Page 18 of The Marquess’s Masked Archer

Not that Sylvie noticed their efforts. Not one bit.

By the time the next Sunday evening rolled around, Sylvie had at least convinced her mother to bring in Sandusky’s literary society to perform, rather than making Sylvie read selections. But she was as far from being in the mood for a social event as one could be.

Mother, on the other hand, danced around the house as she looked over the staff’s preparations. A few minutes before guests were scheduled to arrive, she turned her attention to her daughter, straightening the lace at the neckline of Sylvie’s pale blue silk gown with a critical squint. “Now, Sylvia, you must put yourself out in front of our guests tonight. Be the star of the evening. A man can’t resist a woman with the confidence to command a room.”

Sylvie had never in her life had enough confidence to command a room. At least, not as herself. The Sylvie known by polite society was as much a myth as the archer, a creation of other people’s expectations. That woman was crafted to be as unoffensive as possible, not drawing undue attention except when it was worthwhile, when she must deter another unwanted suitor. Now, if she could don the archer’s hood, perhaps an evening in the limelight would be different. Unfortunately, she couldn’t hide behind her costume anywhere except at the resort.

The one certainty was that this promised to be a miserable evening. Between her mother’s prodding and the looming dread of knowing Lucy expected Sylvie to sing her praises, there was no possibility of the event going well at all.

Miles would normally have enjoyed a literary reading. Along with any books needed for his research, he almost always had a popular novel on hand. And discussing any kind of writing was more to his liking than a large ball or the crowded yacht race. But he’d gotten the distinct feeling Miss Bryce was avoiding him for the last two weeks. So climbing out of Alexander’s carriage in front of the Bryces’ magnificent summer home brought a mix of expectation and apprehension.

Instead of pure anticipation for an evening by her side, he was questioning his choice of tactics. At their last few shows, Miss Bryce had all but refused to speak with him, only joining in the most necessary interactions. She disappeared immediately after a performance ended, leaving Miles to contend with fawning audience members alone. What he couldn’t decipher was whether she was avoiding him because she wanted to protect her identity, or if there was another, more personal reason.

Because what his mind kept dredging up was the way she’d all but pushed Miss Casburn on him at the yacht race. He’d ended up in the woman’s company for most of the day because she refused to leave his side. No attempt at a polite extraction had worked, but she hadn’t done anything to deserve the embarrassment of a blunt request to leave him alone.

So he’d endured her inane and often unkind commentary through several hours on the hot beach. He was well aware of the gossip spreading thanks to his tolerance, though, and it set him on edge. People always took one small morsel of truth—in this case, that he had allowed Miss Casburn to remain at his side for an afternoon—and turned it into something far different with their suppositions and assumptions.

It was the thing he hated most about life. It was what had stolen his future in England and driven him to leave his mother in charge of his inheritance. He’d worked hard over the years to forgive those specific people for accusing him of something as terrible as taking a life. It was only now, far removed from it by years and physical distance, that he no longer experienced intense bitterness when he considered how the God of the universe had allowed him to go through such a nightmare alone. But the softening of his anger didn’t make it easier to face more of the same behavior from others with grace.

Despite it all, knowing he would get to spend some time with Miss Bryce that evening still stood out as a bright spot, even if he might have to work to get her attention. Miles examined the Bryces’ summer home with interest, taking in as many details as he could about the place where Miss Bryce lived for part of the year. Pastel siding made it look like a jewel sitting on a soft cushion of velvety green lawn. With a pointed turret standing a full story higher than the rest of the house and a wide porch spanning the front, it was a lovely and welcoming place.

But any beauty the architecture held paled in comparison to the view inside the foyer. While the room itself was warm with all the wood lining the walls and floor, Miss Bryce took his breath away in pale blue velvet with simple beading down the front. The top of her gown was all delicate lace, complementing her elegant features. A few pink silk rosettes grouped on each short sleeve above her white satin gloves brought a hint of her joyful personality to the ensemble.

Oh, but he was in a great deal of trouble if he couldn’t figure out a way to win her heart.

Finally reaching the spot where Miss Bryce stood with her parents after the guests in front of him moved on, Miles first greeted her mother, then her father. But the entire time he attempted to respond to Mrs. Bryce’s gushing comments about his presence, all he could think of was what he was going to say to her daughter.

When the hosts turned to the guests behind him, Miles was free to step aside and have Miss Bryce’s attention all to himself. “Good evening, Miss Bryce. You look beautiful.”

It was an understatement of the worst sort, but Miles didn’t want to scare her off with effusive compliments that might come across as false flattery. As it was, after a quick flash of what he was certain was warmth in her eyes, she waved off the praise and straightened her spine, keeping her gaze trained past his shoulder. “Good evening, Mr. Wentworth. Thank you for coming.”

Miles’s jaw clenched. She was as aloof as she’d been at the resort the last few weeks, the same as when she’d abandoned him with Miss Casburn at the yacht race. What had raised this wall between them? Was she upset over him joining her show? She hadn’t seemed to be after the first several shows had gone so well. Ladies did tend to change their minds often, though, didn’t they? But he couldn’t ask without revealing his knowledge that she was the lady archer. As much as he wanted to tell her he knew, this was hardly the time or place for it. So Miles did his best to engage her. “Did you select the readings for tonight’s program? I’m anxious to see if our literary interests align.”

She shrugged one slim shoulder. “The Sandusky Literary Society chose everything, at my mother’s request. She organized all of this.”

It was painfully obvious she was trying to end any conversation before it began. Combined with the stares of guests arriving after him who waited to greet her on the way past, he would have to concede victory to her for now. But he had one last play to make.

Raising his voice so her parents could hear, he offered her the broadest smile he could. “Miss Bryce, I do hope you’ll allow me to escort you in when the program begins.”

Her mother gasped and nodded, answering for her daughter. “Oh, yes, my lord. You must sit with us. Sylvia will be waiting for you once we’re done receiving our guests.”

Miss Bryce blanched, and Miles felt a slight twinge of guilt for using her mother against her in such a coercive manner. But she’d hardly given him a choice. Hadn’t she?

By the time the guests began moving into the parlor for the program, the twinge of guilt had turned into a full-fledged torrent. He held out his arm to Miss Bryce, unsurprised when she refused to look at or speak to him, taking his arm in cold silence. He walked her to the front row of chairs while the realization dawned that he might be at the end of his options for courting her. Attempting to show his interest through interactions at social events was failing. That only left Cedar Point, which was also not going well. Or the ridiculous letters he’d been trying to compose for weeks. But what if he admitted to knowing she was the lady archer and she grew even angrier, even more distant? He drew a calming breath. Would prayer help clear the unanswerable questions that wouldn’t let him rest? God, how can I prove myself and my honest intentions to her?

Miles stood beside Miss Bryce’s chair as she took her seat and arranged her skirts, then claimed the spot next to her. She was close enough to his side that he could feel warmth radiating from her skin, and he caught a whiff of some sort of floral soap each time she moved. Perhaps since her parents hadn’t taken their seats yet, this would be his best opportunity to attempt conversation.

As he watched her profile, considering all he’d learned about Sylvie Bryce, Miles was struck by an idea that should have occurred to him earlier. This woman would appreciate openness and directness. She didn’t seem to enjoy the covert machinations most society couples relied on. “Miss Bryce, have I done something to offend you? We were enjoying each other’s company as far as I could tell, but now you’ve shut me out. I’m worried I did something to offend you. Or maybe I misunderstood your actions and you don’t enjoy yourself one bit with me.”

Finally, she turned to look at him, meeting his gaze with cobalt eyes he would love to get lost in. Her lips parted for a moment, then her face softened. “No, not at all. I do enjoy talking to you. It’s only…”

She trailed off, one hand fluttering in a helpless gesture. He waited, watching her gather her thoughts. “It’s only that you might have been getting the wrong idea about our conversations. I’m not currently in the market for a husband, no matter what my mother says or tries to do. I’d like to take my time with the task and find someone for myself, someone I choose rather than a man Mother picks out and forces upon me. I hope you can understand it isn’t about you specifically. You’re a good man who will make a good husband. Perhaps for Lucy Casburn.”

The last words sounded choked out, as if she had difficulty saying them. So why had she? His heart clenched, the pain enough to take his breath away. Nothing she knew about him was enough to make her choose him. She still saw him as her mother’s choice instead of hers, despite their easy connection. To the point that she’d rather turn his attention to a woman he wouldn’t wish on anyone in order to get it off herself.

But he cared about her too much to make the evening more difficult for her, so he wouldn’t argue. For now.

Drawing on every ounce of his self-control, Miles offered what he hoped was a genuine smile and not a pained grimace. “I can understand your situation, Miss Bryce. And I thank you for giving me an explanation you didn’t owe me. I hope we might still get to enjoy an occasional conversation, at least. We could consider each other a friendly respite during tedious social events.”