It was a nine-hoop game, with six pairs of balls for each team. With so many balls on the field and so many hoops to hit them through, it was a receipt for confusion and much hilarity, as when Emanuel was about to strike a ball through the farthest hoop and his twin sister screamed, “No Emanuel, that’s Miss Pringle’s team’s ball!”
Or when the viscount hit a very neat putt that careened off the duke’s ball and sent both balls through two hoops apiece. “Two points to each team,” announced the duchess, when an appeal to the referee was made.
Her team won by a point in the end, though she rather suspected the duke threw the last shot wide to give her the win. However it happened, his team was most disappointed to lose. The Watsons, while not poor losers, were unaccustomed to it, and the boys in particular were much cast down.
The arrival of luncheon, however, was a welcome distraction, and Annis found herself seated beside the viscount. How that happened she didn’t know, but she had no sooner taken her place in the middle of the long table on the adults’ side and shaken out her napkin when his voice to her right made her look round. “Wine, Miss Pringle?”
He offered the bottle. The servants were all joining them for luncheon, and so once the food and drink was deposited on the table, everyone was helping themselves.
“Oh, thank you. Yes, please,” she said with a smile.
He poured for her, himself, and Ava, seated on his right.
She took up the glass of sparkling wine, but before she could taste it, the duke was on his feet commanding everyone’s attention.
“Today we honor one of our most valued employees, Miss Annis Pringle. Happy birthday, Miss Pringle, and may you have many more!” He held up his glass, and everyone murmured something in kind and raised their glasses and drank.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she said blushing. “Thank you, everyone, for a lovely meal.Bon appétit!” Then she brought her own glass to her lips and drank.
She caught the eye of Smiggens down the table, who winked at her. She tipped her glass to him with a smile.
“He’s fond of you,” remarked the viscount, offering her the dish of artichoke hearts in butter. Using the tongs, she took one with murmured thanks.
“Yes, and I confess I am fond of him. I never had a father,” she admitted, helping herself to some of the sliced beef in gravy.
“Ah, that must be difficult. I was fortunate to have both my parents until I reached adulthood. Growing up without a parent—” He glanced across the table at his three, and she heard the tiny sigh that escaped his lips. “They need a mother. I shall have to do something about that.” The words were uttered quietly, and she didn’t think they were directed at her, so she said nothing.
After a moment or two, she said, “They are lovely children. You must be very proud of them.”
“I am.” He smiled.
“When you look to engage a new governess, can I suggest that you look for someone with a broad range of skills? Miss Elizabeth, in particular I feel, needs to be challenged. While Charlotte requires someone kind and patient.”
“You know them well on such short acquaintance, Miss Pringle.”
“It is my job to observe children closely and strive to understand them, my lord. You will recall I was raised in a seminary for young ladies. I have absorbed a great deal about education over the years, both overtly and I think to a certain extent unconsciously. I was so steeped in it.”
“Tell me, why didn’t you remain at the seminary after your aunt died?” he asked, reaching for his glass of wine.
She swallowed involuntarily and choked. She fell into a coughing fit, her eyes streaming, and it was some minutes before she was restored to equilibrium. The viscount, quite alarmed, rubbed her back very inappropriately, but no one seemed to mind. The duchess brought her water and when she was settled again and everyone had returned to their seats, she wiped her eyes and blew her nose, resuming her knife and fork.
“What were you saying, my lord? You asked me a question before that pea went down the wrong way.”
“I asked what made you leave the seminary? Did your aunt not leave it to you?”
“Oh my—aunt—was the leasehold manager, but she didn’t own the business. The owners let her do as she pleased with it, though, while she lived. But they sold it to new owners soon after my aunt passed, and they found they wanted to manage it themselves. Unfortunately, I came to understand that there was little use for me under the new regime.”It’s mostly true, she thought,though the decision to leave was my own.
After luncheon, the servants cleaned up and went back to their duties and the adults sat around enjoying the sun while the children played chasey round the lawn. She and the viscount pulled the hoops out of the lawn and gathered up the balls and mallets, narrowly avoiding getting themselves mowed down by children pelting past them at a rate easiest measured in knots. Squeals, shouts, and giggles, demonstrating that the game was reaching a crescendo.
“Oh, dear. I do hope there will be no tears,” said Annis.
Just then a shriek followed by sobs rent the air.
Annis dropped her armful of mallets, the viscount dropped the bag of balls he was carrying, and both rushed toward the sounds of distress though the bushes to the side of the lawn.
It was Elizabeth. She had tripped and gone down in a heap on the grass.
Annis reached her first, closely followed by the viscount, who dropped to his knees beside Elizabeth, gathering her up into his arms. “What is it, sweetheart? Did you fall?”
