Murder was always wrong, but I couldn’t help feeling that in some circumstances, it might just be understandable.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Henry
The smell ofgunpowder was an oddly reassuring scent. Henry nudged Southey out of the way with his boot before planting his feet and taking aim. When the hunting dogs flushed out a flock of pheasant, he and the other men took their shots.
Southey whined.
“And that’s why you’ll never be a hunting dog,” Henry told him. “If the noise bothers you so much, go back inside.”
“I don’t think it understands you.” Mr. Smith handed his double-barreled flintlock fowler to a footman to reload. Katherine’s father was surprisingly adept at shooting for a man who had been born and raised in the city, as he liked to say. The two noblemen whom he’d married his elder daughters off to must take him hunting whenever he visited.
“You’d be surprised how much he understands.” They were waiting for the magistrate to arrive, and going outside to make a lot of noise had seemed a good idea to relieve the tension in the house. Clouds were beginning to gather, and Henry hoped any rain would hold off until the roads had fully dried from the previous storm.
Southey gave an excited yip and trotted over to the group of ladies who had come out to watch. Lady Mary tried to shoo him off with her foot, but the terrier turned it into a game, attacking her boot when he was able to get in close.
Miss Smith wore a lavender gown today, one that stretched nicely across her bosom.
His gaze flicked back to her face, hoping to see some acknowledgement of his presence, but she kept her gaze on her father. He’d thought they’d talked through any awkwardness the night before. True, she had redirected any attempts on his part to address that kiss, but the conversation had flowed.
Lady Mary yanked her skirts from Southey’s teeth. “I would like to try my hand with a firearm.” She glared down at the dog.
Henry shared a look with the other men, giving a brief shake of his head.
“These guns have quite a kick, Lady Mary.” Mr. Smith put his to his shoulder and shot at a lone bird circling in the sky, missing. His shoulder did jerk backward most emphatically. “I’m afraid it would knock you on your—”
“Knock you over,” Mr. Ryder injected smoothly. “Have you ladies come to admire our aim?”
“If anyone’s aim is worth admiring.” Lady Mary picked her way over to the cart the footmen were loading their kill on. “You’ve been out here for an hour and this is all you’ve bagged?”
Mr. Smith pinned Withers with a look. “Some of us have skill more admirable than others, to be sure.” His gaze softened when he looked at his daughter. “Have you come to call us for lunch?”
“Sadly, no.” Lady Mary rested her hip against the cart. “The constable is back and with some bad news, apparently. He’ll join us shortly after a snack from the kitchen.”
“So he gets to eat but not us,” Mr. Smith grumbled.
“I am excited to see what Cook Clem will do with these birds.” Lady Mary nudged one speckled brown wing. “If you gentlemen can provide enough for all of us.”
“We aim to please,” Mr. Ryder said dryly. “Send the dogs out farther,” he told the footman. When another group of birds wereousted from a hedgerow, he smoothly raised the fowling piece to his shoulder and pulled the trigger. A bird fell from the sky.
Henry was man enough to admit that Ryder had provided the lion’s share of the birds already in the cart. For another city dweller, he was a surprisingly good shot.
Lady Mary looked impressed, as well.
Henry strolled to where Mr. Taylor stood at the end of the hunting line. He had handed his gun to a footman to load, seeming unsure how to do it himself. He’d yet to hit a pheasant. “First time shooting?” Henry asked.
“It wasn’t an activity Lord Perrin encouraged for his secretary.” Taylor grabbed the gun from the footman and turned, the muzzle of the weapon arcing toward the group of women.
Henry grabbed the barrel and jerked it up. “Only point at what you are willing to kill.”
Taylor narrowed his gaze, and Henry rethought his warning. He didn’t know just what Taylor might be willing to kill. “Keep your gun aimed down field,” he gritted out.
“Fine.” Taylor swung in the opposite direction and took a shot, stumbling backwards. Nothing fell from the sky. Henry didn’t even know what he could have been aiming at.
He jerked his head at the footman, silently asking him to move away. When he had, Henry said, “I wanted to speak with you.”
Taylor stiffened. “Regarding?”
