Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Ben and Lord Ponsonby walked into the parlor. Both men looked relaxed, and Ben was even smiling. That was something Mia had not seen all day. She had nearly rubbed the crease from his brow after their game of croquet but had stopped herself. She was under constant scrutiny and such an improper action would surely be noticed.
She did not know what had him in such a sour mood. She thought it likely because Lady Charlotte was like a shadow at his elbow.
Mia had wanted to partner with him for croquet, but Lord Montcort had asked her first. And while she would admit it was not a horrible experience—he had made her laugh a good deal—it was not the same as partnering with Ben. And with Ben, she needn’t resort to cheating.
Mia’s cheeks warmed. She had not relished that part of their game and regretted her decision to go along with it almost immediately. In truth, she could have cared less if they won or lost. She rather despised the game. But she enjoyed playing it with Ben.
As Ben walked over to join their group, Lord Montcort slipped into the chair Lady Stoke had just vacated. “Lady Amelia, might I claim you as a partner for shooting this afternoon?”
Mia bit the side of her cheek. She’d hoped Ben would ask her. But she could hardly decline Lord Montcort’s offer without causing him great offense. And as he was one of Ben’s dearest friends, the pressure to be more amiable than her usual self compelled her to accept. She smiled, even though it took great effort. Lawks, this party was sapping every ounce of her fortitude. “Yes, of course, my lord.”
He grinned widely, and she thought she saw him glance in Ben’s direction, but there was no reason he should do that, so she must have been mistaken.
“But I should not like to cheat this time, my lord,” she gave him a stern look.
He smiled. “Do not fret. We shall not need to cheat. I am an excellent shot, as well as a great instructor. I am more than capable of helping you along. We shall be unstoppable.”
Mia sighed. She wanted to tell him she did not need his help. She was likely a better shot than the good viscount. But how would that appear? Proper ladies were not supposed to be proficient in shooting. It had once been commonplace for the ladies to go on the hunts with the men, but that was in a time when they hunted with bows rather than guns. If she did not wish to embarrass her father and Ben, she would need to play along with Lord Montcort and let him think he was ‘teaching’ her the skill. She grunted internally. She loathed that she must play the part of a simpering female. Did he expect her to recoil when the gun fired? Should she be frightened of its great power? Gads, what an intolerable nuisance! “I shall look forward to it, my lord.” She said with feigned enthusiasm. This dratted party was even stripping the fun from those sports she usually took great pleasure in doing.
He nodded and stood, moving off toward Mr. Bancroft and his sister.
The chair was not long vacated when Ben slid into it. “Good afternoon, Mia. I feel as though we have hardly seen each other these last few days.”
She nodded glumly. What had happened to their agreement that Ben would entertain her? She’d scarcely seen him, let alone been entertained by him as he’d promised.
He leaned closer to her. “I thought we could be partners for shooting this afternoon.” His voice dropped to nearly a whisper.
Her shoulders fell. Why had he not come over a moment sooner? Where had he been? “I would have enjoyed that very much, Ben.”
His brow creased. “Would have?”
“Lord Montcort already asked me,” she sighed.
“Hellfire and damnation,” Ben grumbled. “Why did you not refuse him?” He looked almost angry with her. How was this her fault?
Mia bristled. “And risk offending him? He is your dearest friend. I could not take the chance.”
Ben frowned and straightened in his chair. “I dare say you could have,” he mumbled. His eyes moved quickly about the room. “Then I shall have to find someone else, or Lady Charlotte will surely capture the spot.”
Mia dropped her chin into her palm. “She does seem determined. I believe most everyone has noticed. You should take care, Ben, else you will be engaged before the party’s end.”
Ben grumbled again. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“The shooting is ready on the west lawn, my lord.” Peters stood at her elbow, looking down at Ben.
Ben nodded. “Thank you, Peters. We will be out shortly.”
Mia heaved a sigh. “I suppose we should move this along.” She stood and clapped her hands. Conversations around the room died down. “The shooting activity is ready. If everyone will retrieve your hats and coats, we shall make our way out to the west lawns.”
“Is that outside the castle walls?” Mrs. Ludlum asked.
Ben nodded. “It is. Very good memory, Mrs. Ludlum.”
Lord Montcort appeared at Mia’s side. The man was not wholly different from Lady Charlotte—appearing without so much as a squeak or swish of fabric. “May I help you with your pelisse, Lady Amelia?”
Mia pushed down the sigh that threatened and instead smiled over her shoulder at him. “I believe I can do it on my own. But thank you for your kind offer.”
He blinked at her several times before nodding. “Very well. I shall see to my coat and wait for you under the portico to escort you to the lawns.”
Mia refrained from rolling her eyes. His attention to her was bordering on stifling. “I shall look for you outside, my lord.”
“Miss Cartwright, might we partner for the shooting?” Mia heard Ben ask Franny. Mia did not know why that made her frown. Franny and Ben had known each other for years. She was a much better partner for him than Lady Charlotte, was she not?
Franny smiled widely. “I should be honored, my lord.”
Mia tried not to stare at them, but she could not help scrutinizing them to see if there was anything more than friendship in their looks. Not that it mattered. Ben could ask whomever he wished. She should not care a whit. Yet she did. She cared very much.
The group, including the older members of the party, strolled out to the west side. Long tables lined up along the ha-ha with several pistols and a handful of fowling pieces laying in a row like little metal soldiers.
Mia stood in front of the table and explained the rules. There were few of them. After all, this was meant for enjoyment. But she wanted to make certain people were safe. “We will take turns shooting, with the first member of each team going, then we will repeat in the same order, allowing the second member to shoot. You may choose which weapon you prefer; it will not reflect on the final score. The goal is to have the most target hits. After the first round, we will determine which teams have the most, and they will compete to see which team is the best shot.” She glanced at Ben. If they had been a team, no one would have beaten them, she was certain. She sighed. But there was no use in dwelling on things that were not to be.
“Are you ready, my lady?” Lord Montcort asked.
“Indeed, I am.” She moved over beside him. It looked as though they would be second to last. Only Ben and Franny would follow them. It was a position Mia liked. She preferred to know in advance what she needed to do to take the lead, rather than depending on those behind her to make a mistake.
“I hope you are prepared for the worst, Cort. Miss Cartwright and I are determined to win.” Ben grinned at his friend. It felt more adversarial than friendly.
Lord Montcort captured Mia’s wrist and pulled her to his side. “If you think to scare us, you’ll be disappointed. Will he not, my lady?”
Before Mia could answer, Lord Stoke and Lord Heatherton joined in. “Wait, a moment. You act as though the only competition is between your two teams. Do not count us out,” Lord Stoke challenged.
Mr. Bancroft stepped up with his sister in tow. “Nor us.”
Lord Ragsdale grinned wickedly. “Why do we not make this interesting, gentlemen?” He tapped his fingertips together, looking like what Mia envisioned an evil villain from the gothic novels she used to read might look like. “How about a friendly wager?”
Lord Heatherton nodded. “We accept. What do you have in mind?”
“I do not think a wag—” Mia started, but Lord Montcort cut her short.
“Twenty pounds to the one with the best showing.” Lord Montcort straightened.
Mia sucked in a breath. That was a large sum for what was supposed to be a friendly match. “That seems an exces?—”
“Twenty? Perhaps if I thought it possible we could lose, I would bet so little,” Mr. Bancroft countered. “I had thought to wager thirty, at least. But if you gents are worried…” He trailed off with a smug smile.
“Charlie, that is a great sum,” his sister whispered as she tugged on his coat sleeve.
“Never you mind, Maddie,” Mr. Bancroft leveled his gaze at the other men.
“Done,” Lord Ragsdale said. Miss Newsome, his partner, stared at the group with raised brows, while Miss Meecham, Lord Ponsonby’s partner, watched him from beneath her lashes.
The rest of the group watched the interaction with both fascination and curiosity. Mia had not noticed before that Lady Cornfeld stood at her father’s side. Were they partners? It seemed an odd combination. But then, there were more women than men in attendance. And as Lord Grenville still had not arrived, the numbers were even more lopsided.
“Thirty it is.” Ben thrust his hand into the middle of their circle. The other men placed their hands on top of his. “Deal,” they all said as they bounced their hands a few times and threw them up in the air.
Mia stared. What was happening? Were they men or boys? Did they always act like this? She had never seen this side of Ben before, and she wasn’t sure she liked it. There was a glint in his eye. It was one she’d seen in the past but not often. It was only when he was extra determined.
Lord Montcort grabbed her wrist again. “Come, my lady. We should get you comfortable holding the gun.”
He picked up a pistol from the table and walked over so they were away from the group, their backs to them. He handed her the pistol. “Have you ever held a pistol before? How does it feel? It might feel strange at first, but you’ll get used to it.”
Was he not going to let her answer one question before he asked another? Mia looked over her shoulder. “Why can I not use a fowling piece?”
Lord Montcort guffawed. “That is too powerful for you. It will knock you off your feet.”
Mia rolled her eyes. Why did men always think they knew better? “I believe I can handle it.”
He shook his head. “This is not the time to try something like that. We will stick to the pistol. It’s the safe bet.”
“It was not my idea to wager, my lord,” her jaw tightened.
“Perhaps not, but I still prefer to win. If for no other reason than to rub salt in their wounds when they lose.”
“Then let me use the fowling piece,” she protested. Why would he not listen to her? Could he not understand that she was implying more than just a curiosity for the gun?
He shook his head. “Perhaps after this is over, I can teach you to shoot that gun, but for now, let’s use the pistol.”
Mia had not realized what an arrogant coxcomb Lord Montcort could be. Perhaps she would refuse him the next time he asked to partner with her. It would serve him right. Although, Ben’s behavior was no better.
He moved in behind her and wrapped his arms around her.
She jerked his hands off her arms and stepped out of his embrace. “I beg your pardon, my lord?” she snapped out.
He gave her a crooked grin. “Apologies, my lady. I should have warned you. But if I’m to teach you to aim, I need to help you line up the shot. I can only do that if I am looking at the sight from the same position as you. Which means—” He dropped off and shrugged.
Mia narrowed her eyes at him. Must he put her in such a compromising position? But had not Ben done as much when he taught her to shoot? She thought back, remembering with fondness that he had. But she had been much younger when Ben had done it. Before such proprieties were important.
She closed her eyes at the memory—recalling with great clarity what it had felt like to be in his arms.
As Lord Montcort repositioned himself behind Mia and placed his arms around her, his hand cupped hers around the pistol butt.
Mia stiffened. This felt nothing like when Ben had taught her. No warmth filtered through her clothes and warmed her body—which, on such a cold day, she would have welcomed. Nor was there the flutter in her stomach or buzzing in her ears. Indeed, his breath on her ear was more like an irritating midge. If only Mia could swat this one away.
She heard movement at their side and glanced over to see Ben and Franny standing a short distance off. Ben was in a similar position with his partner. She caught him when he glanced over at her, his brow furrowed, but he quickly looked away.
Mia’s jaw tightened.
She shook Lord Montcort off. “I believe I have the feel of it now, my lord. You have done your teaching well enough.”
“That, I suppose, remains to be seen.” Lord Montcort darted a look at Ben and Franny and then returned to Mia. A hint of a smile turned the corners of his lips.
Mia narrowed her eyes at him. What was he about? Each time he did something slightly untoward with Mia, he glanced at Ben. Was he gauging his reaction? But why should Lord Montcort care? And why should Ben? It was almost as if he paid her attention only to get a rise out of Ben.
Mia shook her head. That was a ridiculous notion.
“Cort, it’s your turn,” Lord Ponsonby called from behind them.
Lord Montcort put his hand on the small of Mia’s back. She flinched but did not immediately pull away. He led her over to the tables. As soon as they were in their places, she stepped to the side, allowing his hand to drop away.
Cort took his turn, hitting the target on the first shot. He turned toward her. “Did I not tell you we would not need to cheat?”
His Grace smirked. “Your partner has not yet taken her shot. You may wish to reserve your crowing until then.”
Lord Montcort shrugged. “I’m not worried.” But a flicker of uncertainty lay under the surface of his gaze.
“Perhaps next time you’ll wait to wager until you know the skill of your partner,” Mia whispered to him.
He smiled at her. “You’ll do well enough; I have no doubt.”
They stepped back from the table and allowed Ben to take his place. As she expected, Ben’s shot was as accurate as Lord Montcort’s. Only the teams of Sir Andrew, Mr. Lamb, Mrs. Ludlum, and Mr. Lymington were in danger of elimination. Unless their partners hit the target while everyone else’s partners missed. Those teams might just as well back out of the challenge. Even though the wager was only between Ben and his friends, the other teams seemed just as eager to win. The right to crow and lord the victory over the heads of the losers was strong with everyone.
As Mia had figured, Sir Andrew’s wife missed her shot, as did the partners of Mr. Lamb and Mr. Lymington.
“Three teams are out.” Lord Montcort looked about the group. One arm crossed his body while the other rested on it, his finger tapping his lips. “What is your assessment of the other ladies? Do you think any of them capable of hitting their mark?”
Mia studied the ladies. “I do not know any of them well enough to make a judgment, except Miss Cartwright.”
He raised a brow. “I do not think Lady Heatherton has it in her. She is more concerned with ribbons than pistols.” He tapped his lips with his finger. “Lady Stoke? She is more difficult to assess. She is very proper, yet strangely enough, I can picture her learning to shoot if for no other reason than to spend more time with Reg.” His nose crinkled as he looked heavenward. Did he find the notion of love ridiculous? Perhaps she had more in common with him than she had originally believed.
He sighed. “Mrs. Meecham does not stop talking long enough to steady the gun. Her aim will be as true as a feather in the wind.”
Mia coughed out a laugh. She could not argue with him on that point.
He grinned. “And Lady Cornfeld is more concerned about flirting with your father than anything else.”
Mia’s head snapped around until she found her father and Lady Cornfeld. Lord Montcort was right. The lady was hanging on her father as if he were a lifeboat on a raging sea.
Mia’s lips pursed. She would have to see to that. She sighed. But later. Now was not the time to address it.
“That only leaves Miss Newsome, Miss Bancroft, Miss Lucy Meecham, and your friend, Miss Cartwright.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Do you have opinions on any of them?”
Mia shrugged. “I’m quite certain Miss Cartwright will not hit her shot. I do not believe she has ever held a pistol or rifle in her life.”
Lord Montcort nodded. “That is good news, indeed.” He studied the three remaining women. “I believe the same is true for Miss Bancroft and Miss Lucy Meecham. They both seem far too timid.”
“That only leaves Miss Newsome.”
Lord Montcort nodded. “She is the dark horse, is she not?”
They need not wonder for long. Lord Montcort had been correct about Miss Newsome. Her aim was better than Mia would have guessed. They’d been correct about Lady Stoke also. The fowling rifle proved no match for her. Miss Bancroft, without even opening her eyes, hit the outer rim of the target. It was a lucky shot but counted as a hit nonetheless.
Montcort muttered under his breath. “Now, remember how I showed you to aim…”
Mia tipped her head to the side and looked at him blandly. “You need not worry. I will do as well as any of them.” She dipped her head toward the others.
Lord Montcort clasped his hands behind his back, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Mia guessed it was to keep him from reaching out to ‘help’ her.
She moved to the marker and took a side step, widening her stance and giving her more stability. Aiming, she slowly squeezed the trigger as she released her breath, just as Ben had taught her. A smile turned the corners of her lips as the shot hit its mark. Right in the center of the target.
“Lucky shot, my lady,” Lord Montcort laughed as he came up behind her.
Mia’s lips flattened, and she fisted her hands at her side. Lucky shot, indeed. It had been skill, pure and simple.
Ben stepped up next to her and leaned close to her ear. “Well done, Mia. As much as it pains me to lose the wager, I’m glad it was to you. You were very steady under the pressure.”
She smiled up at him. “Thank you, Ben.” But the smile fell away. She only wished she had won the wager for him, not his friend.