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12
After speaking to Lucy for a few more moments, Romy left her friend to the dubious care of Miss Eddison before making her way to Theo. Her sister tossed the bowl in the direction of Blythe, who had his back to her. He was on the green, pointing to the cluster of bowls, probably determining which had been closest.
Theo’s bowl tapped him on the heel and Blythe jumped. Meredith nearly tripped over a bowl.
“I beg your pardon, Lord Blythe.” Theo waved, pretending distress. “I’m only just learning.”
Romy raised her hand, covering her mouth to stop from laughing. “Fairly good aim,” she whispered in her sister’s ear, “considering you can’t really see at that distance.”
“I was aiming for Meredith.” Theo fumed. “She’s taken all of his attention since coming to the lawn. I was hoping to bruise her ankle and compel her to sit on the sidelines. He’s barely noticed me at all today. It’s very discouraging. I’ve spent the whole afternoon acting as if I’ve never played the game, hoping he would offer his assistance.”
“Perhaps it is time to give up this foolish pursuit of Blythe.”
It was the wrong thing to have said. Theo was immensely stubborn.
“The house party hasn’t even ended. I’ve several more days to garner his attention. I’m not going to lose to Meredith, of all people.”
Mr. Estwood had stopped playing and was leaving the green. The scent of a cheroot floated in Romy’s direction, and she caught sight of his lean form striding into the trees at the edge of the lawn.
Lady Mildred, who had been partnered with Estwood, left the game as well, staring wistfully after him.
“I hope she doesn’t go running into the woods to find him,” Romy said more to herself than to Theo. “But at least if she does, no one will notice your behavior.”
Theo’s mouth thinned.
Carstairs was speaking to his wife, who blushed and giggled like a schoolgirl, oblivious to anyone watching them. Since the previous game had ended, Carstairs was showing her how to properly toss the bowl, which required quite a bit of close contact. Lady Carstairs squealed in delight as her bowl knocked against Meredith’s.
“Keep practicing, Theo.” Romy’s stomach grumbled. “I’m going to seek out something to eat. Check on Rosalind.”
Her sister waved her off, eyes still focused on Blythe, or perhaps she was only trying to determine how best to injure Meredith.
Romy wandered back to the area where the food had been set out. Lady Molsin, Lady Foxwood, and Cousin Winnie sat at one table sipping tea while Lord Foxwood reluctantly conversed with Haven. Lucy and her chaperone were making their way back to the house. Mr. Waterstone was due to arrive today in the company of Lord Torrington.
Rosalind appeared at her mother’s elbow, popping up from beneath the table.
“Hiding already, cousin?” Romy whispered after greeting the three older women.
“The tablecloth isn’t nearly large enough to cover me. I lost one of my earrings.” Rosalind held up a tiny bit of amber attached to a gold thread. “The catch keeps coming loose. Mama wants me to wear these tonight.” She stole a glare at Cousin Winnie’s back. “Torrington adores amber. And I am supposed to care.”
“I might be able to fix it.” What she could not fix was Cousin Winnie’s determination that Rosalind wed Torrington. “Come to my room before dinner. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Help me flee the premises?”
If Romy could accomplish that with no fanfare, she would already have done so.
She wandered over to the largest table and picked up an apple, declining a footman’s offer to peel and slice it for her. Instead, she tossed it up in the air a few times, mainly to annoy Lady Foxwood, who was watching her with disapproval, before taking a large bite.
“Have you misplaced your parasol, Lady Andromeda?” Lady Foxwood called to her over the short distance.
“Not at all.” Romy sailed back past their table, deliberately crunching loudly on her apple. She winked at Rosalind. “But I appreciate your concern, Lady Foxwood.”
Cousin Winnie shook her head, stifling her amusement behind a gloved hand.
Lady Molsin sipped her tea, pretending not to take note, but her eyes gleamed with merriment.
Romy walked back along the edge of the green, considering whether she should grab her portfolio and work on some of her sketches in the garden, when a shadow fell over her. Much too small to be Granby. And there was no skin prickling.
“You don’t care to play bowls, Lady Andromeda?” Blythe, smashing as usual even with sweat dampening his hair, greeted her. Romy had to admit, any woman would be enamored of Blythe, no matter their age; even Miss Waterstone’s ancient chaperone eyed him when she thought no one was looking. He was glorious. The picture of health and masculine vigor, shining like a ray of the sun.
