Peterborough’s eyes suddenly shone as if he was warming to a topic he could speak about for hours. “You know, I fought in many wars, and some said that I was a most excellent campaign’s man.”
“Did they, my lord?” she asked.
There was a note to her voice that he realized told of the fact that Jacqueline had listened to many such stories over the years.
Once again, James was forced to realize that ladies were often required to be the audience of exhausting partners. And they were permitted little escape and certainly couldn’t let on how hard it could be to appear rapt and in awe of their male counterparts.
“Peterborough,” he cut in swiftly and kindly, “you were indeed an exemplary soldier. Alas, if you are not able to practice archery, perhaps Jacqueline and I should do so. You can give pointers.”
“Oh, I shall be happy to watch,” Peterborough said, his face brightening with anticipation at the thought of a bit of advice-giving.
The older man tottered toward one of the chairs that was close by the archery paraphernalia. He lowered himself into one with a groan and let out a whoosh of air from his mouth as he collapsed into the seat.
“I hope he does not fall apart,” Jacqueline whispered through her teeth so only James could hear.
“I do not think he shall do so in my garden,” he pointed out softly, swallowing a laugh at the appalling but seemingly real possibility. “But I confess I am concerned about his ability to exit the chair and return safely to his coach.”
Jacqueline’s lips tilted and she continued, sotto voce, “You’d be surprised. I wager he’s quite capable when he wishes. A fellow like Peterborough? He shall be alive when we are dust.”
He groaned. “I see your point, and my mother’s, too.”
“Your mother?” she queried, pulling on the archery gloves she’d claimed from the table that held the bows.
“Oh, yes,” he said seriously. “She’s in firm agreement with you.”
As if to prove the point, a snore rattled from Lord Peterborough, whose head was slumped against his snowy cravat.
“You are outnumbered by ladies,” she observed playfully.
“More importantly, I am outnumbered by actual experience. Shall we?” he asked, gesturing to the butts.
With that, she happily pulled on a leather wrist protector, took up a bow and arrow, eyed the archery butt at the end of the long garden, pulled the string back, and with remarkable ease, let fly.
He gaped at her.
“I’ve made a serious error,” he whispered, the strangest emotions rolling over him. “You are no ornament.”
“I have never been an ornament,” she said with a shrug. “I’ve tried to be. I always end up being something else, something dependable. And while I like being dependable, it never seems to appeal to gentlemen.”
He ground his teeth and closed his eyes for a moment as the reality of their dilemma hit him.
“Forgive me,” he said softly. “We are going to have to change tack, aren’t we?”
“Indeed, we are. I’m glad you have seen the point,” she said, picking up another arrow and gazing at the tip of the arrowhead. “If we are to strike our target, I do not think that we shall be able to go on as you have assumed.”
He took up a bow himself, picked up an arrow, and notched it. He pulled back, the muscles in his back stretching.
“You promised to teach me how to be desirable.” She leaned in and, in a voice that was barely more than a breath, said, “Will you keep that promise?”
He swallowed, nodded and then let fly, and in that moment, the arrow went off into the bushes. There was a cry from a peacock, and she laughed. “Oh dear, please do not kill your own birds, Your Grace. That would be a terrible thing, indeed.”
“I don’t know,” he said, desperately trying to gather his thoughts as he considered what it might be like to teach her to be desirable. “It could make for a marvelous banquet piece.”
“Oh, I’m sure the Prince Regent would approve,” she said with a nod as she planted the end of her bow in the grass. “But that said, I find that I would like to be the center of attention for once.”
“Would you, by God?” he asked, turning toward her.
“Yes, if it means finding a good husband and not someone who sees me only as a nurse to their illness or a hearing ear to their endless war stories. I do not think I could face it. I’m tired of feeling…”