“We did. My partner and I won.” He smiled, pleased he could tell her of his accomplishment.
“And you enjoyed winning.”
“Yes, of course. Wouldn’t you?” He was puzzled by her question. That was the purpose of any game, to win.
“I’m not sure, but I am enjoying the game nonetheless.” She leaned closer, her citric scent wafting upward into his nostrils. “To be fair, I doubt very much that I will win and I am not disappointed by that fact at all. We are having such a lovely time, anyway.”
Her answer puzzled him, but he took a moment and looked back over his shoulder to see that Dearling’s ball had now somehow rolled under a hedge. The foursome waiting to play the hoop didn’t appear to be concerned as they talked to each other, the men with their mallets slung over their shoulders. He turned back and started their stroll again. “It appears that the group behind you is content to converse while we retrieve your ball.”
“You sound surprised by that. I’m not because those four were talking quite a bit in the parlor last evening. I believe the game is simply an excuse to have more conversation. Perhaps they find each other more interesting than the game.”
They stopped before her ball, and he bent to retrieve it. He stared at it as if it could solve the puzzle of her ideas. “In your estimation, then, the purpose of pall-mall it not to win, but to play?”
She shook her head, causing the pale-green bonnet to fall a bit to one side. “Not simply to play, but toenjoy. For what is a game’s purpose but to spend the time in a different manner for enjoyment? For some, such as yourself, the accomplishment of being the first to reach the game’s goal is what is enjoyed. For others, like myself and Lord Dearling, it is the enjoyment of sharing laughter with others who have poor skills. Still, for those behind us, it is the pleasure of each other’s company. I imagine for still others, it is the camaraderie of a shared purpose and for some, it may be simply the enjoyment of honing a skill. It was Francis Bacon who said we need to cultivate our natural abilities so as to—” She dropped her mallet and pressed her hand to her mouth.
“What is it?” Concern for her welfare flared through him. “Do you feel faint?”
She shook her head but didn’t remove her hand.
“Tell me what is amiss. Perhaps I can help.”
She dropped her hand and her shoulders slumped. “I’d been doing so well all day until now.” She let out a heavy sigh and looked at him. “That was far too many sentences. I broke your rule, and with you, of all people. I’m sorely disappointed in myself.”
His rule? “Oh, you mean my suggestion.”
“No, don’t say that. If it’s not a rule, I won’t follow it.” She shook her head emphatically and the bonnet, already lopsided, fell more to the right, which on any other woman would have looked ridiculous, but on Dorothea seemed to be just right.
“Very well, if it’s my rule, then I do believe I can make an exception when you speak to me.”
Her brows lowered as she cocked her head. “I’m not sure. I was doing so well with my new skill. No one was turning away from my conversation.”
That his idea was aiding her filled him with pleasure. “I’m very pleased to learn that. But also remember, I never turned away from you when you spoke more than three sentences. In fact, if I recall, it was that particular habit that engaged me in our first true conversation.”
Her eye’s brightened and she stood straighter. “That’s true. So with everyone else, I must stay with three sentences or be silent, but with you, I’m free to follow my thoughts.”
He smiled, feeling oddly honored. “Yes.”
“I do like that I can relax when speaking to you. Do you think we can make Rose an exception, too? She seems to truly enjoy it when I ramble.”
Her request for permission had his chest filling with warmth even as his mind recognized he was not her tutor, though in some aspects, perhaps he was. “I think that would be acceptable if it doesn’t make it more difficult for you to limit your conversation with others.”
“Hmm, perhaps I can only follow my squiggly lines with Rose when we are in private.” She gazed directly at him. “I will have to do the same with you as well. It will be too much to think about if it’s not the same.”
“Agreed. That is an excellent plan.”
“Dory, did you find your ball?” The shout from Rose had them both turning.
He held the ball aloft. “Shall we return you to your game?”
“Yes. I do so enjoy it.”
“Then let us walk back to your group post-haste.” He bent and retrieved her mallet for her before walking her toward his sister, pleased that Lady Dorothea enjoyed the game in her own way. He had learned more from her in the few days since she arrived than he had from anyone in the last year. He found himself looking forward to more insights from her in the coming days.
Lord Dearling approached. “Lady Dorothea, I do believe it is your turn.”
Letting go of Felton’s arm, the lady in question held her hand out for her ball. Reluctantly, he returned it, as there was no reason to stay longer. She handed it to Dearling and the two set off to the spot she needed to hit from.
“I think I’m ready for that refreshment now.” His sister linked her arm in his, forcing him to look away.
