“That drink was rather nice,” Tilly said.
Her voice was mellower; perhaps the strength of the alcohol had softened her.
“And it did not have mutton fat in it, unlike yours, Ambrose.”
Perhaps not.
He shot a quick glance at the competition. Mungo was tied to Eliza and Anna. It happened so fast. Had he not been watching, Ambrose would not have seen the hand that pushed the back of Gray’s jacket. The man tripped and stumbled. His wife righted him.
“For pity’s sake, Gray, you’ve had a single drink!”
“I was p-pushed,” Gray said, outraged, turning to look at who the culprit could be. His eyes settled on Mungo. “You!”
Mungo increased his pace, towing Eliza and Anna with him past the outraged detective. Mavis, Theo, and a boy Ambrose didn’t know were in the lead.
Someone elbowed Ambrose, and he wheezed out a breath. His sister ran past Charles and Alex.
“Absolutely not!” Tilly said. “She is not beating us.”
“Agreed. Move it, ladies.” Ambrose increased his own stride.
Tilly drank the next mug before he could reach her, but he got the next.
“Are there more tables this time?” Fred demanded. “I feel like there are.”
“Oh for pity’s sake, Ram, a slug could run faster than you!” Flora yelled from beside them.
It was chaos. Children ran around screaming, and adults became more pickled as they drank alcohol. Ambrose had long since given up any inhibitions by the last table, which was where he would get the spiced rum. He remembered that had been by far the best beverage at the games.
“Mine.” Tilly lunged for it, taking him with her. Fred managed to stay upright by gripping the table for support.
He grabbed Tilly as she went down, pulling her uprightand into his body. Everything stilled in that brief moment as they stared at each other.
I want you, he thought.
“What can you hold in your left hand but never in your right?” Mrs. Acton asked.
“This cake is delicious,” Fred said, having hastily untied herself.
Ambrose released Tilly and took a large step back, which simply brought her with him, but still, it broke the moment. What was wrong with him? This was Tilly. His little sister’s irritating friend.
“Winner, Mavis and her team!”
“Bother,” Fred said with her mouth full.
Tilly was trying to untie their wrists with too much haste and not enough care.
“Let me,” Violet said.
His sister was looking at him as she worked the knots, and the look in her eyes had the hair on the back of his neck rising.
“What?” Ambrose demanded when Tilly left, walking across the grass as if she had somewhere to be.
“What was that?”
“What?”
“You, holding Tilly and gazing into her eyes.”
