"Remarkable," Dominic said, genuinely impressed. "Where did you learn to shoot like that?"
"The same place I learned Latin and Greek—in our family library, under my father's tutelage." She handed the bow back to him, their fingers brushing for the briefest moment. "He believed daughters should be as accomplished as sons, though Mother disagreed most vehemently."
"One can only imagine the domestic battles that ensued," Dominic said, selecting another arrow. "Though the results speak for themselves."
"Oh, the battles were spectacular," August interjected, his eyes dancing with mirth. "Mother would insist June learn to embroider, and Father would counter with fencing lessons. By the time she was sixteen, June could both stab a man and stitch up the wound afterward."
"A useful combination of skills," Dominic observed, drawing the bow. His arrow joined June's at the center of the target, the two shafts touching.
"Your form is adequate," June remarked, the corner of her mouth twitching. "Though your elbow was slightly high."
"Was it?" he asked, feigning concern. "How fortunate I am to have such an observant critic."
"Indeed you are," she agreed. "Few would take the time to note your... shortcomings."
August glanced between them, clearly enjoying the verbal sparring. "I believe that's a point to June in whatever game you two are playing."
"We're not playing a game," June protested, perhaps too quickly.
"Merely engaging in friendly competition," Dominic added, offering her the bow again. "Another shot, Lady June? Or do you fear your first success was mere chance?"
Her eyes narrowed at the challenge. "I never rely on chance, Your Grace. Precision requires practice."
She took her position again, this time aiming for a smaller target set at an awkward angle. The shot was difficult—requiring adjustment for both distance and wind—yet her arrow found its mark with unerring accuracy.
"Magnificent," Dominic said, unable to contain his admiration. "You put most of the gentlemen here to shame."
"Yet oddly, none seem eager to acknowledge it," she replied, glancing at the cluster of men who were pointedly ignoring her demonstration.
August, who had been keeping informal score of both their shots and verbal exchanges, cleared his throat dramatically. "The score stands thus: Lady June, two perfect shots and three cutting remarks. His Grace, the Duke of Icemere, two perfect shots and two witty rejoinders. Advantage: Lady June."
"You're keeping score?" Dominic asked, amused.
"One must have occupation at these gatherings," August replied with a theatrical sigh. "And watching my friend and my sister attempt to verbally eviscerate each other provides far more entertainment than the usual tedium of country sports."
June shot her brother a quelling look. "Your commentary is unnecessary, August."
"On the contrary," he replied cheerfully, "it's the only necessary thing happening here. The rest is just archery."
Dominic chuckled despite himself. August had always possessed the rare gift of finding humor in tense situations, defusing them with a well-timed jest or observation. It was one of the qualities that had made him such a valued friend at Oxford.
Their repartee was interrupted by the approach of a formidable matron in puce satin, flanked by two young ladies whose expressions suggested they would rather be anywhere else. The girls were nearly identical in their awkwardness—all elbows and ankles, with identical expressions of trepidation.
"Your Grace," the woman said, dropping into a curtsy so deep Dominic feared she might topple forward. "What a pleasure to see such fine marksmanship. My daughters, Miss Henrietta and Miss Penelope, are great admirers of archery."
The girls reddened to the roots of their hair, exchanging looks of pure panic.
"Indeed?" Dominic replied, inclining his head politely. "How fortunate that today provides such opportunity for the sport."
"Oh yes," the woman continued, nudging the taller girl forward. "Henrietta is particularly accomplished. Perhaps you might offer some... guidance?"
The transparent matchmaking attempt hung in the air like a bad note at a musical evening. August, sensing opportunity for mischief, stepped forward with an extravagant bow.
"What an excellent suggestion! The duke was just lamenting the lack of female archers." He gestured grandly toward the targets. "Ladies, would you care to demonstrate?"
The girls looked as though they'd been invited to walk a tightrope over a pit of vipers. The mother, however, beamed with triumph.
"How kind! Henrietta, do show the duke your form."
