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“No, he didn’t!” Lucy jumped to her feet. “It’s the best four out of seven.”
“It was three out of five yesterday,” Margaret murmured.
“We didn’t agree officially on three out of five. It doesn’t matter. I’ll win it all today. You should come, Bridget. We’re shooting at midday.”
“I’ll try, but I don’t care for pistols.”
Lucy looked at her as though she had three noses. “Why not? I’d rather a pistol than a knife if I’m being pursued any day.” She took her chair again. “Of course, if I was as good with a knife as Mr. Kelly, I might see things differently.”
Bridget tried not to start at the mention of Callahan Kelly. She hadn’t spoken with him since finding out she would be sent to Ireland with him to pose as his wife. Baron hadn’t said any more about accent training nor had she received a summons from Mr. Tattle. Bridget had caught glimpses of Mr. Kelly over the past day or so. He was out on the field or walking between buildings. Generally, she didn’t interact with the agents very often, and there was no reason for her to do so now.
“I suspect there’s a very good reason Mr. Kelly is so proficient with a knife,” Margaret observed. “He’s a bit rough around the edges.”
Lucy nodded. “Which isn’t to say he hasn’t behaved like a perfect gentleman.”
Bridget let out a huff. “I hardly think all his flirting could be considered gentlemanly.”
Margaret and Lucy looked at her. “What flirting?” Lucy asked. “Has he flirted with you, Margaret?”
Margaret shook her head. “Not once, though if he had I can’t say I would have minded. I have a weakness for an Irish accent.”
Lucy propped her chin on her hands, the picture of innocence. “But he flirts with you, Bridget?”
“I...” She realized now she’d made a mistake. “Perhaps the word flirtation is too strong.”
“Do you flirt back?” Lucy asked with a slight smile.
“Of course not!”
“You don’t like Irish accents?” Margaret asked.
“He doesn’t have a very strong accent. I’m of the opinion he thickens it to appear charming.”
“It works,” Margaret said. “He’s charming...in a roguish sort of way.”
“Well, I certainly don’t prefer rogues.”
“Then you should flirt with my brother,” Lucy remarked. “He’s a straight arrow. He’s been perfect from the day he was born.”
“I have no intention of flirting with any of the agents. I’m here to do a job.”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t have any fun,” Lucy said.
“Are you having fun with Mr. Slorach?” Margaret asked.
Lucy gave her a cutting look, but before she could issue what was sure to be a scathing retort, the door opened and Baron entered.
Bridget quickly dabbed her mouth with her napkin.
“No need to jump up, ladies,” Baron said. “Finish your breakfast.”
“Why don’t you join us, Uncle Winn?”
“Thank you, Lucy, I’ve already eaten. I only wanted to ask Miss Murray to report to Mr. Tattle this morning.”
Bridget crushed her napkin in her hand. She’d been hoping the suggestion she learn accents with Tattle was all a bad dream. “Yes, my lord.” She added resignation to her voice, hoping he might change his mind, but he looked at Lucy again.
“I expect you will make a good show against Duncan Slorach this noon.”
