by Julia Quinn
“We can’t ask Mary,” Billie went on. “She spent the entire morning hunched over a chamber pot.”
“I really didn’t need to know that,” Andrew said.
Billie ignored him. “And besides, Felix would never permit it.”
“Then ask Felix,” George suggested.
“That would be unfair to Mary.”
Andrew rolled his eyes. “Who cares?”
Billie crossed her arms. “If she can’t play, he shouldn’t, either.”
“Lady Frederica went to the village with her mother and cousin,” Georgiana said. “But I saw Lady Alexandra in the drawing room. She didn’t seem to be doing anything important.”
George was not keen to spend the afternoon listening to more tales of Lord Northwick, but after his vehement refusal of Sir Reginald, he did not think he could reasonably lodge another objection. “Lady Alexandra would make a fine addition to the game,” he said diplomatically. “Provided, of course, that she wishes to play.”
“Oh, she’ll play,” Billie said ominously.
Georgiana looked perplexed.
Billie looked at her sister but jerked her head in George’s direction. “Tell her that Lord Kennard will be among the players. She’ll be here with bells on her toes.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Billie,” George muttered.
Billie let out a self-righteous huff. “She was talking to you all night!”
“She was sitting next to me,” George retorted. “She could hardly have done otherwise.”
“Not true. Felix’s brother was on her left. He’s a perfectly acceptable conversationalist. She could have spoken with him about any number of things.”
Andrew stepped between them. “Are the two of you going to snipe like jealous lovers or are we going to play?”
Billie glared.
George glared.
Andrew looked quite pleased with himself.
“You’re an idiot,” Billie said to him before turning back to Georgiana. “I suppose it will have to be Lady Alexandra. Get her and whomever else you can find. A gentleman if at all possible so we’ve equal numbers.”
Georgiana nodded. “But not Sir Reginald?”
“George is too worried about his teeth.”
Andrew made a choking sound.
Which came to a halt when George elbowed him in the ribs.
“Shall I meet you here?” Georgiana asked.
Billie thought for a moment, then said, “No, it will be quicker if we meet you on the west lawn.” She turned back to George and Andrew. “I’ll see to getting the set pulled out.”
She and Georgiana exited the room, leaving George alone with his younger brother.
“His teeth, eh?” Andrew murmured.
George glowered at him.
Andrew leaned in, just far enough to be annoying. “I’d wager he has very good oral hygiene.”
“Shut up.”
Andrew laughed, then leaned in with what was clearly meant to be an expression of concern. “You’ve got a little something . . .” He motioned to his teeth.
George rolled his eyes and shoved past him.
Andrew hopped to attention, caught up, and then overtook him, tossing a grin over his shoulder as he loped down the hall. “Ladies do love a dazzling smile.”
He was going to kill his brother, George decided as he followed him outside. And he was going to use a mallet.
Chapter 14
Ten minutes later George, Andrew, and Billie were standing on the lawn, watching as a footman plodded toward them, dragging the Pall Mall set behind them.
“I love Pall Mall,” Billie announced, rubbing her hands together in the brisk afternoon air. “This is a brilliant idea.”
“It was your idea,” George pointed out.
“Of course it was,” she said merrily. “Oh, look, here comes Georgiana.”
George shaded his eyes as he peered across the lawn. Sure enough, she was leading Lady Alexandra in their direction. And, if he wasn’t mistaken, one of the Berbrooke brothers.
“Thank you, William,” Billie said as the footman brought the set into place.
He nodded. “Milady.”
“Wait a moment,” Andrew said. “Didn’t we break one of the mallets last year?”
“Father commissioned a new set,” Billie informed him.
“Same colors?”
She shook her head. “We’re not having red this time around.”
George turned to look at her. “Why not?”
“Well,” she stalled, looking slightly sheepish, “we’ve had very bad luck with red. The balls keep ending up in the lake.”
“And you think a different color might rectify the problem?”
“No,” she said, “but I’m hoping yellow will be easier to spot beneath the surface.”
A few moments later, Georgiana and her little band of players arrived on the scene. George took an instinctive step toward Billie, but he was too slow. Lady Alexandra had already taken hold of his sleeve.
“Lord Kennard,” she said. “What a delight it will be to play Pall Mall. Thank you for inviting me.”
“It was Miss Georgiana, actually,” he said.
She smiled knowingly. “At your behest, I’m sure.”
Billie looked as if she might gag.
“And Lieutenant Rokesby,” Lady Alexandra continued, her hand a tight little claw on George’s arm even as she turned to Andrew. “We hardly had a chance to speak last night.”
Andrew bowed with all due chivalry.
“Are you acquainted with Lord Northwick?” she asked.
George desperately tried to catch his brother’s eye. This was not an avenue of conversation any of them wished to pursue.
Luckily for all, the footman had just pulled the cover off the Pall Mall set, and Billie was taking efficient charge.
“Here we are,” she said, pulling one of the mallets from its position. “Andrew already promised Georgiana the green, so let’s see, Mr. Berbrooke will take blue, Lady Alexandra can have pink, I’ll be yellow, Lieutenant Rokesby will be purple, and Lord Kennard will be black.”
“Can’t I be purple?” Lady Alexandra asked.
Billie looked at her as if she’d asked to have the Magna Carta revised.
“I like purple,” Lady Alexandra said coolly.
Billie’s back stiffened. “Take it up with Lieutenant Rokesby. It makes no difference to me.”
Andrew gave Billie a curious look, then offered his mallet to Lady Alexandra with a gallant bow. “As the lady wishes . . .”
Lady Alexandra nodded graciously.
“Very well,” Billie said with a sniff, “Georgiana is green, Mr. Berbrooke is blue, Lieutenant Rokesby is pink, I’m yellow, Lord Kennard is black, and Lady Alexandra is”—she gave her the side eye—“purple.”
George was coming to realize that Billie really did not like Lady Alexandra.
“I’ve never played this before,” Mr. Berbrooke said. He swung his mallet a few times, narrowly missing George’s leg. “It looks like jolly good fun.”
“Right,” Billie said briskly. “The rules are quite simple. The first person to hit his ball through all the wickets in the correct order wins.”
Lady Alexandra looked at the collection of wickets currently hooked onto the set. “How will we know the correct order?”
“Just ask me,” Billie said. “Or Lieutenant Rokesby. We’ve done this a million times.”
“Which one of you usually wins?” Mr. Berbrooke asked.
“Me,” they both said.
“Neither,” George said firmly. “They rarely manage to finish a game. You’d all do well to watch your feet. This may turn vicious.”
“I can’t wait,” Georgiana said, practically thrumming with excitement. She turned to Lady Alexandra. “You’ve also got to hit the pole at the end. Billie didn’t mention that.”
“She likes to leave out some of the rules,” Andrew said. “So she can penalize you later if you’re winning.”
&nbs
p; “That is not true!” Billie protested. “At least half the times I’ve beaten you I’ve done so without cheating.”
“Should you ever play Pall Mall again,” George advised Lady Alexandra, “I would ask for a full recitation of the rules and regulations. Nothing you learn here will be the least bit applicable.”
“I have played before, you know,” Lady Alexandra said. “Lord Northwick has a set.”
Georgiana turned to her with a puzzled expression. “I thought Lord Northwick was engaged to your sister.”
“He is,” Lady Alexandra replied.
“Oh. I thought . . .” Georgiana paused, her mouth open for a second or two before she finally settled on, “You speak of him so often.”
“He has no sisters of his own,” Lady Alexandra said crisply. “Naturally, we have become quite devoted.”
“I have a sister,” Mr. Berbrooke piped up.
This was met with a beat of silence, and then Georgiana said, “That’s wonderful.”
“Nellie,” he confirmed. “Short for Eleanor. She’s very tall.”
No one seemed quite to know what to say to that.
“Well then,” Andrew said, breaking the now decidedly awkward moment. “It’s time to set the wickets out.”
“Can’t the footman do it?” Lady Alexandra inquired.
Billie and Andrew both turned on her as if she’d gone mad.
George took pity, stepping forward to murmur, “They can be somewhat particular about the placement.”
Lady Alexandra’s chin rose an inch. “Lord Northwick always says the wickets should be laid out in the shape of a cross.”
“Lord Northwick’s not here,” Billie snapped.
Lady Alexandra gasped.
“Well, he’s not,” Billie protested, looking to the rest of the group for affirmation.
George narrowed his eyes, the visual translation of an elbow in the ribs, and Billie must have realized that she had crossed a line—an absurd line, but a line nonetheless. She was the hostess, and she needed to behave as such.
It was fascinating to watch, though. Billie was a born competitor, and she had never been known for an abundance of patience. And she certainly was not inclined to acknowledge Lady Alexandra’s suggestion. Still, she straightened her shoulders and fixed an almost pleasant smile on her face as she turned back to her guest.
“I think you will like it this way,” she said primly. “And if you don’t, you can tell Lord Northwick all about it, and then you will know for certain that his layout is superior.”
George snorted.
Billie ignored him.
“The wickets,” Andrew reminded everyone.
“George and I will do it,” Billie said, grabbing them from Andrew’s proffered hand.
George looked at her with some indulgence. “Oh we will, will we?”
“Lord Kennard,” she said through clenched teeth, “will you be so kind as to help me set out the wickets?”
He glanced down at her injured ankle. “What, you mean because you cannot walk?”
She gave him an over-sweet smile. “Because I delight in your company.”
He almost laughed.
“Andrew can’t do it,” she went on, “and no one else knows where they go.”
“If we played in the shape of a cross,” Lady Alexandra said to Mr. Berbrooke, “any one of us could set the wickets out.”
Mr. Berbrooke nodded.
“We would start at the nave,” Lady Alexandra instructed, “then move on to the transept and then the altar.”
Mr. Berbrooke looked down at his mallet and frowned. “Doesn’t seem like a very churchy game.”
“It could be,” Lady Alexandra replied.
“But we don’t want it to be,” Billie said sharply.
George grabbed her arm. “The wickets,” he said, pulling her away before the two ladies came to blows.
“I really don’t like that woman,” she grumbled once they were out of earshot.
“Really?” George murmured. “I would never have known.”
“Just help me with the wickets,” she said, turning toward a large oak at the edge of the clearing. “Follow me.”
He watched her for a few steps. She was still limping, but it was different somehow. More awkward. “Did you hurt yourself again?”
“Hmmm? Oh, that.” She let out an irritated snort. “It was the sidesaddle.”
“I beg your pardon?”
She shrugged. “I can’t put my bad foot in a stirrup. So I had to ride sidesaddle.”
“And you needed to ride because . . .”
She looked at him as if he were an idiot. Which he was fairly certain he was not.
“Billie,” he said, grabbing her by the wrist so they were both yanked to a halt, “what was so important that you had to ride with an injured ankle?”
“The barley,” she said plainly.
He must have misheard. “What?”
“Someone had to make sure it was being planted properly,” she said, deftly pulling her hand free.
He was going to kill her. Or rather he would, except that she would probably end up doing it herself first. He took a breath, then asked, as patiently as he could, “Isn’t that the job of your steward?”
Her brows pulled together. “I don’t know what you think I do all day when I’m not flitting away at house parties, but I am an extremely busy person.” Something changed in her expression; something George could not quite name, and then she said, “I am a useful person.”
“I can’t imagine anyone would think otherwise,” George said, although he had a feeling he’d thought otherwise, and not too long ago.
“What the devil are you two doing over there?” Andrew bellowed.
“I am going to massacre him,” Billie seethed.
“The wickets,” George said. “Just tell me where you want them.”
Billie separated one from the bunch and held it out. “Over there. Under the tree. But over the root. Make sure you put it over the root. Otherwise it will be too easy.”
George very nearly saluted her.
When he returned from his task, she was already a ways down the field, jamming another wicket into place. She’d left the rest in a pile, so he leaned down and scooped them up.
She looked up as she secured the wicket. “What have you against Sir Reginald?”
George grit his teeth. He should have known he wouldn’t get off so easily. “Nothing,” he lied. “I simply did not think he would enjoy the game.”
She stood. “You can’t know that.”
“He spent the entire archery competition lounging on a lawn chair and complaining of the heat.”
“You didn’t get up.”
“I was enjoying the sun.” It hadn’t been sunny, but he wasn’t about to tell her the real reason he’d been stuck in his chair.
“Very well,” Billie acceded, “Sir Reggie is probably not the best candidate for Pall Mall. But I still maintain that we could have done better than Lady Alexandra.”
“I agree.”
“She—” She blinked. “You do?”
“Of course. I had to spend all last night talking with her, as you so eloquently pointed out.”
Billie looked about ready to throw her arms up in frustration. “Then why didn’t you say something when Georgiana suggested her?”
“She’s not evil, merely annoying.”
Billie muttered something under her breath.
George could not stem the amused smile that spread across his face. “You really don’t like her, do you?”
“I really don’t.”
He chuckled.
“Stop that.”
“Laughing, you mean?”
She jammed a wicket into the ground. “You’re just as bad as I am. One would think Sir Reggie had committed treason with the way you were carrying on.”
Carrying on? George planted his hands on his hips. “That’s entirely different.”
She glanced up from her work. “How is
that?”
“He is a buffoon.”
Billie snorted out a laugh. It was not particularly feminine, but on her it was charming. She leaned toward him, her expression pure dare. “I think you’re jealous.”
George felt his stomach flip. Surely she didn’t realize . . . No. These thoughts he’d been having about her . . . temporary madness. Brought on by proximity. That had to be it. He’d spent more time with her in the past week than he had in years. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said scornfully.
“I don’t know,” Billie teased. “All the ladies are flocking to his side. You said yourself he has a handsome smile.”
“I said,” George bit out before realizing he didn’t remember precisely what he’d said. Luckily for him, Billie had already interrupted him.
“The only lady who hasn’t fallen under his spell is the illustrious Lady Alexandra.” She tossed him a look over her shoulder. “Probably because she’s so busy trying to gain your favor.”
“Are you jealous?” he countered.
“Please,” she scoffed, moving on to the next spot.
He followed, one step behind. “You didn’t say no . . .”
“No,” she said with great emphasis. “Of course I’m not jealous. I think she’s touched in the head quite honestly.”
“Because she’s trying to gain my favor?” he could not help but ask.
She held her hand out for another wicket. “Of course not. That’s probably the most sensible thing she’s ever done.”
He paused. “Why does that sound like an insult?”
“It’s not,” Billie assured him. “I would never be so ambiguous.”
“No, that’s true,” he murmured. “You insult with pure transparency.”
She rolled her eyes before returning to the topic of Lady Alexandra. “I was talking about her obsession with Lord Northwick. He’s engaged to her sister, for heaven’s sake.”
“Ah, that.”
“Ah, that,” she mimicked, shoving another wicket into the ground. “What is wrong with her?”
George was saved from answering by Andrew, who was bellowing their names again, along with a rather vehement exhortation to hurry along.
Billie snorted. “I can’t believe he thinks he can beat me with a broken arm.”
“You do realize that if you win—”
“When I win.”