The Duke of Ice Read online

  They drew straws for places, and Violet, drawing the shortest, was last. In the first round, they all took aim at the nearest targets. Everyone but Hannah hit the target and progressed to the next round. She laughed and leaned close to Violet. “You’re going to win anyway.”

  Violet wasn’t sure—Miss Kingman demonstrated some skill, despite being a beginner. And Lady Adair had come rather close to the center of the target. It remained to be seen if this was luck or if she was an accomplished archer.

  Lady Adair shot first in the second round as they moved to the next, farther target. Her arrow landed farther out on the target this time. Next up was Lady Lavinia, whose arrow stuck feebly into the bottom of the target for a brief moment before falling to the ground. There was an audible murmur reflecting the spectators’ disappointment. Lady Lavinia grinned and gave a shrug as she handed her bow to the footman.

  Miss Kingman took her place at the line, which was marked with a wide red ribbon held in place with a pair of rocks on either end, and lifted her bow. Breathing deeply, she focused with intense concentration, the space between her brows puckering. Violet wanted to tell her to hold the string farther back along her fingers. The young woman let her arrow fly, and it landed well within the target, in a better position than Lady Adair’s. Her effort was roundly cheered.

  A footman handed Violet a bow and arrow. She passed Miss Kingman with a smile. “Well done.”

  “Good luck,” Miss Kingman said.

  Taking up her position, Violet scrutinized the target for a moment. She tried not to overthink, but to just feel. This was the way Uncle Bertrand had taught her. She lifted the bow and pulled back the string, exhaling as she let the arrow go. It landed right next to Miss Kingman’s.

  Violet felt a rush of satisfaction at the applause and cheers that greeted her when she turned from the target. She searched for Nick and saw him standing on the periphery. He clapped, but only briefly. His features were as stoic as they’d been before the contest had started. He seemed to be the Nick of two days ago instead of the man she’d spent time with last night. That short walk had filled her with happiness—and hope.

  “Final target,” Irving announced loudly. “Whoever comes closest to the center will win!”

  Lady Adair curtsied to the guests before taking her bow and moving to the shooting line. She raised her weapon and considered the target for a long minute. Then she pulled the bow and released the arrow. It failed to reach the fifty-yards-distant target.

  She turned with a weak smile and gave another curtsey before returning the bow to the footman.

  Miss Kingman went next. As she walked past, Violet leaned toward her and whispered, “Try holding the string farther back—behind your knuckles instead of closer to your fingertips. It’s much more comfortable and will help your aim.”

  With a look of surprise, Miss Kingman nodded. “Thank you.” She curtsied to the guests, then took her bow and went to the line, where she took even longer than Lady Adair to prepare. She lifted her bow once only to lower it and change her stance. The second time, she hesitated, but, after narrowing her eyes, released her shot, taking Violet’s advice. It landed perilously close to the center of the target.

  Miss Kingman turned her head toward Violet, her eyes wide with shock and her lips curving into a smile. “Thank you,” she mouthed.

  Violet flexed her hands as apprehension spiraled through her. Perhaps she ought not to have helped Miss Kingman. As she and Miss Kingman passed each other, Violet said, “Very well done.”

  The young woman blinked, her dark lashes fluttering. “I’m quite shocked. It won’t be fair if I win. You helped me.”

  “I gave you advice. The shot was entirely yours.” Violet gave her a look of encouragement as Miss Kingman took a position several feet to Violet’s right.

  Violet offered a curtsey to the spectators before taking the bow and arrow and turning to the line. She stared at the target, thinking she’d shot farther than this. But it had been a while.

  Lifting the bow, she took a deep breath and imagined the arrow striking the dead center of the target. A breeze ruffled the ties beneath her hat, and she belatedly wished she’d taken the thing off. With a firm but relaxed grip, she pulled back the string and let her arrow fly.

  It landed in the absolute center. She’d won.

  Everyone cheered as Violet turned. She offered a deeper curtsey, her mouth splitting into a wide, uncontrollable grin. She couldn’t help but look at Nick; however, the crowd had shifted, and she couldn’t see him very well.

  “Lady Pendleton has won a boon that she may claim during the remainder of the party,” Irving said loudly. “Well done, Lady Pendleton!”

  Everyone applauded again, and Violet made another curtsey. Hannah rushed over and gave her a quick hug. “I’m so proud of you! I must oversee the gentlemen’s turn.” And off she went again.

  The targets were adjusted, and the competing men gathered near the line. It would be a wide field that included Simon and Nick, as well as every other bachelor in attendance plus Sir Barnard, Lord Adair, Lord Colton, and, of course, Irving Linford. Apparently, Lord Balcombe had trouble with his shoulder and wasn’t able to participate.

  After drawing straws, Mr. Seaver went first. Everyone made it through the first round, having hit the target. Simon’s arrow was the closest to the center, and Violet was pleased to see him celebrated for it. She hoped he would win, thinking it would only help their cause to rehabilitate his reputation.

  But misfortune struck in the second round when his arrow landed in the outer circle of the target. The three men whose arrows were farthest out were eliminated.

  He shook his head and came to stand next to Violet. “I blame the wind. It picked up since you shot.”

  He was right, as the ribbons of her hat were now blowing quite freely. She glanced up at the sky and saw that darker clouds had moved in. “I believe our afternoon plan for bowls may be ruined.”

  He looked up as well. “Unfortunately, yes. We’ll have to find entertainment indoors.”

  In fact, Violet’s mind was already working on that. She had a boon to claim, and she knew precisely what she wanted. She just needed to corral the younger set this afternoon.

  Nick was waiting for his turn, which was second to last. He stared straight ahead, his features impassive.

  “Nick seems back to his old self today,” Violet said quietly. “Did something happen, or am I mistaken?”

  “I’m not certain,” Simon said with a slight frown. “He walked to the field with Lady Nixon and Mrs. Law, then spent time assisting Miss Kingman with her shooting.” He fell quiet while Lord Adair shot. Then he angled toward Violet. “It may just be exhausting for him. He hasn’t had to be social in ages.”

  Yes, that could be it. Particularly since he’d shared the company of Lady Nixon and Mrs. Law. They were the very definition of taxing. “Why is he such a recluse?”

  “He was in deep mourning, and I think he forgot to come out.”

  Mourning. Her mind instantly went to his brother, but then she remembered that he was also a widower. “Because of his wife?”

  Simon nodded grimly. “And son.”

  Oh God, he’d had a son? “I didn’t know.”

  “Not surprising,” Simon said. “It isn’t my tale to tell, but to lose Jacinda in childbirth and then Elias such a short time later was devastating.” His voice had grown tight, his face pale.

  “It pains you too,” she said softly, wanting to comfort him. “You are truly a good friend.”

  “We all have pain, do we not?”

  Yes, but for some people, there was unbelievable tragedy, and she began to see how Nick had become the Duke of Ice. She realized Simon had endured a similar calamity. No wonder he spoke of Nick with such compassion. It was perhaps why they were such close friends. She was glad they had each other.

  “We do,” she said.

  “What’s yours?” he asked.

  Startled by the question, she focused on th
e contest for a moment. Lord Colton shot, and she clapped along with the others. Nick was up next. She didn’t answer while she watched him take his position.

  His stance was excellent, his long legs parted, the muscles evident beneath the fit of his breeches. He lifted the bow, and his coat pulled across his shoulders, demonstrating that he was finely formed from head to toe. But then she knew that. She recalled the feel of him beneath her hands, so smooth and warm and hard.

  Head straight, grip loose, he pulled back the arrow, and it sailed straight into the heart of the target. Just like Cupid who’d set his sights on her eight years ago. His arrow had struck true, and she’d fallen completely.

  “It’s him,” Simon said softly. “Your pain.”

  She turned her head slightly but couldn’t look at him when she answered. “Yes.” Like Nick, she’d shut down after marrying Clifford. It had been a kind of mourning, she supposed, as she’d had to kill the only love she’d ever known.

  The three gentlemen whose arrows had hit closest moved to the last target. Aside from Nick, this included Mr. Seaver and Sir Barnard. She watched in silence next to Simon as first Mr. Seaver shot—his arrow landed fairly close to the middle—and then Sir Barnard hit the center. The crowd cheered and held their collective breath as Nick took his place at the line.

  “How can he possibly win?” Violet asked, her breath caught tight in her lungs.

  “Watch.” Simon’s voice held the warmth of a smile.

  She did just that and was shocked and amazed when Nick’s arrow split Sir Barnard’s in two. She gasped.

  “I do believe we have a tie,” Irving declared.

  Lord Colton shook his head. “The Duke should be crowned the victor. Surely his exceptional skill in splitting the arrow would break the tie.”

  As the spectators exchanged words with their neighbors, Simon nodded. “I would agree with that assessment.”

  Violet would too.

  And it appeared the majority concurred as well, because several people vocalized their support.

  Irving glanced toward Sir Barnard, who grimaced but gave a subtle nod that apparently indicated his surrender of a joint victory. Scanning the crowd with a broad grin until his gaze landed on Nick, Irving cried, “It appears the Duke of Kilve is victorious!”

  There were shouts and applause. Mr. Seaver shook Nick’s hand, grinning widely. Sir Barnard also shook his hand, but looked far less enthusiastic.

  “Can’t blame Sir Barnard for being disappointed. That was a rare shot.”

  “Which Nick has done before, apparently.” She turned to Simon. “You were expecting it.”

  Simon nodded. “Nick’s wicked with a bow. We’re off to my hunting box after the party. You haven’t seen skill until you’ve seen him take down a stag with a single arrow between the eyes. Quick and painless. Let’s go congratulate him, shall we?”

  Before she could protest—she found herself feeling uneasy about his demeanor today—Simon had pulled her along. It took a moment for the crowd around him to dissipate enough for them to move forward.

  “Well done,” Simon said, clapping him on the shoulder.

  “Thank you.” Nick didn’t look like someone who’d just won a hard-fought archery contest with a spectacular shot.

  She looked at him tentatively, wary of the ice glazing his expression. “That was amazing.”

  “Congratulations on your victory,” he said without much feeling. It was something one said out of courtesy, not because they were genuinely happy for you.

  Violet’s insides twisted into knots. She’d been a fool to think they could go back to the way they’d been. But weren’t they aligned when it came to Simon? She had a plan for later and hoped Nick would join her in its execution. With Simon beside her, she couldn’t bring it up now, nor did she want to. Not when Nick looked as though he was made of frost.

  Irving walked to them then and gripped Nick’s bicep. “Time for our victory luncheon!” He turned with Nick, saying, “That was a brilliant shot. However do you do that?”

  Nick was swept away, and Simon made to follow. He offered Violet his arm. “You coming?”

  She saw Hannah standing a few yards away, speaking to the footmen. “I’ll be along shortly. I’m going to help Hannah.” She turned and went to her friend, needing a few moments to think.

  Hannah’s gaze flickered with surprise when she saw Violet. “Aren’t you going to the house?”

  “With you. Can I help with anything?”

  “No, I’m just directing the cleanup. They’ll take it from here.” She smiled at the footmen and took Violet’s arm. “Let’s go.”

  They took up the rear as everyone moved toward the house.

  “What an exciting event!” Hannah said, clearly elated. “Lady Nixon said it was the most thrilling archery contest she’d ever seen. Everyone is agog over His Grace’s last shot.”

  Violet wished that had been Simon. Not only would it have helped him, but she was sure Simon would’ve been happier about it. Nick had seemed as distant as ever. But now she knew why—or at least partially. He’d lost his brother, his wife, his child. That would leave anyone feeling like a hollow shell, where perhaps not even winning an archery contest in spectacular fashion was sufficient to lift one’s mood. What would?

  “He didn’t seem particularly pleased,” Violet said.

  Hannah waved her hand. “Oh, that’s just his disposition, I’ve come to realize. It does make one wonder what’s happened in his past to cause that.”

  “Me.”

  Hannah nearly tripped, but caught herself. Her head swung toward Violet. “Pardon?”

  “Not just me, but I didn’t help. He’s suffered a great deal of tragedy.” She wouldn’t say more, at least not about things that weren’t her place to say.

  “Whatever do you mean? Are you saying you know him?”

  Violet nodded. “We met the September before you and I became acquainted.”

  “You never told me you’d met a duke! We were so nervous during our first Season, even though you were a viscountess.”

  “He wasn’t a duke then.”

  Hannah watched her as they walked, her arm curled comfortingly through Violet’s. “You think you’re the reason he’s the way he is? How well were you acquainted?”

  Violet walked more slowly until there was a good distance between them and the next people in front of them. “As you know, my parents sent me to Bath to prepare for my first Season. I stayed with my aunt and uncle.” She’d spent summers with them throughout her childhood. With no children of their own, they’d doted on Violet and her brother. “I met Nick at the Sydney Hotel. He was Mr. Nicholas Bateman then. He was so handsome and so witty. I was smitten immediately.”

  And he’d been too. “Over the course of a fortnight, we arranged to see each other as much as possible.”

  “You were in love,” Hannah said softly, her voice tinged with awe.

  “Helplessly. He asked me to marry him.”

  Hannah gasped. “What happened?”

  “My parents arrived, and when I told them I’d fallen in love with Nick, they took me away immediately. A mister wasn’t good enough, not when I was pretty and dowried enough to snag a title. In fact, they already had an interested party.”

  “Clifford?”

  Violet nodded. “Rather than wait until the next spring, my father arranged the union, and we were wed a month later.”

  “You never saw Nick again?”

  “No.” Her stomach clenched, and she felt sick, as she had so many times in the intervening years. “We’d planned to meet that evening. There was a revel at the park. We’d discussed the imminent arrival of my parents, and I’d warned him that they might not be in favor of our marriage. He assured me he would win them over. I didn’t doubt it—he was so charming.” For a moment, she recalled him as he’d been—joyful and teeming with hope for the future. The duke she’d met this week was a stranger, a shadow of that young man. How she wished she could go back and
do what he’d suggested. “He’d joked that if he failed, we could always elope. We should have.”

  “Oh, Violet.” Hannah clasped her free hand with Violet’s, giving her a squeeze. “I know your marriage wasn’t happy—how could it have been when you were married to such a philanderer—but having loved and lost… I wish I’d known.” She shook her head and withdrew her hand from Violet’s to swipe a finger beneath her eye.

  “I promised my parents I would never speak of it.”

  Plus, Clifford had forbidden her from talking about it. After their wedding night, when he’d learned she wasn’t a virgin, he’d been apoplectic. That was the only time he’d touched her in anger, shoving her so hard, she’d fallen into the armoire. She’d earned a massive bump and a subsequent day of dizziness and a crushing headache. It had set a precedent for the darkness of their marriage. He hadn’t touched her again until he was certain she wasn’t carrying Nick’s bastard. Then he’d used her as a broodmare without care or consideration. When she’d failed to carry a child, he’d declared her utterly without value. But that meant, thankfully, that he’d left her alone the last year before he’d taken ill and died.

  “It was also easier to banish the past,” she continued, hating how the vile memory of Clifford made her want to crawl out of her skin. “For a long time, I pretended Nick was just a dream. I think I’d convinced myself of that until I saw him here.”

  “I had no idea. I never would’ve invited him if I’d known it would cause you distress.”

  “It doesn’t.” On the contrary, she welcomed the ability to remember that he was real. She was fairly certain he felt the opposite, however. “I’m not sure he would’ve come if he’d known I was here. He hated me—and rightfully so—for abandoning him without a word.” She didn’t mention writing a letter. Since he hadn’t received her explanation, it was as good as if she’d never written it.

  “You still love him.”

  “Always.”

  “Have you told him?”

  They were almost to the house. Violet stopped and turned toward Hannah. “No, and you mustn’t either. No one can know. It’s the distant past.”