My Unfair Lady (13 page)

   "Yours, I presume?" inquired Prince Albert.

   "I… I'm dreadfully sorry, Your Highness. A servant girl was supposed to be minding him… ."

   He waved a pudgy hand. "Quite all right, I assure you."

   "Yes," gasped the elderly lord who'd spoken earlier, wiping tears from his eyes. "We haven't had this much fun at a dinner in years! Lady Bischof, if I recall, also hired a monkey as entertainment for the evening. Well worth the price, I believe."

   Summer smiled with gratitude at the gentleman, whose face flushed a beet red in reaction. She could vaguely hear the woman with the purple eyes, Lady Banfour, complaining to the Duke of Monchester that they'd all be exposed to diseases and insects from the creature, and Byron muttering something about being ridiculous. But an older woman sitting next to the lady began to scratch earnestly at her arms, and although Summer knew India had no pests, she also knew about the power of suggestion.

   "If you'll excuse me, Your Highness? I believe I'll take India back to our rooms."

   "Of course, of course. The supper table is hardly a place for the creature, but you must promise to bring him out when we're finished. It would amuse me."

   A command. Summer nodded and backed away, trying to ignore the whispered conversations and one particularly smirking mouth, the artful pout of the Lady Banfour. Halfway across the room, she felt a guiding hand on her elbow and looked into the pale blue eyes of the duke.

   "I thought that the servant girl Meg had him in control," she started to explain.

   They passed Maria, who glared at India. Summer felt the little critter shiver.

   Byron patted India's head reassuringly. "One will never be bored when you're around," he commented, as if she needn't explain anything.

   His eyes got all soft again, and Summer had a difficult time tearing her own away. "Me or the monkey?"

   "You." He chuckled.

   Summer grinned. "You're not angry."

   "Certainly not."

   Summer nudged up against him, their shoulders meeting for just a moment. "You're in trouble, Your Grace."

   "How so?" His voice had a breathless quality to it.

   "You're getting dangerously used to me."

   His laughter drifted behind them as they left the room.

The next day Summer stood outside on the meticu lously groomed grounds of the Sandringham estate and breathed in the country air, trying to shut out the conversations of the lords and ladies around her. So much green, here in England, that it almost hurt her eyes, made her long to take off by herself and explore the woods beyond. She sighed.

   "Not homesick, I hope?" inquired Prince Albert.

   Summer thought for a moment and to her surprise realized that she wasn't. "No, Your Highness. On the contrary, the country seems to fill me with happiness."

   "Excellent, as I feel it possible that you might not be returning home."

   "Whatever do you mean?"

   The prince gestured to where the Duke of Monchester, his face frozen in that mask of disdain, stood with the Lady Banfour. "That poor lady has been after my friend for years, and some even thought, due to his increasingly strained financial situation, she'd have some success."

   Summer nodded. She'd learned that the prince loved to gossip and favored those who indulged him.

   "A good match by all accounts," he continued, "for she's rich and he's titled. Yet I've never seen him drop the charade he plays with us all, except when he's with you."

   "Charade?"

   "Ah, the coldhearted lord who holds no other opinions but his own to be of importance, who cares naught for the world…" Prince Albert's voice lowered. "Just as the world cares nothing for him."

   "Why would he feel that way?"

   "I'm betting that the woman who can make him laugh like a boy again will figure that out."

   Summer shook her head, the tiny curls that framed her face bouncing with the movement. "If you refer to myself, Your Highness, I fear I'm doomed to disappoint you. As I've told His Grace repeatedly, there's a man in New York I'm promised to, and as soon as I…"

   Albert's eyes lit with interest. "What? As soon as you what?"

   "As soon as I finish my tour, I will return to be with him. I seek no title."

   Albert frowned in disappointment, as if he'd thought that Summer might confide in him and was disappointed that she hadn't. He turned his attention to Byron and raised his voice. "Monchester, didn't you say your American friend here can shoot?"

   Byron glanced at them, his face alighting on Summer's, and that mask slipped just a bit. "If I recall, the lady herself told us so."

   Lady Banfour frowned from Summer to the two men; then her delicate face lit up like a candle. "Do your talents extend to the bow, Miss Summer?"

   Summer noticed the woman straighten, realizing that she'd been consciously slouching while she'd been talking to Byron. She never noticed his stature, except when other people called her attention to it. Lady Banfour stood almost as tall as Byron's sister-in-law, while Summer was just a bit shorter than Byron himself. Really, she mused, an excellent height for her. She never had to crane her neck while speaking to him. And she never had to crouch either.

   "I haven't used one in a long time," she answered.

   Lady Banfour batted her eyes at the duke. "Now, we'll have none of that, will we, Your Grace? Let us off to the archery grounds, where we can judge for ourselves the extent of Miss Summer's skill."

   The prince grinned with delight, the duke shrugged with indifference, so off they went, trailed by a group of finely dressed men and women. Summer looked around for Maria, noting again that her friend had disappeared with the handsome Baron of Hanover.
The man must be twice her age, sh
e thought. Maria couldn't really have any romantic interest in him, could she? Yet her friend seemed to come alive when she spoke with the older man, and oddly enough seemed to be the only one capable of deciphering the lord's muttering—besides, of course, the gentleman's sister.

   What would happen if Maria decided to marry this man? Summer would have to return to New York by herself, and they might never see each other again. She tried to squelch the loneliness that welled up at the thought of that, for if it made Maria happy, that was all that mattered. Yet she couldn't help wondering what kind of curse she lay under, that all the people she loved in her life always left her.

   When they reached the archery grounds, Lady Banfour picked up several bows and tested their pull with an expert air, and chose the one she deemed best, allowing Summer to choose from the others.

   Summer's hand hesitated over the selection as she glanced at those around her from beneath her lashes. No frowns of disapproval came their way, and she sighed with relief. So this was one skill she'd learned that was socially acceptable. With growing delight she tested each bow, surprised at the ease of the pull, choosing one of the stiffest because it felt similar to the one Chatto had taught her to use. She noticed that although an Apache bow was excellently crafted, these were even finer, with a string that didn't look like animal gut and a grip designed for a smaller hand.

   A weapon designed for a woman.

   Lady Banfour had patiently waited and, at the sudden grin of almost predatory delight on her competitor's face, blanched a bit. Then, with a tilt of her chin, Lady Banfour faced the target, sighted, and let fly.

   Summer admired the lady's skill, as point after point hit near the bull's-eye of the target. The woman finished her fifth shot amid a round of applause, and flushing with triumph, she bowed to the onlookers and gestured Summer to take her place. She took up a stance next to the Duke of Monchester, who offered excessive praise to the woman. Or so it seemed to Summer.

   She sighted and let fly her five arrows in rapid succession, causing the audience to gasp in surprise. But her injun boy had taught her how to shoot rapidly, for if the first shot missed, the next had better be in the bow or dinner would get away.

   A mutter grew from the crowd. All the arrows had landed so close together that no one could determine a winner from this distance. Two gentlemen appointed themselves the judges and hastened over to compare the shots.

   Summer's arrows had been fletched with brown feathers, Lady Banfour's with black.

   The men ran back to the crowd with their news. "The black wins! By only a hairsbreadth closer to the bull's-eye! Finest shooting we've ever seen."

   Lady Banfour preened, suddenly surrounded by an adoring crowd. The Duke of Monchester left her side and laid his hand on Summer's arm, the heat of it feeling like a brand. "She's been archery champion for three years running. It's why she challenged you at all."

   Summer sighed. "It's been a long time since I've used a bow and arrow, and a different design than this as well. But she is a superb shot, and I admire her skill."

   "Do you? And it doesn't bother you to lose?"

   She looked into his eyes. Ah, yes, he baited her. Had it become a habit with him then, to try and make people angry, proving himself more in control? "Not to someone who possesses a greater skill than mine. It's a challenge."

   He smoothed back the golden hair that had tumbled over his ears. "Lady Banfour doesn't make you jealous?"

   "Why should she?"

   "For no other reason than she's apparently overly jealous of you."

   Summer studied the laughing woman, her head tilted back, accepting the homage of the well-wishers. "I don't know why," she whispered with surprise. "She has everything I don't. Beauty, poise, social acceptance. What could I have that she'd be jealous of?"

   One golden eyebrow rose. "What, indeed?"

   "I say," shouted one of the judges over the conversation. "Did you see the heads of the browns in the target?"

   The other man nodded. "Most amazing thing I've ever seen. They were buried past the shaft."

   "You don't say?" queried the Prince of Wales, loud enough to distract everyone's attention to the new conversation.

   "Truly, Your Royal Highness. Come and look. I've never known a woman to bury an arrow that deeply before, much less five in a row. Matter of fact, a man would be hard-pressed to match it."

   Summer watched as the entire assembly trooped over to the target, each taking a turn at marveling over her arrows, leaving Lady Banfour alone. Summer took the opportunity to finally offer her own congratula tions, noting the disgruntled look of the duke and the smirk of the prince.

   "American women don't have a monopoly on physical skills, you know," replied Lady Banfour in response to Summer's praise.

   "I never said they did," she replied, "and if you have heard so, it's only because we've been forced to acquire them."

   Lady Banfour's artfully shaped lips narrowed into unflattering lines. She cast a fearful glance at the duke and lowered her voice when she spoke again. "Because you were raised like a savage."

   Summer sighed. This woman hated her, and she had a feeling she knew why. Surely, two adult, civilized people could talk out their differences? "I have seen so-called savages treat a stranger with more respect than the most renowned woman in New York society. But I don't think that's what's bothering you." She glanced over at the duke. "Rest assured, I have no designs on him. I'm already promised to a man in America."

   Lady Banfour inelegantly snickered. "What cunning you have! I never would've thought of such a grand scheme to snag a man as that, keeping him off his guard while you entice him in."

   Summer's mouth fell open. She'd never under stand some people and the games they played! Her hand inched toward her knife. Tarnation, she'd never use it here, it had just become a habit over the years to reach for its comfort when she felt threatened, but the duke didn't realize that, for as soon as he saw her gesture he came striding over, staring back and forth at the two women.

   Prince Albert began to laugh with genuine delight.

   "I say, young miss," asked an admiring voice, "however did you learn to shoot like that?" Summer backed up in surprise. The crowd had returned and surrounded her, each one of them jostling for a position at her side. While she tried to answer all the questions they asked, she noticed that Lady Banfour had been pushed to the background, and actually felt the glare of jealousy the other woman gave her before she stomped back to the castle.

SUMMER STOOD IN THE CHILL DAWN OF ANOTHER morning at Sandringham with a grin of delight on her face, while the horses and dogs assembled for the hunt. She'd thought ladies weren't allowed to do anything, yet here in England she'd been able to shoot a weapon, and now she'd be able to go on a hunt! And the best part of all was…

   "Let me guess," drawled the duke. "The look of pure joy on your face is because you're wearing riding breeches beneath your skirt, isn't it?"