“No, thank you, my lord. It’s a beautiful day.” And indeed it was, the sky was pure blue, with no hint of the mist or fog from yesterday, and the dew had long-burnt off the lawn.
“Call me, Rook, remember?” Clara looked up at him. Last night he had kissed an unknown woman, caressed her and given her pleasure. The fact that it was ‘her’, she refused to think about – it was too confusing. All she knew, was that this morning he was practically courting Clara; she gave him a wintry smile.
“I do remember. Thank you for the champagne,my lord.” And with that she took herself off to watch Lady Minkworth shoot a bullseye.
Jack was milling, showing the ladies how to aim. It seemed to involve an inordinate amount of giggling – from both parties – and made Clara smile. Jack waved her over, and Clara joined his noisy gaggle of admirers.
“Clara, my dear. Why aren’t you practising archery?”
“I have no aptitude for the sport, Jack.”
“Nonsense. Come here.”
“No Jack, I can’t.” Her hand was a lot better today, as she had worn tight gloves all morning, and the swelling had receded. They were, however, still painful. Jack grabbed hold of her and stuck a bow and arrow in her hand. Clara just looked at it uncomprehendingly.
“Stand like this, and put your hand here…”
“I’m left-handed Jack.”
“Oh, how does that work then?” he looked confused.
“I…er…use my left instead of my right,” Clara replied honestly.
“I mean with the bow. Rook do you know? Is being left-handed a problem with the bow?” She turned to find Rook frowning at her. “These can be used either way,” he replied. “Let me show you.”
Before Clara could argue, Rook was standing behind her. He was close – so close that she could smell his cologne. His arms came around her to put the bow and arrow in the correct hands, and she willed her gloved digits to comply.
“Something wrong?” Rook breathed in her ear.
She made the mistake of looking back at him and found his face close to hers. Their eyes met and stayed.
“I… er…” was about all she could mumble.
“Do you know, I feel exactly the same,” he whispered. “Now concentrate.”
She looked back to the target. Thankfully, her right hand only held the bow, as Rook held the arrow steady. He placed his other hand over hers, and helped pull the string and arrow head back. She was entirely held within his arms.
“Pull, till it’s tight.” Clara closed her eyes at his husky growl. “And then let go.” Clara felt a red flush come over her face at those words. As the arrow left the bow, she was jolted back into Rook’s body, and her eyes popped open, he was…
“Don’t move away from me, Clara. Or we will all be embarrassed,” the chagrined voice said. “Look at the board.” She did, and found that the arrow was only slightly left of centre.
“Oh, that was rather good,” she found herself saying.
“It certainly was,” Rook agreed wryly, and she flushed again, aware he may be referring to something else entirely. He took the bow and arrow from her and gave it to a young girl beside them. She seemed disappointed that she was not going to get a personal demonstration from their host as well, but as usual, Jack intervened and was deemed a worthy substitute.
They stayed awhile, watching the archery. Lady Minkworth was arguing with a servant that the distance to the target for the ladies, was more than fifty yards, and she wanted it remeasured. This request was despite her having the best hit of the day; it was all highly entertaining. Rook stood behind her, still and silent, until suddenly taking her arm and leading her to the reposing area. She let him, as Clara was very aware that his behaviour this morning was strange. Perhaps, he did know it was her?
As he seated her on one of the cushions, she dared to enquire. “Did you enjoy yourself after I left the singing? It was getting rather raucous.”
She saw his jaw clench, as he seated himself opposite her, after stealing a bowl of cherries from the table.
“No, it was deadly dull. I retired as soon as I could.”
What an odd thing to say, thought Clara. He didn’t seem to know it was her, and obviously he wasn’t going to admit that he’d had a night of debauchery, but she thought he would at least say he’d enjoyed the night, or that it was fun. Instead he looked a little pale.
She was about to enquire more, when Rook held out a fruit.
“Have a cherry. I know you like them.”
