Cheeks bright and chest heaving with competitive energy, Isabel shot back, “What isn’t done? Strategy?”
“Not that sort,” Hugh sputtered. “Not in a civilized society!”
Isabel stood her ground. “What sort of fool thinks there’s anything civilized about a competition?”
“Lady Percival!” Hugh seemed to have run out of arguments.
“That’s my Isabel!” exclaimed Mrs. Gardiner.
Percy held his tongue, but not the smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth.
Hugh drew himself up with indignation. He would make a formidable duke someday. “We donotbatter one another. It’s best we end the match here.”
Miss Radclyffe stepped forward. “Oh, don’t stop play on account of me. I am uninjured and rather enjoying myself.”
“I do offer my apologies, Miss Radclyffe,” Isabel said, battle-lust fading from her eyes. “I can get carried away in the heat of a moment.”
Hugh looked at Percy meaningfully, as if telling him to keep his wife in line. Percy responded with an almost imperceptible shrug, but Hugh caught it, and his nostrils flared in frustration.
First, Isabel wasn’t his wife to order about.
Second, even if she were, he wouldn’t dream of it. He liked her like this.
He gave the ball three tight bounces and readied his serve. “Set point.” He tossed the ball into the air, hoping to deliver an ace down the center line when a scrum of four wild-eyed boys blasted from the shrubberies, shouting and waving their arms in cacophonous battle cry as they ran circles around the court, taunting and teasing their older brother Hugh.
Everyone understood the match had come to an immediate end. Everyone except Isabel, who remained locked in position, waiting for Percy to serve. She threw an impatient glare over her shoulder. “Well?”
“I believe that’s the match,wife.” He couldn’t help that last word, meant as a tease, but somehow it didn’t feel like one.
Isabel threw her racket to the ground in disgust. Percy wanted nothing more than to throw her over his shoulder and march her to bed. The woman had become a drug in his veins. Only more of her would do.
“What did I miss?” Lucy stood at the edge of the court, looking very much like she would enjoy nothing more than to join in and contribute to the chaos that had broken out. How much Percy liked his daughter. If only he could convince her to like him, too.
Mrs. Gardiner came to her feet and dusted herself off. “Miss Bretagne, Miss Radclyffe, come and walk with me.” She waved the girls over. “We must discuss how you would like your dresses remade for the dance. We only have a few days, and we must look our best for such a lively occasion. What are your favorite colors? Miss Radclyffe, please tell me that yours is plum.”
“I believe purple is a mourning color, Mrs. Gardiner,” replied Miss Radclyffe.
The girl was practical and forthright. Percy approved of her as the dearest friend of his daughter. Not that he had the right, as Lucy had made clear.
“Oh, dratted social convention,” said Mrs. Gardiner. “But right you are. Perhaps we can sneak a pale shade of lavender into the trim without anyone noticing. Come, let’s take your measurements.”
The trio tossed distracted farewell waves over their shoulders as they strolled toward the manor house, already deep in sartorial conversation.
Hugh looked on like a forlorn pup as he watched them recede into the distance. A tennis ball thrown by one of his more daring brothers bonked him on the side of the head with a loudpop!The lad snapped to. “Who did that?”
The boys giggled and blew raspberries at their oh-so-serious brother. Hugh stood alone, on the brink of decision. Mind made up, he raised his arms above his head, hands clenched into claws, face contorted in ferocity, and bellowed a loud roar. “Don’t let me catch you!” His brothers scurried away, screaming in delight as Hugh tore after them, snatching up the littlest of the group and tucking him under one arm, as he continued his charge down the hill toward the pond.
That left Percy alone with Isabel.
Her cheeks flushed bright, he couldn’t resist reaching out and tucking an errant tendril behind her ear. Any excuse to touch her, to take a hit of her intoxication.
Awareness stole into the air.
“I should return to the cottage,” she said in a voice not very sure of itself. That voice implied she might be convinced to stay. “I may be needed to help with the babe.”
Percy’s fingers itched to take her hand. He resisted. “Isabel, about last night—”
“And don’t you have matters to attend in the stable?” A smile that wanted out quirked about her mouth. “Your natural habitat.”
