The Last Eligible Bachelor - Ashtyn Newbold Page 0,30

that Mr. Hill reveled in my reactions of shame and shyness. I would have to change that.

“Oh, Mr. Hill, of course you were right.” I gave a shrill laugh. “You are always right, I daresay. I cannot imagine how a man as intelligent and respected as yourself could ever be wrong.” I glanced at the other women at the table, who nodded their agreement.

Mr. Hill’s eyes narrowed with suspicion as he watched me, and I quickly stammered for a new subject. “There, my eye is now healed. There will be no need for a physician today, Miss Coppins.”

The worry on her face didn’t seem to have lessened. Her large eyes remained as round as saucers. “Are you certain? You may have given your eye a dreadful scratch, and I should hate to have you awaken tomorrow without your vision.”

“Oh...well, I believe I will be just fine.” I spoke in a reassuring voice. “I don’t believe I will lose my vision on account of a small hair in my eye.”

“Well, we could all lose much more today than our vision with Mrs. Ollerton’s planned activity.” Miss Coppins had not seemed very eager to participate when our hostess had announced that we would be practicing archery that day. “Imagine if an arrow were to fly in the wrong direction?” She wrung her hands together. “I cannot comprehend the horror of seeing one of you, my dear friends, struck by an arrow.”

Mrs. Ollerton gaped at her. “Miss Coppins, we will exercise every necessary safety precaution. Not to worry.”

“There is no greater precaution than staying inside,” she said in an offhand voice, crossing her arms.

Chapter 9

After all the ladies finished eating, we walked outside together, where two tables had been set up with an assortment of small desserts and pitchers of lemonade. It wasn’t quite warm enough yet to go out of doors without a spencer jacket, so I wore the one that Sophia had sent me with—a dark blue with detailed sleeves and brass buttons. The moment we reached the tables, Miss Coppins chose a chair, still uninterested in practicing any shooting.

The back property of Winslow House didn’t include a wide or expansive lawn. It was covered with garden paths and trees, but Mrs. Ollerton had designated a small section for archery, tucked far beyond the flowering bushes, just before the treeline. Six targets had been set up, three across from one another. We would shoot at one set until our arrows ran out before crossing the lawn and shooting at the other set.

I could only recall shooting a bow once, and it had not been a great skill of mine. In my life, I had come to accept that my skills, or accomplishments, were not the common or expected ones. After my first season in London, I had determined that I had no accomplishments or skills at all, but since then, I had learned that my talents were simply of a different sort. I was quite skilled at listening, arranging hair, and choosing accessories for Sophia. I did all I could to be loyal, kind, and honest. Those were accomplishments I would prefer over singing and shooting and playing the pianoforte.

If I could manage to be as loyal, kind, and honest as Mama, then I would be content. If every person in the world prioritized such qualities over frivolous pursuits, there would not be so many ill feelings among people. Papa would not have made his mistake, at least, and he would not have been sent to prison for it.

I stood near the tables by Miss Coppins, observing the other members of the party. Of all the ladies, Miss Taplow seemed the most eager to pick up a bow. This activity had been her idea in the first place. She stood in front of the far left target, her features serious as she examined the target from all angles. When Mrs. Ollerton gave permission to begin, Miss Taplow snatched up her bow, checking to see if Mr. Hill was watching before positioning the arrow.

In one swift motion, she raised the bow, took her aim, and released the arrow. It landed slightly to the right of the center of the target. Her eyes narrowed in frustration. How did she think that was inadequate? If I could shoot with accuracy like hers, I would be quite pleased with myself. She glanced at Mr. Hill, who appeared impressed with her skill.

Good. Perhaps he had decided that Miss Taplow was now the best choice. Hope began