“Then how is it that you can play pall-mall without the memory of your father haunting you?” Miles inquired.
Edwina looked thoughtful for a moment before replying, “I never thought about it that way. To me, I am simply doing something that we both loved, and it brings back pleasant memories.”
“Arabella was terrible at pall-mall. She could never quite hit the ball with the right amount of force,” Miles admitted. “But winning wasn’t important to her. She simply found joy in playing the game.” He paused. “She used to say that she only came for the food.”
With a glance at the refreshment table, Edwina said, “I do enjoy the food, as well.”
“So you see why I can’t play?” Miles asked.
Edwina brought her gaze back to his as she replied, “I don’t, actually.”
Taken aback by her response, he asked, “I beg your pardon?”
“I feel that you shouldn’t stop living and enjoying the little moments just because your wife has passed on,” Edwina explained, her voice gentle. “She wouldn’t want you to avoid doing things you used to enjoy.”
Miles’ brow shot up. “Surely you cannot be serious?” he asked. “You presume to know what my wife would have wanted?” His words came out much harsher than he had intended.
Edwina winced. “I know it isn’t my place?—”
He spoke over her. “No, it isn’t,” he said. “Am I supposed to take advice from you- someone who only lost a father? I lost my wife and brother! It is not the same and do not try to pretend that it is.”
Miles could see a flicker of emotion pass over her features, but he couldn’t quite decipher what it was. Was it anger? Annoyance? Or something else entirely different? But it was evident that he had gotten a rise out of her.
“Forgive me,” she murmured as she returned the mallet to its holder. “I do not feel much like playing anymore.” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears as she spun on her heel. Hurrying up the pathway leading to the manor, she disappeared within its walls.
Miles felt a wave of guilt wash over him. He had been so insensitive, not considering how his words would affect her.
Bennett’s inquiring voice came from behind him. “Where did Edwina go?” he asked.
Shifting uncomfortably in his stance, Miles admitted, “I’m afraid I upset her.”
“What did you do?” Bennett asked, his words accusatory.
Facing his friend, Miles couldn’t help but feel ashamed. “I may have insinuated that Edwina’s grief is less than my own.”
Bennett drew his brows together. “That is rather unfair of you to say.”
“I know,” Miles responded, knowing that is all he could say. He was in the wrong, and it pained him to admit that to himself.
Miss Bawden placed the mallet down. “Perhaps I should go see if Edwina is all right. Please excuse me,” she said before she headed towards the manor.
Bennett’s arms were crossed tightly over his chest, his eyes glinting with barely contained anger. “Do you care to explain yourself?” he demanded.
“No.”
“Well, try anyways,” Bennett stated.
Miles decided it would be best if he just told his friend the truth and hoped he would understand. “The last time I played pall-mall was with Arabella,” he shared. “I informed Lady Edwina of this, and she encouraged me to still play.”
“And?” Bennett prodded.
“That is all.”
“So you responded by insulting her?”
“It wasn’t my finest moment,” Miles admitted.
Bennett uncrossed his arms, his expression softening slightly. “No, it wasn’t,” he agreed. “One cannot measure or compare the weight of grief of another.”
