Capturing Cora by Madelynne Ellis Page A

for Persephone to step regally between her and Biddy. “I believe it’s your turn, Cora.”
    Very well, she’d let that slight go, but only because it was in fact the truth. Tink—or more correctly—Branwell Locke had indeed taught her the art of skittles, alongside horsemanship, dice, archery, and trout tickling, to name but a few of her more unusual accomplishments. She excelled at them all, whereas her embroidery was mediocre and her singing voice akin to a caterwaul. “We’re nothing more than childhood friends,” she huffed under her breath. “More's the pity.”
    Cora snatched up the skittles ball. She wasn’t sure when over the last few months things had changed so that Bran had stopped being her fond companion and transformed into an eligible gentleman. She supposed it coincided with her formal presentation into society. Maybe it was merely her perception that had changed.
    Bran still treated her like a sister.
    She longed to be his wife.
    He still tweaked her ringlets and ribbed her mercilessly about her sawing laugh. She longed to have him notice her in a different way.
    When she gazed at Bran, her breath quickened and she imagined the taste of his merry lips pressed to hers delivering illicit kisses. She longed for the summer days they’d spent scrambling over hills and wading through brooks, and how they might live those days over as lovers if only he felt the same way.
    She knew his smile and the mischievous light in his leaf green eyes. Knew too that he bore scars upon his arms from the punishments inflicted by one former schoolmaster and a lump upon his left shoulder from where he’d cracked a bone as a boy. Such insights she’d gleaned over years, but now she seemed cursed to gaze upon him from the near distance with little to no chance of ever being noticed there. Let alone winning any further intimacies.
    Bran simply didn’t feel the same way.
    Determined not to allow bitterness to overwhelm her good humour, Cora dashed forward a few steps, swung her arm back and released the wooden ball, which rolled fast and straight across the glossy floor. It smashed into the pins at the far end of the alley, sending them flying.
    Grimly satisfied, Cora dusted her hands, before turning back to her friends and their incorrect suppositions. Only to be greeted instead with stunned applause. Both Charlotte and Persephone embraced her.
    “I don’t suppose there is time to achieve such mastery in the time we have before the gentlemen join us,” remarked the latter.
    “We can try,” Cora assured her encouragingly.
    “Oh good, then I’ll take my turn next.” Persephone drifted down the room to straighten the pins. Cora drew her teeth over her lower lip. While she could produce a strike, Persephone would make skittles into an elegant art form, even if she never hit a thing. Her friend had always stood out. Her glossy chestnut ringlets made her intriguing among the mélange of demure blondes, and Bran had been one of the bucks paying court to her.
    Persephone took her throw, using predictably beautiful steps, only for the ball to roll sluggishly and fail to topple a single pin.
    “Use your wrist more,” Cora advised, not that she truly believed it would help.
    Harriet’s attempt impressed little better. Cora stood back to allow Charlotte her throw, since she had also benefited from Bran’s past tuition. His sister toppled all but two pins, prompting her to clap in delight. It was only afterwards that Charlotte turned to her thoughtfully.
    “Cora, forgive me, but I can’t help suspecting that this wager is a plan you’ve devised with my brother to cheat us of our things. I swear, if he suddenly makes a great show of wooing you, then—”
    “He won’t. Well… I haven’t planned anything. How could you—”
    “Haven’t you?”
    “I never cheat. And Charlotte, we’re simply friends. You of all people are perfectly aware of that. Besides, even if Bran did propose, he would only do so in jest. He