He grimaced. “It depends on what you mean bysuccessful,” he said. “I was never any good at it, you know, but if we only ever did things we are good at, we would live pretty unadventurous lives, would we not? I always fancied myself as an archer. Archery, unfortunately, does not fancy me.”
There was general laughter, in which he joined.
He must still like her if he had sat with her, Winifred thought. And oh, she still liked him. Very much, in fact. Perhaps even more than that. Suddenly, she desperately wanted to love him beyond all doubt. He might never fall in love with her, of course, but she needed to cling to the faded hope that there was something more between them than just casual friendship. She wanted her mind taken off Colonel Nicholas Ware, who was seated on the other side of the table, though mercifully not directly across from her. He had Miss Haviland on one side of him, Mama on the other. He looked perfectly relaxed.
Eventually the general sharing of news died down and everyone turned to the more usual conversations with their immediate neighbors. Winifred had been very thankful for the general chatter, however. It had helped her calm her thoughts and steady the painful beating of her heart. She must not, not,notthink about this afternoon. She felt horribly, hideously guilty. She had recognized before today, of course, that she found Colonel Ware attractive. How could any womannot? So it was hardly surprising that she had given in to temptation when it had offered itself in the form of that marshy ground she had almost stepped in and his strong arm to pull her back from the brink.
What had she beenthinking?
What hadhebeen thinking?
The trouble was, she had not been thinking at all, and he could not have been either—or why on earth would he have done it? He could not possibly find her attractive.
She had had her hair inbraids. Heavens! It wasmortifying, to say the least. She could hardly recall how he had got her into the boat afterward and out of it and up onto her horse and down from it in the stables. He had had to touch her on all four occasions.Somehow he had made it impersonal, andshehad made it impersonal, though the journey back to the stables had seemed to take forever as they made a few dismally failed attempts at conversation. She could not now recall a single thing either of them had said.
The only thing that had kept ringing in her head was his calling herWinjust after kissing her. No one had ever called her that. She had always been Winifred or Winnie, or, as the eldest daughter of the house, Miss Cunningham.Winhad sent shivers up her spine. It had sounded like a caress. How was it possible to make a caress of the name Winifred? She had always wished that at the orphanage they had named her almost anything else on earth. It made her sound like a cross horse. Perhaps that was why she had always had an aversion to horses.
“Perhaps you are a better bowman than you think,” she said to Owen. “I have heard that Mr. Taylor is an extraordinarily skilled archer. Perhaps you have always compared yourself to him. And perhaps that has been a mistake.”
“When it was my turn to shoot during the last contest,” he said, “I observed a noticeable reaction in the crowd of spectators even before I began. They always stand well back for their own safety, of course. But for me, they shuffled back another quarter of a mile.”
“Oh, what a tall story,” Winifred said, laughing.
“I say, Winifred,” he said. “I have been itching to see you and tell you about your brother. Robbie, I mean.”
“I hope he did not get in your way in the poplar alley,” she said. “But he had spent a great deal of time watching Andrew in the stables, without once complaining, and I knew he wanted to watch you practice. Andrew is no great company for anyone, especially when he is engrossed in one of his carvings.”
“He did not get in our way at all,” Owen said. “I kept talkingto him while I was shooting—or, rather, while Clarence was shooting. I talked from some distance away, though. I did not move close enough to make him feel threatened. After a while he talked back and asked a few questions. He came to stand behind us to watch, and he allowed me to pet his dog when it was not my turn to shoot. He wanted to know how to shoot an arrow. Talk about coming to the wrong person, and Clarence is not much better than I am. In fact, he will probably take the second from bottom place in the contest on Saturday. But I do knowhowit is done.”
“You taught Robbie?” Winifred asked.
“How to hold the bow, yes,” he said. “How to fit an arrow and aim it. How to release the arrow. He took to it like a duck to water. After a few tries he was already better than I am. I told him so too, and he actually laughed. Does he do that often?”
“No.” Winifred was enthralled. “And he has never held a bow and arrow in his life. Not to my knowledge, anyway.”
“Well, he can wield one now,” Owen said. “He did not want to give it up. He kept shooting until he finally actually hit the outer edge of the target. He only frowned at that, though, because it was not the center. I think you have a perfectionist on your hands, Winifred. He would have kept going, but Clarence needed to head on home to Charity before she divorced him or sent out a search party. I couldn’t wait to see you and tell you about it. I thought you would be pleased to hear that your brother has found something that fascinates him and something he can be good at with some practice. Perhapsverygood. I wonder if I ought to ask Matthew—Matthew Taylor, that is—to have a look at him, perhaps give him a few pointers or even an actual lesson. I guessed you would understand my excitement and share it.”
“Idounderstand,” she said. “I believe you must have felt asMama and Papa felt several years ago when they discovered that a dog could help with Robbie’s moods and tantrums. They went immediately and got one for him, though he chose it himself. Nelson made a huge difference to Robbie’s life—and ours.”
Owen beamed at her, and she felt a welling of renewed affection for him.
“I wonder,” he said. “If I ever do start that farm for troubled youngsters, would Robbie be interested in coming to work for me? Do you think it would be a good idea to employ one of their own, so to speak, to help them? People like me can have all the goodwill in the world as well as the resources and the compassion and the longing to help and make a difference, but it is pointless unless one can somehow enter into the experience of a person who for some reason is angry with the world and everyone in it, who trusts no one and nothing, who has not a spark of hope that life will ever offer something of worth, something to live for. Robbie has been one of the fortunate ones. He was adopted by your parents, who steadfastly refusednotto love him, and acquired siblings who followed their lead. And he has discovered someone—Andrew—who needs him, and his dog, and now archery. Is that the key, do you think, Winifred? Finding something about which a person can be both skilled and passionate, whether it be shooting an arrow or carving stone or stacking sheaves of wheat or riding bareback? Not that I would expect there to be a single key. Life is not nearly as neat as that. But might it beakey?”
“Akey, yes, Owen,” she said. “And if you can make it all happen, it will be interesting to see how Robbie would greet the opportunity to work for you and with you.” She beamed back at him and at the same moment, quite by accident, caught the eye of Colonel Ware across the table. He was half smiling at them. She felt a bit sick. Ifonly she could go back and say a firm no when he had offered to take her riding. She had promised to stay with Andrew, after all.
“I say,” Owen said. “Shall we go walking after dinner? Maybe down by the river? There is a path, though not as well trodden as the one to my mother’s cottage. It is on the opposite side of the drive. It always seems to be especially lovely in the evening. I wonder why that is. Something to do with the light, I daresay.”
“I would like it very much,” Winifred said, though part of her wanted to go to her room, shut the door to all comers, and brood over the day’s tumultuous events. It would be very out of character to do that, however, and someone would be sure to come to ask if there was something the matter with her. If it was Mama, she was afraid she might burst into tears. The very thought was horrifying.
When dinner was over, she waited for Owen to invite someone else to join them and held her breath in the hope that it would not be Colonel Ware and Miss Haviland. Please, please not them. But he did not ask anyone. He merely told the earl and countess where they were going for a breath of air. No one suggested joining them.
Was thisit? Winifred wondered. Was it to be what she had hoped for when she came here? More recently, though, she had lost hope and convinced herself she did not want any closer relationship with him than friendship. Was he going to ask her to join him in bringing his plans to life? Was he going to ask her to marry him?
Were all her dreams about to be restored?
She could not imagine a happier outcome.
Ifshe blocked the memory of this afternoon, that was.
