arrow at Henry.
Grace did her best to appear to swoon. “Oh my.” She fel to the grass. “I can’t stand the sight of blood,” she cried, then pretended to faint.
“Blood?!” Chloe ran to Henry’s side. He was already opening up his jacket, looking for the wound.
Chloe’s heart pounded.
“It didn’t hit me,” he said.
Chloe sighed. “Thank God,” she breathed.
Henry looked at her for a moment, then turned away and scrambled to get up. “I think it just hit my watch fob and bounced off.”
Chloe saw that with the fainting, Grace had conveniently managed to land in Sebastian’s arms. He tried to revive her, as if she needed reviving, with her vinaigrette and her fan, and the sight of her in his arms sent chil s up Chloe’s corseted spine.
Chloe found the arrow and picked it up, examining the tip. “No blood on the arrow either.”
“It real y didn’t hit me,” Henry said, buttoning his coat.
At that moment Grace seemed to miraculously awaken from her fainting spel . “Of course it hit you,” she said from the crook in Sebastian’s arm. “I saw it hit you. You went down because it hit you.”
The butler glared at Chloe.
Out of nowhere, George zoomed in on his ATV in his sunglasses and blue jeans. “Stop the cameras.”
Chloe was taken aback. She’d forgotten that men in the real world didn’t bow when they saw a woman.
George slid his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose and stared at Chloe. “You got lucky,” he said sharply.
Chloe looked down at the arrow in her hand. She did get lucky. If it hadn’t bounced off Henry, she’d be bounced out of here.
“I’m going to be watching this time. Because I don’t want any messing around. Lady Grace, I want you far away from any archers. Take your final shot, Miss Parker,” George said as he moved to the side. “And, Henry, I’d advise you to stop putting yourself in Miss Parker’s path. She tends to attract trouble.”
“Thanks, George,” Chloe muttered. “Don’t forget I happen to be armed at the moment.”
“Take your shot, Miss Parker. Cameras—rol it.”
Sebastian escorted Grace to a wooden chair on the side and then headed back toward the lemonade table.
Henry’s spectacles slid down Chloe’s nose and she pushed them up with her suede gloved finger. She took her stance, drew the string back, and visualized the money, Sebastian in her arms, everything. She raised her bow arm, kept it locked, and drew back the string until her thumb touched her jawbone and her index finger reached the corner of her mouth. She took aim at the red center of the buckskin target, took a breath, held it, breathed out, and released the arrow.
“It’s a bul ’s-eye!” Mrs. Crescent shouted. Fifi, who’d been fast asleep in her arms, woke up and began to wag his tail.
A servant plucked the arrows from the center of the target and carried them over to Chloe as if they were a bouquet of long-stemmed roses.
Triumphantly, she slid them back into her tin quiver, while on the sidelines, Grace’s fan dropped with a faint
Chloe slid the glasses down the bridge of her nose, and the target blurred again. The leaves and the flowers became fuzzy clumps. Yes, she needed glasses al right. She hurried over to Henry, wanting nothing so much as to throw her arms around him. But instead, she said cool y, “Thank you, Mr. Wrightman, for your observations and for the loan of your gl—er, spectacles.”
He bowed, and as she took in his minty scent, she saw Fiona smile as she poured Sebastian’s lemonade. He smiled back, stirred his lemonade with his finger, and leaned over to whisper to her. Fiona whispered back.
George slipped in between Chloe and Henry. “Miss Parker, I’m sorry to say that you lost the competition by a single arrow.” He signaled the camera crew and hopped in his ATV.
Chloe clicked her heel-less walking boots together. “Thank you again, Henry. I did much better because of your—foresight.”
Henry smiled and flicked the hair out of his eye. “You flatter me. Anyone with any medical experience could have guessed the problem. Eyesight can change rapidly when one approaches—”
“A certain age?” Chloe interrupted.
Henry nodded.
Grace popped out of her chair so fast she knocked it over. “Such an unladylike display of affection,” she announced. “Running over to Mr. Henry Wrightman and thanking him so fervently!”
A blush washed over Chloe’s face. Henry’s glasses slid down her nose. She took them off and folded them up.
“Ladies, gather round,” the butler announced as he stepped in front of the cameras. He opened his notebook.
Julia, Grace, and Chloe encircled him, and their chaperones stepped forward.
“Third-place winner is . . . Lady Grace.”
