Everyone rose from the blanket, cushions tumbling aside, and the checked cloth fluttering as the summer breeze stirred it. Dorothy clapped her hands together, delight warming her voice as she declared, “Very well, ground rules must be observed. We shall each take our turn to see how long we can keep the shuttlecock aloft. I shall begin, so you both may see how very fine a player I am.”
Magnus arched a brow, his expression one of mild skepticism, though Dorothy noticed the flicker of amusement that betrayed him. Eugenia, for her part, bounced on the tips of her slippers, eager to begin.
Dorothy tossed the shuttlecock high, swung her battledore, and with careful rhythm, she managed a respectable number of strokes before faltering. “There,” she announced, a little breathless but triumphant. “A fine showing!”
Eugenia was next. She took her battledore with both hands, her face set in earnest concentration. With a determined strike, she sent the shuttlecock upward and counted softly beneath her breath. One, two, three... her strokes were steadier than Dorothy’s, her movements sure. By the time the shuttlecock fell, her tally had surpassed Dorothy’s completely. She let out a laugh, clapping her own hands with glee.
“Well done, my dear!” Dorothy praised, though she feigned a sigh of defeat. “I see my reign as champion has ended before it began.”
Magnus stepped forward then, taking the battledore as though it were some grave instrument of war. Dorothy watched closely, curious to see if his resistance would linger. Yet when he struck the shuttlecock upward, his motions were fluid, almost instinctive. One stroke, two, three, on and on it went until the count far exceeded both hers and Eugenia’s. When at last it fell to the grass, he allowed himself the smallest, most infuriatingly satisfied smile.
“That,” Dorothy declared, folding her arms in mock indignation, “was entirely unfair.”
“When I play, I play to win,” he said with a smug smile.
Dorothy playfully rolled her eyes. “I bow out with grace. It seems my duties henceforth shall be those of moderator.” She curtsied grandly and stepped aside, placing herself between them as though she were a referee at a tournament.
“Your turn again, Eugenia,” she said, her tone bright with encouragement. “You must either match your uncle’s score or surpass it to stay in the game.”
The girl lifted her battledore, her lips pressed in concentration. She struck the shuttlecock upward, and the game commenced once more. Her laughter bubbled out between counts as she tried her best, her little arms steadying with each stroke. When at last it fell, her score matched Magnus’s exactly. She smiled, panting.
Dorothy’s heart gave a thrill at the sight. “Eugenia!” she said in surprise, giggling. “Impressive. It’s your turn, Your Grace.”
Once more he played, once more the shuttlecock soared higher than seemed possible. His count grew, and when it ended, all eyes turned to Eugenia, who nodded solemnly and stepped forward again. With a mixture of determination and joy, she played, her every stroke full of stubborn will. She tied him again.
“Are you only playing to tie him, Eugenia?” Dorothy asked with her hands on her hips.
“No.” Eugenia shook her head. “To win.”
Dorothy blinked, caught off guard by the boldness of the declaration. From the corner of her eye, she saw Magnus’s brows lift in surprise as well, though a smile tugged at his mouth.
“Do you now?” he said slowly, lowering his battledore as though taking in her words. He leaned forward just slightly. “You think you can beat me?”
Eugenia’s eyes sparkled, but she took a step back, still a bit weary. “I only play to win,” she said firmly, tossing his very words back at him.
For a moment, silence fell as the breeze rustled the grass, Dorothy’s heart giving a startled thrum. Then Magnus threw his head back and laughed, a rich, unguarded sound that startled a few birds into flight from the oak tree above them.
“Well then,” he said, lowering his gaze to meet Eugenia’s once more, still chuckling. “Shall we make it interesting? A wager, perhaps. If you win, what shall your prize be?”
Eugenia tilted her head, considering with great seriousness. At last, she declared, “All the dessert I want.”
Magnus gave a grand, sweeping bow as though she had made some royal demand. “Done. If you win, you may have every sweet within this county at your command.” His eyes gleamed with mischief as he straightened. “But if I win, you must grant me one wish.”
Eugenia narrowed her eyes and glanced at Dorothy before responding. “I accept.”
Dorothy pressed her lips together to stifle her laugh, her gaze shifting between them. There they stood, uncle and niece, both so unyielding, both so entirely certain of themselves. The resemblance was undeniable, not in features alone but in spirit.
They played three rounds in all, and the contest grew so fierce that Dorothy herself was astonished. By the end of the first round, Magnus had emerged as the clear victor, his count too high for Eugenia to match. Dorothy clapped politely, though she could see the slight pout forming on Eugenia’s lips.
The second round told a different story. Eugenia’s determination sharpened, her battledore striking with quick, sure motions. Dorothy found herself holding her breath with each count. When at last the shuttlecock fell, Magnus’s tally was bested by a slim margin. Eugenia’s triumphant laugh rang through the meadow, and Dorothy declared the score evenly matched.
By then, the game had drawn more than just their own attention. From the corner of the lawn, figures began to gather: footmen, a scullery maid or two, even the head gardener. None dared to intrude upon the family’s picnic, but they lingered at a respectful distance, their eyes fixed on the unlikely contest between their master and his young niece.
Dorothy rose and clapped her hands together to call order. “Very well! You have each proven yourselves once. Now, only one final round to settle the matter. No excuses, no rematches. The next tally shall crown the champion.”
The battledore was passed. Magnus began, his strokes steady, his expression concentrated. Yet Dorothy, watching closely, noticed that he did not set quite so high a mark as he had in the first two rounds. Whether from a moment’s lapse or some wish to give Eugenia room for triumph, she could not be certain. Still, his tally remained formidable, enough to challenge even the most determined spirit.
Eugenia stepped forward without hesitation. Her lips pressed tight, her brows drawn low, she struck the shuttlecock upward, counting softly to herself. One, two, three, her strokes quickened, steadier than Dorothy had ever seen. When at last the shuttlecock slipped to the grass, her score had edged past Magnus’s by a single point.
