“I don’t know what that means.”
“She is rather good,” he explained. “I hope you don’t mind being bested by a child—isn’t that right, brat?”
Leah Caswell flashed a gummy grin. The orphaned girl boasted a mop of brown curls atop her head, but, sadly, very few teeth in her mouth. She was teething at an alarming rate, though Simon and Miss Staunton assured him all was well with her health.
Wade’s honorary niece had lost her parents at an early age, and he felt some kinship with the child. He’d never known his father and had been taken from his mother. Unconventional upbringings were hard on little ones. He would’ve hated to think Leah suffered ashehad done.
He turned his attention to Cassandra. It was obvious that she’d never played croquet. She stood at the edge of the boundary watching Simon instruct her sisters.
“Do you not wish to join us?” Wade asked, moving to stand beside her.
“I’m not very sporting,” she admitted. “I haven’t half the energy Honoria has.” Cassandra drummed her fingers on the handle of her mallet. “Besides, I’ll never learn from watching someone demonstrate. I need to do it myself.”
He respected that. “I can teach you, if you like.”
“But you shall miss out on playing…”
“I can play croquet at any time. It’s all the rage in town.”
He retrieved his mallet and joined her on the flat, clipped section of lawn. A warm breeze caressed the curling dark hair barely contained beneath her straw hat. It ruffled her skirts, for she wore muslin so delicate that it might disintegrate beneath his hands.
“Spread your legs, Miss Staunton.”
She blinked up at him.“What?”
Wade resisted the urge to smile. “You’ll need to spread your legs to swing.” He showed her with his wooden mallet, moving it like a pendulum between his knees. “Now, you try.”
She spread her feet on the grass. While he couldn’t see beneath her skirt hems, he assumed she had made enough room for the mallet. Cassandra swung clumsily. Her cage-crinoline waved.
The scene was almost comical.
Wade clicked a yellow ball to her, which rolled to a stop at her feet. “Let’s put it into practice, shall we?”
Again, Cassandra spread her legs. She wagged her mallet…and missed completely.
To her credit, she did not pout or give up. She did not storm off the course as he’d seen some gentlemen do whenever the game had not gone their way. She tried again, and again, and again until she put the ball toward its target.
Wade swung his own mallet and cracked his ball through the hoop. “You’re at a disadvantage.”
“Why, because I am a woman?” At that, she struck her ball with some force.
Cassandra Staunton was a modern, educated lady. She did not believe herself unequal to her male counterparts. He sensed an independent streak in her—in all three sisters—and was glad. He’d had enough of menfolk bullying ladies into giving up what they wanted in life.
“Youarewearing a frock.”
She arched a dark brow. “Would you prefer me without it, Your Grace?”
He smiled. The country miss had a saucy side. “You’ve seen sketches of croquet in play?” She nodded and he continued, “There is a reason ladies’ skirt hems are lifted off the grass. Look at Leah…”
They both turned to watch the child wield her mallet. She swung it between her lanky legs, which were clad in long white pantalets. Young children wore short frocks and pinafores. There were no hoop skirts inherway.
“I see,” Cassandra said. “Have you a spare pair of trousers I might borrow?”
Wade laughed loudly enough to distract the other players. Surely, the guests in the marquee tent had heard him. He pitied Lord Crewe’s spinning head—and his lovely wife, who’d been abandoned to the Raineses.
“Are you determined to win, madam?”
She blushed from the attention they’d drawn. “I do not like to fail, sir.”
