Chapter Thirty

“Stop stalling, Everett. We either start now or you forfeit. I’m not going to wait around all day for this nonsense.”

Samuel looked up to see Lord fucking Cremly smiling at him in that unctuous, upper-class way of his, and he wanted nothing more than to unleash his frustration on the man’s smarmy face. He reached for his pocket watch instead. The match was meant to start fifteen minutes ago. Even if she’d taken her time, Myfanwy still should have arrived long before that.

He couldn’t believe it. He didn’t want to. Could she have been lying to him? Had she really planned to not play without Jennifer?

Samuel stared at the nine women on his team dawdling uncertainly next to him, as bewildered and astonished as he that their match had started this way.

No. Myfanwy wouldn’t do this to them. She might be hurting, but she would never put her feelings before all of theirs. She was the captain, and captains rose above such petty emotions.

Something must be wrong. Samuel should have trusted his instincts earlier. He never should have left without her. Myfanwy should be by his side. In life. In the match. It didn’t matter. After this dreadful day was over, he would tell her that and not allow any arguments. He was tired of playing with her. He loved her, and that was that.

But he had to find her first. He turned back to Cremly. “I need more time. I have to go home and check on something. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes. If I’m not, then you start without me.”

“What?” Lady Everly cried, coming after him. “You want us to start two players down, without a captain or a coach? Don’t tell me you’re giving up on us too?”

“For Christ’s sake, Jo. I’m not giving up,” Samuel exclaimed, harsher than he intended. Jo didn’t bat an eye to the outburst. She was made of sterner stuff. “You’re the captain until then. Joe and Benny are here. I have to check on Myfanwy. Something isn’t right.”

Cremly let out an exasperated groan. “No. No more waiting. You start now or you forfeit. You can leave if you want, Everett. I’m sure the girls can lose just as easily without you here to watch.”

Fuck, he hated that fucking man. Samuel kept his attention on Lady Everly. He could see the battle she waged. The lady knew something about being passed aside and humiliated, and he desperately hoped she would find some faith in him.

“I promise, I’ll be back,” he said.

Against her better judgment, Lady Everly relented. “Fine. But I’m giving you fifteen minutes. If you’re not back with Myfanwy at that time, I will make the rest of your life a living hell. Do you understand me, Mr. Everett?”

He’d thought to laugh, but her pointed features stopped him. “I do—”

“I’m here. I’m here!” a high-pitched voice called out across the field. “Don’t start without me!”

Samuel’s heart leaped at the sound. And it wasn’t only him. It felt like the entire team released a worried breath as they turned toward the frantic woman. But as the figure came closer, Samuel’s stomach began to drop.

Jennifer.

It was Jennifer racing across the dewy grass, with Sir Bramble scrambling to keep up. She skidded to a halt in front of the group. “I’m sorry I’m late,” she panted, her hair scattered down her shoulders. She hastened to pin it back in her bun while Sir Bramble watched adoringly, holding her bonnet.

For the first time, Samuel knew exactly how the poor bastard felt. He would gladly carry Myfanwy’s reticule, parasol, hat, and gloves, if only she were next to him.

“We should have been back hours ago,” Jennifer explained, fixing her bonnet on her head. “But there was rain, and everything took longer than it was supposed to. I’m sorry, but I’m here now.”

The other women were demonstrably relieved by the little speech, but Samuel had to speak up. He had to make sure everyone was aware of the particulars. “Aren’t you married?” he asked, switching his gaze between Jennifer and a red-faced Sir Bramble.

A few awkward coughs escaped from the others.

Jennifer lifted her chin to Samuel. He’d never seen the sweet girl act with such confidence before. He liked it. “I am,” she replied, sharing a moony look with the baron. “Two days ago.”

Samuel hated himself for what he had to say. “And you know this team is only for single ladies…which you are not.”

A shadow of disappointment flashed across her face. She turned her nose up and looked away from him, losing some of her verve. “I’m aware of that,” she replied. “I will leave it up to the team. As I’ve always said, we are a very democratic club. We will vote. If they want me to play, then I will; if they wish for me to cheer on the sidelines, then I will do that.”

All eyes fell on Lady Everly. “Fine,” she said helplessly. “All those in favor of Jennifer playing, raise your hand.”

Six hands rose, including Joe’s, Benny’s, and Samuel’s.

“What?” Benny asked when several of the ladies gawked at him. “I’m a part of this club too. I get a vote.”

“It’s a tie,” Aaron said, coming up from behind Samuel’s back. A few grumbles and a round of hushed tones came from the group.

“No, it’s not. I haven’t voted yet.”

Once more the team turned toward a new voice, and Samuel almost fell to his knees.

Myfanwy!

He could tell she’d been running. Her face was blotchy and covered in sweat, but she came to them slowly, almost timidly, with little Annabelle’s hand in hers, as she glued her focus to Jennifer.

“Where the hell have you been?” Samuel roared, hauling Myfanwy and Annabelle into a giant bear hug. The little one squirmed out of the embrace to skip over to Aaron.

Thankfully, Myfanwy stayed put and nuzzled into his chest, whispering, “I’ll tell you later. Now isn’t the time. The only thing you have to know right now is that I love you. Truly and utterly, I am hopelessly in love with you and have been for most of my life. You think you changed, but you never did. I’m always loved the same man, and that was you.”

Samuel closed his eyes, arching his neck so that his face pointed to the sky. She loved him. Yes. That was all he needed to know. Everything else could wait.

After a moment, he ducked his head into her neck, kissing the goosebumps that formed. “I love you too,” he whispered. “So much. I always have.”

Myfanwy lifted her head to catch his gaze. “I know,” she said, smiling mischievously. “I wouldn’t have undressed any man playing cricket. I was undressing my future. That made it perfectly acceptable.”

Samuel chuckled, kissing Myfanwy’s forehead. She gave him this short moment of bliss, where it seemed destiny was not only waiting for them but was already being lived.

However, when she eventually tapped him on the shoulder, prompting him to relax his hold, Samuel begrudgingly let her go. Later, he told himself. Later.

Myfanwy left him and walked up to Jennifer. The entire group became silent as if they were watching a clash between David and Goliath but weren’t sure who was playing who.

Myfanwy struck first. “Congratulations,” she said, swallowing before she could get the word out.

Jennifer regarded her warily. “You aren’t…you aren’t angry at me?”

Myfanwy shook her head. “No. I’m delighted for you.”

“Really?”

Myfanwy sighed, shooting an imploring look Samuel’s way. “Well, maybe not ecstatically delighted, but very, very delighted.”

It took a second, but Jennifer answered with a smile. Her face formed it so easily that it seemed as if she’d been doing nothing but giggling the last few days. When Myfanwy did the same, Samuel realized that her smile fit just as easily. Because she had been happy with him, so very happy.

Jennifer looked over Myfanwy to her other teammates. “It seems you have the deciding vote,” she pointed out. “Do you want me to play with you?”

“You’re married now,” Myfanwy said, her voice sounding odd and hollow. “Are you sure you even want to play with us?”

“You know I do,” Jennifer said quickly. She dabbed a tear at the corner of her eye. “I love you all. You’re my friends. I don’t care if I’m married. I just want to play with you.”

Myfanwy’s eyes also became misty. Most of the players’ eyes were. Hell, Joe was blubbering like a baby at Samuel’s side.

“I wouldn’t want to play with anyone else.” Myfanwy turned around to speak to the group. “We might have started as the Single Ladies Club, but at our heart, we’re a cricket club. And if any one of you want to make that rash decision and walk down the aisle, then you won’t be penalized by me.”

Samuel rolled his eyes. Myfanwy would remain Myfanwy to the end.

She went on, staring at Lady Everly, “We don’t push people out of our club. We’re family, and we’ll be that way forever.”

Even Lady Everly, tightly wound as she was, dashed something from her eye as she nodded at Myfanwy.

Leave it to Lord Cremly to ruin the lovely moment. “I thought we were here to play cricket! What the hell kind of a team are you running, Everett?”

Samuel angled his head to the bastard, shooting him the kind of a look that a smarter man would heed. “I’m running a winning team,” he said casually. “And since you’re in such a hurry to lose, I suppose we should get started. Ready, Cremly?”

*

Days—even months—later, thosewho watched the match that day would continue to complain.

It wasn’t an even match,they’d say.

Cremly hadn’t prepared the matrons properly.

The singles drank some concoction that made them compete like the devil was in them.

But none of that changed the fact that the mostly single women had left the field that afternoon the undeniable victors, 279-42.

Even after it was found out much later that Miss Jennifer Hallett was, in fact, not single at the time of the match, it still was declared that she hadn’t given her team a remarkable advantage. Being married hadn’t changed her into a completely different person. Her play had been exemplary (as was customary), but she’d only scored forty-seven runs. Respectable, but not game changing.

Miss Myfanwy Wright, for her part, also had a remarkable game, though she was heard muttering angrily to anyone who would listen that she was disappointed that she hadn’t hit a century. She did take seven wickets, though.

No, it was agreed that the single ladies routed the matrons so profoundly because every player contributed. No one was left out of the scoring; each played like their lives depended on it.

Sport, after all, was a great equalizer, and the Single Ladies Cricket Club—nay, the newly named London Ladies Cricket Club—perfected the art of teamwork that day, moving like a well-oiled machine, determining each other’s movements and idiosyncrasies like they’d known each other for years.

A wise man once said that practice makes perfect—this was true—but familiarity and respect were also heavy factors in the desired result. And no one who was watching the match that afternoon would have seen anything other than that from the single ladies.

They played perfectly. But that was only because they played as a unit. They played as a true team. A family, if you will.