AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“How unfortunate.” It was all she could manage under the circumstances.
Estwood turned with a grin, his mood once again pleasant as he led her to Theo and Lord Carstairs, stopping any further conversation. She suspected Estwood had said more than he’d meant to and was now embarrassed about it.
Carstairs seemed intent on displaying for Theo the correct posture necessary to roll the bowl down the length of the green. He explained how one side was weighted heavier than the other, which influenced which way the bowl would land, as well as how to cup the bowl, placing your fingers properly while using the correct stance.
All of which was wasted effort on Carstairs’s part.
Theo knew perfectly well how to play bowls, though she would be hampered today by her inability to see properly. Her sister pretended ignorance of the game in order to gain Blythe’s attention and have him assist her. Theo’s plan wasn’t working. The earl was engaged elsewhere.
Blythe laughed, clearly amused by Lady Meredith who pouted up at him coquettishly, and it echoed across the green. Meredith, propriety be damned, apparently, spun about, giving Blythe a glimpse of her shapely calves. Rosalind stood off to one side, gamely pretending to enjoy herself.
Theo squinted, glowering at Meredith, who, Romy was convinced, her sister couldn’t clearly see.
Miss Waterstone strolled along the side of the green, parasol in hand, showing little interest in a game of bowls. Her skirts trailed along the grass as her chin dipped, watching her feet. She looked forlorn, like the heroine of a tragic gothic novel, especially with the foreboding backdrop of The Barrow behind her.
“Lady Andromeda, Mr. Estwood.” Carstairs nodded his head in greeting, eyes kind but vacant.
“Lord Carstairs,” Romy greeted him warmly.
Carstairs was a good sort, and he’d been a friend of the Barrington family for as long as Romy could remember. Far from brilliant, Carstairs made up for his lack of intelligence with his unfailing kindness and good nature. His interests seemed to revolve around hunting, fishing and other outdoor pursuits, though Romy supposed Carstairs had now added his wife, Rebecca, to that list. Romy liked Carstairs because he wasn’t complicated.
She glanced in the direction of Miss Waterstone, plodding along with resignation.
Carstairs was regaling Mr. Estwood with the story of a large trout he’d caught while Estwood tried to appear interested.
Romy was positive he wasn’t.
Lady Mildred arrived, glancing with interest at Estwood. Apparently, the guidance of Lady Foxwood had little effect on the spinster. It appeared Mildred had designs on Estwood.
“Mr. Estwood,” Mildred cooed. “I’d be much obliged if you’d partner with me?” She fluttered her lashes and pursed her lips in an imitation of Lady Beatrice.
Estwood’s brows drew down in consternation; he was clearly uncomfortable and looked as though he would refuse.
If Mildred wished to court scandal by flirting with Estwood, who was Romy to deny her? The poor thing probably needed a little excitement in her life. Taking pity on the plain-faced older woman, she said, “Please excuse me, Mr. Estwood. I need to have a word with Miss Waterstone.” Romy nodded to the melancholy figure at the edge of the green. “Do partner with Lady Mildred.” She gave Mildred a discreet wink. “She is an excellent player.”
Mildred took a step in Estwood’s direction. She was a tall, robust woman, almost masculine in appearance.
Estwood shot Romy a look of terror.
“Fine, fine.” Carstairs nodded. “It’s already been decided that the winner of our match will have to play Granby and Lady Beatrice.” He nodded to Beatrice, who circled Granby like a lioness trying to determine the best way to take down an elephant.
Since avoiding the elephant—in this case, Granby—was at the top of Romy’s list of things to accomplish today, it was nothing short of fortuitous that Mildred had set her sights on Estwood. She did feel terrible about leaving him in Mildred’s tender clutches, but evading Granby took precedent over Estwood’s feelings.
Her host stood at the edge of the lawn, his commanding form surveying the green as if he were a general about to order his troops to charge. The day was warm, and Granby had discarded his coat. As Romy watched, a light breeze blew the fabric of his shirt against his arms, the outline of the bunched muscles beneath clearly visible. He reached up and tugged at his collar as if his valet had tied his cravat too tight.
Blythe said something, and Granby turned his face into the wind, the air sifting through the ebony waves of his hair to toss them over one eye. He brushed the thick strands back with one hand and caught sight of her.
The air grew still and quiet, the laughter of the other guests muted to whispers. Romy heard nothing but her heart, beating like a drum in her ears. His harshly carved features were remote. Detached. But not his eyes. They blazed with a heat which scorched Romy from across the green. The attraction to Granby pulled and tugged at Romy’s skirts before settling low in her belly with a delicious rustle.
Intent shimmered across the green to her, accompanied by disapproval. Reluctance. His hands curled into fists at his sides, probably restraining himself from chasing her off the lawn.
Romy jerked her chin away from him and made her way to Miss Waterstone. Granby could go hang. If she were the source of his discomfort, he had only to ask her to leave. Shealsofound the attraction between them unwelcome.
She focused her attention on Miss Waterstone, who was staring unhappily at the area where tables laden with an assortment of fruits, cheese, and small sandwiches along with other refreshments were manned by Granby’s servants. Miss Waterstone’s chaperone, an elderly cousin, was seated with Lady Meredith’s aunt. Both women shot Miss Waterstone twin looks of pity.
Romy frowned and hurried to Miss Waterstone. Here was a young lady in dire need of a friend. She regretted not calling after seeing her at Madame Dupree’s. At the least, Romy would have realized they were attending the same house party that much sooner. And possibly found a way out of coming to The Barrow.
“Miss Waterstone.” Romy reached her side. “I thought I was the only one not interested in playing bowls.”
