“On my count,” Sir Ronald called. “Three. Two. One!”
At the mark, the poles were cast, zipping through the air like invisible arms reaching out for prey. The men were silent, eyes focused on tiny ripples in the water.
“Where did they get their poles?” I asked behind a gloved hand.
“Sir Ronald bought them from a tradesman,” Clara replied. “They are bamboo rods imported from India, but the gamekeeper made the line and flies himself.”
“That is impressive.” Try as I might to remain impartial, my eyes flicked to Peter. Though he stood far enough away I could not determine his expression, the tenseness in his shoulders and curve in his back told me he awaited a bite. Could he want the prize as greatly as Mr. Bratten or Sir Ronald did?
“Mr. Bratten’s creel is a bit presumptuous, is it not?” Georgiana snickered at the rather large and bulky basket hanging from the man’s side.
“He had it custom-made,” Beatrice said, biting her lip. “He picked it up at the market last week, when we all went to town together. I pray he catches at least one fish.”
“Oh, look!” Clara pointed in the distance. “Lieutenant Rawles’s line is jolting!”
“He’s got one.” Lady Demsworth lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the piercing sun.
A flopping tail broke the surface of the shiny water. Lieutenant Rawles’s man hurried forward with a net, scooping up the fish after the lieutenant had reeled it in close enough. The fish was large, but not as meaty as some I’d seen with Clara. There were certainly bigger fish to be caught.
Beatrice jumped from her chair in applause when Mr. Bratten proved as much a few minutes later, followed by Sir Ronald, and then Peter. I clapped with the ladies as Peter reeled in what seemed to be the largest fish yet. I watched for his reaction, but Peter seemed despondent as his man rolled the fish inside his creel. It was as though the sport held no real competition. Or perhaps winning meant nothing to him.
Leaning back in my chair, I sipped a glass of lemonade brought to me by a servant girl. The sun beat like fire upon us, despite our constant fanning.
“Where were you this morning?” I leaned toward Clara, decidedly avoiding watching Peter as he reeled in another fish.
“Out.” She smirked.
“With Sir Ronald?”
“Of course. Until Georgiana found us in the gardens with that brother of hers,” Clara responded from behind her fan. “We spent the morning together, the four of us. I’d almost forgotten how distasteful it is to have Mr. Wood’s opinions thrust upon me.”
Had Peter already reverted to his scheming? “That is most unfortunate. Though I think by now Sir Ronald knows his own mind.”
“I should hope. But Georgiana can be very convincing. I worry she has more than one ace left to play.”
“Did I hear my name?” Georgiana asked, a false sweetness to her voice as she stared pointedly at Clara.
“From me? What would I have to say about you, Miss Wood?” Clara matched Georgiana’s tone so well I hardly recognized her voice. It was unlike Clara to be confrontational and rude.
I felt uncomfortable and uneasy to be seated in the middle of their exchange. Tension filled the air, negative and uninviting.
“I only heard Sir Ronald’s name and mine together.” Georgiana’s smile was bitter, tempting.
“You must hear only what you wish to hear,” I said before Clara could respond. “Clara and I speak of everyone here today. Your name is nothing special in our conversation, I assure you.”
Georgiana looked taken aback, and I felt a twinge of guilt. What would she say to Peter? And how would he react upon hearing how I’d spoken to his sister?
“Thank you,” Clara whispered to me. “I cannot stand her, not even for a moment anymore. She is like an unwelcome fly that cannot be squished.”
I let my shoulders fall, torn between the loyalty I felt for my sister in that moment and a sudden rush of emotion for Georgiana. Protectiveness? Compassion? Whatever it was, it opposed my natural instinct.
Georgiana traded seats with Beatrice a few minutes later, laughing with Lady Demsworth to Clara’s further annoyance. The afternoon grew hotter, both in temperature and temperament. My fan was nearly a blur.
“Time!” called an attendant, holding a large watch high above his head.
Each man handed his pole to the servant assisting him and brought forth his creel to be sorted through. One by one, the fish were placed on a table scale and measured in length.
Finally, the attendant brought a paper to Sir Ronald, who stood in a half circle with the other men around us. He unfolded it; the wait was unbearable.
