Chapter 8
Mr. Wentworth’s harebrained scheme had actually worked.
Waiting for riotous applause to die down, Sylvie could still hear the gasps rising from the crowd when her new helper seated himself in the line of her arrow.
Now, after seeing the shot go off without a hitch, the audience appeared spellbound.
Children leaned forward in their seats, and there was a buzz in the air as the spectators chatted about what they’d seen.
As much as a small part of Sylvie had wanted it to go badly so she didn’t have to admit he was right, she owed Mr. Wentworth significant thanks when the show was over. And a much larger part of her was thrilled and relieved. The show had indeed needed something bigger than she’d been doing.
If only continuing to meet the growing excitement for the show didn’t mean working alongside Mr. Wentworth for the summer.
Sylvie slid into position for her next trick while Mr. Wentworth stood with Mr. Miller.
He did cut a dashing figure in that silk tunic, and the mask accentuated his strong features more than she would have guessed.
It took all Sylvie’s efforts to stop watching the way the women in the crowd followed him with their eyes so she could perform the last few shots and finish the show without any mistakes.
Finally, Mr. Wentworth joined her front and center before the audience, and they gave a final bow to the crowd.
Then, while Mr. Miller encouraged people to leave the area, she and Mr. Wentworth each took a target and lugged it toward the storage area.
Inside the cooler building, Mr. Wentworth placed his target in a corner and leaned back against the wall with a sigh.
“It worked, didn’t it? And I don’t think I’ve ever had so much fun in my life.
It’s no wonder you make the effort to do this twice every week. ”
Before she could stop it, Sylvie’s ire rose.
While she loved archery, this job wasn’t an amusement for her.
It was important to her future. Vital, even.
“I hardly do this for the fun of it. Coming here is a risk for me. I could stand to lose the little bit of freedom available to me if I were to be found out.”
Humor fell off of him as he straightened again and looked into her eyes, although she wasn’t sure how well he could see them thanks to her hood.
“I am sorry. You mentioned earlier how important this is to you, and I made it sound as if it’s all fun and games.
I was simply excited over how well it went. ”
Sylvie’s heart softened, against her better judgment. “I must admit, it was a success. The crowd today was the loudest and most excited of any of my performances. Thank you for helping me.”
“So now we’ll work on something more complicated for the next show?”
With her heart pounding in her chest with the anticipation of spending time practicing and performing with him again, Sylvie raised her chin.
“We’ll perform this trick a few more times before jumping into anything more difficult.
We don’t want to reveal all our most exciting elements right away and risk people losing interest before the summer is over.
Leaving them wondering how much more thrilling the show will get is likely to bring the most attention. ”
A wide smile broke across his face. Mr. Wentworth nodded as if attempting to seem professional, despite his obvious glee. “That’s an excellent plan, of course. But we ought to practice those more difficult tricks, don’t you think?”
His question brought up another problem Sylvie had been contemplating since he’d barged into her practice earlier.
“We should, but I usually practice at home. It would draw too much attention to do so here, since I’d need to be in costume.
However, I’m not prepared to practice with you anywhere that gives clues as to my identity.
I will not risk anyone discovering who I am, not even you.
” Anyone else, anyway, since Lucy had already ferreted out her identity.
He nodded before she even finished speaking. “I work at the Ohio State University research laboratory down at Biemiller’s Cove. There’s a clearing in a thick stretch of woods a good distance from the building. It would be the perfect location. Private, quiet, and large enough to set up your shots.”
Before she could react, he darted into the nearest office.
Sylvie stood there trying to figure out how to refuse.
She should refuse. But her traitorous thoughts began racing with ways she might contrive more time away from home to do as he suggested.
From the storage room doorway, she heard him ask a secretary, “Could I trouble you for a piece of paper and a pencil?”
In no time, he returned with the items and drew her a quick map while pressing the paper against the wall, then handed it over with instructions on how to get to the spot. “Will that do, my lady archer?”
The way he said the nickname with warmth oozing from his tone certainly would not do.
But it also made Sylvie wish she could agree without hesitation.
Even in her current melting state, however, she recognized what a terrible idea a rendezvous in a secluded glen would be.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t believe it’s wise.
I have a reputation to consider, even if I’m in costume.
We’ll consider other options while we continue to perform this trick shot for now. ”
His delighted expression fell, but Sylvie ignored his possible hurt feelings and made a quick escape.
She didn’t even stop to help Mr. Miller with the rest of the props as she usually would.
She needed time to think through this development.
And to shake off the guilt of dismissing a plan Mr. Wentworth had obviously been quite pleased with.
But practicing alone in the woods with him? Didn’t he see what a risk such a plan would be to both of their reputations?
After Sylvie made her way home, while she lay flat on her belly on the floor to stash the costume bag deep under her bed, another realization hit her.
Perhaps he didn’t see it as a risk because he didn’t share the attraction Sylvie felt toward him.
He didn’t know who she was under the hood.
He hadn’t seen her face. At Cedar Point, she was just a character to him. An enjoyable diversion for the summer.
And she hated the way the possibility stung.
It was dangerous how much she was starting to long for Miles Wentworth to know her, the real her.
Not the reluctant socialite. Not the archer in disguise.
The woman who wanted to marry, as long as it could be on her own terms. The lover of old mythology and every literary archer she’d heard of.
Even the parts of her personality that tended to turn away suitors.
The interactions Sylvie had had with Mr. Wentworth made her believe he wouldn’t be put off by her occasional lack of common sense, or her insecurities, or her determination to make decisions for herself.
But the danger came in that Sylvie had made a deal.
Lucy held the truth about Sylvie’s closest-held secret and had the power to destroy the one thing Sylvie could control for herself.
And Sylvie had already agreed to Lucy’s demands.
She’d promised to encourage Mr. Wentworth toward an interest in Lucy.
Oh, it was a nightmare of her own making.
The dread in Sylvie’s heart kept her awake far too late and only grew stronger as she endured a long day of visiting hours at home with her mother on Tuesday.
She spent much of the time wondering what she and Mr. Wentworth might talk about if he had been there.
Not knowing she was the archer, would he confess his involvement in the show?
Would he boast about it? She couldn’t see him doing so, but many men would make it seem as if the entire thing was their doing.
Wednesday was less boring, with most of the day scheduled for a yacht race near Sandusky.
Such events allowed Sylvie the most freedom she encountered in high society, so she was almost excited for the day.
Until she remembered Lucy was sure to be there as well and would expect Sylvie to start making good on her promise if Mr. Wentworth was also in attendance.
She prayed all morning that he wouldn’t be, while her contrary heart reminded her how lovely it would be to see him again.
Once on board the crowded steamship headed to the Sandusky dock, Sylvie stood near her father while Mother began a low-toned commentary on everyone she saw, such as who was wearing the most garish gown or out-of-season hat.
And the gossip only grew worse as they disembarked and made their way toward the beach.
Mother’s hushed voice noted who was standing inappropriately close to a gentleman and who shouldn’t have been bold enough to show their face in the first place.
It was all Sylvie could do not to remind her that this was a public event and everyone in the community was welcome.
Sylvie hated every second of the diatribe but had learned years ago it was better to let Mother wear herself out.
All Sylvie needed to do was nod at the right moments.
Mother felt her opinions of others were important and valid and took a great deal of offense when anyone dared to say otherwise.
Most likely, the sour mood caused by a confrontation would cause her to punish Sylvie by keeping her in sight the entire day.
That was not worth the satisfaction of objecting to Mother’s pretentious attitude.