With all contestants in their places, range clear of spectators, Mr. Edgars projected his voice, “As this is a competition of range and accuracy, the winner of this round will be determined by who can consistently hit the center of their target. Use of accompaniments are allowed and encouraged. We will increase target distance in increments of twenty-five yards. If you fail to hit the center of your target at any point, you will be disqualified and lose this round. To start, the targets are set at one hundred yards. Fire on my whistle.”
Following the shrill whistle, the noise of the first set of rounds reverberated throughout the forest, causing birds in the nearby trees to take flight with a cacophony of shrieks. A commotion occurred as Lady Honora swooned directly into the lap of Lord Worthing, almost knocking him from his chair.
“Cross Lord Worthing off the list,” Cassandra said to Aunt Valentine.
“Mr. Lancaster, too,” Jasmine added. “Lord Worthing will have an heir in nine months, I’ll bet money on it.”
“I’ll take that bet,” Matthew said.
“No, he won’t.” Cassandra scowled.
“Colonel Bishop seems to be a good shot,” Jasmine commented as they brought back the one-hundred yard targets for inspection, each with a perfect bullseye.
“One hundred yards isnothing, Lady Jasmine,” Matthew drawled. “A child could hit a target like that with a rock. Bishop is going to fall flat on his face by the end of this competition. I hope he breaks his nose, it would save me the effort of doing it myself.”
“Whydoyou disapprove so much?” Jasmine reached her hand for the final macaron on the top of the tea tray.
“I have my reasons.” Matthew snatched the macaron before Jasmine could and plopped it into his mouth whole, cheeks puffed out as he chewed.
“Matthew disapproves ofeveryone.”Cassandra glared at her brother. “If it were up to him, I’d never marry at all. He wants me to be a spinster at Cooper House forever.”
“That’s not true at all,” Matthew said through his full mouth. “I cannotwaitfor you to be married. Then you’ll be able to chaperon Caroline through her first season and leave me out of it completely. I would recommend putting her on some sort of leash.”
Cassandra extended her hand palm up, presenting her brother. “Pure and selfless, worthy of sainthood.”
Aunt Valentine pressed her thumb into the space between her eyebrows as Jasmine grinned.
Round after round, all three contestants matched each other shot for shot. As the competition waged, an argument formed between Mr. Reeves and Colonel Bishop. Their voices were inaudible, but the two men stared each other down the same way they had at dinner before they settled in position. The tension building between Mr. Reeves and Colonel Bishop spiked with the targets at three hundred yards, and thensnapped.
Colonel Bishop made a comment and Mr. Reeves’ face fell into a snarl, fists at his sides and eyes narrowed at the other man, who had a confident smirk on his face. Mr. Reeves kept his gaze locked on his opponent and lifted his hand, thrusting his open palm into the space between them. Colonel Bishop wasted no time in gripping Mr. Reeves’ hand in his own with one forceful shake.
“Would you look at that! True sportsmen.” Matthew’s eyes shot daggers at Colonel Bishop. “At least they’re being friendly.”
A sense of unease came over Cassandra at the sight.
It didn’t look like a friendly handshake to her at all.
It looked like a deal.
Chapter Nine
Two hundred and twenty-five yards.
Child’s play.
Seth exhaled slowly, matching his breath to the squeeze of the trigger. The familiar, heavy kick of his rifle landed against his shoulder as he easily fell into an old rhythm.
Aim. Fire. Reload. Repeat.
He would have liked a word with whoever decided to have the blasted competition in the morning, with targets set in theeast. The sun blinded him temporarily from the glint off of his own rifle, leaving a circular spot of light illuminated behind his eyelids when he blinked. He repositioned the rifle until he found a suitable angle to shield from it. A thin sheen of sweat accumulated where his head rested, and the heated smell of oil, gunpowder, and blistering metal spiked the air.
Rubbing his ear on his shoulder, he tried to ease the itch from bits of cotton that he had shoved inside. It lessened the ringing in his ears after each percussive shot, but it did nothing for Mr. Edgars grating voice in the distance as he announced, “Targets are being moved to two hundred and fifty yards!”Must he announce the distance each time? Were nobles not taught to count? And for that matter, why not start with the higher numbers so he could win and be done?Circus,the word came to mind,a monkey in a suit performing for wealthy patrons.
Seth may as well not be wearing the cotton balls at all to block outBishop. The Colonel had not stopped talking from the beginning of the competition in an obvious search for a weak point. Stooping low indeed, if distraction was his tactic. With the man’s bravado, was he feelingthreatened?The thought brought a grin to Seth’s lips.
He should be.
When he was ten years old and could hold a gun—and when Lord Bolderwood was confident that Seth wouldn’t shoot himselforthe older man with it—he trained daily in all aspects of their use. He spent most of his childhood in his bedchamber learning how to disassemble and reassemble all manners of armament, pistols, rifles, muskets, anything with a barrel and a trigger. He took to the training like a newborn foal learning to run, clumsy at first, but quickly mastered. With his ability to organize his memories, all he had to do was close his eyes and he could envision the order. The delicate metalworkings insidefascinatedhim, which was convenient, as he had plenty of time to improve his skills during his endless nights of confinement.
