Page 20 of Must Love Dukes
“There you are, Your Grace.”
Lady Lavinia stood, pretty as a picture, at the edge of the terrace, her pale blue skirts fluttering in the breeze. Behind her, the other guests had gathered for bowls on the lawn or a game of shuttlecock. There was also archery, if one was inclined.
“Is there somewhere else I should be, my lady? You seem overly concerned I might be missing.”
Hugh liked Lavinia well enough, but the appeal of having her as his duchess had faded sometime over meat pies and an odd discussion about Arcimboldo.
“I was taken aback yesterday, Your Grace.” Lavinia pouted. “There is no need to be cruel, especially with Miss Bell. I’ve apologized for Lord Alpert.”
“I’m not trying to make you jealous,” he said gently. Hugh had caught Lavinia in a heated embrace with Alpert a few weeks ago during a ball and hadn’t cared. “And I’d completely forgotten about Alpert.”
Lavinia reddened and looked away.
“The archery is about to commence. Do you plan to take part?” Lavinia excelled at archery. She’d beaten Hugh in competition before, apologizing for hours because she’d assumed his pride had been wounded.
Her lips pulled together, debating on whether to ask further about Miss Bell, but good manners finally won out. “I think I will. I enjoy archery, as you know, Your Grace. And there is no wind today to account for. I promise I’ll hit the center of the target every time.”
“I’ve no doubt.” He searched the area for any sign of Miss Bell. He hadn’t seen her at breakfast either.
Approaching a footman, Lavinia took up a bow and made her way to stand some distance from the targets set up against the trees. A servant trailed behind her with a quiver of arrows.
One of the guests yelled in alarm just as a bow appeared in his vision, sailing through the air above Hugh’s head.
“Oh, dear,” he heard Miss Bell say. “My apologies. No harm done, though. I didn’t hit anyone. I’m not skilled at archery.”
“No doubt,” Lord Lackburn said as he passed Hugh. “Watch yourself, Your Grace. That is the third time Miss Bell has accidentally released her bow while toying with it. Thank God she hasn’t yet notched an arrow.”
Hugh picked up the bow and waited patiently for Miss Bell to see him. She stood with her hands clasped, shaking her head at a footman who held up another bow. The breeze tangled in the strands of her hair that had escaped her bonnet. She looked in his direction, and an annoyed smile broke across her face. She came forward and dipped into an awkward curtsey. “Your Grace.”
The sun came out somewhere inside Hugh’s chest at the sight of her. “I believe this might belong to you.” Deliberately, he brushed his fingers along hers as she took the bow, gratified at the way her hand trembled at his touch.
“There you are, my fake suitor,” she breathed. “Thank goodness. Todson is eyeing me as if I’m a trifle.” The bow bounced against her legs as she held it.
Not fake. Not in the least.
The crowd let out a roar as Lavinia scored a perfect bullseye. She looked at Hugh with a triumphant smile, which faded from her pretty features at the sight of Miss Bell.
“Perhaps I shall endeavor again.”
As she spoke, Miss Bell waved the bow in the air until Hugh snatched it from her in exasperation.
“For all our sakes, give me that. I don’t want you injuring anyone. I am only thankful they didn’t give you arrows, Miss Bell.”
“Probably for the best,” she sighed. “I’m terrible at bowls as well.”
“Shuttlecock, perhaps? I understand that is a game all young ladies enjoy.”
“Not me, Your Grace.” She shook her head. “I lack the coordination required for most athletic pursuits. I swatted my last shuttlecock opponent with the battledore, giving Miss Ellison a black eye. That was last year, and I don’t believe I’ve improved.”
“You don’t care for the outdoors? Is that why you took up painting?” Did she know how strange and wonderful she was?
“Oh, I do,” she assured him. “I adore long walks among the trees. The ocean is a favorite spot of mine. The waves crashing along the shore. The scent of the salt in the air. Birds soaring overhead. It is all inspiring for an artist like myself.”
“You imagine a gull in place of an ear?”
A soft musical sound came from her. “No, Buxton…I mean, Your Grace. But I enjoy seabathing.”
“Seabathing?” Hugh was struck by an image of Miss Bell, wet fabric clinging to every line of her body as she frolicked aboutin the ocean with the spray in her hair. He had to blink twice to clear it away.
