Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
When they returned to the estate, Edmund skipped to the entrance of Stonewood Manor and clapped his hands, getting everyone’s attention.
“That was a fine morning, and we must all thank Miss Whitfield for her fine idea,” he said.
Amelia curtsied, and a ripple of applause passed through the crowd.
Rose clenched her jaw, for it was again a sign of how naturally Amelia was accepted, how she thrived in these surroundings, while Rose had always felt friction.
“Now please,” Edmund continued, “let us take a short time to recover, so some of us can change.” He looked down at his trousers, which elicited laughter.
“I have arranged a game of Pall Mall. Anyone who wants to play, just put your names into a hat, and if you don’t wish to play, then come and watch, as I am sure it will be grand fun,” he declared.
He rushed off inside, eager to change his clothes.
A lot of people put their names in the hat, including Rose and Amelia. The house was alive with bubbling conversation. Lydia caught up with Rose, and they walked to the gardens together.
“So you and Edmund finally stole a few moments together,” Lydia said.
“We did,” Rose replied. “And it was relaxing.”
“I am sure it was.”
“For how long did Edmund stay with you last night?”
“Not long. He left shortly after you did.”
“Oh. I assumed he had wanted to stay and play cards.”
“I am not sure he came to us for the cards,” Lydia said with a smile that hinted at something much more.
With everyone gathered near the Pall Mall lane, Edmund strode out and clapped his hands.
“Right, I will just go over the rules quickly in case there is anyone here who has forgotten how to play. Matilda, I am looking at you,” Edmund pointed toward an older man, who took the teasing comment in a jovial manner.
“The goal is to hit the ball through the iron hoop in as few strokes as possible, and you must use this mallet. I don’t want anyone ransacking the groundskeeper’s shed for a spade. ”
As he spoke, Edmund gestured to the iron hoop at the end of the lane.
“Are there any questions?” Edmund asked, but nobody had any. “Right then, let’s get onto picking the teams.”
His butler brought the hat to him, and Edmund picked out names one by one. Rose was secretly pleased when she and Amelia were picked for different teams, and Rose was on Edmund’s team.
“I wish I could play, but I simply don’t have the strength that I used to. I once beat a Frenchman at Pall Mall. He said he was the best in the world, but I showed him,” Agatha said.
“The last time you told that story, he was Prussian,” Beatrice said.
Agatha raised her eyebrows and looked away.
“French, Prussian… does it matter?” she said airily.
Beatrice shared a glance with Charlotte and Mary.
Charlotte wasn’t playing either, as she had Luke on her lap.
He was looking at everything curiously, drinking everything in.
Lydia also wasn’t playing as she feared making a fool out of herself in front of so many people. .
Edmund pulled the last name out of the hat and was just about to announce it when he paused and looked at Clara.
“Clara, what is your name doing here?” he asked.
“I want to play, too!” she said.
“I am afraid we don’t have a child-sized mallet. You are just going to have to wait a few more years until you’re a little taller. But if you like, you can help collect the balls that go out of bounds,” he said, although Clara did not take this as a kindness. She huffed and returned to the house.
People gathered around the lane. Edmund gave Nathaniel the first shot, handing him the mallet as though it were a precious artifact.
Nathaniel concentrated and took precise aim.
He was strong, and the ball went rolling down the lane, settling very close to the iron hoop. Respectful applause filled the air.
“Good shot, you’ve certainly set a high standard for the rest of us to follow!” Edmund said.
Others took their turn. None of their shots were as impressive as Nathaniel’s, and some of them fell well short. Alfred miscued his, and the ball careened against the side of the lane.
“Better luck next time,” Edmund said. Alfred glared at him. Amelia was moving closer and closer to Edmund until she was standing beside him. They looked like quite a pair, Rose thought, and she almost felt that she was intruding.
When it came time for Amelia’s turn, she tittered with laughter.
“Would you mind helping me, Your Grace? I have never played before,” Amelia said.
Edmund guided her arm and showed her the proper stance, then rehearsed the swinging motion of his arms. While he taught Amelia, he kept glancing at Rose, although she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to glean from this.
Amelia’s shot was accurate, but it lacked strength. Still, she was pleased with it and clapped her hands as she skipped away from the lane.
Edmund took his shot next.
“Watch this,” he said, then proceeded to close his eyes. Somehow, he still managed to strike the ball, and it went rolling down the lane. Edmund twirled the mallet and then made a flamboyant bow.
“This is a contest, not a show,” Rose heard Nathaniel mutter.
Edmund then beckoned Rose to come forward. She was preparing for the final shot. He handed her the mallet. His gaze was intense and focused on her. Their fingers brushed as she took the mallet from him.
“Might I show you the proper stance?” he asked.
Rose inclined her head, thinking it would make a good show for people; at least, that was the excuse she gave herself. Something shifted inside her every time Edmund was near, as though she lost control of herself.
He stood behind her, his breath drifting over the nape of her neck. He angled her arms and then wrapped his hands around hers. They held the mallet together.
“Like this,” he said, the words crashing against her ears, the low voice making something shift in her stomach.
Her hands began to tremble as he swung her arms. They took the shot together, and she felt his strength.
She was surrounded by his scent, his masculine aura, and, while everything was entirely proper and nobody had any cause to think anything untoward was happening, Rose could feel the haze in her mind and the gradual erosion of her resolve.
Rose quickly skipped away from him at the end, returning to Lydia, who gave her a knowing look.
“That shouldn’t be fair, Edmund, you practically took the shot for her!” Beatrice said. A few people teased him for breaking the rules like that, while Rose remained quiet because she was starting to think that it was she who was breaking their private rules.
The more time she spent with Edmund, the more her feelings were developing, and she wasn’t sure what she could do to stop them.
She had come to enjoy their time together, and it felt as though she was only beginning to know the real him.
But it would all come to an end soon, and they would likely never see each other again.
Although she still didn’t want marriage, she wanted at least to know him, to speak with him, to bicker and banter with him because while he was infuriating, she couldn’t deny that he made life exciting.
The game continued. Amelia still gravitated toward Edmund, although she did not require as much coaching.
Neither did Rose. Shots were made, points were scored.
Edmund continued to make farcical shots, sometimes standing with his back to the ball and swinging the mallet through his legs, other times holding the mallet in his hands and kicking the back of it with his foot.
At one point, Rose saw an opportunity to knock Amelia’s ball out of bounds.
Amelia’s last shot had gone askew, and the ball was close to the side of the lane.
Rose adjusted her stance and aimed carefully.
Her ball slammed into Amelia’s, sending it careening out of the lane, while Rose’s rolled forward.
“Oh dear, that’s entirely my fault for leaving it too close to the side. Good shot, Rose,” Amelia said, taking it in good spirits.
As the game was drawing to a close, the points were close.
“If you get the ball with this stroke, then you will win,” Nathaniel said.
There were a few men around him checking the scores.
Rose looked at the iron hoop, which was still some way away.
Her ball was at an angle as well, so it was no matter of a simple straight shot.
Ordinarily, the best tactic would have been to take one shot to set up the ball and then another to score.
But if she wanted to win, Rose was going to have to take a risk.
And Rose did want to win.
If she made the correct shot, she would be able to score, but it required precise aim, as the angle meant the ball would only just squeeze through the hoop. If she were off by even the smallest margin, then the ball would careen off the iron hoop and bounce off.
Rose took a deep breath to compose herself. A hush came over the crowd. Everyone watched with bated breath as the good-natured game suddenly became serious, for it called down to this one moment, to this single shot.
Rose swung her arms and hit the ball cleanly.
She followed through with the mallet and forced herself to watch.
The ball rolled down the lane. People clasped their hands, gasped, held themselves ready to leap in the triumph of victory or sink in the despair of defeat.
Murmurs emerged from the crowd as they would the ball on, as if they could have some influence on its course.
But its course had been set by Rose’s strike, and there was nothing else that could influence it now.
She watched, waited. For a moment, it seemed as though it was going to veer away from the hoop.
As it got closer, she became sure that she was going to narrowly miss, that there would be a loud clang as it struck the iron hoop and bounced off.
She closed her eyes at the last moment, unable to watch. But as she did, she heard a great roar rise up.
“You did it!” Edmund cried.
“Well done, Rose!” other people shouted. Rose opened her eyes and saw her ball, resting beyond the iron hoop. People gathered around her, patting her on the back and shaking her hand, and Rose had never felt such a sense of belonging before. She smiled and thanked everyone.
Then they parted, and Edmund approached her.
“Well played,” he said, inclining his head, smiling with pride. They were both standing on the lane, and he turned to everyone else.
“What a fine contest that was, and what a way to bring it to an end. We were evenly matched, but in the end, a daring stroke of genius sealed our victory. To Rose!” he said.
“To Rose!” everyone echoed.
Edmund clasped her hand and lifted it above their heads.
His grip was firm, and he held it for a long time.
Because of the way she felt, she couldn’t focus on the moment of triumph, only on him, on the pressure of his hand against hers, on the warmth that seeped into her palm, on the way they were standing together with everyone assuming that one day soon they were going to announce an engagement.
And just for a moment, she could almost believe it herself, that she could stand beside him for the rest of her life and partake in these games, put up with his antics, and share victories and defeats with him.
It was almost as though a dream was forming in her mind, and the more she thought about it, the more desirable it became.
“What a jolly good show,” he said, quietly enough for her to understand that the words were meant for her and her alone. There was a glint in his eyes, and she began to suspect that he wasn’t just referring to her winning shot.
Then she thought about how he’d acted with Amelia, and she wondered if he was trying to provoke her, test her, make her act out of character.
Was this just a game to him, like everything else?