The room had fallen oddly quiet, and Charley felt Jules watching her. Was she talking too much again? The same as when she’d sat beside Lady Westerley?
“What a different life you have lived,” Bethany tilted her head as she commented thoughtfully.
“My father introduced me to more people than my mother approved.” Because she had often insisted upon remaining at his side. She’d never wanted to be left at home, forced to dress up and learn pursuits that interested her mother.
As she spoke, Charley flicked her gaze around the room. This was how her mother had been raised. What if she’d tried harder to get along with her mother? Could Charley possibly have a closer relationship with her? Had her mother’s insistence that she become a lady, simply been her way of showing that she loved her?
Guilt prickled down her spine.
These people—Jules, his friends, his sisters, and even Lady Felicity—they’d been more than kind to her. They hadn’t tried to make her feel inferior or different or ashamed in any way. She looked from Bethany, who was blushing beside Lord Chaswick, to Tabetha, to the giant Viscount Mannington-Tissenton, both Spencers, and the very elegant marquess.
And to Jules, who had stepped forward, holding a bow at his side as well.
They hadprotectedher. Jules had gone out of his way to make her feel welcome.
“I look forward to watching you shoot.” Amusement danced in his eyes.
Whereas Lord Chaswick was golden and statuesque, Jules’ elegant nonchalance sent Charley’s heart leaping. She blinked and forced her breaths to calm. Other gentlemen appeared stiff in their tightly fitted jackets, breeches, and cravats, but Jules seemed perfectly comfortable and he moved with casual grace.
“It will show off my form, or so I’ve been told.” Charley couldn’t help herself.
“Are you flirting with me, Miss Jackson?”
The sunlight slanting through the terrace windows caused his blue eyes to appear brighter than usual, the color of cornflowers in bloom. She felt heat creeping into her cheeks at his words. Because she’d done more than flirt with him the night before.
She was grateful for the fan Daisy had insisted she take with her that morning and felt every bit the lady as she flicked it open and fanned herself.
Jules’ smile grew wider.
“Well, are we going to shoot or are we going to stand about staring at one another all morning?” Lord Manningham-Tissinton’s voice echoed in the large open space.
“We are going to shoot,” Tabetha announced and she and Bethany sprang forward to select bows for themselves while Mr. Stone Spencer set out various arrows.
“Normally, we would have targets set up facing one another, so that after all the archers have taken their turns, we could cross to the other side and then shoot back.”
“It is all about showing off one’s form,” Tabetha reminded her with a wink, meeting Charley’s gaze and laughing. She then tipped her head backward and, taking long exaggerated strides, glided across the room to face the nearest target. “Shall I go first?”
Both Chaswick and Manningham-Tissinton, in unison, threw their arms up in mock surrender.
“If the rest of you value your life, I highly recommend standing back,” Jules warned with an indulgent glance in his youngest sister’s direction.
Tabetha threw a glare toward all the gentlemen and then raised her bow, drew back on the string, and shot off the arrow.
It arced upward into the air and then descended just as gracefully, landing on the shining parquet floor about five feet in front of her.
Nonplussed, Mr. Spencer stepped up behind her and handed her another arrow. With everyone looking on, he practically embraced her from behind as he explained what she could do to improve her skills and adjusted her stance at the same time.
The second arrow she shot off, with his assistance, plunged nicely into the outer rim of the target.
When everyone around her applauded softly, including Jules, Charley belatedly clapped her gloved hands together.
Jules beckoned with one arm toward a spot distant from the second target “Shall we, Miss Jackson?”
She could easily inform him that she was perfectly capable but a devilish and unusual urge kept her from speaking up. With a slight nod, she lifted the bow and pretended to study it curiously. Utterly self-assured, Julian accepted an arrow from Mr. Spencer and moved to stand behind her.
“Hold the bow here”—he lifted her hand and adjusted it on the smooth wooden grip of the bow—“and pull back on the string like so.” He used his other hand to show her where to grasp the string.
Charley had held a bow numerous times and yet with his chest touching her back, and his arm resting along her shoulder, in the presence of other people, she fumbled to rest the arrow on the shelf when he handed it to her.
