Twenty-Three
Phoebe was surprised to see George at the breakfast table the next morning. She thought he would have already retreated back to London to hide in his study and lick his wounds.
I think too much of myself. I can’t hurt him that way. I’m inconsequential.
The party went to church, and she fidgeted when the banns were read for a local man and woman who would marry in a fortnight. Thornwick—Arthur—turned his head ever so slightly toward her and smiled as the banns were announced. He still had not said anything about setting a date for their wedding. But soon, she was sure, they would sit down with their mothers and plan the whole thing.
After luncheon, her betrothed had a surprise for her.
“I remember you like to do your archery on Sunday afternoons,” Thornwick said in an offhand manner.
Had she told him that? How extraordinary that he had remembered.
“I’ve had some targets set up on the south lawn. And found some bows of differing sizes.”
“And arrows?”
“Yes, and arrows.” He looked at her. With a degree of tenderness, she thought.
“I must change my dress. I’ll do so right away.” She was about to rush upstairs, but she stopped herself and touched his arm. “Thank you, Arthur.”
“You’re welcome, Phoebe.”
It was the first time in public he had called her Phoebe without theLady.
She went up to her bedchamber, her heart a trifle lighter.
“Dawson, quickly, I need something suitable to wear for archery. Let’s look at my day dresses. And we need to fix my hair again. And I need a bonnet or a hat with a small brim.”
A knock on the door. Dawson went to answer it, but there was no one in the hallway.
Oh. The knock had come from the door that led to George’s room. Phoebe held up her hand to stay Dawson and went to answer the knock herself.
George could not meet her eyes. He had something brown in his hand. He thrust it at her.
“I had this made for you this week. Best not tell anyone it’s from me, I think.”
She took it and looked at it. It was made of leather. Stiff, hard leather. Molded like half a sphere. No, more like a third of a sphere. A slightly larger-than-a-croquet ball sphere. With two looped straps and buckles.
“It’s for archery,” he mumbled. “For your . . . side. Over your dress. There’s been no saddle oil put on it so it shouldn’t stain anything. I’m sure your lady’s maid can figure out the straps, but if not—”
“Yes, I’m sure she’ll be able to, Lord Danforth.”
“I look forward to seeing your skills. I know you enjoy archery.”
“Yes, it’s quite challenging. And useful, too. After all, you can kill your enemy with an arrow.”
“Yes.” He bowed and stepped away.
She closed the door. It was a cunning thing George had had made. She should have thought of such a thing herself years ago when her breasts started to grow. She held the sphere to the side of her left breast and the leather cupped it perfectly.
Of course, it does.George knows my breasts.Her vision blurred.Blast.
“Miss Alice Danforth must have told her brother of my difficulty with my bowstring,” she said loudly to Dawson. “Very wrong of her. But we all know how improper Miss Danforth can be at times, don’t we?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Now, shall I wear the green dress to match the grass of the lawn or the blue dress to match the sky? What do you think, Dawson?”
