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“He is?” Lady Hermione said, flicking her head round and fumbling with the longbow so much she nearly dropped it again. She turned to watch her father with an expression on her face Antony could not quite decipher. She cleared her throat, looked away, and then passed the longbow back to him.
“Is something wrong?” he asked, curious at the sudden change in her. She had gone from being at ease and not only talking with him but flirting too to this odd stiff manner.
“No, thank you, Your Grace; I am perfectly well,” she said quickly, the words practically jumbling together. She glanced at her father one last time before she looked at him, pinning what seemed to be a false smile in place. “I was just wondering…”
“Yes?” he said, prompting her on. She seemed to second guess herself.
“Never mind,” she said, about to walk past him.
“Wait, what was it you were going to–” he turned to follow her when one of the arrows in his hand got caught in her dress.
“Your Grace!” she said sharply and jumped away from him as an awful sound of silk being torn ripped through the air.
