Page 84 of Some Like It Scot
I refused to count how many times I almost fell on the way downstairs toward the back garden. Thankfully, I found Mark on his way to the back lawn for our archery lessons and pulled him into the library.
“Why are you such a jerk?” I pressed the corner of my phone into Mark’s chest so effectively, he stumbled a step back.
“Jerk?” The guilty look on his face negated his defensive raised-palm posture. “That’s not a very nice way to say good afternoon.”
“Good afternoon, my eye!” I turned my phone around so he could see the screen where the article glared its full and horrible headline. “You know as well as I that I was trying to keep Miss Dupont from falling, not knock her down because I was”—I looked down at the text and quoted—”‘jealous of the attention being bestowed upon the other media guests in the house.’”
He skimmed over the screen as if he’d never seen the words before. “That’s not a good look for you, Katie. It could really hurt your ratings.”
After controlling the urge to slap him, I almost corrected him to say that any news increases visibility, but since he didn’t take the time to learn the ins and outs of social media, why try educating him now? “Ohhh!” The word emerged like a fighting roar. Would Mr. Lennox loan Monty the Python to me for just a few minutes? Just a few. “I cannot believe you’d stoop this low. This is like something a third grader would do to cheat in a schoolyard game. Not a grown man.”
His jaw tensed, but he shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know why you’re blaming me. Anyone from the house could have posted that.”
I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt my head. “Mark, everyone else isinthe photo. And you were standing at the perfect angle to take it.” I scrolled down and showed him the photo from the lawn tennis match—a photo of Graeme holding his eye after I’d accidentally hit him with the ball. “And youknowthis was an accident. Everyone knows this was an accident. You are aware these links can be traced, right?”
His face paled. Got him!
“You accused me of some pretty rotten things, Mark.” I shoved my phone in my pocket. “And the only reason you could have done so was for the Vision Award. You slandered me because of an award!”
He folded his arms across his chest and looked away like the stubborn child he was.
He had no defense. I shook my head and stepped back. “News flash—you didn’t just slander me, but there are several instances whereyou imply that Mrs. Lennox is not managing her business as she should and that the Edwardian Experience isn’t fair or safe.”
The arrogance on his face melted.
“How stupid was that, right?” I backed away from him. “Here you are, up for a prestigious award for your content, and you let a bout of jealousy strip you of one of the things that put you in the finalist category to begin with—your professional integrity.”
With another glare, I marched around him—as best I could in my “sports skirt” and heels—and entered the back lawn. I’d had bad things written about me before, so this wasn’t a first, but those negatives always seemed to weigh heavier than the hundreds of positives out there.
And it just stung a little more from someone I actually knew.
Even if thatsomeonewas Mark.
Dave’s text oozed with his usual balanced approach, offering some suggestions to help curb the spread through a clarification post and video. Which I would do after archery. Brett’s text only wanted to make me aware of it... and praise the fact it was creating such visibility. The man really was the most optimistic optimist in the whole world.
Mom hadn’t responded.
No surprise. She said her piece, dropped her bomb, and waited for her offspring to respond with dutiful obedience toherdemands.
Lord Wake and Lady Lennox were already in position with bows when I arrived in the garden, with Mr. Logan and Miss Dupont having some sort of side discussion over one of the arrows, it seemed. Graeme hadn’t joined everyone for the beach trip, but evidently he’d been asked to assist with archery.
Um... and then I immediately wondered what he’d look like in swimming attire, Edwardian or not. Heat shimmied up my neck like the teenager my hormones wanted to be, and my attention focused on his well-suited self. It was enough to almost distract me from my frustration.
Almost.
But not enough to stop my forward momentum toward a physical release of my ire. I slipped on my glove and bracer I’d packed for the trip, then snatched a bow from the nearby collection, took up a few arrows, and stepped to the designated shooting spot. A round straw target was positioned about, what, forty yards out?
I breathed in the familiar feel of the bow in my hand, clasping my palm around the grip. My body instantly relaxed. A long bow. My favorite.
Perhaps I couldn’t dribble a basketball and walk at the same time, but I knew how to do this. And right now the frustration buzzing through my veins needed an outlet.
Mrs. Lennox had even chosen wooden arrows? Some of my ire dissipated. Grandpa would be impressed. I tilted the bow slightly and slid the arrow on the shelf, smiling as I raised the bow. Thankfully, this certain dress had more give in the sleeves, so I could take a proper position and have full range of motion as I pulled back the string. My fingers slid over my cheek, anchoring my placement, and as I followed the arrow point to the target, I drew in a breath.
I released my frustration in one breath as I relaxed my hold on the string. The arrow swished off with barely a sound and pierced near the center of the target. Without a pause, I took up another arrow and repeated the movements, releasing more anger and securing another bull’s-eye.
“Well, Miss Campbell, this isn’t your first archery lesson.” Lord Wake smiled, moving to stand between me and Ana and gesturing toward the target. “Or is it beginner’s luck?”
With a grin, I swept down to take another arrow and replicated my movements, landing the next arrow between the first two. “It’s myonesport.” I lowered the bow and turned to Lord Wake. “I’m pretty lame at the rest.”
