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Chapter Twenty-Five
After the constable had gone, Arabella had Mr. Blankley set up her archery target out in the back garden. There was a stone pathway, which was a straight shot to the end of the garden. It made the perfect space for Arabella’s archery practice, while in London.
Her winter coat on, she marched out with her things setting them down on a stone bench which sat just to the side of the path. She tugged off her gloves dropping them onto the bench beside her arrows.
Arabella got into her stance squaring herself to the target. She never felt more powerful than when she was aiming an arrow at something. Facing the target, she aimed inhaling the icy air deeply as she pulled back on the string. She exhaled as she let it go. A gust of wind caught at the arrow pulling it off center, but only a little.
She exhaled as the icy wind blew. This was preferable. The chill wind caught at her cheeks making her eyes water a little. It would keep her from being sad. She couldn’t bear it. She picked up another arrow, nocking it, then pulling back on the string.
She aimed at the target, holding her arrow. She waited for the gust of wind to stop, inhaling until her lungs ached. She let it go, exhaling. It was calming to be out here in the garden. The sounds of humanity were far off and she could think for once.
Behind her she heard the sounds of heavy boots. She guessed that it was likely her father.
“Arabella?” he said.
She turned to face him. “Yes, Pappa?” She grabbed another arrow off of the bench running it through the fingers of one hand.
“I want to apologize,” he said.
“You do?” she asked.
This is a surprise. The Duke of Tiverwell rarely apologizes for anything, ever.
“You were right,” he replied. “I was harsh on Mr. Conolly. He was, in fact, being very kind in a moment when the rest of us were…” He sighed. “Falling to pieces.”
Arabella nodded, waiting for him to explain himself further. She hoped that, perhaps, he was here to let her know that he’d changed his mind. It was a long shot, but she still hoped.
“I do rely on him for help,” he went on. “And I will need to apologize to him, as well. But you were right, as you so often are.”
“Apology accepted,” she replied, smiling.
He smiled back at her. “I came all of the way out here to let you know that your mother and I have invited a few guests for dinner tonight.”
“Oh, Pappa,” she said. “Are any of us really up for entertaining?”
“It’ll be good to get your mind on something else, won’t it?” he responded. “I’ve invited the Duke of Longmire.”
“Why do you like him so?” she asked.
“He’s a respectable gentleman, and a Duke,” her father replied. “He would make an excellent husband for you.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head firmly. “Not a chance.” She turned away from him, returning to her shooting stance as she nocked the arrow. She was disappointed, deeply.
“Why are you so stubborn?” he asked, even though he sounded proud.
Breathing in through her nose, Arabella pulled back the arrow, letting it loose. She exhaled, watching the arrow as it hit the bull’s eye, directly in the center.
“I’m not stubborn, Pappa. I simply know when I’m right,” she said, turning back toward him. “Now. What is it that you’re hiding from me?”
“What?” he spluttered.
She shot him a look. He should’ve known better than to come to her when she was shooting. It gave her an incredible sense of calm and poise.
“You are,” she said. “You’re afraid of something.”
“I’m not afraid of anything.”
“Tell me—is it the murders?” she asked. “You’ve just buried two of your good friends, and now, you’ll bury another.”
