Chapter Eleven

F elton focused on his hit and drew back the mallet. The black ball ran along the lawn and smacked into Leighhall’s ball, sending it off the course and leaving the pathway clear for his own partner, Lady Matilda.

“I say, Lord Harewood, that was a particularly harsh stroke.”

He shrugged at the man, not at all unhappy with his shot, which should put them in the lead, if Lady Matilda continued to show her skill at the game. Taking his second stroke, he passed his ball through the wire hoop and stepped back. “It is your turn, my lady.”

“Thank you, Lord Harewood. You cleared the way nicely.” Taking aim, she hit the ball, sending it through the wicket. She turned toward him. “I do believe we will take this contest.”

She was a slender lady, with light-brown hair, nondescript eyes, dressed in a typical white day dress. She had a strong competitive streak, which he had noticed at dinner the other night. He gave her an approving nod before moving off toward his ball.

Rose blocked his way. “Truly, brother, you take unfair advantage of us.”

“I do not. You are as skilled at pall-mall as I.” He nodded toward Leighhall, who stood at the edge of the game lining up his mallet. “It is your partner to whom you should complain.”

She sighed. “True, but that would hardly be fitting.” She moved aside and let him proceed. His sister always put propriety before her own wishes. Though she would prefer to win against him, she would encourage the man he’d nicknamed “the braggart.” He hoped she had no true interest in him.

By nature, Felton was competitive, which was why he’d started betting at White’s Gentlemen’s Club. He planned to win this game and the one after with the winner of the next set playing behind them. But his pleasure at soon winning the game was quickly being overshadowed by Lady Dorothea and Lord Dearling. The two of them were still at the second wicket as the man attempted to instruct the lady on aiming, which was hardly fitting since he didn’t seem to be able to find the wicket himself. That would not have bothered Felton at all. In fact, he’d usually find it mildly amusing.

However, Lady Dorothea’s laughter was distracting. That she could enjoy losing so thoroughly rubbed at him like a rock in his boot. It didn’t help that not only did she look lovely in her green dress and matching bonnet, but Lady Arabella and Lord Manning appeared to be purposefully miss-hitting to make her feel better about being such a poor shot. They were enjoying the game far too much despite their lack of progress.

“Lord Harewood, I believe it’s your turn.” At Lady Matilda’s call, he lined up and struck, his ball easily rolling through the next wicket and lining up on the next one.

The lady clapped her gloved hands. “That was a wonderful shot. I do hope I can do half as well.”

It was obvious she was looking for a compliment, but as he prepared to answer, Lady Dorothea squealed, causing him to look back. She sat on the ground, as if she’d fallen. His instinct was to come to her aid, but Lord Dearling had everything well in hand, if Lady Dorothea laughing as the man helped her to stand could be considered well in hand.

“Do you think I should set up my fall or attempt the angle?”

Though Lady Matilda spoke to him, Lord Leighhall answered. “The angle is tricky, but you would be sure to win if you made it.”

Forcing himself to refocus on the game, Felton stepped to where Lady Matilda’s ball lay and studied the line to the hoop. “In my opinion, you’ll have more success if you set up the shot.”

“Even if it takes an additional stroke?”

“Yes.” While the lady had skill, even he would have difficulty with the angle, something Leighhall was sure to know.

The lady took another look as if actually contemplating Leighhall’s advice. Finally, she lined her mallet up and hit, setting the ball up directly before the hoop and in the way of his own shot.

Leighhall laughed. “Now, that, I didn’t expect. Excellent setup, Lady Matilda.”

Felton gave the man a bored stare before glancing at his sister, who shook her head. She knew exactly what to do were it her turn. But it wasn’t, it was his.

Standing behind his ball, he examined the line and the distance between Lady Matilda’s ball and the arch he must send his ball through. Determining the best angle, he hit the ball toward the ground and watched as it jumped over Lady Matilda’s ball and through the hoop.

“Oh, that was marvelous!” Lady Matilda clapped her hands as Lord Leighhall stared.

“Where did you learn to do that?” Leighhall shook his head. “That can’t be fair.”

His sister looped her arm through Lord Leighhall’s. “Actually, my lord, it is. But I do believe it is our turn.”

As his sister and Leighhall determined their shots, he glanced back toward the third hoop to find that foursome talking as they waited for Lady Dorothea’s group on hoop four. Was he the only person who cared about winning? If so, he’d be loath to play the game again.

“Tell me, Lord Harewood, are you equally skilled in hunting?”

Surprised by the question, he gave Lady Matilda his full attention. “I am. I do not like to fail.”

She looked up at him from beneath her lashes. “That was the impression I was under.”

For Jove’s sake, did she really think he had an interest in her beyond the game? If that was to be the case, he’d ask another lady to partner with him for the next activity. “And what of you? Do you excel at something other than pall-mall?”

She laughed daintily, her gloved hand half-covering her rather thin lips. “I do, but it is hardly attractive to brag. However, since you ask, I’m excellent at the pianoforte and sewing. I’ve also been given many compliments on my dancing ability.”

Surprised, not by her list, but by her forthright revelation of said accomplishments, he barely kept from asking how she was at kissing, as he would have with Lady Dorothea. Fortunately, the thought of Lady Matilda wanting to demonstrate that ability with him made it possible to refrain. “That is quite impressive.”

“My mother has been very insistent that I be well-accomplished. I was tutored by the very best governesses. You see, my father, the Marquess of Stamford, is well attended and expectations for me are quite high.”

And he thought Leighhall a braggart? “No doubt they are.”

“Brother, can you please take your turn? I’m parched and wish for a lemonade.”

Happy to have his sister interrupt, he studied the field to find his ball far from where he’d left it. Looking to his sister, he caught an impish gleam in her eye. Finally, a challenge. “I would not wish to keep you from your refreshment longer than required.”

It was obvious by the position of the balls that she expected him to jump her ball, but he had a far better plan. Lining his mallet up, he smacked it hard into her ball, sending it off the course. It did leave him with a terrible angle, but it was worth it to see her open mouth.

“Oh, dear, Lord Harewood. I’m not sure you will make this next shot.”

At Lady Matilda’s statement, he almost wished he was with Lady Dorothea’s group. At least they found their game entertaining, while he thought he may die of boredom before he finished his. Though he knew it wasn’t the most gentlemanly action to take, he hit his ball so it glanced off Lady Matilda’s, giving it just the angle he needed for it to fly through the final hoop.

Leighhall stepped next to him. “You’re in for it now.”

Lady Matilda’s mouth turned down and her upper lip plumped out in a pout.

Ignoring her reaction, he held his hand out toward her ball. “Though we’ve just won, I believe it’s your turn.”

She looked askance at him, clearly not happy, but didn’t say a word as she lined up and brought her ball within range.

After his sister and Leighhall made their attempts, his sister also clearing the final hoop, Lady Matilda sent her ball through. Leighhall completed his game last. Or rather, last in their group. He turned around to check on the group behind them. Lady Dorothea’s quartet was just starting hoop five, with the next group close on their heels.

“You seem a bit out of sorts, brother.”

He didn’t turn at his sister’s comment as she stepped up next to him. “I find myself unusually disappointed in my own accomplishment.”

She hooked her arm in his. “Maybe it’s because it was far too easy an accomplishment?”

He glanced down at her, his lips quirking up. “I see you couldn’t seem to let Leighhall win.”

“No. I tried. I truly did, but he was so conceited at the idea that he could play better than I, I grew bored.”

“As did I.” He looked over her head to see Lady Matilda and Lord Leighhall walking arm and arm to the tent set up on the lawn where the elders sat.

More laughter from Lady Dorothea’s group had him turning his head back toward the course. “Did you wish for that refreshment, or would you prefer to discover what makes pall-mall so amusing?”

“Oh, I’m all about learning new things. My lemonade can wait. Let’s do investigate.”

“And so we shall.”

At Rose’s laughter, his mood lightened, and they strolled back the way they had played to find out what was so damned humorous about sending balls through hoops. As they approached, the foursome stopped talking. Lady Arabella and Lord Manning smiled, but Lord Dearling and Lady Dorothea looked sheepish.

His sister cocked her head. “Do you need instruction on playing pall-mall?”

Lord Manning answered, grinning. “Not at all. We all know how to play. We just have a couple of us who are, let us say, less skilled.”

He couldn’t let that pass. “Then perhaps we can be of assistance. My sister and I are quite adept at the game.”

Lord Manning and Lady Arabella turned toward Lady Dorothea and Lord Dearling. Lady Dorothea’s cherubic cheeks were flushed as she laughed. “I could use some assistance in retrieving my ball.”

“To be fair, I did hit it quite by accident.” Lord Dearling pointed to a red ball in the distance. The man must have hit it like canon fire to send it so far.

“And I may have kicked Lord Dearling’s ball back a bit.” Lady Dorothea pointed past the third hoop, appearing quite proud of herself.

He did notice she didn’t say it was an accident. “Then, Lady Dorothea, I suggest we retrieve your ball, and I’m sure my sister would be happy to aid Lord Dearling.”

“That would be most appreciated.” Lord Dearling bowed toward Rose.

As Rose left, Lady Dorothea joined him. “I do appreciate your help.” She gave him a shy smile, which added to her already flushed cheeks and shimmering eyes.

He held out his arm, and she moved her mallet to her other hand before taking it. He didn’t look at her as they began the long walk toward her ball. “Am I to understand that you kicked Lord Dearling’s ball out of the way purposefully?”

She giggled. “I did. But to be truthful, he deserved it for hitting my ball so hard, and it wasn’t even with his ball. He thought to prove a point about decisiveness versus accuracy and accidently hit my ball with his mallet when he completely missed his own. Truthfully, my lord, if he goes hunting with you all tomorrow morning, I highly suggest that you don’t allow him a weapon.”

At her statement, he laughed. “I assure you, I will keep that in mind or keep myself far away from said gentleman.”

“Very good. I would not want anything to happen to you or anyone else.”

His curiosity about their play refused to remain unsatisfied. “With Lord Dearling doing so poorly, did you not find it frustrating to continue the game?”

“Frustrating?” She thought for a moment. “No, I don’t believe I did. However, it was quite amusing, as was my own play. And then when Lord Manning and Lady Arabella began to play terribly, it was all quite comical.”

“And you enjoyed this?”

She stopped walking, forcing him to halt. “Of course.” She looked back over her shoulder before facing him once again. “Have you finished your game?”

“We did. My partner and I won.” He smiled, pleased he could tell her of his accomplishment.

“And you enjoyed winning.”

“Yes, of course. Wouldn’t you?” He was puzzled by her question. That was the purpose of any game, to win.

“I’m not sure, but I am enjoying the game nonetheless.” She leaned closer, her citric scent wafting upward into his nostrils. “To be fair, I doubt very much that I will win and I am not disappointed by that fact at all. We are having such a lovely time, anyway.”

Her answer puzzled him, but he took a moment and looked back over his shoulder to see that Dearling’s ball had now somehow rolled under a hedge. The foursome waiting to play the hoop didn’t appear to be concerned as they talked to each other, the men with their mallets slung over their shoulders. He turned back and started their stroll again. “It appears that the group behind you is content to converse while we retrieve your ball.”

“You sound surprised by that. I’m not because those four were talking quite a bit in the parlor last evening. I believe the game is simply an excuse to have more conversation. Perhaps they find each other more interesting than the game.”

They stopped before her ball, and he bent to retrieve it. He stared at it as if it could solve the puzzle of her ideas. “In your estimation, then, the purpose of pall-mall it not to win, but to play?”

She shook her head, causing the pale-green bonnet to fall a bit to one side. “Not simply to play, but to enjoy . For what is a game’s purpose but to spend the time in a different manner for enjoyment? For some, such as yourself, the accomplishment of being the first to reach the game’s goal is what is enjoyed. For others, like myself and Lord Dearling, it is the enjoyment of sharing laughter with others who have poor skills. Still, for those behind us, it is the pleasure of each other’s company. I imagine for still others, it is the camaraderie of a shared purpose and for some, it may be simply the enjoyment of honing a skill. It was Francis Bacon who said we need to cultivate our natural abilities so as to—” She dropped her mallet and pressed her hand to her mouth.

“What is it?” Concern for her welfare flared through him. “Do you feel faint?”

She shook her head but didn’t remove her hand.

“Tell me what is amiss. Perhaps I can help.”

She dropped her hand and her shoulders slumped. “I’d been doing so well all day until now.” She let out a heavy sigh and looked at him. “That was far too many sentences. I broke your rule, and with you, of all people. I’m sorely disappointed in myself.”

His rule? “Oh, you mean my suggestion.”

“No, don’t say that. If it’s not a rule, I won’t follow it.” She shook her head emphatically and the bonnet, already lopsided, fell more to the right, which on any other woman would have looked ridiculous, but on Dorothea seemed to be just right.

“Very well, if it’s my rule, then I do believe I can make an exception when you speak to me.”

Her brows lowered as she cocked her head. “I’m not sure. I was doing so well with my new skill. No one was turning away from my conversation.”

That his idea was aiding her filled him with pleasure. “I’m very pleased to learn that. But also remember, I never turned away from you when you spoke more than three sentences. In fact, if I recall, it was that particular habit that engaged me in our first true conversation.”

Her eye’s brightened and she stood straighter. “That’s true. So with everyone else, I must stay with three sentences or be silent, but with you, I’m free to follow my thoughts.”

He smiled, feeling oddly honored. “Yes.”

“I do like that I can relax when speaking to you. Do you think we can make Rose an exception, too? She seems to truly enjoy it when I ramble.”

Her request for permission had his chest filling with warmth even as his mind recognized he was not her tutor, though in some aspects, perhaps he was. “I think that would be acceptable if it doesn’t make it more difficult for you to limit your conversation with others.”

“Hmm, perhaps I can only follow my squiggly lines with Rose when we are in private.” She gazed directly at him. “I will have to do the same with you as well. It will be too much to think about if it’s not the same.”

“Agreed. That is an excellent plan.”

“Dory, did you find your ball?” The shout from Rose had them both turning.

He held the ball aloft. “Shall we return you to your game?”

“Yes. I do so enjoy it.”

“Then let us walk back to your group post-haste.” He bent and retrieved her mallet for her before walking her toward his sister, pleased that Lady Dorothea enjoyed the game in her own way. He had learned more from her in the few days since she arrived than he had from anyone in the last year. He found himself looking forward to more insights from her in the coming days.

Lord Dearling approached. “Lady Dorothea, I do believe it is your turn.”

Letting go of Felton’s arm, the lady in question held her hand out for her ball. Reluctantly, he returned it, as there was no reason to stay longer. She handed it to Dearling and the two set off to the spot she needed to hit from.

“I think I’m ready for that refreshment now.” His sister linked her arm in his, forcing him to look away.

“Of course.” He led her toward the tent deep in thought. Lady Dorothea had shown him that he did feel happiness when he won a bet. That could mean that the happiness he felt while they spoke was because she related her success so far with his suggested method of conversation. It was a different feeling of accomplishment than the former, but if people could enjoy a game of pall-mall in myriad ways, he could certainly feel happiness in more than one way as well.

It was not how he’d felt when with Belinda. Nonetheless, it was happiness.