Page 91 of The Sainted Duchess
“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.”
“Your Grace,” Temperance said from behind her scorecard, respectful but keen, “I beg your pardon.”
“For what?” Stephen asked.
“For agreeing with me,” Temperance said. “It happens rarely; we must mark it.”
He inclined his head. “Duly marked.”
They came to the last run. The final hoop sat near the little folly at the lawn’s edge, guarded by a root that had lifted the ground into a faint, treacherous ripple. The balls lay scattered at distances that promised mischief if one were inclined.
“We shall proceed in order,” Prudence muttered.
“Very well,” Stephen said. He was standing close enough now that Maria could feel the ordinary heat of a person she had once thought herself too thin-skinned to bear. It did not alarm her.
“Your grip,” he murmured again. “Thumb…”
“I remember,” she said..
“I know,” he returned, and stepped back.
She struck. The green ball rolled straight, then wavered at the ripple and hesitated at the hoop as if it had suddenly remembered there were witnesses. She breathed out, and it went through.
“Ha,” Charity said sotto voce, clutching Alethea’s sleeve.
“Well done,” Temperance said aloud.
“Very well done,” Stephen’s satisfaction was not restrained;
“And now you will ruin it,” Maria warned him. “Because you cannot help yourself.”
“Watch me,” he said and made his play with a restraint that put his ball fair and left her in a position to finish. She looked at him in astonishment.
“Strategic,” Prudence observed, eyes narrowing. “Or generous.”
“Both are allowed,” Stephen said.
It went to his head. He approached his next shot, glanced too quickly at Maria’s mouth because she had bitten her lip at nothing, and struck too shallow. The black ball clipped the hoop and sulked.
“Oh dear,” Alethea said, genuinely distressed for him.
“I am fine,” Stephen said, wryly. “I have learned to live with my nature.”
