Page 72 of Nothing But a Rakehell
The ladies burst out in applause and murmured admiration. Miss Vernon merely raised a brow and sniffed. “It’s a good trick, but hardly a real skill.”
“May I try it?” Miss Munroe stepped forward.
“Of course.”
Glory showed her friend the correct way to grip the handle and let her try a few experimental swings. “Hold a moment, if you continue snapping at that height, you are going to hit yourself sooner, rather than later. If you like, I can show you how to get a good crack out of it.”
Miss Munroe laughed. “Oh, yes. Please.”
She showed her how to gently sway her elbow up and down. Bring it forward when the whip goes over your shoulder and reaches an angle . . . here.”
It took her several attempts, but Miss Munroe cracked it at last and grinned in triumph. The ladies cheered. “If you think it doesn’t take skill, you couldn’t be more wrong,” she told Miss Vernon. “I haven’t even tried to hit anything yet, but my arm is already tired.”
“I’m sure I would do better,” Miss Vernon said loftily. “I am used to spotting and hitting a target.”
“It takes quite a bit of practice before you can attempt it,” Glory said. “You have to learn the qualities of your natural throw, so you can adjust for them.”
“I’m sure you think so.” Miss Vernon snatched the whip and gripped the handle in the middle.
Glory stepped up. “Move your grip to the—”
“I’m sure I can get the hang of it,” the other girl interrupted. “Who taught you?”
“One of the grooms in my brother’s stables showed me the basics, but I taught myself, mostly.”
“As I thought,” Miss Vernon sniffed. “I did wonder at first, why you had not contrived to show off your little trick before this. I thought perhaps it did not play well into the role of helpless waif, which I hear Lord Keswick has been responding to so well.”
Glory’s mouth dropped open. Several of the ladies around her gasped.
“But now I realize that you likely didn’t wish for anyone to understand how very simple it is.” She began to lash about her with the whip.
Furious, Glory snapped her mouth shut. If the other girl kept on like that, she was going to end up striking herself. It would be no more than the spiteful cat deserved. She sighed. But there were dangers. She could strike her own eye and seriously damage herself, or hit someone else—along with a myriad of other painful possibilities.
“Please,” she began. “Raise your arm higher before you strike—”
The girl turned away.
“If you continue on like that you’ll—”
Miss Vernon shrieked. She spun back, her eyes narrowed and filling with tears and a vivid red welt raised on her arm. “You churlish girl! You did that on purpose!”
Glory stepped back. “What are you saying? I tried to warn you.”
“It could have struck me in the face!” the other girl cried shrilly, clapping a hand to her cheek. “You wanted this to happen all along!”
Glory was at a loss. She had no idea how to react or handle this termagant. “You are overwrought.” She turned to go. “I’ll ask the staff to find a room where you can rest a while before dinner.” She cast an imploring look at Miss Munroe. “Unless you feel as if you must return to your cousin’s home?”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Well, I willnotgo! You think I will just leave the field open and leave him all to you?” Her face twisted and she threw the whip at Glory.
She saw it coming, but she was already moving and had no time to react. The thing landed at her feet and curled as if it were alive, wrapping around her good ankle and catching her mid-step. She had no chance. She could not stabilize herself with her weak leg. She went down, crashing into a table, bringing it, and all the china and crockery upon it, down, too.
She lay still for a moment, breathing heavily while fury and embarrassment roared through her and tea dripped onto her neck and ran into her bodice. No one else moved or said a word for a long moment, then everyone rushed to help her up and brush her off.
Everyone except Miss Vernon, who stood and watched while an evil little smile danced about her mouth.
Glory glared at her. Stooping, she picked up the whip and was pleased at the sudden disappearance of that smile. Let the nasty girl worry. A million hurtful things swirled in her brain, waiting to be launched at that smug face. She chose the truest one—which was likely also the most terrible. “I feel sorry for you,” she said quietly.
“What?” Miss Vernon looked shocked. She glanced wildly about. “What did she say?”
