthew and Valentine.
Mr. Reeves was gone.
Chapter Eight
With the air of an army general, Aunt Valentine laid a piece of parchment on the table between Jasmine and Cassandra. With her mouth around the rim of her teacup, Jasmine grinned at Cassandra as if to say,I told you so.
“Don’t make faces like that.” Aunt Valentine huffed. “You’ll develop wrinkles.”
The chirping of birds and the buzz of conversation filled the air as guests mingled on the terrace before the range competition. The mid-morning sun warmed the top of her bonnet. White tablecloths fluttered in the slight breeze, anchored by silver teapots and tiered tea trays with tomato and cheese sandwiches cut into squares, lemon scones, crowned by colorful macarons. Cassandra reached for a tomato sandwich and took a bite. The juice of the tomato moistened the bread and it all but dissolved in her mouth.
In three even rows on the far side of the lawn stood Mr. Nott, Colonel Bishop, Matthew, and Mr. Reeves. To their side, display tables covered in red cloth held the contestant’s rifles, rounds, and ramrods, and in front of the men, three white targets with black centers waited at one hundred yards. Duke Kendall flittered between the contestants, stopping to ask questions while a fawn-like man in a tan suit followed him with a notebook and pencil, rapidly jotting notes.
Mr. Nott’s rifle must have been a sight to behold as the surrounding crowd obscured him from view.
Colonel Bishop held the interest of several gentlemen. His chest out proudly, his confident voice echoed to where she sat as he explained a feature of the sights to Lord Dorchester. The Marquess tucked the rifle into his shoulder and aimed downrange. Swirling engravings of dozens of feathers adorned a black and slender barrel fashioned from high-quality steel, glinting darkly in the sunlight as Lord Dorchester returned the rifle to its display.
Matthew was going to lose.
How could their work possibly compete with better craftsmanship and Duke Kendall’s garishness? Matthew’s rifle may as well have been a child’s plaything in comparison. Were they here simply for the amusement of others, as Colonel Bishop said?
Cassandra reached for Aunt Valentine’s list. Jasmine scooted her chair closer to her as she read the first name.
“Colonel Adam Bishop.” Cassandra frowned.
“The two of you seemed to be getting along last night. Like old times.” Jasmine wiggled her eyebrows suggestively and reached for a scone. “Some things never change.”
