Chapter Two

Disappointment—the most dangerous kind—hovered around Myfanwy like nine pairs of knitting needles poised and waiting to stab her in the arm.

“I just don’t understand why you won’t ask him again,” Lady Everly complained, folding her hands into her lap in a way that could only be described as exasperatingly polite.

“Well,” Myfanwy began, keeping a tight hold on her patience, “it’s not as easy as it seems.”

Miss Anna Smythe took a brisk, perturbed sip of her tea. “But you live in the same house as Mr. Everett,” she replied, clinking the cup as she returned it to its saucer. “It seems incredibly easy to me. You could ask him again over his morning coffee.”

Myfanwy’s shoulders hiked to her ears. “Mr. Everett is not at his best in the morning hours.” Or any hours after that. “It would be challenging to maintain his attention.”

Lady Everly humphed. “Perhaps you’re not trying hard enough. Here.” She placed her teacup on the table next to her and brushed her hands together. “Tell us what he said to you this morning, and we’ll help you think of a way to divert the conversation to our ends.”

Myfanwy sighed. This was not the way she’d seen this Single Ladies Cricket Club meeting going. Fifteen minutes into it, she’d assumed they’d be debating slow pitches and spinners by now. Fun things. Important things. Not incorrigible degenerates.

She tilted her head to study the intricate relief ceiling of her best friend’s drawing room. “Let me think, let me think,” she drawled. “What did Mr. Everett say to me this morning…? Ah, yes. He came into the dining room while I was finishing up, sat down in his chair, and put his head in his hands. For a good five minutes, I wondered if he was asleep or dead. He confirmed it was only the former when out of nowhere he told me to ‘Stop thinking so hard, because that whorish devil is making my head pound like the blazes.’” She crinkled up her nose. “I think it actually had less to do with the devil and more to do with his propensity to drink all night.”

Myfanwy returned to her audience. She was certain she could hear a pin drop on the Venetian carpet.

“Well, did you?” Anna squeaked. “Did you do as he asked?”

Myfanwy stared at her friend, who was absolutely—and not surprisingly—serious in her question.

“I…tried?” Actually, she’d answered Samuel by slurping her tea as loudly as she could, but she kept that information to herself.

The ten other members of the cricket club sat around her in a circle, consternation and agitation evident on their genteel faces as they attempted to make sense of her current living arrangement with her guardian. Good luck to them, Myfanwy thought balefully.

Unlike Lady Everly, the other women avoided meeting Myfanwy’s eyes. It made sense that Lady Everly was the first one to speak up. Slightly older than the rest, as well as a widow, the lady had life experience—and the boldness that came along with it—which never made her short of an opinion.

But I’m the captain,Myfanwy reminded herself, smiling confidently for her teammates. And there will be no mutinies under my watch.

“Look. As I’ve told you, I asked, and he said no. There’s no point in asking again,” Myfanwy declared firmly. She met Lady Everly’s intrepid countenance. “Mr. Samuel Everett is not interested in coaching us, and I think we should move on to other options.”

“That’s the point,” Lady Everly insisted, leaning forward in her chair, crinkling her silk dress with the abrupt movement. “There are no other options. If we want to beat the matrons this year, we need to be serious—”

A chorus of affirmations rose from the other women. “Please, ladies, one at a time,” Myfanwy said, ringing the tiny silver bell for attention. “That’s better. Now, you know very well I am being serious—”

The door to the drawing room shot open and a maid promptly entered. “Did you need something, ladies?” the young woman asked, face flushed and shining with anticipation.

Myfanwy’s best friend, Miss Jennifer Hallett, smiled apologetically at the expectant maid. “We’re so sorry, Agnes. We didn’t mean to ring you. We don’t need anything at present. Thank you.”

Agnes bobbed and swiftly exited.

Jennifer nodded to Myfanwy. “Sorry about that. Please, go on.”

“I am being serious,” Myfanwy repeated to the group. “Mr. Everett is not a viable option for us at the present time.”

Lady Everly didn’t miss a beat. “As unattached women, we can’t just dance all over town asking old cricketers if they want to spend their afternoons with us, honing our craft. Mr. Everett makes the most sense. My late husband said he was the greatest cricketer to ever play the game…could take on whole teams by himself. Not to mention,” she added with a disapproving arch of her brow, “you live with the man. He’s your guardian, and, as you’ve pointed out in the past, he’s not busy, since he’s still recuperating.”

Myfanwy frowned. Yes, she had said that, though it hadn’t been the full truth. Samuel Everett’s preferred method of recuperation seemed to chiefly involve finishing off a bottle of gin each night. So, in that respect, he was very busy indeed.

“Lady Everly, please,” she started. Damn. She’d lost her train of thought. Taking her time, she scanned over her friends and teammates. Each of them was as hungry and dedicated to beating the matrons this year as she was. Each of them also loved cricket as much as she. Which was why it killed Myfanwy to deny them. They simply didn’t understand what they were asking. They didn’t know Samuel as she did—and even after living in his home for the past year, she barely knew him at all. One thing she was sure of was that he would throw their offer back in their faces once more, and Myfanwy had too much heart—and ego—to deal with another rejection.

Closing her eyes, she placed her fingers on her temple, where she could feel her veins beat out of her thin skin. Through her haze of thoughts, she heard Lady Everly ask under her breath—the cheek!—if Myfanwy even wanted to beat the matrons this year.

What an asinine question! Of course Myfanwy wanted to win; she wanted to win so badly she could practically taste it. This cricket club wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for her. It was Myfanwy who’d invited the others to join the group three years ago and bond over their love of the sport. And it was Myfanwy who’d found out that there was a similar group of married women who also practiced as a team and asked them if they wanted to play against each other. And what a triumph! Last year’s match had roped in close to a thousand spectators. One thousand people who’d watched the single ladies get walloped by sixty-seven runs. The match might have been successful, but it was still an ignominious defeat. As had been the one the year before that.

The single women were sick of losing. And Myfanwy understood sport well enough to know that when a team was upset, there was only one person to blame—the captain.

A light hand touched her shoulder, and she opened her eyes to find Jennifer regarding her kindly. “Are you all right?” her friend asked.

Myfanwy nodded softly and took a calming breath.

Jennifer smiled before turning back to the others. She rang the bell until all the little conversations halted. Her voice was remarkably soft and worked to shift the tense atmosphere in the room. “I think we can all agree that no one wants to win more than Myfi,” Jennifer said, using Myfanwy’s childhood nickname.

The drawing room door whipped open, and again the maid tripped through. “Did you need me, miss?” she asked, rather breathlessly.

“Oh, so sorry, Agnes. No, again, we were just ringing for order,” Jennifer replied. “How about this? For the time being, whenever you hear this bell, just ignore it.”

The maid nodded and rushed off.

Jennifer frowned when she realized the room’s collective attention was still pointed at her. “Where was I?” she whispered to Myfanwy.

Myfanwy leaned into her best friend’s side. “You were telling them all how amazing I am.”

They shared a smile. “Right. Yes.” Jennifer squared her shoulders. “If Myfi says that it’s pointless to keep asking Mr. Everett, then we should all believe her and put our minds together to think of other alternatives.”

Myfanwy’s heart swelled with relief as the others nodded. She should have known her lifelong friend would help her out of this mess. If anyone understood Myfanwy’s distaste for confronting Samuel, it was her. They’d wasted enough teatimes discussing the man’s horrid qualities.

Myfanwy opened her mouth to add to the little speech, but Jennifer beat her to it. “However,” she said, raising one slender finger and instantly eliciting quiet, “I think it’s only fair that the group takes a vote. This cricket club was founded on democratic principles, and we should employ them now.” She winced, giving Myfanwy a remorseful look. “None of us are above cricket club law.”

“Quite right,” Lady Everly said adamantly, shaking her thick blonde hair so that her braids almost came loose from her bun. Out of the team, Myfanwy had the hardest time enjoying this particular member. Maybe because they were too alike. It was rare that Myfanwy found someone as competitive as she was. Though, Myfanwy had to admit, Lady Everly had incredibly strong motivations. She was the only member of the cricket club to have played for both the matrons and the singles. After her husband died two years ago, she’d been informed by the matrons that she had to switch to the singles team. Hardly surprising, Lady Everly had stomped into her first club meeting with a sizeable axe to grind.

Now, like a general on the cusp of battle, the widow stared down the members. “All in favor of asking Mr. Everett to be our coach, please say aye.”

Myfanwy could have plugged her ears, and she still would have heard the chirps of enthusiastic ayes clear as day.

Lady Everly flashed her an indulgent grin. “I don’t think we have to ask for the nays, do you?”

Myfanwy shook her head glumly.

The ladies went back to her tea. It was all so civilized. But, then again, cricket was a civilized game for civilized people.

If anyone knew that, it was Myfanwy. Unfortunately, she couldn’t say the same about Samuel.

*

“I’m sorry Icouldn’t be more helpful,” Jennifer said. The meeting had closed, and she and Myfanwy were doing their part, putting the chairs away and getting the drawing room back in the order that Jennifer’s mother approved.

Initially, Myfanwy had hosted the club at her father’s townhouse; however, now that she lived with Mr. Everett, it made more sense to pass the baton to Jennifer. Her mother was only so happy to have the group (which boasted of wealthy members of the peerage) in her luxurious home, though there were stipulations. Along with setting the room to rights, Mrs. Hallett demanded that the club be an open space for discussing a variety of topics outside of cricket—including suitors and men who were of decent marriage potential.

Mrs. Hallett never hid the fact that she didn’t approve of Myfanwy. However, she also didn’t hide the fact that, since Myfanwy was a viscount’s daughter, she was a catch of a friend for Jennifer, who was merely the child of an incredibly wealthy soap merchant. Like many good women before her, it was Mrs. Hallett’s dream to marry her daughter off to a member of the peerage. Spending time in a cricket club with the Honorable Myfanwy Wright was a necessary evil in that endeavor. Besides, the older woman had wondered, how much cricket could a gaggle of girls really talk about in one hour over tea? Surely, available men were truly the objet du jour, and cricket was merely a ruse?

Ha! Myfanwy would have felt sorry for Mrs. Hallett’s naivete if the woman had treated her with less disdain.

“It’s fine,” she grumbled while sliding a heavy chair across the floor, upsetting the carpet in its wake. She straightened the corner with the toe of her slipper. “They don’t understand, since they won’t be the ones he laughs at after he says no. Again.” She sighed. “But I’ll do it and then I’ll come back and say, ‘I told you so,’ right in Lady Everly’s long face.”

“Don’t blame Jo,” Jennifer replied in that infuriatingly rational way of hers. “She’s just frustrated.” Myfanwy could never understand how a termagant like Mrs. Hallett could create such a forgiving and beautiful girl like Jennifer. Evil must skip a generation.

Gracefully, Jennifer brushed a strand of blonde hair off her forehead. Everyone always remarked on Jennifer’s elegance and applauded her for it. Myfanwy did as well, but purely from a mercenary point of view. Jennifer’s unfaltering balance was why she could hit for a fifty without breaking a sweat. In contrast, by the end of her innings, Myfanwy would be as drenched and messy as a young pig who’d just discovered her first mud puddle. However, she didn’t begrudge her best friend’s habit of staying cool under pressure. Jennifer could be as pretty and dry as she wanted, as long as she kept hitting the daylight out of the ball.

“We’re all frustrated,” Myfanwy said, flopping into a chair to mark her frustration. “But we don’t have to look outward to get better. I spent most of my childhood watching cricket matches with my father. I know the game backward and forward. We just have to keep working and practicing. There’s nothing Samuel Everett can teach us that I don’t already know.”

Jennifer hesitated, wrinkling her brow in indecision. “Well…” she said slowly. “Obviously, there are some things he must know more of. He played professionally for years.”

Myfanwy folded her arms in a huff. “And has one eye and one leg left to show for it.” Immediately, her chest pulled tight. The man could be a taciturn bastard, but that was indecorous even for her.

“Wait,” Jennifer said, cocking her head. “I thought he still had both eyes and legs.”

“Oh, he does,” Myfanwy rushed out. Her voice wobbled with shame at her previous comment. “Both legs still work, although he limps something fierce. I never hear him say anything, but it must be excruciating.”

“And the eye?”

Myfanwy’s brow furrowed. “The eye…I’m not sure. It’s not all cloudy, like you see in some who are blind. It’s only white in the middle, and it’s surrounded by this ring of startling blue. It’s quite beautiful, actually.”

If Jennifer heard the wistfulness in Myfanwy’s voice, she didn’t point it out. “How horrible to have such ailments when you’re still so young. He couldn’t be more than thirty?”

“He…might be thirty,” Myfanwy replied absent-mindedly. She was laying it on thick because she knew perfectly well that Samuel Everett was thirty-one. She even knew his birthday: December 22.

Jennifer took a seat next to her friend. “Well, no wonder you say he’s always in a foul mood. He could still be playing, and instead, he’s stuck in his home—”

“With me,” Myfanwy ended with an evil grin.

Jennifer laughed. “That’s another reason why I know he must be a decent man. Your father would have never elected him to be your guardian over your aunt if he was some rampant deviant.”

Myfanwy squinted disbelievingly at her friend. “You knew my father. He loved rampant deviants!”

“He did not!” Jennifer replied, shaking her head. “He loved cricketers, and he loved Samuel Everett.”

“For some reason,” Myfanwy groused.

“For some probably very good reason.” Jennifer paused. “And Samuel—Mr. Everett—loved your father too.”

“Because my father was his patron and helped him when he was younger,” Myfanwy replied.

“And now,” Jennifer said, lifting her chin, “it will be Mr. Everett’s turn to help his patron’s daughter. That’s why I am sure he won’t say no to our cause.”

Myfanwy slumped in her seat like a petulant child. “I wish I had your confidence—”

Just as Myfanwy finished speaking, the drawing room door opened, and Mrs. Hallett sailed in with an overwhelming bouquet of roses in her arms. “Darling, look at what just came for you—” Her smile vanished the second she noticed that Myfanwy was still in the room. “Oh…you still have…company. I thought I told you to be ready for the Lawfords’ musicale. We’re leaving soon. Surely Miss Myfanwy should be moving along.”

Jennifer shot to her feet, smoothing down her dress in front. “We’re almost done, Mother. Myfi didn’t want to leave until the room was put to rights.”

Furtively, Myfanwy rolled her eyes. Sweet Jennifer. She could try all she wanted, but Mrs. Hallett would only ever see that the most helpful thing about Myfanwy was her bloodline. And since the death of her father, even that wasn’t as important as it once was.

“The flowers are beautiful,” Myfanwy announced instead. “Are they for Jennifer?”

A tall, angular woman, Mrs. Hallett curved her lips into a smile that made her nose seem ever longer. “Naturally. Sir Bramble sent them. His second bouquet this week.”

Mrs. Hallett shoved the flowers into the girls’ faces, and Myfanwy recoiled in uninterest. On second thought, she decided, the bouquet wasn’t so pretty anymore.

“Sir Bramble, eh?” Myfanwy said as the older woman whisked away from the girls, fussing and arranging the roses into a vase near the window that looked out into the street. No doubt, she wanted the whole neighborhood to take note of them. If ever there was a coup for Mrs. Hallett, Sir Bramble was it. Even though he was merely a baron, his title was old and distinguished.

Myfanwy whispered out of the corner of her mouth, “I thought you called Sir Bramble boring at Lord Sinclair’s.”

Jennifer peered down at her hands as a light blush formed over her cheeks. “He wasn’t boring,” she answered slowly. “I said the topic was boring.”

“But he’s the one who came up with the topic.”

“No,” Jennifer argued. “Lord Jameson did. He’s mad for breeding quail, and it’s all he would talk about. Sir Bramble was being polite.”

“So…he’s boring, but at least he’s polite about it?”

From the window, Mrs. Hallett issued a dramatic sigh and started ringing the silver bell.

“Why do you dislike Sir Bramble so much?” Jennifer asked.

Because he’s threatening to take you away from me.The words were on the tip of her tongue, but Myfanwy reeled them back just in time. She had to remind herself that Sir Bramble wasn’t the first man to express an interest in Jennifer and wouldn’t be the last. Unlike her mother, Jennifer was a hopeless romantic and wouldn’t settle for anything less than her soulmate. Myfanwy was certain that Sir Bramble wasn’t it, even with all his flowers and polite dullness.

“I don’t dislike him,” Myfanwy said with a dismissive shrug. “I just don’t want you to lose focus. The match with the matrons is less than two months away. You can be as politely bored as you want after that, but until then, I need you to keep your head on straight. Men weaken the legs, remember that.”

Jennifer swatted her playfully on the arm. “That is not true.”

Mrs. Hallett rang the bell like she was announcing the birth of a prince.

“It is true!” Myfanwy replied to her friend over the incessant noise. “You’re one of my best batsmen. I need you in fighting shape. Promise me, please.” She took Jennifer’s hands in hers, stifling her friend’s laughter. “No engagements, no kisses, no secret letters until the match is over. We’ve worked too hard to lose now. And after we win, everyone will be knocking down our doors wanting to be members of the Single Ladies Cricket Club.”

Mrs. Hallett slammed the bell on the table. “I swear, what is wrong with that maid? How long do I have to ring this bell? Has she gone deaf?”