He stood behind her and guided her hand to show her how to deliver.
Watching their antics, Frederick shook his head. “At this rate, we shall be here all day.”
Thomas grinned. “Then my strategy is working. A pity Miss Lane is so terribly competent.”
Rebecca replied, “That is what comes of growing up with a brother.”
“Two brothers, if you count Frederick,” Thomas quipped. “After all, did he not teach you to play chess and lawn bowls, not to mention how to ride?”
“He did, though we are not really so much brother and sister,” Rebecca said, her neck growing warm.
“Brother and sister?” Frederick echoed. “No, indeed. We were friends, and I hope we always shall be.” He held her gaze, and her heart gave a foolish little leap.
“If you say so,” Thomas replied. “Now quit stalling and take the mat. I believe we are about to win.”
Frederick sized up the clustered balls, took aim, bent low, and threw hard. The bowl rolled fast in a narrow arc and knocked into the other team’s, scattering them and leaving his and Rebecca’s in winning position.
Hands on hips, Thomas shook his head and groaned. Rebecca and Sir Frederick, meanwhile, shared conspirators’ smiles of triumph.
At that moment, Mr. Jones, the Wilfords’ steward, strode out of the hotel with a handful of correspondence.
The brothers excused themselves and walked over to meet him. While the men’s backs were turned and their attention focused on the steward, Selina Newport looked from them to Rebecca with an impish gleam in her eyes.
She crouched low, aimed, and rolled with strength and precision, her bowl curving and slowing and finally nestling right beside the jack.
Then she straightened and dusted off her gloves. With a grin of satisfaction, she winked at Rebecca, turned, and strolled gracefully away.
5
Later that afternoon, Frederick prepared for the canal investors’ meeting he had organized, to be held in the library and writing room. At his request, hotel staff had arranged chairs in rows, a lectern at the front, and two long tables on one side.
Mr. Mayhew had also posted a sign on the door, handwritten on heavy card stock:
Room reserved 2–4 pm.
We apologize for any inconvenience.
On one long table were spread drawings of the route of the proposed canal spur. On the other, a buffet meal to reward attendees for their time and also to put them in the mood to open their minds to possibility ... and their purses as well.
Frederick had personally put a notice in the newspapers and had written to invite various gentlemen of the county whom he deemed might benefit from the project and be willing to invest. Unfortunately, it was not a very long list.
The first arrival was a complete surprise to him and a mostly pleasant one, although painful memories followed in the doctor’s wake.
“Charles. What an unexpected pleasure.”
“Sir Frederick.” Dr. Fox extended his hand.
Frederick shook it, blinking away the recollection of the last time he had seen the man. His wife’s funeral.
“I did not expect to see you here.”
“Saw the notice in the paper and wanted to come. Thought I’d enjoy a few days’ holiday with my wife in the bargain.” Dr. Fox winced at his own words. “Forgive me if that is salt in the wound. I hope you know how sorry I am, that I could not do more to help her.”
Frederick replied, “I do know. And it’s all right—not your fault, Charles.”
“Thank you for saying so. I still feel guilty, I admit.”
“Then that makes two of us.”
