Juliet nudged Sarah. “Go on, then.”
Sarah felt her face heat. The last thing she wanted to do was step out in front of everyone to join this game. Others were stepping forward, her chance to join was slipping away.
“I shall join as well,” Juliet was saying, drawing the eyes of the guests on them. “Oh, wait. I’ll have to check on Baby George. Miss Marlow, you’ll take my place won’t you?” her eyes twinkled. “I’d hate to neglect my guests.”
Sarah put her hand on Juliet’s, pinching it discreetly so that it startled a giggle from her.
“Of course I will,” Sarah said, smiling warmly at Juliet, but putting a threat in her eyes. “It’s the least I could do, considering your wonderful hospitality today.”
Lord Cunningham clapped his hands together. “Let us play! Two teams of six ought to be best.” He moved through the group, creating a red team and a blue team by separating them one by one. When he reached Sarah, he gave a little grin and added her to Felix’s team, the red team. Charles was also put onto their team.
She would have grumbled, but since that was precisely what she had hoped for, she contented herself with shooting Juliet a dark look instead.
Juliet, for her part, looked back at her with a grin and fluttered her fingers at her as she bounced a happy baby George.
The game was quickly set up, players lined up together to make joking boasts and share playful threats.
“If my team wins,” Felix, with Charles at his side, began pointing his mallet at Lord Cunningham, “I shall expect you to perform a song for us before the party is out.”
Their host laughed. “Very well.” His eyes glinted with mischief. “But if my team wins, your team will serve drinks to mine for the rest of the afternoon.” He looked around at his group. “And I believe we are quite thirsty today.”
The blue team, made up of all men but one, cheered heartily at this. Sarah was glad to have Lady Margaret, Lord Cunningham’s younger sister, on her own team, so she was not the only lady.
The bet thus struck, the two groups of six lined up and prepared to begin. It had evolved into a brightly warm day, the sun shining across the spring-green lawn. The wickets had been arranged into a double diamond pattern, requiring the balls to be hit through precisely in order to make it to the end, where Mrs. Beeton, the housekeeper, was having a table with celebratory treats prepared.
To determine which team would have the first turn, Lord Cunningham and Felix lined up and each hit one ball towards a center wicket. Felix’s ball sailed a foot or more past Lord Cunningham’s—he was declared the easy winner. The red team would go first.
Felix hit once more, going first for their team. With a straight back and focused eye, he set his ball sailing smoothly directly through the center of the first wicket, inciting a whoop from their team.
Lord Cunningham took his turn next, shooting an equally impressive shot, his ball sliding neatly through the wicket, lined up perfectly for shot number two.
The two gentlemen exchanged a cocky look, and then it was the next player’s turn.
Thus it went, each team trading turns, with the strongest players being Felix and Lord Cunningham. None other played as adroitly, with hits both so neat and so strong.
When Lord Cunningham hit a particularly good shot, Charles made a big show of picking up the ball and checking it. “Have you replaced your team’s balls with a lighter material? I suspect foul play!”
Sarah was not a particularly strong player of pall-mall. It was not a game that was taken up often at her house, but she did enjoy the playing of it. She was also certainly stronger than the lady on the blue team, who seemed to think playing well might intimidate the gentlemen, and so had instead stuck to either missing the ball entirely or budging it only inches at a time. After each of these hits, she would put a hand to her chest, drawing the eyes gathered to her low neckline, and smile becomingly.
In contrast, Sarah’s hits were strong and true. Not as much as their team leaders, but well enough. They were reaching the end of the double diamond shape now, with the red team losing by an extra two strokes. It was Sarah’s turn, and she was determined to make up for one of those two strokes.
She stepped to the ball, giving it a small practice swing and eyeing her target.
“Just a lady shot,” muttered Charles. “We will be another two strokes down after this one.”
Sarah’s eyes narrowed, and she and Lady Margaret exchanged a look.
Just a lady shot? I shall show him how a lady can shoot.
She straightened her shoulders, fixed her eye on her ball, and swung one clean stroke, hitting the ball with a crack.
The ball sailed at once through the wicket, a perfect shot. But it did not stop there, continuing right through the second wicket.
One stroke made up!
The ball was still moving, though. As if tugged by a string directly towards its target, it had skimmed the edge of the second wicket, angling it and setting it on course to pass through a third wicket.
The teams grew silent as they watched it move closer, closer and then—
