“My dear, Grace will have no problem finding willing partners. In fact,” Elliot pushed on, totally unaware of his daughter’s reddening face, “I have received news that theHonorable Neville Freyne is returning from the Americas to take over his father’s business concerns.”
The fiancé who had jilted her?
Grace curled her fingers into her palms, then gave a brittle smile. “I’m sure his family will be very glad to see him.”
Something akin to jealousy stung Lucien. WouldGracebe pleased to see the bounder as well? He turned to Lady Elliot. “I will be happy to claim the first dance at any event Lady Grace and I attend,” he said. “But first, perhaps, we should enjoy this beautiful day in the country. A little archery, perhaps?”
“A splendid idea,” Grace said.
The relief on her face made Lucien want to deal old Lord Elliot and his meddlesome wife a cutting remark. Another time, he promised. He’d not embarrass Grace further now.
With enthusiastic whoops, the three youngest Elliots absconded with Arkwright, all but dragging Rhys to the range set up with miniature bows and larger targets while Grace led their elders to a table where a set of larger equipment lay.
Cassandra went first, followed by Penelope, then Grace, who selected a bow made of yew and a quiver of arrows. Stepping up to the mark, she nocked the arrow and raised the bow into position. She blew a wayward tendril of hair from her brow, and Lucien felt an almost irresistible urge to sweep it back with his fingertips, remembering the velvety warmth of her skin. Instead, he watched as she drew back the bowstring and narrowed one eye. She let the arrow fly, the point striking dead-center in the straw target.
The onlookers clapped in approval.
Lucien smiled. “You always were a keen shot.”
Arkwright hastened over to praise her, the small boys trailing in his wake, damn him. “Well done! I can’t think when I’ve seen a lady shoot so well.”
Will Elliot laughed. “One can’t play Robin Hood without proficiency with a bow and arrow. From the time we were Bennet’s age, Grace insisted Maid Marian should have a bow and Guinevere a sword.”
“If they had, the legends would have turned out quite differently,” she said crisply.
Arkwright laughed.“You prefer the romance of earlier days, do you, Lady Grace? Something you and Everdene have in common. You’d think my practical friend would be proficient with pistols, but he seldom bothers to practice. However, present him with a sword and you’ll see him in full flower.”
“A sword?” Avery—the one who had first thrown a mudpie—exclaimed, his button-bright eyes looking at Lucien with new interest.
“Indeed,” Arkwright continued. “I’ve seen Everdene divest an opponent of his buttons, and clip a lock of hair from our sword master as if it were nothing.”
Lucien felt a trifle uncomfortable. “Really, Arkwright, we are occupied with archery. No one is interested in such tales at the moment.”
“We are!” the boys cried in unison, Bennet leaping up and down on the toes of his shiny black boots.
Cassandra shot Lucien a condemning glare. “My brother was always running about playing knights when he was a boy. Once, he insisted on hoisting Jane high up in a tree, pretending it was a tower. He was supposed to rescue her, but he forgot to retrieve her until after dark.”
Lucien had been pulled out of the game by Father, who’d taken him to meet with a visiting MP, but what followed was an appalling example of heedlessness on his own part. Lucien frowned, remembering Jane’s pinched white face when he’d raced out to the orchard and found her, too frightened to climb down.
“No swords here,” Bennet complained. “Shelocked them away.” There could be no question as to whom ‘she’ was. The boys cut a glare at their stepmother.
Will gave him a stern glance. “Only because you held the vicar at sword point when he stopped by unexpectedly.”
“He was looking suspicious,” Avery told Arkwright.
“Squinty eyes,” Ethan confirmed. He attempted to mimic the expression, but his mischievous face ended up looking like he’d taken a bite out of a lemon.
Arkwright cast a pleading look toward Lady Elliot. “Perhaps we could bring the swords out this once,” he wheedled in that tone that made every woman over thirty want to give him sweets. “An exception, so that Lord Everdene can give the lads a quick demonstration.”
Lucien straightened his cravat. “I’ve no desire to disrupt our archery practice.”
Lady Elliot immediately set down her bow. “I daresay we’d all love to see it.”
The boys shouted with delight, the rest of the party a clamor of encouragement.
Damn Arkwright for even suggesting such a thing. There was nothing for it but to acquiesce and maintain some measure of dignity, or continue to refuse and seem rude. His lips thinned as he nodded assent.
Will Elliot hastened to the house, returning with two rather battered fencing foils, buttons on their points. “I’ll give it a go!” Will grinned, eager as a puppy as he handed one blade to Lucien.
