“There is a God,” Colonel Ware said. “He has never come even close before.”
Alas, two of his remaining arrows hit the outer rings of the target while the remaining three fell harmlessly to the grass, not even close.
He looked delighted with himself afterward as he grinned at his family and friends.
“A pure fluke,” he said.
And then it was Robbie’s turn. Mama was clutching Papa’s arm, Winifred noticed, and Andrew was watching intently. She held her breath as the earl gave the signal to start and Robbie raised the bow into position. He shot all his arrows with a minute to spare and hit the target with all but one of them. None stuck within the inner rings, but he looked eagerly at Owen anyway when he had finished, and he smiled.
Oh, it was so rare to see Robbie smile.
Mama and Papa were both hugging him. So was Andrew. And so was Winifred.
“Oh, well done,” she cried.
But an expectant hush had fallen all about them. Mr. Taylor had taken his place at the shooting line. He was the finalcontestant. He fixed his eyes on the target and half closed them. Winifred could see that his concentration was total. She guessed he was quite unaware of all the people waiting with bated breath for him to shoot his arrows. He did not even move when the Earl of Stratton gave him the signal to start. He stood quite still for at least half a minute longer and then raised his bow unhurriedly. His quiver of arrows was slung over one shoulder. And then he shot—six arrows, one after the other, with no discernible pause between.
The near silence of the crowd held for a few moments after the last arrow had left his bow. And then they roared as one as it became clear that every single arrow had found its way to the very heart of the target.
“Good God,” Papa said irreverently. “Is it possible?”
“No,” Colonel Ware said. “It is not. But we have all seen it done anyway. I wonder what his secret is.”
Winifred turned toward him and smiled.
The dowager countess was hurrying toward her husband to be caught up in a tight hug.
Ah, what a wonderful time this was, Winifred thought. Robbie had placed fourteenth out of the field of twenty-five. How extraordinary when he had only just discovered the sport. Owen placed twenty-second, his best ever result. He boasted of it, laughing, as his brother and his cousin, who had placed two positions lower, slapped him on the back.
“Did you see that first arrow of mine, Winifred?” he asked.
“I did indeed,” she said. “It was a magnificent shot.”
“I am thinking of having that arrow cast in bronze,” he said, “to mount on the wall of my bedchamber to remind me of my greatest moment.”
The whole group laughed.
He was such a good sport, she thought. She walked back to the house between him and Colonel Ware.
“Are you going to watch the log hewing, Winifred?” Owen asked. “Lots of women do. It is coming up next.”
“But of course,” she said. “I do not want to miss a single thing.”
“I wonder,” Colonel Ware said, “if you would reserve the first waltz of the ball for me, Winifred. I thought I would get my word in before Owen.”
“There is to be more than one waltz,” Owen said. “There always is. Everyone loves the dance even though there are a few diehards who still consider it a bit scandalous. Anyway, Nick, you know very well that this is always an informal ball. One does not have to reserve sets in advance.”
“Except when one wants to be certain of a particular partner for a particular dance,” Colonel Ware said. “Win?”
She was having difficulty catching her breath, which was very silly of her. It was just a dance, after all.
“I will squeeze your name onto my very full dance card,” she said.
He had danced with her at Aunt Anna’s ball perhaps because he had felt obliged since it was her come-out ball, and perhaps because he had wanted to grill her over her eligibility to be courted by his brother. It had not been a waltz. It had not gone well, that dance and the supper that followed it. She had made an idiot of herself by saying she was a hater of all warfare and telling him her first impression had been that he was a cruel man. And he had firmly defended himself for being a killer, as all military men who had seen battle were.
That seemed like a million years ago.
She looked at him now, her teeth sinking into her lower lip. What was his motive this time?
