Cecil could hear her, but he could hardly comprehend most of what was said, because his attention was wandering to Penelope once more. She was pouting now as she rescinded her turn, opting to let her brother have a go while she stared at her mallet as though it was the reason for her failure.
And although it was very clear that Penelope was uninterested in having a conversation with him, Cecil could not help but gravitate towards her once more.
“– have any more childhood stories to share? I would like to hear more –”
“I'm sorry,” he cut Heather off gently. “I need to ensure that lady doesn’t accidentally take someone’s head off the next time she attempts a shot.”
Without waiting for her to respond, he made his way to Penelope, casually standing by her side.
“You are not actually as bad as it seems, are you? It is one thing to miss some shots but the direction taken by the hits you succeed in making are rather strange. That requires a particular level of skill, I believe.” He whispered conspiringly, keeping his gaze forward.
When he was met with silence, he forced himself to question.
“Are you... upset with me, per chance?”
She was quiet for a moment, then she said, “I am.”
He did not need to ask why she was upset, not when memories of what had transpired between them the night before were still fresh in his mind.
After all, he had been searching for her all morning to apologize for his actions. But now that he was by her side and she had admitted that his actions had affected her… he suddenly could not find the words to do so.
A streak of stubbornness flashed through him, and his lips parted before he realized what he was saying.
“I suppose you’d want an apology or for me to claim responsibility for what happened. But truthfully, you seemed to enjoy yourself, as much as I did.” He told her lowly.
“I did no such thing!” Penelope hissed.
“There’s nothing wrong with it! It is natural to be curious. We’re only human, after all. It is our nature to want to know about it, much less to relish in the sensations that come along with it.” Cecil told her quickly.
Penelope let out a frustrated groan, just as Lionel called her forward for her turn. She left Cecil’s side without another word, taking her place a few feet away from the ball.
Cecil snorted and pointed at the distance between her and the ball.
“You’re too far from it, Lady Penelope. Are you afraid of the ball?” he teased.
Penelope tightened her grip on the mallet, and it was only after she swung that he noticed something was wrong with her stance.
However, there was nothing he could do at that point, because the ball was headed right for him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Penelope watched her ball soar in a direction it wasn’t supposed to go.
At first, she was disappointed once more to see that she had failed to get it through the hoop. Then it continued to fly, colliding against Cecil’s shoulder as he held his hands up to shield his face.
The force of the impact must have been great because it knocked him to the ground.
It took her a few moments to realize her ball had hit someone — not just anyone, but Cecil.
“Oh my God —” she dropped her mallet and ran to his side, reaching for him in worry but hesitating before she touched him. “Are you all right?”
Cecil shook his head as he attempted to wave her away with one hand, while the other held onto his left shoulder.
“Your aim might be lacking but you put quite a bit of strength in your swings. Not bad at all.” He said, voice thick with an emotion that sounded a lot like pain.
Penelope reached for the shoulder he purposely angled away from her body, inhaling sharply at how he winced when she poked at it. She inhaled sharply, and panic flooded her senses as she ran through a list of possible injuries he might’ve sustained.
“Oh no — I’m sorry, Your Grace. I did not —”
