Charles always enjoyed riding, it was a very freeing experience, but he wasn't the best at shooting from the saddle and was glad they were carrying on by foot. Once he had dismounted and had his gun in hand he followed his father and those that hadn't departed for the picnic. He wanted to join the picnic himself to avoid further embarrassment at his mediocre aim and also to spend some time with Abigail. He had much to tell her and was eager to deliver her poem.
He watched his father and Lord Mountford-Miles take turns shooting with a small smile. The friendly competition was fun to watch.
Seeing an opportunity of his own, he sighted a pheasant just fluttering upward from the ground, aimed, fired and... missed. He half frowned and looked down at his gun for a moment, hoping sincerely that no one had noticed. Of course it wasn't the fault of his firearm; Charles had no delusions of grandeur when it came to his aim.