“I am not sure he came to us for the cards,” Lydia said with a smile that hinted at something much more.
With everyone gathered near the Pall Mall lane, Edmund strode out and clapped his hands.
“Right, I will just go over the rules quickly in case there is anyone here who has forgotten how to play. Matilda, I am looking at you,” Edmund pointed toward an older man, who took the teasing comment in a jovial manner. “The goal is to hit the ball through the iron hoop in as few strokes as possible, andyou must use this mallet. I don’t want anyone ransacking the groundskeeper’s shed for a spade.”
As he spoke, Edmund gestured to the iron hoop at the end of the lane.
“Are there any questions?” Edmund asked, but nobody had any. “Right then, let’s get onto picking the teams.”
His butler brought the hat to him, and Edmund picked out names one by one. Rose was secretly pleased when she and Amelia were picked for different teams, and Rose was on Edmund’s team.
“I wish I could play, but I simply don’t have the strength that I used to. I once beat a Frenchman at Pall Mall. He said he was the best in the world, but I showed him,” Agatha said.
“The last time you told that story, he was Prussian,” Beatrice said.
Agatha raised her eyebrows and looked away.
“French, Prussian… does it matter?” she said airily. Beatrice shared a glance with Charlotte and Mary. Charlotte wasn’t playing either, as she had Luke on her lap. He was looking at everything curiously, drinking everything in. Lydia also wasn’t playing as she feared making a fool out of herself in front of so many people..
Edmund pulled the last name out of the hat and was just about to announce it when he paused and looked at Clara.
“Clara, what is your name doing here?” he asked.
“I want to play, too!” she said.
“I am afraid we don’t have a child-sized mallet. You are just going to have to wait a few more years until you’re a little taller. But if you like, you can help collect the balls that go out of bounds,” he said, although Clara did not take this as a kindness. She huffed and returned to the house.
People gathered around the lane. Edmund gave Nathaniel the first shot, handing him the mallet as though it were a precious artifact. Nathaniel concentrated and took precise aim. He was strong, and the ball went rolling down the lane, settling very close to the iron hoop. Respectful applause filled the air.
“Good shot, you’ve certainly set a high standard for the rest of us to follow!” Edmund said.
Others took their turn. None of their shots were as impressive as Nathaniel’s, and some of them fell well short. Alfred miscued his, and the ball careened against the side of the lane.
“Better luck next time,” Edmund said. Alfred glared at him. Amelia was moving closer and closer to Edmund until she was standing beside him. They looked like quite a pair, Rose thought, and she almost felt that she was intruding.
When it came time for Amelia’s turn, she tittered with laughter.
“Would you mind helping me, Your Grace? I have never played before,” Amelia said. Edmund guided her arm and showed her the proper stance, then rehearsed the swinging motion of his arms. While he taught Amelia, he kept glancing at Rose, although she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to glean from this.
Amelia’s shot was accurate, but it lacked strength. Still, she was pleased with it and clapped her hands as she skipped away from the lane.
Edmund took his shot next.
“Watch this,” he said, then proceeded to close his eyes. Somehow, he still managed to strike the ball, and it went rolling down the lane. Edmund twirled the mallet and then made a flamboyant bow.
“This is a contest, not a show,” Rose heard Nathaniel mutter.
Edmund then beckoned Rose to come forward. She was preparing for the final shot. He handed her the mallet. His gaze was intense and focused on her. Their fingers brushed as she took the mallet from him.
“Might I show you the proper stance?” he asked.
Rose inclined her head, thinking it would make a good show for people; at least, that was the excuse she gave herself. Something shifted inside her every time Edmund was near, as though she lost control of herself.
He stood behind her, his breath drifting over the nape of her neck. He angled her arms and then wrapped his hands around hers. They held the mallet together.
“Like this,” he said, the words crashing against her ears, the low voice making something shift in her stomach. Her hands began to tremble as he swung her arms. They took the shot together, and she felt his strength. She was surrounded by his scent, his masculine aura, and, while everything was entirely proper and nobody had any cause to think anything untoward was happening, Rose could feel the haze in her mind and the gradual erosion of her resolve.
Rose quickly skipped away from him at the end, returning to Lydia, who gave her a knowing look.
