Chapter 18 #2
“Only if it does not disarrange Your Grace’s morning,” Temperance’s tone was polite. “We should not like to presume upon hospitality.”
Stephen looked charmed by their correctness and not at all averse to being handled.
“If my hospitality objects to being presumed upon, it can speak to me later. Maria?” he turned to her. “What do you think?”
Once again, Maria noticed how nice it felt to be considered.
“I leave the decision to you, Your Grace,” she said, timidly. “You may do as you feel.”
“But what do you feel?” he pressed. Maria could see her friends stifling their giddy laughter in the background. “Is that something that you wish to do?”
“I do not mind a game of pall mall, perhaps,” she nodded.
“Yes, and we have never played together,” Stephen said. “It would be a good way to get to know your friends.”
She tried not to smile and failed. He wanted to get to know her friends. That in itself was a lot.
“If we go now, the ground will be firm,” she said.
“Then we go now,” he said, as if the matter had been his intention all along. He gestured to the footman in the doorway, “Have the mallets and hoops set on the south lawn.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Oh, this is quite delightful,” Alethea muttered. “Though I must say that I do not remember the rules all too well.”
“Then you will have company,” Charity said. “I only ever remember the rules that improve my chances.”
“Those are called inventions,” Temperance murmured, but she was smiling. “Or cheating, if you will.”
“Do not accuse me of such a thing,” Charity grinned.
“Shall we, then?” Prudence replied.
“Do they always banter like this?” Stephen said to Maria in a whisper so that only she could hear. A wide smile formed on her face.
“I should say so,” she nodded. “They are what you call a lively bunch.”
“I can see that,” he said. “If this is the company that you kept in the nunnery, then I should say that you were in good hands.”
She blushed. She had not expected him to so directly acknowledge it like this.
“I suppose it made up for the other thing,” she replied. She hated to discuss how tainted she was at the nunnery. Suddenly, something in Stephen shifted, and he got a serious look on his face.
“I did not mean to bring up unpleasant memories.”
“You did not,” she said with a small smile. “At least, not any more than that are always present. Let us go now.”
They went out together: the duke and his duchess, a step ahead because the corridor required it; the three friends behind. Alethea kept stealing glances at Maria.
The south lawn had been striped by the gardeners into neat, pale bands. A footman had set the wooden hoops at cunning angles. The mallets stood in a shallow wooden rack.
“Who dares claim that one?” Charity whispered, delighted.
“No one who means to keep friends,” Prudence said. “We shall remain civil and choose by lot.”
“Ladies first,” Stephen gestured to the rack.
Charity gave Maria a sly smile, as if to say what a thorough gentleman. Temperance accepted the courtesy with a small nod.
“Let it be known we enticed you from your letters only to defeat you with mercy.”
“I am not above being defeated,” Stephen said gravely. “Only bored.”
“That we cannot allow,” Alethea said.
Maria stepped to the rack. On impulse, her fingers went to the black ball. She paused, then chose the deep green instead.
“A wise woman leaves that one for a man who needs rescuing,” Stephen teased her.
“Do you need rescuing?” Maria asked.
“Not yet,” he said.
Prudence took blue, Temperance white, Charity cheerful yellow, Alethea hopeful red. Stephen reached last and raised a brow at the remaining black.
“Sir,” Prudence said, respectful and mild, “no one will think less of you if you prefer brown.”
“On the contrary,” Stephen said, selecting the black with a relish he did not trouble to hide, “someone always thinks less of me. I may as well earn it.”
Alethea laughed before she could stop herself. “Forgive me, Your Grace.”
“Gladly,” Stephen said, and looked at Maria as if to share the two words with her as well.
They arranged themselves in order. Prudence, as the eldest among the callers, announced herself umpire when not striking, and no one contested it; even Stephen gave her a small bow that meant by all means.
“First hoop,” Temperance said, pointing to the far-off white-painted semicircle on the grass. “A fair distance. No tricks.”
“Not yet,” Stephen said under his breath.
Maria’s hands were steady as she took up her mallet. They became less so when Stephen stepped near, not close enough to startle but close enough to be felt.
“Your grip,” he said, calmly, “May I?”
All four friends became the portrait of respectable attention to something else. They were giving her a moment.
Maria held the mallet a fraction tighter. “Yes,” she said.
Stephen’s hands settled over hers. “Thumb here,” he said softly, sliding it to the top. “The other hand looser. You direct with the right; you drive with the left.”
Even though her friends were trying not to look, she could feel that their attention was entirely on the two of them. But it hardly mattered, for Maria could hardly focus herself. It was always a problem when Stephen was too close by.
She tried to breathe normally. “And then?”
“Then you forget I am speaking, and I forget I am a duke. And we play this game as it ought to be played.”
“That seems within our power,” she said, almost steady. But there was a little tremble in her voice. She hoped to god that he missed it.
She swung. The green ball almost reached the hoop, but then missed.
“Well played,” Prudence said at once, both pleased and relieved.
Stephen stepped back and removed his hands.
“A dangerous beginning,” he told Maria. “I shall be obliged to try.”
He did not try hard at first and missed his shot. Temperance sent the white ball cleanly through the hoop. Charity hit her yellow ball too hard and had to work to bring it back. Alethea’s red ball bumped the hoop and stopped outside, and she looked embarrassed.
“Do not repent,” Stephen said gently. “You may be assured the ball will continue to exist for your next attempt. It does not respond to sorrow.”
“Oh,” Alethea said, surprised, “Then I shall try cheerfulness.”
“Admire the coaching,” Prudence murmured to Maria. “He respects the ball and the woman both. You seem to have a good one in your hands.”
As they advanced from hoop to hoop, the politeness of the first five minutes loosened. The lawn is filled with good sentences. Maria was happy that everyone seemed to be getting along.
“Is one allowed to trounce a duke?” Charity asked, eyes bright.
“Only if one looks sorry afterwards,” Prudence said.
“I do everything looking sorry,” Charity returned. “It is my talent.”
“You must teach me,” Maria said, striking cleanly through the third hoop. “I have run out of talents that do not need practice.”
“Then add this one to your list,” Stephen said. “You take instructions quickly.”
“Do not sound so surprised,” she murmured.
“I am only making a note,” he murmured back. “It will go in the same place I kept the first time you laughed at breakfast.”
She missed the next hoop by an inch. Prudence smiled down at her scorecard.
“Allow me,” Stephen said quietly.
“No,” Maria said, with a spark of mischief. “Allow me to be wrong entirely on my own.”
“As you wish,” he said and stepped back.
Alethea succeeded in sending her red ball through at last and looked so surprised by her own fortune that Charity clapped without meaning to.
“Next,” Prudence announced. “The long run to the elm. Mind the subtle incline.”
“Incline?” Charity said. “I do not believe in inclines on principle. You’ll find out.”
“They believe in you,” Temperance said.
They set off. Stephen and Maria fell into that conversation before either noticed. He measured his stride to hers without thinking of it.
“You seem to be rather apt at holding the mallet,” he remarked.
“And you like to be contrary,” she returned. “Black ball, indeed.”
“It suits me,” he said. “It is maligned when it wins.”
“And triumphant when it loses?”
“Never triumphant,” he said. “Merely entertained.”
She shot him a look that had grown easier between them. “I cannot decide whether you are dangerous at games or only to pride.”
“I prefer to be dangerous to nothing at all,” he said, and spoiled the statement by grinning.
At the mid-point hoop, Stephen sent his ball through on a cruel angle that allowed him to croquet Maria’s green a few feet. Not so far as to ruin her position, but far enough to make her glare.
“Forgive me,” he said.
“You are ruthless,” she informed him.
“Only when it helps you later,” he replied.
“In what universe does that help me?”
“In the one where you prefer to be angry with me for sport rather than…” He caught himself. “Rather than something useful.”
Maria found herself getting amused instead.
“Very well,” she said. “I shall be angry in an entertaining way.”
“Do,” he said. “You are good at it.”
“Duchess Alethea,” Stephen called, “You have a choice, bold or sensible.”
“Sensible,” Alethea said at once, then added, shy but brave, “unless boldness will make Maria win.”
“Boldness will make Maria tease me,” Stephen said. “Which is better?”
Alethea blushed and aimed sensibly. At the penultimate hoop, Charity overreached, hit a tuft, and sent her ball into a patch of clover.
“Rescue it with grace,” Temperance said.
“Tell us it was intended,” Prudence said.
“It was intended,” Charity repeated at once, brightening.
“There,” Prudence said. “You are fit for society.”
They were laughing. Maria’s laughter came easier than it had yesterday; it did not have to fight its way out.
“Your turn,” he said to her, and stood back, hands behind his back, careful not to crowd.
She swung and missed. She did not swear but looked as if she would have liked to, which entertained him profoundly.
“Again,” he said mildly. “Nothing is improved by calling it ruined.”
She reset and this time made the hoop cleanly, because she had decided to.
“Better,” he said.
“You sound like Temperance.”
“Then we are both correct.”