He had her quite out of sorts.
Her answer for that had been simple: avoidance.
“But he is your betrothed,” Melanie reminded her, plucking an arrow from the quiver at her own station and readying her bow.
Clementine sighed. “Et tu, Brute?”
“You cannae blame us for taking note,” Lady Raina Prince added from her nearby station, her Scottish brogue undeniable and lilting. “First you became betrothed to Dorset, and now Angeline is running about with Lord Rothbury. The house party has only just begun. I dinnae ken what shall become of the rest of us.”
“My betrothal is temporary,” she told her friend in a low voice, too aware of their hostess overseeing their afternoon’s entertainment from one of the chairs set up at the end of the archery range.
She had no wish for Miss Julia to overhear her confession. Her friends were trusted; however, if her hostess were to discover the deception Clementine and Dorset had decided to perpetrate, there was the very real possibility that Miss Julia would insist upon a marriage in truth. Clementine could not afford to find herself forever married to anyone, let alone to a charming, notorious rake such as Dorset.
“Temporary?” Raina’s brows rose.
With a sigh, Clementine settled her bow in her station. The six friends had yet to convene during the house party all at once. But she had somehow assumed Olive would spread word.
“Where is Olive?” she wondered, realizing Olive was the only friend who was missing on the archery course, aside from Angeline, who had just been whisked away for a walk in the gardens with Rothbury.
“I have not seen her today.” Melanie shrugged. “I assume she is busy poking about in the Roman ruins as she has been itching to do ever since her arrival.”
Hmm. Most interesting.
“Poking about sounds likely.” Charity grinned.
Speaking of poking… Clementine’s face went hot as she thought of something else which had been prodding her, quite distinctly, during her heated kisses with the Marquess of Dorset. He was a tall man, and she was petite. His hardness had been firm and insistent against her belly as he held her near, and she could not deny that she had been intrigued. And more.
The memory sent a visceral reaction through her even now, beneath the bright sun of the mid-day, in the midst of the archery range with fellow guests surrounding her.
“Poking, Char?” Melanie shook her head. “You are too outrageous. You must make certain Miss Julia does not hear you. Next, she shall round up the lot of us and have us memorizing morality plays again as she did at Twittingham Academy.”
“Why? I daresay Miss Julia may know a thing or two aboutpokingnow,” Charity said,sotto voce, chuckling.
But Clementine and Raina were too busy shuddering over the reminder of those long-ago days and dreadful morality plays.
“What was that about poking?” Miss Julia called from her chair. “Has one of you injured herself with the arrows?”
The four friends glanced at each other, eyes wide, before they burst into laughter.
“Of course not, Miss Julia,” Clementine called when she was able to manage coherent words past her mirth.
“Lady Fangfoss,” their former headmistress corrected.
“Oh dear,” Clementine whispered. “I keep forgetting.”
“She shall forever be Miss Julia to us,” Charity reassured her.
“Nay, we are all quite well, Lady Fangfoss,” Raina said, her brogue echoing across the perfectly manicured lawns. “Nary an arrow injury amongst us.”
At least, not from these sorts of arrows.
Three pairs of eyes were upon Clementine, wide.
She winced. “Oh dear. Did I say that aloud?”
Melanie frowned at her. “You did.”
“Is something amiss?” Raina hissed.
