Romancing the Countess by Ashley March Page B

betraying expression of smugness. “From this view, the gentlemen may paint the first rise of the chalk hills, the Linley Park evergreen garden, or any other subject which catches your eye.”
    “The gentlemen, you say?” Mr. Meyer interjected. “What of the ladies? What will you be doing?”
    Leah smiled. “Archery.”
    Lord Elliot tugged on his ear. “I beg your pardon, Mrs. George, but I don’t know how to paint. And water-colors—”
    Beside him, Lady Elliot harrumphed.
    “No need to worry,” Leah said. “I’m certain Lord Wriothesly will be more than pleased to assist you in your first lesson. You will help the others, will you not, my lord?”
    For the first time since their conversation the previous day at the lake, she addressed the earl directly. That was one benefit of the eight other guests: with so many people claiming her attention, no one noticed when she avoided him for an entire evening.
    Leaning back against the house, Wriothesly crossed his arms over his chest and observed her lazily. “The painting is not an issue, madam. But I must confess to being a bit concerned with the prospect of the ladies practicing archery alone. I shouldn’t like for any of you to become hurt.”
    Over Miss Pettigrew’s muttered protest and Mrs. Thompson’s subsequent hush, Leah said, “You do remind me of him so much sometimes, my lord. Ian also was very chivalrous. Why, do you remember the time we were walking along the Serpentine and Lady Wriothesly stumbled, injuring her foot? Ian insisted she—”
    “I remember,” Wriothesly said sharply, straightening away from the wall. Even through her veil, Leah could see the flare of warning in his narrowed eyes. But there was also surprise. She wondered if he was thinking back to all the times the four of them were together, if he was now questioning every seemingly innocent interaction between Ian and Angela.
    Not wanting to see the torment from such knowledge on his face, Leah turned her attention back to the women. “Shall we go, ladies?”
    “Perhaps I should join them,” she heard Mr. Dunlop mutter behind them as they began to walk away.
    “Leave them be,” replied Lord Cooper-Giles. “If the rest of us must paint watercolors, then you shall, too.”
    The women strolled down the hill, southeast of the men, toward the open field where the servants were preparing the targets.
    “I’ve never shot a bow and arrow before,” Miss Pettigrew confessed.
    “Oh, it’s quite fun,” said Lady Elliot. “Simply imagine the bull’s-eye as someone you dislike. I’ve had the greatest accuracy that way.”
    Mrs. Meyer grinned and nudged Lady Elliot’s shoulder. “It also makes living with one’s husband tolerable again, once you’ve imagined an arrow shot through his forehead.”
    “My, aren’t we a bloodthirsty group?” Leah murmured, smiling. “Who shall you imagine on the target, Mrs. Thompson?”
    Though she couldn’t have been more than ten years Leah’s senior, the severity of her expression often made the other widow appear nearly as old as Mrs. Meyer and Lady Elliot. For a moment she remained quiet, and Leah turned to Miss Pettigrew to save Mrs. Thompson undue embarrassment. But then she spoke . . . or, rather, spat: “Lord Massey.”
    Leah exchanged curious glances with Mrs. Meyer and Lady Elliot.
    But when Mrs. Thompson offered nothing further, Lady Elliot turned to Leah. “And you, Mrs. George? Who will you be shooting today?”
    “Unlike the rest of you, I’m quite civilized, thank you,” Leah answered. “I merely enjoy archery for the sake of the game.”
    “Well done,” Miss Pettigrew murmured.
    “Nonsense,” Lady Elliot declared, her brow rising slyly. “What of the earl?”
    The rate at which Leah’s heart began to race was frankly inexcusable. “The earl?”
    “I believe she means Lord Wriothesly,” Mrs. Meyer said.
    Lady Elliot shifted her parasol to her other shoulder. “Yes, there seems to be some sort of enmity brewing