Their eyes catch and Catherine can’t help but smirk. Screw the boys,thisis war.
After a minute, MissRaught scores the first point, sending the birdie down and low in a hit that MissLinet just misses.
“One, nothing!” MissRaught exclaims, her words ringing around the garden.
“Take her down, Rosalie,” MissLinet insists, passing the birdie to Lady Rosalie.
Catherine bends her knees, racket at the ready. Lady Rosalie stares at her for a long pause, and then lightning quick, the birdie is up and they’re volleying.
Immediately, Lady Rosalie has Catherine dodging to one side. Catherine does her best to aim her return high, so tiny Lady Rosalie has to jump to hit the birdie. Which she doeswith impeccable reflexes. But Catherine didn’t spend her entire childhood locked into tournaments with Richard and her father for nothing.
“Come on, Rosalie!” MissLinet exclaims.
“You’ve got this, MissPine,” MissRaught counters.
Catherine lunges as far as her dress will allow to bat back Lady Rosalie’s latest shot. She hopes she hasn’t torn it.
“I could do this all day,” Lady Rosalie says, faking a yawn.
Catherine flicks her wrist to hit the birdie toward her knees, forcing Lady Rosalie to bend at an absurd angle to bop it back into the air. “So could I,” Catherine says.
But she’s breathing pretty heavily. At least Lady Rosalie is as well. Her beautiful chest is heaving, her throat all pink, cheeks red, eyes wild, hair going frizzy beneath her pretty bonnet.
She can’t let herself get lost in Lady Rosalie’s beauty. Not now. She needs to win. For MissRaught. To wipe the smug look off Lady Rosalie’s face. To continue to see the challenge in her entrancing gray-blue eyes.
“Come on!” MissLinet shouts.
“Get her, MissPine! You can take her, I know you can,” MissRaught returns.
“MissPine’s got nothing on Rosalie; we’re going to win,” MissLinet argues.
Catherine and Lady Rosalie exchange a heated series of volleys, gasping and panting and making more noise than they should, but it’sfun. The four of them shouting and making a ruckus is delightful. And Lady Rosalie is just so... glorious.
After five more minutes, Catherine is sweating and suddenly aware that they’ve attracted a crowd. She can hear the gentlemen chiming in with MissRaught’s and MissLinet’s increasingly competitive calls.
They should stop. Should act ladylike. Shouldn’t exert themselves or be so loud and boisterous. But damn if she’s going to let the boys prevent her from beating Lady Rosalie.
Lady Rosalie, whose eyes are alight, brows down, jaw set, parrying back and forth with Catherine as if the glory of England might hang in the balance.
“Come on!” MissRaught yells.
And Catherine finally manages to get the birdie past Lady Rosalie, sending it sailing so far over her head, it hits the hedge and bounces to the ground.
“Ha-hah!” Catherine exclaims, jumping up and down.
MissRaught nearly tackles her in a hug, shrieking in glee. It’s only two points total, but it must have taken fifteen minutes.
Catherine holds on to MissRaught’s arm, beaming and sweaty and victorious.
“Ugh!” Lady Rosalie shouts, throwing her racket toward the hedge.
There’s a brief silence where MissRaught, MissLinet, Catherine, and all of the surrounding men stare at Lady Rosalie. Lady Rosalie looks across at Catherine, scowling.
It starts slowly, the joy and amusement and sheer wonder of seeing Lady Rosalie so discomposed making her laugh. And then Lady Rosalie’s lips twitch, and Catherine loses it altogether, until they’re both laughing, MissRaught and MissLinet joining in.
Lady Rosalie wipes at her eyes and walks over, extending her hand to Catherine. MissRaught lets her go so Catherine can take her palm in a sportsmanlike shake, even though they’re both still teary with laughter.
Catherine knows the whole party is watching them—can practically feel her mother’s glare from the patio where all themothers have gathered—but it all falls away the moment their hands meet.
