“But I wanted the green one! For faerie magic,” Leah piped up.
Marcus, torn, presented the mallet to Celine, as if offering a sacred relic. “You take it, then. You’re a duchess. That’s like a queen. Queens should have the magic one.”
The air thrummed awkwardly as Celine reached for the mallet. “That’s very… gallant of you, Marcus,” she said, matching his solemnity. She gave the mallet a tentative twirl, then caught Leah’s sidelong glance. “But I think faeries prefer yellow. Something about marigolds and sunshine.”
Leah’s face lit up as she seized the yellow mallet and hugged it to her chest, content for now.
Rhys’s smile widened, and he leaned close so only Celine could hear. “I knew you were a natural at this. You have a talent for arbitrating the impossible.”
Celine shot him a look. “You’ve been here all of five minutes. I’ve been ambushed four times already, and Robert tried to trick me into betting my gloves on the outcome.”
Rhys grinned. “Careful, they’ll have you raising a regiment before the hour is over.”
The children lined up for the start of the match, each wielding their mallet like a saber. The lawn had been set with wickets by the footmen at dawn, but already two had been moved, and one had disappeared entirely.
“Right,” Robert barked. “Marcus, you’re first. No cheating.”
“I never cheat,” Marcus scoffed, affronted.
He promptly kicked his ball through the first wicket and then gave it a mighty whack with his mallet for good measure.
Leah watched this and sidled up to Celine, whispering, “He always cheats. And Robert always gets cross and then cheats even harder. It’s tradition.”
“I see,” Celine murmured. “Perhaps the trick is to cheat with enough finesse that no one notices.”
Leah’s eyes widened in admiration. “Are you going to cheat?”
“I’m thinking about it,” Celine confessed, finding herself grinning despite the oddity of it all.
The match devolved into chaos almost instantly. Robert and Marcus bickered over the rules, while Leah ignored the course entirely, instead weaving her ball in lazy circles around the flowerbeds.
Celine’s initial reluctance faded as the children dragged her into their game, and soon she was toeing her own ball along, letting Leah ‘help’ by giving it gentle shoves.
They moved down the lawn in a slow, shrieking procession, Rhys playing the part of dignified opponent but clearly letting the children win as often as not.
At one point, Marcus whacked his ball directly into Rhys’s shin, then ran off screaming that “Livingston is under attack!”
Captain Harrow, roared with laughter.
Celine lost herself in the mess of it, her bandaged hand thumping the mallet with only mild discomfort. She found herself smiling, even laughing, when Marcus tripped over a molehill and somersaulted into the rosebushes, shrieking like a banshee.
Leah, meanwhile, stayed at her side, offering whispered commentary. “If you get to the end without Robert noticing, you win forever. That’s the secret.”
Celine nodded gravely. “Noted.”
Rhys sidled up to her, his coat brushing her sleeve. “You seem to have acquired a shadow,” he murmured, glancing at Leah.
“She’s a ruthless strategist,” Celine replied, not quite hiding her pride.
“I can see that. Though you yourself seem to have a knack for subversion.” He angled his mallet and sent her ball sailing through a wicket. “Are you sure you’ve never played before?”
“Positive. But I did once launch a campaign of sabotage against my father’s chess set. I imagine the principle is similar.”
They continued like that, volleying their balls down the slope until Marcus, in a fit of inspiration, knocked them into a gully at the far end of the property.
Rhys let out an exaggerated sigh. “It would seem we’ve been sabotaged, Duchess.”
Leah, who had drifted away to chase butterflies, turned back. “You’ll have to get them. That’s the rule. If you lose your ball, you’re out unless you can retrieve it.”
