Except where Dash was concerned…
“Are you going to tell me what you have in mind?” she asked, fisting her hands on her hips.
“Fetch your bow and arrow.”
Her brows lifted. “My bow and arrow.”
“Yes,” Gideon said calmly. “You and I are entering a contest.”
THE COMPETITION
Beatrice leaned toward the windows, watching the houses grow farther apart as the carriage wheels hummed over the road, leaving Mayfair behind.
“Where exactly are we going?”
Gideon sat opposite her, one arm resting casually along the back of the seat, beside two long leather cases.
“Riverside House.”
“That sounds like a country estate.”
“It is,” he said. “Though technically still within London.”
“There will be open land for this… competition?”
Gideon’s mouth curved slightly. “Indeed. Mrs. Arabella Shaw holds a contest there every spring. Have you ever entered one?”
Beatrice shook her head. “There was a competition in Bellwater once.” She needn’t explain that Bellwater was the village nearest Dasborough Park; Gideon and Dash had spent enough evenings in its pub to know it well. “But the gentleman organizing it informed me it was for men only. And not for ‘nobs’ as he so eloquently put it. So.”
Gideon snorted. “That sounds like a man who feared losing.”
“I agree.” Beatrice smiled. “And this Mrs. Shaw, she does this every year? Why haven’t I heard of her before?”
“Her husband made his fortune in industry. And although some of us have welcomed her company—and Mr. Shaw’s, when he’s around—there are many who have not.”
“Because they lack standing.”
“That’s part of it.” Gideon’s mouth curled, a wry, somewhat amused expression overtaking his features. “But at this point, I’d say it’s more because she refuses to follow their rules.”
Beatrice couldn’t quite keep her eyebrows from shooting up in pleasant surprise. This Mrs. Shaw sounded like the type of woman she could respect—though she would reserve judgement until she had actually met her for herself, of course. It was unwise to put all of one’s faith in another’s opinion alone, after all.
When she looked back up at him, another question half-risen to her tongue, she found Gideon already watching her. Though his posture was relaxed, that mild amusement still there, his gaze was intent. She could only look into his eyes for a few seconds before having to direct her gaze elsewhere.
“How does it work?” she asked once she managed to find her voice again. “The competition?”
But just then, the carriage slowed to pass through a twin set of massive iron gates.
“You’re about to find out.”
Before them stretched lawns so wide they rivaled Hyde Park. White canvas pavilions lined the edge of the lawn. Ladies in bright gowns drifted between them like moving flowers. Laughter carried on the spring air.
Farther beyond, Beatrice caught a glimpse of the Thames glimmering through a line of trees. And at the center of it all?—
Targets.
Rows of them.
Dozens of gentlemen stood nearby with bows. A few women did as well.
