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It wasan exciting match to watch, particularly with Jagger in my ear, explaining the game as they went. Xavier was rotated in and out depending on the stamina of the other players, but he was clearly an asset to the team, playing what Jagger called the Number Two position.
Other than in the kitchen, I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen him so at ease. Despite his proclamations that he hated the aristocracy and everything about that part of his life, Xavier seemed to fit right in here, even smiling when the crowd cheered at a particularly good play.
But by the end of the second period—or, as Elsie informed me, a chukker—I couldn’t watch him any longer. Miriam had long since taken Sofia to peek at the ponies, and I decided now was a good time to find some refreshment and stretch my legs too. While many in the stands tottered out onto the field to replace the divots with their shoes (apparently a longstanding tradition), I made my way toward a tent where drinks were being served and got in line behind two women about my age who seemed to have already had a few, if the volume of their conversation was any indication.
“The Prince of Wales seemed out of order, don’t you think?” said the one on the right, who was wearing a large hat with roughly half an ostrich affixed to the crown.
Her friend, a curly-haired brunette outfitted in a bright pink dress and matching hat, clicked her tongue. “He’s only mad because the duke showed up and stole his thunder. Gorgeous as ever, though, isn’t he? Did you see those thighs?”
“And his chest. And that tattoo…golly. And he swore he’d never come back. Lucky us.”
“They all say that. And they all do in the end.”
The two of them tittered as they stepped up behind the rest of the line.
Maybe it wasn’t Xavier, I told myself as they chatted. There were plenty of other dukes in England. Maybe not so many that two flighty socialites would be interested in. Maybe not so many that would be termed gorgeous. With muscular thighs and shoulders for days and a tattoo that made nice English girls blush.
No, there had to be others.
“She’s here, you know. Did you see her?” asked Pink Dress.
“No, but I’m dying to have a look after what Imogene said. Total barbarian, apparently.”
It could be another Imogene too, I tried to convince myself.
Yeah, who was I kidding?
They took another step but continued to gossip just as loudly. I kept my head pointed down and my face as still as possible, too ashamed to listen but too embarrassed to move away.
“Not that it matters,” Ostrich Feathers continued. “You don’t really think he’s going to end up with an American, do you? Now that he’s back, I can’t imagine it.”
“Well, they do have a child together, even if it is rather unorthodox. And he did bring her all the way here. For the Season, no less. That’s got to mean something.”
Ostrich Feathers just gave a rather unladylike snort. “Please, obviously, the child is a trap. They say she’s not even his, and until there’s a DNA test, I wouldn’t trust a thing.”
“Oh, come on, Beth. Didn’t you see her picture in the papers? She looks just like him. Even you must admit that.”
Ostrich Feathers—or Beth, apparently—stood her ground. “At this age, they all look alike. She could be anyone’s. Not that it matters. He didn’t marry her then, and the girl can’t inherit anyway, even if she is his daughter. Yes, I’d like an Aperol spritz, please.”
“Pimm’s for me,” added Pink Dress to the bartender.
Ostrich Feathers turned to her while the bartender mixed their drinks. “So, really, there’s no point, and if the American thinks there’s a real future for them, she’s a fool. He’ll get it out of his system and find someone who’s good for him. Imogene will be first in line, of course, but who’s to say it couldn’t be any of us?” She shrugged. “After all, why would he go through the motions now for a sad little girl who can’t inherit and her brutish American mother?”
“Probably because she’s fantastic, and any man would be lucky to have her.”
The women, shocked, whirled around, followed by me, and found another American right next to me—close enough to hear every word the women were saying. And close enough to know I’d been listening.
Adam Klein smiled through his glasses, though the rest of him was looking as dapper as he had at the ball in a bright white suit and red tie.
He was the absolutely wrong person to show up right now.
His presence would make Xavier absolutely furious.
And at that moment, I had never been so happy to see anyone in my life.
TWENTY-ONE
