Lady Eleanor Mary Cantwell, daughter of the Marquess of Salford, is a proper young lady. With her golden complexion, raven-black hair, and manners befitting a princess, Lady Eleanor has always been deemed a belle. There is just one problem.
Lady Ele...
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'Make sure your hands have gripped the handle firmly. You don't want to drop the revolver or change its direction once the momentum of the recoil hits you,' Nathan said as Eleanor raised the revolver in her hands and aimed at the target. He was helping her practice using her revolver and so far, she had missed the target placed fifteen feet in front of her all thirteen times because the momentum had been too much for her to handle and she kept moving it away from the target as soon as she fired. It was a miracle she hadn't accidentally shot Nathan yet.
'Like this?' she asked, eyeing the target.
She heard Nathan sigh as he came and readjusted her grip. 'That wasn't firm enough, Eleanor,' he said, annoyance seeping into his voice. 'You're holding it like it's a dainty china doll which could break any second!'
Eleanor lowered the revolver and met Nathan's gaze. 'I told you I was no good at this!' she said. 'I'll never be able to shoot like you. Can we please stop for a while?'
She watched as Nathan waged an internal battle before finally relenting. 'Fine,' he finally muttered. 'We'll have tea and continue.'
Eleanor heaved a sigh of relief as they moved towards the lawn chairs which had been placed there for them. She let the maids and footmen attend to them before she sipped her tea.
If there was one thing Eleanor had learned today, it was that Nathan was a ruthless teacher. He had chastised her for the littlest mistakes and shown her his irritation more than a couple of times. She made a mental note to never let him teach her anything ever again.
Eleanor turned to Nathan to see that he hadn't touched his tea at all. He was sat beside her, cleaning his own revolver!
Now, it was Eleanor's turn to chastise him. 'Nathan! Put that down at once!' she said angrily.
Nathan drew her gaze to hers, looking confused. 'Why?' he asked, an innocent sort of look on his face as if he really didn't know why she was mad at him.
'Why?' she shrieked and put down her teacup. 'Because you do not bring weapons to the dining table!'
Nathan laughed, a big throaty one, and her anger simmered. Her gaze was drawn to his Adam's apple as it bobbed up and down with laughter. She felt her fingers twitch with an ache to just lean in and touch it...
'I would hardly call a lawn table a dining table,' he laughed and then added, his laughter dying down, 'You sound like my mother. She used to scold my father often for laying weapons on the table. My sister and I would laugh at the way he cowered in wake of my mother's wrath. He used to be wrapped around her finger. There was nothing he wouldn't do for her.' There was a wistful smile on his face as he gazed into the distance.
Eleanor smiled sadly. 'Do you miss them?' she asked after a moment or two of silence. Nathan seemed like he had two loving, doting parents who loved each other - a complete contradiction to her own.
