“As always, my lord, you are kindness itself—to give credit for your abilities to the… lady.”
Charley was not unfamiliar with Miss Somerset’s type. There had been plenty of equally spiteful young women in Philadelphia. Ladies who seemed to have everything they could possibly want or need, and yet it was never enough.
They would wish to take something away from people who would not fight them.
Charley would not fight Rachel Somerset over this. She had other things to worry about. Like what she was going to do with Jules and all these… feelings.
And she wanted nothing more than to sooth the skin on her arm with something wet and cool.
“I believe a contest is in order,” Lord Chaswick suggested while laughing. “A friendly one, in the spirit of fun.”
“That isn’t necessary,” Charley objected.
“Wouldn’t that be unseemly?” Felicity sent her a pitying glance. “It would not be an even match.”
“Surely, ladies appreciate a little friendly competition?” Lord Manningham-Tissinton said, with a challenging gleam in his eyes.
Charley groaned inwardly, as Rachel Somerset turned to her, looking rather pleased at the prospect. “We do on occasion. But I wouldn’t want to embarrass Miss Jackson.”
Charley exhaled a long slow breath.
“What do you say?” Jules met her eyes. “Are you willing to give it a go?”
He chuckled. He’d known she’d made the shots on her own. “It would not be a fair competition.” She shrugged. “But if Miss Somerset wishes to make some sort of wager…”
“Is that what ladies do in America? How positively outrageous!”
“I beg your pardon, my dear Miss Somerset? When my mother tries her hand at whist, are you suggesting she’s not a proper lady?” Lord Greystone spoke in an icy tone from where he’d been standing near the entrance.
Charley clutched her wrist and resisted the urge to pull back her sleeve so that she could blow on her arm… anything to cool the burning. A large pitcher of water placed on a nearby table looked heavenly. She could pour the water onto her burning skin, or better yet, submerge her arm in it completely.
“It is set then! Each of the ladies will take three shots and the best one wins.”
She jerked her head back to Jules since she’d missed the last few pieces of the conversation. He raised his brows at her.
“And the winner may choose the gentleman of her choice to escort her for the duration of tomorrow’s excursion,” Tabetha announced with glee.
“As does second place,” Mr. Spencer offered in a conciliatory tone. “Under which terms, the way I see it, the gentlemen chosen win regardless.”
“We will indeed,” Jules responded, lifting that one corner of his mouth ever so slightly. The urge to kiss the other corner in hopes of coaxing a full smile was most inconvenient.
The other Cocksure Gents, as Charley was beginning to think of them in her mind, had begun a few private discussions on their own. Were they actually going to bet on this foolish competition?
Of which the winner would choose a gentleman for… “Wait. What excursion?” Charley really needed to pay more attention to what was going on around her. In answer to the question she’d blurted out, all eyes swiveled toward her. Being the focus of attention wasn’t something she ever wanted, in fact, it was exactly what she would have avoided at all costs.
“Lady Westerley has planned a visit to the abandoned Abbey that sits on the edge of the estate. She’s arranged us to take tea outside—if the weather cooperates,” Bethany said.
“We’ll ride in carriages to the base but those who wish to experience the full benefit of its grandeur must hike to the top.” Tabetha’s enthusiasm showed clearly. “Bethany, Jules, and I have done it a thousand times, of course, but it’s one of my favorite places on all of Westerley Crossings.”
“Please, do not feel you have any obligation to participate in this ridiculous contest. My sister is an excellent archer.” It was kind of Miss Delia to be forthcoming with such information. How many unsuspecting young ladies had the younger girl watched her older sister humiliate?
“But then that would be considered a forfeit.” Lord Chaswick sent Charley a challenging glance.
Either way, Charley knew this silent war Rachel Somerset had declared was an unwinnable one. She shifted her gaze to the windows where a perfectly clear sky suggested future spring-like days. If she lost the contest purposely, then Rachel Somerset would, of course, select Lord Westerley as her companion.
It would be the perfect opportunity for Charley to nip these precarious emotions in the bud. Perhaps he would turn his affections toward another if he thought she wasn’t interested.
Because his secret courtship was stirring up some most inappropriate secret longings in Charley.
