Chapter 11 #2
“It is,” Anthea insisted, already turning. “Your Grace?”
The Duke looked up from examining a bow.
“Yes.”
“Cassandra has never tried archery,” Anthea said. “I thought you might be willing to instruct her.”
Cassandra shot her a look of pure betrayal. His Grace considered this, his gaze shifting to Cassandra with a glint she did not trust.
“Very well.”
“I did not agree,” Cassandra said quickly.
“You will soon enough,” Anthea replied cheerfully. “I shall leave you to it.”
And with that, she retreated, entirely too pleased with herself. Cassandra crossed her arms, wondering if her friend intended to do this each time they spoke.
“You do realize that I will be terrible.”
“Most people are at first,” the Duke said. “Come here.”
She did so reluctantly. He selected a bow, testing its tension before handing it to her.
“This is not about strength. It is about balance and focus.”
“I possess neither under duress.”
He ignored that, continuing on.
“Your stance should be firm. Feet shoulder-width apart.”
She attempted it, immediately feeling foolish.
“Relax your shoulders,” he said, stepping closer. “You are bracing as though the target might attack you.”
“I would not put it past it.”
The corner of his mouth twitched.
He took a bow himself.
“Watch me.”
He demonstrated smoothly. The arrow struck close to the center with satisfying certainty. Cassandra simply stared.
“Of course you are good at this.”
“It would be inconvenient if I were not, for then I could not assist you.”
He handed the bow back.
“Now you.”
She fitted the arrow, fingers clumsy, the string resisting her efforts.
“This is unnecessarily difficult,” she muttered.
“Pull steadily.”
“I am.”
“You are trembling.”
“That is because I am furious.”
“You need not be.”
She fired the arrow. It veered off immediately, landing nowhere near the target. A ripple of polite amusement passed through the watching guests. Cassandra flushed at it.
“That was a test shot.”
“Of what?” he asked mildly. “Gravity?”
She glared at him and tried again. The next arrow struck the outer ring. The one after that missed entirely. Her jaw set. She was not accustomed to being openly bad at things. Not with witnesses, at least. She adjusted her stance, narrowed her eyes, and pulled harder than before.
“Do not force it,” the Duke said. “Let the bow do the work.”
“I refuse to let an inanimate object defeat me.”
She released. The arrow flew– not toward the target, but far beyond it, disappearing into the trees with a faint, distant sound.
Silence fell.
Cassandra lowered the bow slowly.
“Am I in trouble?”
He laughed, properly this time.
“No,” he said. “But you may owe me an arrow.”
She exhaled, half mortified, half relieved.
“I warned you.”
“I find that you do very little by halves,” he replied.
She glanced at him, surprised by the warmth in his tone. They walked in the direction the arrow had vanished, side by side, leaving the cluster of guests behind them.
The grass grew longer near the trees, the ground uneven beneath Cassandra’s shoes.
“I did not intend to disrupt the entire activity,” she said. “I simply wished not to be humiliated.”
He glanced at her.
“You were not humiliated.”
She let out a quiet, incredulous laugh. “I missed the target repeatedly in front of half your guests.”
“So did others,” he replied.
“Not so memorably.”
They found the arrow lodged in the soft earth beyond the target line. Cassandra bent to retrieve it, brushing dirt from the shaft with unnecessary care.
“I do not like doing things badly in front of others,” she said suddenly. “I never have. I am always laughed at, or reminded that I should have practiced more, tried harder, been better. It becomes exhausting.”
The Duke was quiet for a moment.
“This is about music, yes?” he asked, “I heard you play with your cousins. You played beautifully.”
She froze.
“That is not true,” she said at once. “You are lying.”
“I am not.”
“You were surrounded by other guests,” she pressed. “They were laughing. It has always been dreadful.”
“Yes,” he said calmly. “So I blocked them out.”
She stared at him.
“I focused on your violin,” he went on. “On the way you played, how you were far better than the other two.”
Her grip tightened on the arrow.
“No one hears that,” she said quietly.
“I did,” he replied.
The words settled between them, unsettling in their sincerity.
She looked away first.
“If you are trying to flatter me–”
“I am not flattering you.”
“Then why tell me now?”
“Because you believe yourself incapable,” he said. “And that belief is inaccurate. Also, you refused to listen to me when I tried to tell you before.”
They stood too close. He gestured toward the bow in her hands. She hesitated, then handed it to him.
“I will show you properly,” he said. “So you do not feel embarrassed when we return.”
He positioned her feet, hands light at her waist. She was acutely aware of every point of contact, each adjustment made with deliberate care.
“Relax,” he murmured. “You are holding tension where it is unnecessary. Now, raise your arm slightly.”
She did. Their fingers brushed as he corrected her grip once, then again. Neither of them stepped away. She drew the string back more carefully this time, breath shallow.
“Good,” he said. “Now release.”
The arrow struck the tree before her, not the center, but close enough. Her eyes widened at her victory.
“I did it.”
“You did,” he agreed.
She smiled, bright and unguarded, before remembering herself. Then voices carried across the field.
“Your Grace.”
“Lady Cassandra.”
They stepped apart at once. When they returned, Cassandra found that something in her had shifted.
She shot again, and again. The final arrow landed cleanly in the center ring, and applause followed.
She turned instinctively toward the Duke, excitement lighting her face.
He smiled, and the sight of it startled her.
Throughout the rest of the day, however, the atmosphere changed.
Lady Sylvia and the Dowager Duchess appeared everywhere at once. A conversation interrupted here, a partner reassigned there.
Cassandra noticed, and she assumed that he did too. They exchanged glances across rooms, across tables, across carefully orchestrated distance. And yet, Cassandra carried something new with her.
She did not hate the man she was expected to marry.
And she suspected that feeling was becoming mutual.