Page 71 of Nothing But a Rakehell
“I don’t disagree.” Miss Munroe looked to her dissatisfied cousin. “In any case, the gentlemen were very kind to picnic with us in that beautiful meadow.”
“We do have cards planned for this evening,” Glory told her. “We’ll have a mixed crowd for that, if you care to stay.” She wondered if Keswick would turn up at last—and suspected that Miss Vernon was wondering the same thing.
“She knows,” Miss Munroe said wryly. “She insisted on bringing a change of clothes for dinner and the evening of cards.”
“Well, what else should we do?” her cousin huffed.
Perhaps she might not automatically assume she would be invited, Glory thought uncharitably.
“In any case, what can we donow, to make the hours go by?” Miss Vernon asked with a sigh.
“What would you plan if it was your party?” Glory asked her.
“I’m not perfectly sure. Something lively,” she said, shooting a glance toward Glory’s skirts. “You’ve the battledore net set up, but that would be far more fun if the gentlemen took part.” She frowned. “I’d get up something involving marksmanship, since the men failed to invite us. They can count pheasants, but we could keep our own score and have something to tell them.” She sighed. “If only I had my bow, I could show you all something.”
“Marksmanship,” Glory mused. “Yes. That does sound exciting. I know there are a couple of bows fit for a lady up in the attics. Tensford’s sister accounted herself an archer at one point, Hope told me.” Her mouth twisted. “And if I know Fanny, then they are the best that money can buy.”
“Well! That does sound the thing!” Miss Vernon wore a smile at last.
“I don’t know the sport, but I should quite like to give it a try,” Miss Parscate ventured.
“We’ll all go,” Glory said. “I’m sure the kitchens will send refreshments for those who would rather observe. Give us an hour or a little less and we’ll have everything set up.”
She was true to her word, thanks to Higgins’, the butler’s, help. The tables were still set up outside along the house. They only added a bench holding the equipment at the edge of the croquet field and a target set up several yards out. A footman and a maid trooped behind the ladies, bearing lemonade and teacake.
“This will do very nicely,” Miss Vernon said. She looked as contented as Glory had yet seen her. She picked up a bow. “These are quite as fine as my own.” Pulling on a leather arm guard with practiced ease, she held out her arm peremptorily for her cousin to fasten it. A pair of gloves followed and she chose a bow and stepped out.
Her first shot grazed the edge of the target and bounced off. The next hit the target, but wide of the center. “I think the string may have gone slack with age,” she said critically. She shot another with the same result, then with a nod, she sent the footman to retrieve her arrows.
“I’ll have a try,” Miss Parscate said. “I’ve always wanted to learn.”
“Don’t nock your arrow until the footman is back,” Glory warned. “Just in case.”
It proved wise advice—and yet, almost not enough. The girl’s first arrow went unexpectedly awry—and over the heads of several of the watching ladies. The second buried itself into the dirt at the footman’s feet, as he poured lemonade nearby.
“Pull back further,” Miss Vernon instructed her. “It takes effort. Hold the arrow straight and steady before you release it.”
Miss Parscate’s next arrow did better, making it nearly to the target. The two girls took turns, both improving as they went on, and accepting the cheers and advice of the observers.
“Will you give it a try?” Miss Vernon asked Glory at last. “Or can you not stand steady enough?”
“Steady is not an issue, if I am standing still. But the bow is not my weapon,” Glory told her.
“I daresay we knew you were not proficient, or we would have had this activity already planned.”
Glory stood and gave the girl an even look. “Be careful of how you judge others, Miss Vernon, lest you only reveal yourself.”
Glory nodded at the footman and he set down his pitcher and went around the corner of the house. He came back carrying a long bench, with Higgins taking up the other end. They set it up at the edge of the field and placed a line of objects upon it—an odd assortment, from an earthen bottle to a sturdy teacup and on down, decreasing in size until the last—a small, shining conker.
“What’s this?” Miss Vernon’s tone had gone as thin and sharp as the rest of her.
“Marksmanship of a different sort.” Glory took her whip from Higgins and took her place, bracing herself sturdily. With careful aim and the right amount of force, she cracked the leather. The earthenware bottle spun and dropped off of the bench. The seated ladies oohed and awed and applauded lightly, just as they had for the other two girls.
She kept her distance the same and moved down the line with narrowed eyes and a steady hand. One by one, each successively smaller object dropped, until only the small conker was left.
“My brother would envy you such a fine specimen of a conker,” Miss Parscate said. “But it is awfully small. Are you sure you can hit it?”
Glory readjusted her feet and breathed deeply. She took careful aim and sent the chestnut flying with a fast flick of the whip.
