She’d been a little sister nipping at the heels of an adored older brother—constructing paper gliders in his shadow.
He remembered that about her.
She adored her brother.
All Bran’s older brother had introduced him to was the estate manager’s homemade rotgut.
In terms of life skills, Lady Artemis had the advantage of him in this moment.
She completed another precise fold.
Bran wouldn’t look. That would be cheating, and he would rather sink into a hole in the ground than cheat off Lady Artemis.He attempted to hold the image of a bird in full extended flight in his mind’s eye and made a fold. It was straight, if angled a bit awkwardly.
In for a penny … He made another fold on the opposite side of the paper—a mirror of the first. After all, didn’t birds have two wings?
Still, it was a flat sheet of paper. It needed a fold in the middle, and a few more folds to give the effect of wings. He attempted to ignore the busy pair of feminine hands to his left and the amused cornflower-blue eyes straight ahead.
When he finished, the sheet of paper held the appearance of something that might fly—if it lucked upon a gust of wind. Warily, he allowed his gaze to steal left and take in Lady Artemis’s glider.
He could’ve groaned.
Her glider was a sleek, elegant creation of neat folds and precise lines. George Cayley himself could have constructed it. His gaze narrowed. “Is that a bulge in the middle?”
Lady Artemis shrugged. “Cayley believes the heaviest portion should be set well below the wings. Center of gravity and all that. So, I placed a small stone in the center fold.”
Bran supposed she’d earned the smug little smile playing about the corners of her mouth.
Blast.
He was going to lose—badly.
“All finished?” asked Sir Abstrupus.
Lady Artemis nodded, her mood having recovered from her disaster of a circle.
Bran grunted a surlyaye.
Oh, how far the mighty could fall.
A pair of footmen stepped from the shadows and took a glider each. Bran could only watch as they ascended the steps to the terrace and came to a stop behind the stone balustrade.
“Gliders at the ready,” Sir Abstrupus called out, lifting a white handkerchief into the air.
The footmen raised the gliders.
“You will have noticed,” said Sir Abstrupus, “these two footmen are twins. In the interest of fair play and science, of course. Fewer variables and all that.”
“I’m sure George Cayley would approve.” Lady Artemis’s voice dripped with irony.
Bran nearly snorted—nearly.
A snort would be another indicator of solidarity with the blasted woman.
And they were not allies.
Sir Abstrupus’s hand opened. As the white handkerchief fluttered to the ground, Bran watched long twin arms rear back, then release on an elegant, swift thrust.
Now would’ve been the ideal time for that gust of wind.
