Thaddeus copied Chev’s stance, properly positioned the bow and pulled. “Still nothing.”
“Don’t rely solely on the muscles in your arm, use your whole body.”
Thaddeus tried again and pulled back just enough to send his arrow flying, but without much control.
“Well, son of a—” Thaddeus arrested his speech. “Do you have time to practice some more?”
Strange warmth passed through Chev as he agreed. By the time Thaddeus hit his first mark, they’d ventured more deeply into the wood, and the sun had hung low in the sky.
The day had grown later still when Thaddeus reluctantly decided he must return.
“Practice,” Cheverley said. “And in time, you’ll be quite skilled.”
“How long did it take you to learn to shoot?” Thaddeus asked.
“Years,” Cheverley replied. “And I’ve spent the last two months adjusting for my arm.” Cheverley sighed into the disquieting silence that followed. “I took a musket ball to my wrist,” he explained, “and, yes, sometimes it still hurts.”
“I wouldn’t have thought to ask.” Thaddeus squinted one eye. “Actually, I was going to ask if you would practice with me again.”
Extraordinary boy.
Well done, Penelope.
Thaddeus was confident without arrogance, honest without yielding authority. He’d be dammed if he didn’t wish to spend as much time as possible getting to know his son.
And, Cheverley had no intention of leaving Cornwall before inquiring into Emmaus’s suspicions.
“If I practice with you,” Chev offered, “will you tell me truthfully about what goes on at Ithwick?”
Thaddeus frowned. “The men there are no one you’d wish to know. Greedy. Violent. Crude.”
Emmaus had intimated as much. Which was exactly why he intended to find out as much as he could. One could not fight what one did not understand.
“If they are so ill mannered,” he asked, “why does your mother permit them to stay?”
Thaddeus’s eyes hardened. “Pardon?”
Chev’s chest warmed. He softened his voice. “No insult to her ladyship was intended.”
Slowly, Thaddeus nodded. “Mother believes it is her duty to care for the duke. His Grace has improved, but he is not yet well enough to order them off his land.”
His Grace.Spoken as if the duke were a stranger, not a grandfather.
“If there’s no rain tomorrow,” Thaddeus said finally, “the men will likely be throwing weighted disks on the lawn—that is, if they do not drink themselves into oblivion this evening.” He flashed a grim expression. “Tonight, there’s to be a soiree. Everyone important for miles has been invited.”
A soiree?With the duke too ill to attend? Just what was going on at Ithwick?
“If you will allow,” Chev said, “I would like to escort you home.”
Chapter Six
FROMPEN’S PERCHat the duchess’s window, she studied the edge of the forest, searching for any sign of her son. Evening shadows muted the colors of day, gathering quietly in the space between day and night.
In other circumstances, she might have luxuriated in the twilight—day’s harsh judgments had hushed, night’s secrets were about to be revealed.
Not today.
She stopped herself from biting a fingernail. Instead, she rubbed her bottom lip.
