It was a travesty.
Every single person that he had invited was failing him, and he was not accustomed to anything but triumph since becoming the duke.
“Pardon me, Lord Hever,” James cut in. “Please forgive the intrusion, but I must take Lady Jacqueline away from you.”
“Oh, no bother. No bother,” piped Lord Hever. “I was about to go speak with Miss Eleanora Ashton,” he said, clapping his gloved hands together. The old man was suddenly a picture of boyish zeal at the thought.
Jacqueline sighed as they watched Lord Hever go off with a surprisingly sprightly gait to the young Miss Ashton, who was eighteen years old, had a good dowry, and looked as if she could dance a merry reel, all whilst talking about the weather and the state of the roads.
Jacqueline frowned before eyeing James. “Are you certain this is the proper tack? Because frankly I had no idea you were inviting me over to such a tedious event. If I had known, I’d have darned stockings instead.”
“It is not tedious,” he protested. “And I had no idea youcoulddarn stockings.”
She narrowed her eyes then folded her arms under her modestly covered bosom. “I told you this wasn’t going to work.”
He ground his teeth, hating the idea of failure, but…he was likely going to have to admit it.
He had made an error. A significant one, and he now found himself wishing he could kick himself in the arse. He owed both Jack and his mother an apology for his arrogance.
The soft yellow gown did nothing to amplify any seductive charms Jack might possess. It was well made, but nothing to remember.
“And thisisabsolutely tedious,” she pointed out before she snorted. “I listened to him speak about gout for the last ten minutes. And if you think that gout is stimulating? Let me tell you about the proper way to wind linen about a toe.”
A strangled note of horror slipped from his lips as he raised his hands in surrender. “I beg of you to spare me the details of your conversation.” He placed a hand on his heart and bowed toward her. “I can only offer my apologies for my mistakes. It was truly foolish of me to think I knew best in this. I never should have pursued it despite your warnings”
“You admit that you have made a mistake, then?” she challenged with faux amazement.
He groaned and replied, “Well, perhaps the one. Now, let us go over and speak to Lord Peterborough. And then this ill endeavor shall be done.”
“If you insist,” she groaned, and she followed him with that gait he admired but was almost certainly off-putting to the male sex.
Jack covered the ground…efficiently. No mincing. He adored it. But he seemed to be the only one.
With that rather unfortunate realization, he guided her toward the archery butts.
Lord Peterborough was standing, contemplating a bow. He picked one up in his shaking hand and bounced it, pulling at the string slightly, twanging it like a violin string.
The man’s white hair was wild about his lined face.
When he spotted them, he stumbled a bit, and the bow fell to the ground. He began to tilt over to pick it up, but he righted himself immediately, groaned, and his back cracked.
Jacqueline swung a glance at James, and he did not dare say a word.
Suddenly, he realized exactly why she and his mother had found his proposition so absurd.
He had simply seen that Jacqueline would eventually have freedom, and much sooner than if she married a young man.
Jack was an agile sort, after all.
“Ah, Your Grace,” Peterborough announced in a rather reedy tone. “I have dropped my bow. Would you mind?”
Jack smiled kindly. “I shall fetch it,” she said, and without a pause, she bent down and clasped the bow easily.
She lifted it, eyed the string, gave it a stroke, and said, “Shall we practice?”
James was transfixed by her fingers sliding along polished bow and string…
Peterborough grimaced. “Oh no, my dear,” the older lord announced, cutting through James’s reverie. “No. Once I was a wonderful marksman. But these days, I do not have the ability to pull the bowstring back. Alas, you know, too many years of fine port and too much time on the battlefield as a youth.”