The Day of the Duchess (Scandal & Scoundrel #3)(58)

He nodded and made a show of looking over the field. “And the teams?” he asked, loud enough for everyone to hear, and she couldn’t stop herself from turning to look at him. He sounded—content. As though he’d been looking for something to do with his time, and lawn bowls seemed a perfectly reasonable option.

Suspicion flared, and not a small amount of panic.

What was happening?

Seline leapt in to answer. “The unmarrieds versus the marrieds. And Sesily.”

Sesily sighed dramatically. “Always a bridesmaid.” She looked to Caleb. “American bride?”

Caleb laughed loud and brash, and Mrs. Mayhew harrumphed again from the sideline. Haven ignored the interjection, instead straightening his sleeve and considering the teams in question, which, to any bystander who happened along, would appear terribly unevenly matched.

On the left of the playing field stood four fresh-faced, pretty young women in shades of pastel, each with some combination of hope, excitement, and terror in her eyes, each likely more eager than the next to impress the Duke of Haven and make herself a proper aristocratic match.

And on the right stood their opposites. In every way. The Talbot sisters had never in their lives worn pastel—they did not follow fashion so much as invent it themselves. They wore bright, beautiful colors that seemed captured from the summer gardens nearby, their hair in elaborate designs—they believed in brash honesty above quiet politesse, and together, they had the grace and tact of a runaway carriage, a fact underscored when Sesily called out, “Oi! Haven! I’d move if I were you—before my poor aim sends a bowl right into your shin.”

“Here’s to happy accidents!” Sophie called out from the table nearby, where lemonade and lunch had been served.

“She does loathe me,” Haven said quietly.

“Indeed, she does,” Sera replied, and she was surprised by the pang of discomfort that came at the thought.

“Is anyone else perishing from hunger?” Sophie added.

“We’re not eating, Sophie,” Sesily groaned. “We’re playing.”

“Don’t think that this obsession with luncheon is about pregnancy,” Seline opined to the suitesses. “Sophie has been hungry for every moment of her entire life.”

“Truth!” Sophie added, popping a tart into her mouth. “No one minds if I start, do they?”

The mothers in the gallery seemed unable to decide if they were more affronted by Seleste’s reference to Sophie’s increasing state, or to Sophie’s willingness to begin eating without permission from the duke or duchess, a fact that only served to remind Sera of how much she adored her sisters.

“I shall do my best to be a gentleman and join you,” Caleb interjected. “I am, after all, a growing boy.”

“Capital!” Sophie replied. “As it is possible I am growing a boy, we shall be a fine match.”

The mothers whispered behind fans as the Marchioness of Eversley once more proved her reputation as a woman with a penchant for brashness.

Haven watched Sophie for a long moment. “Can she be won over?”

“Sophie?” Sera looked to him, shocked. “Why do you care?”

Something flashed in his eyes, something that looked remarkably like truth. “Can you be won over?”

Her heart began to pound.

He was doing it again, trying to win her when he did not want her. Trying to keep her when he did not wish to have her. When she did not wish to be kept. She’d been his possession once before. And it had not ended well for either of them.

She met his gaze. “No.” The word shuttered the openness in his gaze, and she ignored the disappointment that flared in her, saying for all to hear, “I wouldn’t worry so much, Duke, Sesily’s rather terrible at this game. She’s unlikely to hit you.”

“At least, not on purpose!” Seleste pointed out from her spot down the field.

Haven raised a brow. “Now I’m not sure where to go.”

Sesily answered without hesitation. “I could always attempt to hit you, Haven. If that would make you feel better.”

Sera smirked and looked to him. “It is your decision, which team you’d like, of course, as master of the field.” She waved a hand over the collection of bowls.

“Just throw the ball, Sesily,” he said.

Sesily nodded once and did as she was bid, the ball careening down the lawn and landing, quite beautifully, by the small white kitty. A smattering of applause came from Haven’s suitesses, but the Talbot sisters were not nearly so polite. “Oh!” Seleste gasped.

Seline blurted out, “Dear God! She nearly hit it!”

“Have you been practicing?” Sophie cut Sesily a skeptical look.

“I haven’t!” Sesily crowed. “But I’ll be damned if I’m not a natural at this game!” The mothers went into a flurry again, one that only increased when Sesily added, “I told you we were right to bet on ourselves. I am clearly a savant.”

“Oh, clearly,” Sophie said dryly, as Sera laughed.

And then Mrs. Mayhew said, “I beg your pardon, did you say bet? Surely you are not wagering on the outcome of innocent girls’ lawn bowls.”

“Surely you couldn’t have imagined we wouldn’t have done whatever necessary to make innocent girls’ lawn bowls more interesting, could you, Mrs. Mayhew? Besides, you shall be quite happy with the results should your daughter come closest to the kitty.”