"Faustine, what the devil are you about?" Thomasine hissed. "I do not remember an agreement to stirring up the wind."
"Such language, dear," she sniffed. "And the wind is not my doing."
"Of course, it is. Who else could it be?"
Thomasine glanced about for curious ears. She sat in a chair elevated on a platform, observing the festivities before swinging her gaze back to Faustine.
Faustine was postured through a break in the trees tapping her foot impatiently. One hand was fisted at her hip, the other waving in a precarious position. Her expression gave Thomasine pause. "Well, then…who…?" Thomasine's question trailed as her eyes landed on the source and light dawned. "Ah, my apologies, Sister Dear. I, ah, see the problem. Alessandro has Cinderella's hand yet again. Hmmm. It's clear our Esmeralda harbors a longing for the Conte's elder son."
Faustine's grunt sounded through the branches. "Where is the hag, dear?"
Thomasine's gaze spanned the grounds, locating Lady Roche cornered by the Conte near the refreshment tent. "Being nicely detained at the moment. Your handiwork?"
"Well, I had my doubts it would work a second time, ma chère. I can only offer the suggestion by way of…" she waggled her hand. "I cannot force love. Hmmm. Somehow, I've misplaced by wand."
"A shame that. Sweeping her from Chalmers-" A rousing cheer roared through the crowd.
"What is it, Thomasine?"
Thomasine cocked her head toward the archery targets. "It seems Esmeralda just scored a bull's-eye on the archery target."
"Esmeralda?" Faustine asked, clearly stunned. "I thought Pricilla was the expert with a deadly weapon."