“Thank you,” they mumbled in unison and moved toward the practice area.
“Remember,” Theo warned. “We stay together. Our practice this morning was enough—there is no need to show your skills or draw attention before you take the field.”
Arriving at the practice area, they fanned out into a straight line—taking in the many archers present. Some were dressed finely, as if they’d only stopped by the tourney on their way to afternoon tea with their wife or mother. While others were dressed in tattered trousers and wrinkled shirts of cotton prepared to work after departing the tourney grounds. Not only did the competitors vary greatly, but so did their gear. Many used older bows, much like the Whitechapel tourney, but some held gear crafted from wood that even Theo hadn’t seen in books—fitting an archer better than a pair of well-made Hessians.
“Maybe it is not best I take our second place,” Georgie gasped as the man closest to them released his arrow and found his mark at the direct center of the furthest target. “I think I have seriously misjudged my abilities.”
“Do not be silly,” Josie said, leaving Theo and moving to Georgie’s side. “Your skill has steadily improved since we’ve been practicing. You can best any archer here.”
“With the exception of me, naturally,” Adeline said with a smirk, her eyes flitting between her friends. “Undoubtedly, you all agree my skill is far superior to Georgie’s? Theo, we’ve worked hard to calm my nerves—and Josie, you’ve seen my aim stay true even in heavy winds. Do you remember that holiday your family came to Canterbury and we showed our archery talents to them?”
Theo, as well as the other two women, remained silent, refusing to add to Adeline’s self-serving boasting which commonly turned into a scolding ridicule for her friends.
“We must focus, Adeline,” Theo finally said. It was the way of things: Josie and Georgie ready to do as Adeline commanded, and Theo stepping forward to correct the injustice of their friend’s words and actions. You’d think the woman was completely lacking in compassion and empathy towards others. She’d certainly not lacked training in those baser emotions during her youth, as Theo had met Alistair. He was the height of propriety and took his responsibilities as guardian for Adeline very seriously. “Now, let us assess the competition. See if we can learn anything.”
Theo led by example, turning her scrutiny to the many men—and a few women—who took their positions and released their arrows.
A group of young men dressed much like merchants debated another competitor’s stance, one man arguing the merits of a solid shoulder posture in lieu of a frame less restrictive. Theo noticed the anxious tone to the man’s voice and the dark blue circles under his eyes—his own posture a bit stooped—as if he hadn’t slept the previous night. Did the man not realize without proper rest one’s body couldn’t achieve the correct balance?
She almost spoke to the fact, but an abrupt shout drew her attention to another group of men as a volley of angry cursing erupted. Theo turned in time to see one man push another, causing him to stumble to the ground, his forgotten bow coming to rest at Theo’s feet.
Josie quickly moved to the far side of Adeline, not one for shouting or roughhousing of any sort. A loud laugh was enough to send the woman scurrying for safety.
Another man charged toward the group. His target was unclear, but he managed to catch another man off guard as he barreled into his midsection.
Before they could move clear of the scuffle, the burly man who’d taken their entrance fees jumped into the group of men, now wrestling on the ground, all fists and legs, punctuated with an oomph and grunt as feet and fists connected with faces and backs.
The women froze with terror. Theo’s pulse raced, as she stood rooted to her spot, watching the men tousle.
“I have never seen anything like it,” Georgie whispered as the crowd gathered, pushing Theo and the other women closer to the fray.
“Adrian and Alfred wrestle all the time.” Adeline moved to her tiptoes to see over a man who’d disengaged himself from the brawl and stood to watch. “The man there…the one in that awfully bright coat…” Adeline pointed to the man and the trio shifted to gain a better look. “He will likely have a bloodstained shirt before this is over. He does not know how to properly guard his face from the punches.”
They all turned to stare at Adeline, horror filling their faces. “How can you possibly know any of that?” Georgie shouted above the noise of the crowd.
“Simple, Abel would act as a sparing tutor, of sorts.” Adeline smiled with glee as another punch connected with a particularly hard jawline. “That is until Alistair came and ended everything. He is such a bore, I tell you.”
The tangle of bodies, undaunted by the jeering crowd and shouts from tourney officials, moved across the ground—directly toward Theo. She grabbed Georgie’s arm and tried to take a step back, only to collide with the unmoving wall of the people behind them. Theo glanced down to her friends, stark terror etching Josie’s face as she bit her lower lip, a small droplet of crimson appearing.
“Adeline,” Theo called, her voice high with fright. “We must find a way out of here before we are overtaken.”
Adeline stiffened. Georgie pulled on her arm as they gawked at the scene before them.
The only thing flooding her thoughts was how she’d explain Adeline’s battered and bruised frame if she were unable to get them away from the fighting men.
Theo should have left word with Jude—or sent a missive to Alistair—about their whereabouts. They were at Greenwich Park, and no one besides the four of them knew. Adeline had obviously snuck out of her house, while no one cared about Georgie’s location. Josie would likely be the first to be missed—though one less mouth to feed in her family would be appreciated.
Theo cursed her tendency to come and go as she pleased with little word to her brother or their mother. Would Olivia and Samuel notice if she missed their nightly bedtime story?
Surely someone would notice her absence—or would it not become apparent until she failed to arrive for her meeting with Cassini and his sister? Even then, would the Frenchman write it off as the fickle workings of a female?
“Theo!” Josie called, scrambling to avoid a man who’d stumbled to his feet as another tried successfully to pull him back into the fray.
She stared at the commotion now separating her from Adeline, Josie, and Georgie.
The crowd shoved behind her, sending her careening toward the fight—her hood falling from her head. She braced herself for the fall—the possibility of being trampled below the many spectators a stark reality.
Theo closed her eyes. No matter what she did—or how loudly she screamed—it would not change her trajectory, which was aimed directly at the men still scuffling on the ground, fists continuing to find their targets.
Chapter 17
Alistair stood on a large crate to gain a better vantage point and searched the ever-increasing crowd of spectators, archers, companions, and tourney officials. Mixed in with the lords and ladies were miscreants who’d somehow collected enough coin to enter Greenwich Park to behold the spectacular show promised to come. An unclean scent had already settled on the green expanse as far too many people crowded into the area.
The park was much as Alistair remembered it from his childhood, green and well maintained; though he suspected after the Grand Archers’ Competition had ended, so would the pristine nature of the park be ruined by thousands of feet, garbage and spoiled food strewn about the many acres of lawn, any remaining wildlife fleeing for safer ground.
Very unaccommodating that he had no way to clear the area, enabling him to swiftly spot the four hooded women he searched for.
“Price,” Abel called from below him. “The practice field is beyond that grove of trees, hidden from the spectators. Adeline must be there.”
His brother took off toward the secluded area, and Alistair jumped down from the crate to follow. It had been more difficult to gain entrance to the tourney—their p
rogress slowed by the long line of carriages depositing the many lords and ladies in attendance, but also, they’d been denied access through the archer’s gate and made to dash around the park and pay an entrance fee with the general crowd.
The dense throng grew even denser as they made their way to the practice field—many spectators flocking to the rope that kept them in the general area, trying to catch a peek of the competing archers.
“This is jolly fun,” Abel called breathlessly as they pushed and elbowed their way through the throng of people. “I am certainly going to take up with Adeline from now on.”
“Not a wise choice,” Alistair said. “She will not be leaving her bedchambers for some time after I catch her.” Although, with both Adeline and Abel locked in their townhouse, it would do away with his need to keep watch on at least two of his siblings. “She will be lucky if I don’t send her back to the country after this exploit.”
Abel laughed. “You are far too serious, brother.”
Alistair had no choice. His siblings were relatively unconcerned with their future prospects—which left him to worry about them all. “Stay close, Abel. I will not have you disappearing.”
To prove Alistair’s hold on his sanity—and his grip on his wayward relations—was slipping further from his grasp, Abel ducked under a man’s arms and slid through the middle of a gathering group of lords. He hopped over the rope meant to keep spectators off the practice field. Not only was he fearful of Adeline being discovered unchaperoned at Greenwich Park, but now the chance of Abel being struck by an arrow seemed a definite possibility.
He had little choice but to follow. No one stopped him from passing as he kept watch on Abel, moving through the crowd toward a gathering group on the fringes of the practice area. Maybe he should consider installing shackles in each of his siblings’ bedchambers, chaining them to the wall before he left the townhouse? News of his barbaric behavior would cause no less gossip.
“Abel!” His shouts went unanswered as his younger brother arrived at the grouping of archers. “Blasted, bloody—“ Alistair arrived at Abel’s side, cutting his tirade short as he noticed the crowd had begun to break up, revealing a group of men entangled on the ground, fists flying and legs kicking as if they were a group of toddlers fighting over a toy in the nursery.
Alistair scanned the scattering crowd for Adeline and the other women, spotting a trio of hooded figures fleeing in the opposite direction. But one was missing.
“Abel,” Alistair called, pointing to the group. “Go to them, I will find the fourth.”
Abel hurried to catch the trio of women. The tangle of male bodies regained their footing but continued to lunge at one another.
It was utter chaos.
Alistair spotted the fourth woman—Lady Theo—her hood pushed from her head, revealing her face as the brawling men collided with her.
He was too far away. Alistair started toward Theo. He wouldn’t be able to stop her from hitting the ground, but he should be able to reach her before the crowd trampled her.
His heart fell from his chest, and sweat broke out along his hairline.
There was no other option. If it weren’t him who reached her, she would be seriously injured, if not permanently marred.
Alistair pushed two gawking men aside and hurried along the fringes of the foray, attempting to reach Theo. His blood boiled at the crowd’s malicious chanting, pushing the men to continue their assault on one another. It was barbaric and highly uncivilized.
He couldn’t take his eyes off Theo as her arms pinwheeled, attempting to right herself.
He should have known about the tourney, he should have figured they’d risk their very lives to compete, and he should have been prepared for it. Any harm that came to Theo was of his own making. His overbearing tendencies had pushed the women further down this hazardous path.
There was nothing he could do…she was falling fast.
As he pushed ever closer, a hand reached out of the crowd, abruptly stopping Theo from hitting the ground. Relief flooded Alistair as he expected to see Abel step from the parting crowd with Theo’s arm held tight.
It was not Abel he saw.
Theo’s naturally serene face contorted in shock, which turned to pain, and finally settled with a grimace she attempted to hide.
Alistair watched as her eyes darted across the crowd in search of someone familiar—anyone to rescue her from her rescuer.
Moving around the final man in his path, Alistair came face-to-face with the man who he’d wanted to give appreciation to a moment before, but Theo’s utter terror had him holding his tongue.
Gladstone.
The despicable man clamped on to Theo’s arm so forcefully she winced, trying unsuccessfully to pull from his grasp.
Alistair’s hands balled into fists, prepared to jump into the fray if only to have one swipe at Gladstone, to wipe the sneer from his face—and remove his hands from Theo. The man had no right to grab Lady Theodora in such a manner, no matter the harm she would have come to had she fallen into the fighting men.
He gained her side as Gladstone attempted to pull her from the crowd toward a small clearing, Abel not far behind him with the trio of hooded ladies in tow.
“Lady Theodora Montgomery,” Gladstone chastised, his voice raised to such a level that anyone within twenty paces could hear his every word. His stride was long and sure for a man of his portly size—and Alistair did not doubt he had nefarious intentions where Theo was concerned. “I am ever so pleased that I chose to attend the tourney today, for you would have come to serious harm if I hadn’t been close at hand. A white knight, shall we say.”
Gladstone was more suited to play the part of black knight as he posed far more of a risk to Theo’s safety than the ever-threatening crowd, which had finally begun to disband as officials led six men from the park, their gear left forgotten in the scuffle.
He took several deep breaths, unclenched his fists, and plastered a hospitable smile to his lips—though he felt anything but welcome at Gladstone’s appearance. “Gladstone, I thank you for coming to my sister’s and her friends’ rescue until I made my way to them. The line to pay their entrance fee was dreadfully long and tiresome.”
Gladstone turned a scathing look to Alistair, doubt mixed with his fury for having been interrupted.
Theo’s eyes bore into him, as well.
“Mr. Price,” Gladstone commented. “I was unaware of your interest in archery.”
“Not my interest,” Alistair said with a light laugh, inserting himself between Theo and Gladstone, forcing the man to release her arm. “My dear sister—Miss Adeline Price—finds great passion in archery, as do her friends. When they begged me to accompany them to the tourney in hopes of competing, I was no match for their female persuasion. But what man can turn away from their pleas?”
“Jolly fun this is,” Abel bounded to his side before clapping him on the back and moving to watch any excitement left to be had after the scuffle.
Gladstone’s face reddened, and he rubbed the back of his neck.
“I am certain Lord Cartwright—and his mother, bless her compassionate, charity-minded soul—would be agreeable if I escorted Lady Theodora home after the fright she’s just had.”
Alistair noticed that Theo rolled her eyes at the comment as she used Gladstone’s distraction to inch away. She was not in agreement to being escorted anywhere by the scoundrel, and he was more than willing to inform the man of that fact.
“That will not be necessary, Mr. Gladstone.” Theo’s voice was a bit shaky. “I will remain with my friends. Mr. Price will see us home when our day is completed.”
Gladstone turned away from Alistair and pivoted back toward Theo, his brow raised in shock as if he hadn’t realized the woman would object to his offer. “Well...see…” He stumbled over his words.
A trumpet blared, calling the first twenty archers to the field laid out before the spectators.
“As you can see, I have everything und
er control, Gladstone.” Alistair held out his arm, allowing Theo to set her hand in the crook of his elbow. “Abel and I will escort the women back to their places. Thank you again for your service. Do enjoy the tourney.”
Alistair pushed past Gladstone toward Abel and the Ladies Josephine and Georgina—Adeline stood closer, her arms crossed as she stared daggers at her brother—Theo securely clutching his arm.
“Lady Theodora?” Gladstone called in a severe tone. Theo stiffened at his side, though she did not look over her shoulder at the man. “I will call on you on the morrow. I do look forward to another afternoon in your company.”
“Shall we, Lady Theo?” Alistair whispered softly. “There is no need to answer.”
“I am thankful for his help,” she said, the shakiness gone from her voice. “But I cannot think of a worse fate than an afternoon with Gladstone for company.”
“Did he insult you, my lady?” Alistair was prepared to turn and challenge the man—not to a game of wits as they’d played for years, but rather a duel with either pistols or swords. Gladstone deserved nothing less for his thinly veiled threat. “If so, I will handle the matter with swiftness.”
“No, he only made it known he looks forward to speaking with my family about our future.” Lady Theo continued, her stride even, though he felt the tension riding her body, making her steps jerky. “There is nothing to be done at the moment, Mr. Price, I assure you all is well.”
“There is much that can be done at this moment.” Alistair’s temper rose once more, realizing the remaining three women had done away with their hoods, revealing themselves to the gathering of archers preparing to take their positions on the field. “Firstly,” he hissed. “I was under the impression that we had an arrangement of sorts—you were to keep my wayward sister from embarking on any more foolish ventures.”
“Arrangement?” she asked. “That sounds like an explicit way of describing our conversation from this morning.”
“Did you not agree that your actions—along with my sister’s—could jeopardize both your chances at a suitable marriage?”
Theodora Page 18