“Yes. Yes, I’d love to help you. One second. Miss Pemberton, I—” But she was shaking her head and backing away, her reclaimed mallet already in hand. “Never mind.” He turned back to his niece. “Now, stand with your feet like this. No, like—yes, exactly. Bend just a little. Not that much! Yes, better. Put your hands here and here. Mind your grip. Now pull your arms back and swing.”
Thwack. The ball sailed several yards past the wicket. Unfortunately notthroughthe wicket, but with considerably more force and accuracy than previously witnessed.
“Excellent shot,” he assured her. “Next time, you’ll get it.”
She grinned. “Thank you.”
“By the way,” he began casually, almost unable to make himself ask the question. “On the night your father died, you were in the nursery?”
“I’m always in the stupid nursery. Except today! Pall-mall is grand. And the kites, oh! All my friends will be so jealous. The picnic was excellent, too, even if I got marmalade all over my dress. But that hardly matters when I’ve a new wardrobe to look forward to anyway, right, Uncle?”
“Er, right. But that night in the nursery, Jane. Who were you with?”
“The twins, of course. I’m always with the twins.”
His heart skipped a beat. “Just the twins?”
“Yes.” She paused for the briefest of seconds. “Oh, wait, no. I forgot. Also with Mother and Nancy. Right. All of us. Can I go after my ball now?”
Gavin nodded and let her go, frowning as she danced across the grass. Had she really been in the nursery with her mother and sister? Or was Miss Pemberton right, and that was simply the story the girls had been instructed to tell if questioned?
Chapter 30
By the time the game ended, Gavin had no more answers than when he began.
He had, however, helped the twins to “win” the pall-mall game, and managed to stay as far away from the Stanton chit and her mother as possible while still remaining within shot of the wickets. The guests were now drawing nearer, with questioning looks in their eyes. He’d no sooner motioned a few servants to begin collecting the mallets and balls when his thirteen-year-old niece hurled herself into his arms, wailing as though she’d lost a limb to enemy fire.
“No, no, no,” she cried into his waistcoat. “This has been the very best birthday and I do not wish for it to end! You said there would be picnics, and there were picnics, and then you said there would be kite-flying, and then there was kite-flying, and you said we would also have pall-mall, and we did, and the twins won even though I’m pretty sure I really won, or maybe Aunt Rutherford because she never snuck in extra hits for her ball, but now all the things you said we could do are over, which means my birthday is over. But I don’twantto return indoors and resume an ordinary day when my birthday started out so extraordinary!”
“Jane.” By gripping her about the forearms, Gavin somehow managed to pluck her off his chest. He removed her to arm’s length, bent to eye level, and did his best to ignore the growing crowd. “What else do you wish to do? Kite-flying and pall-mall are the only amusements I have, and I must confess—I only have them because you requested them of me.”
“Not true!” She wiggled in place. “You have the maze! May we explore the maze? Say we can! The twins saw it, too. Didn’t you, girls?”
He glanced over his shoulder at two nodding, giggling five-year-olds. Was hysteria contagious?
“Jane,” he said again. “I do not have a maze. Nor do I have any idea what you’re talking about.”
“A huge maze! Behind the manor. All those hedgerows, taller than my head. I’m sure I saw the roof to a gazebo in the center. May we play in the gazebo? And race between the bushes?”
After her words sank in, Gavin straightened to his full height. “You want to play in my blackberry farm?”
The Stanton chit affected her fish impression again. “You have ablackberryfarm?”
He shot her a pitying look. “Why did you suppose my home was called Blackberry Manor?”
She froze, blinked, and exchanged a glance with Miss Pemberton before muttering, “Better you not know.”
“So,canwe, Uncle Lioncroft? Can we? Can we?”
“All right, but—wait!” He grabbed Jane by the arm and the closest twin by a blond braid. “This is important, so please listen very closely. You must be careful not to touch the plants. The brambles are sharp and will scratch you.”
Rebecca peered up at him. “Will it hurt?”
“Yes,” he answered solemnly, releasing Jane’s arm and Rachel’s plait.
“Why do you keep plants that hurt people?” Rebecca asked with a frown.
He hesitated, then dropped to one knee, mostly to give himself time to think of a way to explain his ownership of a blackberry farm. All of his nieces stared at him expectantly, as did a fair number of his houseguests.
