Theodora

by Christina McKnight

  He was astounded to realize he meant it. He hoped she did well, just as he longed to compete admirably. Though he had nothing hinging on the tourney, Alistair suspected she, and her friends, had a great deal invested in the outcome. Although it made little sense why a group of properly born and bred women would seek to compete in such a basic way.

  Lady Theo’s brow furrowed. “Celebrate my victory? Only moments ago, you threatened to drag me off the field. Tell me, good sir, what has changed?”

  His earlier words had come from a place of anger—and fear—for his sister’s safety, all of their well-being. He still worried over her identity being revealed and her reputation being in jeopardy, but thankfully, Adeline was nowhere to be seen. If Lady Theo had no aversion to bringing disgrace upon her family, then why should he worry overmuch about it?

  “Nothing has changed.” He leaned his bow against his hip. “I am adjusting to the situation at hand—a state of affairs you pointed out is not within my control. So, I have decided to enjoy myself instead of remaining cross.”

  “That is a wise decision and far healthier for you,” Lady Theo said, watching as the judge made his way toward them. “I see he has made a decision. May the best archer win.”

  “I certainly plan to,” Alistair said with a slight chuckle. “I do hope you are gracious in your defeat.”

  His intent was to make up for his boorish behavior thus far. He’d taken his irritation at his sibling out on her, which was uncalled for, and spoke to his need to mingle among society more. His mother would have been mortified at his conduct toward a gently bred woman, especially one of marriageable age and status—and a sister to an earl. He pushed the wayward thought from his mind—any woman, whether proper or not, held no interest to him, let alone Adeline’s dearest childhood friend.

  His throat closed and his chest tightened, banishing his jovial mood.

  Alistair was in no need of a wife. His brothers were in need of wives, just as his sisters would be seeking husbands, but Alistair was not looking for another person to care for. He had his hands full, and with little Ainsley barely ten years of age, he had the better part of eight years before he’d have the liberty to think of himself, and that was if Ainsley made a match in her first season. Heavens, he’d heard of some debutantes taking the better part of three to four London seasons before catching the eye of an eligible, acceptable man.

  Alistair could very possibly have three unwed sisters on the marriage market at one time.

  A sharp pain assaulted his head at the mere thought.

  The man judging the tournament stood before them and turned to address the spectators. The eyes of the gathered crowd were wide, rounded, and very few blinked, showing they were eager for word on the victor—possibly more than Alistair.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer called, holding his arms wide, palms facing up. “I have favorable news, and not so favorable news. Which does the crowd seek to hear first?”

  Alistair silently chanted bad news, bad news, bad news to himself, the spectators unwittingly shouted his choice.

  “Very well, the bad news it is.” The man shook his head, projecting a forlorn, dramatic air as if they were dealing with news far worse than he’d originally let on. “In all my many years at the helm of this tourney, I have never seen anything the likes of this. I am heartbroken to announce that the archers’ arrows are too close to the same spot to proclaim a victor—but the fortunate news is that Archer Number Ten and Lady Archer Number Two will have another chance to best the other…which means, this tourney is not yet over!”

  A thunderous round of applause and shouts of gaiety were heard from every corner of the park.

  It could not be correct. Alistair wagered requesting another opinion—knowing he’d be hard-pressed to shoot another stellar arrow. His challenge of the judge’s ruling would only serve to extinguish the revelry of the crowd.

  “Archers, please depart the field while replacement targets are placed at a distance farther than the previous rounds.” The audience cheered once again at the mention of a tougher competition, though Alistair was confident in his skill at any distance within reason.

  “Shall we?” Alistair took his bow in one hand and held his free arm out to her. When she made no move to take it, he continued, “I do not bite.”

  “It is not your bite I worry about, Mr. Price,” she said.

  Then what do you fear, Lady Theodora? But her apprehension did not concern him. All he need do was secure his victory and save Lady Theodora the burden of hiding her face long enough to collect her winnings and depart, while every spectator salivated to know the hooded female’s identity. As a gentleman, Alistair told himself he was doing this for her brother, Lord Cartwright, who would seek to keep his sister’s reputation free from scandal.

  The man would thank him, even though Lady Theodora’s current stare resembled daggers sharp enough to slice through any armament. She could give him any attitude she wanted, for he was only attempting to save her reputation.

  Alistair cleared his throat and gave his offered arm a shake—reluctantly, she set her hand lightly upon his elbow, and they proceeded to a sparsely populated area to the right of the practice grounds.

  Her rebellious streak had escaped his notice that morning—and if he were honest with himself, he admired her gumption. Yes, she’d been forthright with him on both occasions they’d met, but she’d seemed the typical London miss, schooled in decorum and etiquette, bred to take her place as the wife of some wealthy, arrogant English peacock. She’d live her days attending midday teas, taking walks in Hyde or Regent’s Park, spending nights at the opera, or attending soirees. And when her husband grew tired of her always being underfoot, he’d banish her to the country to raise their horde of children, only to return when the time came to introduce her daughters to society. The cycle would continue—perpetuated by decades of ritualistic human offerings to keep the peer’s lineage going. Keeping those with unsuitable blood from sullying their esteemed ranks.

  It was a cycle he was perpetuating by thrusting Adeline into the marriage market—but what other choice did he have? It was either send his father’s Viscountship into complete poverty or feed his siblings to the ravenous wolves known as the ton.

  “You need not scowl, Mr. Price,” Lady Theo whispered, leaning so close he could smell the lavender soap used to wash her garments. “You will scare the spectators.”

  “If that will keep notice from you, then it is what needs done.” Alistair attempted to banish the scowl from his face, for no other reason than to return her to ease.

  “Why are you so concerned with someone recognizing me?” she asked, turning to fully face him. “I can assure you, no one knows who I am, not even before donning Georgie’s cloak.”

  “If you win, that will all change,” Alistair said, nodding toward the crowd. “See that gentleman over there?”

  “The man standing apart from the crowd?”

  “Yes. That is a writer for The Post. Do you see his notepaper and nub?” He knew she had when she hastily averted her gaze and pulled her hood lower. “If you win, he will demand you lower your hood and show yourself. A female archer—not only an archer but also an accomplished one. He will not stop until he knows the face and history hidden under your cloak.”

  “You say that as if it is highly scandalous, Mr. Price.”

  “It is!” he fairly shouted, causing her to stiffen at his outburst and her pace to slow. “My apologies, but if you are unmasked as the archer who won this tourney, your face and name will become news to everyone. People will wonder what other improper behaviors you have dabbled in.”

  “I have never—“

  “That does not matter,” he cut her off, his admiration of her spirit waning at her continued combative nature. “You will be ostracized in every London ballroom. Your suitors will be limited to only money-hungry lords and social climbers.”

  “And if marriage is not so important to me?”

  “Mar
riage is important to every young debutante,” he argued. And most intelligent men, he wanted to add but kept the thought to himself least she misunderstands him.

  “It is not to me,” Lady Theo challenged. “I have other aspirations outside of becoming a wife and bearing children. One day, yes, but not for many years. And by then, any scandalous gossip will have faded from the ton’s memory.”

  “Society has a long memory, indeed,” he said with a chuckle, meaning to lighten his reference but his tone was far too deep. “What will you do then? Hang about the fringes of society until you are securely on the shelf and then wish you’d taken my warning far more seriously?”

  “Mr. Price,” Lady Theodora raised her voice to match his. “You are the most domineering man I’ve ever had occasion to meet. I certainly agree with Adeline’s assessment of your overbearing nature.”

  “You do not take your future seriously, my lady,” he rebutted. “That I am heavy-handed or overbearing has nothing to do with it. I am responsible for securing a favorable future for my siblings, just as your elder brother is charged with your well-being. I do not take the duty lightly, especially since Adeline is determined to thwart my efforts at every turn.”

  “Marriage is not the only thing to determine the success of one’s future.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I mean that while some see marriage as their definitive goal in life, I do not.”

  The woman was maddening and made little sense. What woman did not seek a wealthy husband, children, a home, and pretty things—certainly Adeline did. “Are you saying that Lord Cartwright would be amendable to you gallivanting about unsavory areas of London without a proper chaperone? Wait—even a proper chaperone would not rectify this situation.”

  “You are here with me—and before you scared them away, so were my two dearest friends.”

  Alistair remained silent. He saw no point in arguing over the inadequateness of three female friends journeying to Whitechapel to compete in an archery tourney.

  “Are you not a proper chaperone, Mr. Price?” she persisted with a smirk.

  “That depends, my lady.” He scrubbed his hands over his face and moved a few steps away from her before immediately returning to her side. “But my escort means little if a woman is found in Whitechapel at an archery gathering.”

  “Archery is a perfectly acceptable pastime.” Her hands settled on her hips, awaiting his reply.

  “Your archery interest is perfectly acceptable, except you fail to consider the place in which you are determined to practice your preferred pastime.” He paused when his jaw tightened. “If you, Lady Georgina, and Adeline where—let us say—in the Melton family gardens or even at a country house party, your activities would be considered above reproach. However, you are in the East End. A very unsavory area, I might add. And surrounded by unfamiliar men of indeterminable scruples.”

  His tirade came to an end, and he sucked in a deep breath, his lungs burning for his never-ending lecture.

  Alistair was tired of their heated debate—it was getting neither of them anywhere and was causing curious glances from the people who walked past them. The last thing he needed was to draw more unwelcome attention their way. “Now, I would be a most proper chaperone if you allowed me to escort you home after I am proclaimed victor.” He attempted to direct the conversation back to the light-hearted banter from moments before.

  “So confident. Possibly bordering on arrogance.” Lady Theo’s face reddened under her hood, and she allowed her hands to fall from her hips.

  “What happened to the quiet, timid miss I met yesterday in my home?” Alistair couldn’t help but wonder if it was a facade she used to her benefit often—and how many others she had used the tactic with.

  She glared, but her tone softened when she answered. “Is it hard to believe that woman never existed?” Theo glanced at the ground quickly as if debating the merits of saying anything further in her defense. “You saw what you wanted to see, as many people do, sir.”

  Her words—an accusation of sorts—cut him deeply.

  Alistair had never been a man to judge another so harshly, but he could not deny the validity of her retort.

  Chapter 10

  “…you saw what you wanted to see, as many people do, sir.” Theo noticed the hurt her words caused as the tourney master called them back to the field for the final round. It seemed difficult for people—her mother being one—to understand a woman was more valuable than the match she made. She thanked the heavens above Cart was not aligned with Mr. Price—or Mr. Gladstone—on this subject.

  The draw to follow her harsh comment with something to soothe the wound she’d inflicted would not overtake her common sense. Mr. Price’s high-handedness deserved her stern criticism.

  The spectators stood and cheered when she returned to the field, her quiver slung over her shoulder—a comforting familiarity she’d miss once she dedicated all her efforts to her mapmaking passion. With her free hand, Theo confirmed her hood was in place, shielding her face from view. While she wanted to deny or ignore all of Alistair’s warnings, it was difficult knowing her actions could impact her family—and friends. A knot formed in her throat. It wasn’t something they’d thought about or discussed before agreeing to do what needed to be done to help Miss Emmeline. They were a group of unknown women who wanted to assist someone they cared for—why must there be serious repercussions to worry over?

  Her brother had lived through two scandals during his short time as earl. First, he’d been linked to the theft of a valuable vase and his integrity called into question. His position at the museum had even been withheld until the situation was resolved. And then, he’d married Judith Pengarden, a wonderful woman, loving wife, and admirable mother to Theo’s niece and nephew, but ultimately, the true thief responsible for stealing the vase.

  This did not take into account their uncle’s betrayal and misuse of their family’s estate fund, nearly causing Cart to face debtor’s prison shortly after his majority or sell almost every piece of property not entailed to the estate. He’d done what needed doing—and rescued them from poverty, as well as convinced their mother to allow Theo to attend school away from London and the scandal surrounding Cart and Jude’s marriage. It was something Theo would forever be grateful for. It had taken several years for Lord Cartwright and his new countess to change society’s opinion of their ignominious match—now viewed as it had always been, one of great mutual love and affection.

  Theo was desperate to believe her brother would not be vexed by her interest in archery. But she was unwilling to risk her future alliance with the British Museum and the French mapmakers due to her scandalous diversions, no matter how needed the prize was for Miss Emmeline’s School—or how important the money could be to her own future.

  She would not share with Mr. Price that this was to be her one and only tourney, or that she hadn’t planned to participate at all but to guide her dear friends. Theo was not foolish enough to disregard the risks of being recognized. She’d agreed to help Adeline, Josie, and Georgie hone their skills at archery. That was to be all—lessons. Theo never meant to compete herself.

  “Good luck, Lady Archer Number Two,” Alistair shouted above the cheering crowd as he took his position next to her. “May the best bowman—or woman—win.”

  “I look forward to the challenge, and I will gladly accept your offer to see me home—after I’ve won the prize purse.” Theo hadn’t planned to stay, only to warn Adeline; however, after the man had grabbed her, nearly dragging her into the abandoned building bordering the party, Theo would be content to allow Alistair to deposit her safely at home. Then he would be on his way to track down Adeline.

  He nodded at her compromise. “We leave immediately following. No speaking with anyone—collect our prize and depart.”

  It thrilled her to think of a carriage ride—alone—with Alistair.

  Mr. Price, Theo corrected her thinking.

  She’d never been
unattended in a coach with a man other than her brother.

  In fact, until Mr. Price’s arrival, and then Gladstone, Theo hadn’t occasion to be alone anywhere, with any man.

  “Archers,” the man shouted again. “Archer Number Ten will cast the first arrow. Lady Archer Number Two will follow.”

  They both shouted their understanding, and the crowd jostled one another and settled in for the final round. Their cheers quieted, and they held their breaths once more in anticipation.

  “Archer Number Ten, you are free to release your arrow.”

  The tension was evident in the air, and Theo could feel Alistair’s nervous energy beside her as he prepared his arrow. There was no time to spare thinking on Mr. Price’s technique and shot, she need only be concerned with her final arrow.

  She trained her gaze on her target, assessing what was needed to hit her mark again. They’d shifted the targets back about ten paces, but thankfully, the wind had remained nonexistent. There was not much adjustment necessary, she need only alter her aim a fraction higher and pull her string back a millimeter farther.

  Mr. Price released his arrow with a whoosh, and Theo heard the arrow fly through the air and stick in the target. He had no lob in his shot—his arrow always seeking a straight line to its mark with no concern for degree of descent or wind gusts.

  Theo smiled in triumph. He’d hit a half-inch from the center of the target. He might as well have missed it completely, as it left Theo the opportunity she needed to sink her arrow dead center and win.

  “Admirable shot, Archer Number Ten,” she called mockingly. “Please seek me out if you ever realize your need for lessons.”

  “I believe it is you who is in need of a lesson, Lady Archer, but not with a bow and arrow.” She enjoyed their banter until she noticed the crowd listened to their every word.