Otherwise Engaged

by Joanna Barker

  “What does your beau think of all this?” Nicholas asked, leaning back. “He must have some insight into what you’ve learned.”

  “I . . . I haven’t had the chance to write Edward yet.” I paused. “Well, it is not precisely that I haven’t had time. Truthfully, I was worried what he might say or if he would doubt me after all this.”

  “He would be a cad if he did,” Nicholas said. “And a fool. As I can abide neither, let us hope he is not so weak-willed as that.”

  I laughed, a strange airy sound that felt as freeing as the swift-moving clouds above us. He grinned, though his eyes did not lose their careful sharpness.

  “In any case,” he said, “you ought to speak to your mother and brother.”

  “I want to,” I said. “I promise I do. But . . .” My voice trailed off. If Mama and William could not find it in themselves to mend this rift between our families, would I be forced to choose between them and Edward? I sighed. “I need more time.”

  Nicholas did not speak for a moment, only watched me, his torn expression a puzzle all its own. He opened his mouth to speak, then shook his head. “It will all work out as it should,” he said simply, though his voice held a rough edge. “I have no doubt.”

  I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe Edward and I could be together, that Mama and William would accept him, that Papa had indeed been honorable and good. I wanted to believe Nicholas would fully mend things with Olivia, that he would choose to stay at Linwood Hall instead of returning to the navy. I wanted to believe Nicholas and I could remain friends, even after I married and went away.

  I stood, brushing my skirts to busy my hands. “Thank you, Nicholas,” I said softly. “I am grateful to have such a friend as you.”

  He stood as well. “As am I since I can only imagine the state of my and Olivia’s relationship without you.”

  “You would find a way, surely. Just perhaps a bit slower.”

  “Indeed,” he said. “Now, you had better get on with your practice before it grows too late.”

  “Are you certain you do not wish to join me today?” I teased.

  “Quite,” he said. “I do not think I was made to ride without a saddle.” He stretched his shoulders as if to emphasize his point, but it just served to draw my attention to how well his jacket fit over his broad chest and arms.

  I coughed and moved to take Stella’s reins. “Will you shoot today, then?”

  “If Stella would not be too alarmed.”

  I stroked her neck. “She seemed all right last time. I imagine she’ll grow accustomed to the noise, like your horse.”

  Nicholas fetched his leather bag from below the tree he had been sitting in when I’d arrived. “We shall see how she does.”

  As he set about hanging his targets and laying out his pistol and instruments, I watched curiously. I’d never shot a pistol before or even held one. William had a great many guns, for hunting and shooting . . . and dueling, though he likely thought I did not know about the box he kept atop the mantel in his study.

  “Nicholas?”

  He turned from where he’d knelt to load his pistol.

  “Have you ever taught anyone to shoot?” I stepped closer, tugging Stella behind me.

  He set his pistol down. “You want to learn to shoot?”

  “As evidenced by my inquiry.”

  He shook his head. “I really should be used to you surprising me.”

  It was not a yes, but neither was it a no. “And?”

  He stood slowly, eyeing me. “Why do you wish to learn?”

  “I’ll not be embarking on a life of crime as a highwaywoman, if that is what concerns you.”

  “It does now that I know it’s a possibility. But do not avoid the question.”

  I set one hand on my waist. “It seems a useful skill to have. And I am curious.”

  “A curious woman? Such a phrase strikes fear into most men’s hearts.”

  “But not yours?”

  “No, though I must admit to a great deal of trepidation.”

  My pulse tripped. “So you’ll teach me?”

  “If you’ll agree to listen closely and be careful.”

  I opened my mouth to immediately agree, but he raised one hand to stop me. “Truly be careful,” he said. “No risks, Rebecca.”

  “I promise I will be careful.”

  I led Stella to a nearby tree and knotted her reins on a branch. When I returned, Nicholas had laid out all his instruments and supplies on a flat rock.

  “Have you any experience at all with a pistol?” he asked when I again joined him. He was holding his weapon in one hand as if weighing it.

  “Would you expect that I had?”

  “I would not be terribly shocked, considering.” I nearly asked him what he meant, but he went on before I could. “We’ll start with the fundamentals, then.” He took the pistol by the barrel and held it out to me.

  I stared at it. “Should I—?”

  “It’s not loaded,” he said dryly. “I simply want you to have a feel for it.”

  He held it out farther, and I took the handle. It dipped as he released it; it was heavier than I’d expected. I brought my other hand up to support it. The stock was made of smooth stained wood, the barrel shining steel.

  “Never forget that you are first and foremost holding a weapon,” he said, his voice as serious as I’d ever heard it. “It is certainly a tool, and a useful one at that, but if used improperly, a gun could harm not only others but also yourself.”

  I nodded, a weight heavy as the pistol dropping into my chest.

  He went on to explain how the pistol functioned, the position of the flint and the frizzen, how the spark they created would travel through the pan to the barrel. I practiced cocking the hammer to both half and full and repeated back to him everything I’d learned, twice, before he decided I was ready to move on.

  I watched closely as he loaded the pistol, adding a measure of gunpowder to the barrel and wrapping the lead ball in a small square of cloth before ramming it down firmly over the powder. Lastly, he added a small amount of powder to the pan and snapped the frizzen in place. He held it up for me to observe.

  “What remains to be done?” he asked.

  A test. I scrutinized the pistol, trying to recollect everything he’d just taught me. “All that is left is to pull the hammer to full cock.”

  He nodded. “Once the hammer is cocked, it is ready. I will shoot first, to show you what to expect.”

  He faced the targets and set his feet in a wide stance as he raised the pistol with both hands. “Hold it as steady as you can,” he said. “Two hands are better than one, especially as you are just learning.”

  I stepped closer—but not too close, as I was still a bit wary of the pistol—to gain a better vantage point. He kept his even gaze on the targets, his eyes narrowed in focus.

  “Expect some recoil when you pull the trigger,” he warned. “It is not so bad with a pistol since it has a short barrel, but be prepared.”

  “What does it feel like?” My voice thankfully did not reveal any of my nervousness. “When it fires?”

  “Rather like something is exploding in your hands,” he said with a wry smile.

  “How very reassuring.” But somehow, it was. His slight jest set me more at ease.

  “Now watch closely.” He straightened even more, and his fingers tightened around the pistol.

  I stood without moving, not wanting to disrupt his focus. A few seconds later, a sharp burst of flame shot from the flintlock at the same moment a crack echoed in my ears. The pistol bucked back in Nicholas’s hands, but he kept firm control the entire time.

  He turned back to me as the small cloud of smoke brushed past him to escape into the trees, the sharp smell of sulfur hovering in the air. “Are you ready to try?”

 
I nodded. I was still more than a little apprehensive, but it was not in me to back away from a challenge. I took the pistol from him and knelt in front of the rock. Nicholas observed as I followed his every action from before: measuring the gunpowder, wrapping the ball in cloth, using the ramrod to press it all firmly into the barrel. He only helped once when I was unsure how much powder to add to the pan, but soon enough, I was presenting the loaded, slightly terrifying weapon to Nicholas for inspection.

  He nodded as he looked it over. “Perfectly done. And you’ll grow faster with practice.”

  “How fast are you?”

  He gave me a crooked smile. “I’m not sure that knowledge would prove helpful to you.”

  I tipped my head to one side. “Shall I be terribly intimidated and give it up before I even begin?”

  “Possibly.”

  But when I gave him a pointed stare, he gave in. “I can manage four shots in a minute.”

  Now I was truly staring. “A minute? But that is fifteen seconds apiece.” How on earth could he do in seconds what had taken me full minutes?

  “It is indeed.” He handed me the pistol. “As I said, I have been practicing.”

  I took the pistol, though it somehow seemed even heavier now, loaded and prepared to fire. I turned and faced the targets, inhaling a breath that felt far from sufficient. I gulped several more for good measure.

  “What will you aim for?” Nicholas came to my side.

  I eyed the various targets dangling below the branch. “The jar,” I decided. It was the largest target and my safest bet.

  He nodded. “Now show me how you stand before you cock the hammer.”

  I planted my half boots in the dirt shoulder-width apart, the skirts of my habit swirling around me. Then I raised the pistol in both hands as he’d shown me, aiming at the jar.

  “Good,” he said. “But straighten your arms. That will help with the recoil.”

  I straightened my arms. “Anything else?”

  I was so focused on my stance, on the jar just beyond the barrel, that I nearly jumped when his arm brushed mine as he stepped forward.

  “Try adjusting your hold,” he said quietly. “Bring your fingers around here, and you’ll have a better grasp.”

  He might have been speaking Welsh for all I comprehended. His deep voice so close to my ear was doing ridiculous things to my body. How could I suffer both shivers and coursing heat? But I allowed his steady, sure fingers to move over mine, correcting my position.

  “There.” He stepped back. “Now you are ready to cock it. Fire when you feel ready.”

  I doubted that would ever happen, but I cocked the hammer as I’d practiced before, though my arms began to shake from the weight of the pistol.

  I aimed, squinting as I concentrated on that floating jar. I stood closer to the targets than Nicholas had when he’d shot, but the jar still seemed much too far away. The barrel of the pistol kept moving in and out of my narrow line of vision, my arms wavering.

  “Deep breaths,” Nicholas said from behind me. “Steady.”

  I would breathe easier if he would step farther away, but I did as he said and allowed the rhythm of my breaths to anchor my arms. The barrel settled on the jar, the tip barely hesitating. I allowed myself a few seconds more to be sure, then moved my finger to the cool metal bar.

  Then I gritted my teeth and pulled the trigger.

  A blinding flash and a puff of smoke. The pistol tried to leap from my grasp, but I held on, tensing my arms to keep it in place. My ears rang as I blinked through the smoke, and I lowered the pistol to inspect the targets. My jar still swung, irritatingly whole.

  “How did that feel?”

  I turned to Nicholas. “I did not hit it.”

  “I hardly expected you to. But that is not what I meant. How did it feel to pull the trigger?”

  I considered his question. My insides felt as if I’d stepped too close to a cliff, nerves on end. But my hands tingled as they still gripped the pistol. I grinned. “I think I shall like shooting.”

  He matched my grin. “I never doubted you would.”

  “May I try again?” I stepped forward, holding the pistol before me. Strange how it suddenly felt much more comfortable than even a minute ago. “I want to hit it.”

  He waved me on. “You may try as much as you’d like. But please do not be frustrated if you are unsuccessful. It takes time and practice.”

  I would practice as much as he would allow me, today and any other day. The power I’d felt when the pistol had fired—I knew already it was intoxicating.

  “I no longer wonder why you shoot so often.” I ran my fingers over the steel of the barrel. I’d just sent a lead ball blasting through that black opening. “Perhaps one day I’ll be able to match your skill.”

  “If anyone can, it is you.” He spoke sincerely. “The key is to focus. You cannot allow anything to distract you.”

  “You must have incredible focus, then.”

  “I pride myself on it.” His voice shifted as he studied me with a curious intensity. “Once I’ve set my aim, I never miss.”

  I swallowed, telling myself to look away even as my heart sped like Stella on an open run. But in the end, it was Nicholas who broke our gaze as he stepped back and gestured me forward.

  “Let us see you do it again,” he said. “Faster this time.”

  I went to the rock and began again with the powder and ramrod, trying to hide my trembling hands.

  A trembling that had not been caused by shooting a pistol.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I finally wrote to Edward.

  It took me three full days to construct a letter I was satisfied with. I laid out the facts as fairly as I could, trying not to lay blame at either of our fathers’ doors. I was honest and open. I told him that no matter who was to blame, we could endure it together.

  As I wrote, I allowed all my memories of him to flood my heart and mind: dancing at our first assembly together, sharing secret smiles across dinner tables, and, of course, that lovely quiet moment in the shadowed garden where we’d promised our futures to each other.

  This was good. This was right. Edward and I were perfect together. We were so similar, in stations, in temperament, in goals. Just the thought of the dimple on his left cheek made my pulse trip, so I knew attraction certainly played a part.

  After I was satisfied with my letter, I sent it with a great deal of relief. Edward would know what to do, how to proceed with what I’d learned. I would wait for his response, and then we could decide what to do next. Perhaps it might be time for us to tell our families and pry the truth from them. Perhaps it might be time for Edward to come to Havenfield, as we’d discussed all those weeks ago.

  How odd it was to think of Edward here at the estate. My time with him in Brighton seemed like another life, another age. What would it be like to walk the grounds with him, to sit with him in the drawing room after dinner, conversing with William, Juliana, and Mama? If they could ever overcome their prejudice, that was. I could not imagine such a scene, not yet. But soon it would be my reality.

  I calculated that I could expect an answer from him no sooner than a week, and likely closer to two. Letters traveled quickly between here and Brighton, but I also accounted for the time it took Marjorie to deliver my letter to Edward and for how long it might take him to give her his response. I could not imagine they saw each other with any great regularity, and they most likely passed letters only when they attended the same social functions.

  As I could do nothing until I heard from Edward, I determined to enjoy my time. If I married soon, then these would be my last weeks at Havenfield. My last weeks as a single woman, that was.

  My days passed quickly, each one like the swift summer wind that caught the leaves and swirled them at a dizzying speed. Mama and I spent every morning together, a
nd I rode every afternoon, most days meeting Nicholas at our meadow.

  We’d settled into something of a routine. I always rode bareback first, and then Nicholas continued to teach me to shoot. It took me longer than I would have liked to grow accustomed to the constant loading, aiming, and firing. It did not come easily to me, not like so many other skills. But I did not give up. A fortnight after our first lesson, I successfully—finally—loaded and fired his pistol twice in a minute, both shots finding their targets swaying from the tree, sending showers of glass to the dirt below.

  Nicholas clapped as I lowered the pistol. “And to think you hadn’t held a pistol before two weeks ago.”

  “Yet, you can still fire twice as fast. I shall not be satisfied until I can do the same.”

  “I have had years of practice, Rebecca,” he reminded me. “There is plenty of time yet for you to improve.”

  Except there wasn’t. Once Edward and I were married, would I continue practicing? Could I? It was hardly a proper pastime for a married woman, and I could not guess if Edward would approve. What would he say if I told him I’d been learning to shoot? Or ride bareback?

  I put that from my mind. He surely loved me enough to overlook a few peculiarities in my personality.

  I glanced at the sun beginning to lower toward the horizon. The evenings had grown cooler as autumn approached, but today was still warm, even if the breeze held a new sharpness.

  “We had better be done for today,” I said with a sigh. “Mama has invited Mr. Hambley for dinner, and I cannot possibly miss it.”

  “Have he and your mother made anything official?” Nicholas moved to the flat rock we used as a table and began to pack away the powder and balls.

  I joined him. “Not yet. But it is only a matter of time. The two of them look at each other like Olivia looks at strawberry tarts.”