Page 37 of The Duchess Games

“I have no intention of being dipped like a candle into the ocean,” Summer said.

“But… those ladies are very strong. What if I slip and go under?”

“Miss Sparrow is a sturdy girl, “Lady Siddal remarked. Cat knew exactly what she meant by sturdy. Too soft, too wide, too curved. Too strong.

“Statuesque,” Summer agreed. “Just as my brother prefers,” she added archly.

Cat smiled weakly at Summer’s outrageous and incendiary comment. Someone was likely to hold her head under if Summer didn’t stop.

Lady Siddal sniffed. “I suppose a village girl who sings shanties would know everything about swimming and seaweed and fish.” Her disdain was palpable, her smile all teeth. “One can smell it on you, after all.”

“You can stand by me,” Cat said to Lady Imogen, because it was safer than anything else she might have said in the moment. “I won’t let you go under.”

“Thank you,” Lady Imogen’s lips trembled. She reminded Cat of the kittens Cook was harboring, bumbling on soft feet, anxious and always seeking comfort. Lady Imogen dropped her voice to a whisper. “I still don’t have a bathing dress.”

“Neither do I,” Cat admitted. She’d never needed one. You swam in your chemise or in the nude. A special dress made to soak up water and pull you under seemed like madness to her.

“You shan’t need one,” Summer announced. “We’ll be perfectly fine in our chemises.” There was a pause. “Come on ladies, no simpering misses here. Gwyn, Mary and Isolde are here to assist us.”

There was a flurry of activity as the ladies’ maids lent their assistance with buttons and ties and the laces of stays. Cat had never had a maid as her short stays laced in the front. The tense, hesitant atmosphere gradually gave way as the ladies stepped into the warm water. Muscles softened, shoulders loosened. And though the stress of such an odd competition did not dissolve, it was slightly overpowered by the pleasures of a late summer’s day.

Lady Imogen stuck close to Cat, but after a few minutes of not dying a terrible watery death, she too relaxed. Summer swam lazily in the clear green water, her dark hair piled on top of her head. Cat might not be a dipper, but she found herself assisting the women who could not swim well as they gravitated towards her. Cat didn’t mind. She needed something to distract her.

Because she remembered this tide pool. Vividly.

How could she not?

She had swum here once, a very long time ago, with a young Callum, not yet the duke, not even quite a man yet. They peeled their clothes off and slipped into the water, legs brushing, fingers touching, breaths meeting in the evening air above their heads. When he’d kissed her, every thought, every worry had fled. She’d never had a moment like that before or since. She was a woman who could barely afford the roof over her family’s head, with a sister who wanted more, a brother who was not meant for the dangers of fishing, and too many dogs to feed. Worry was like air. She knew it more intimately than she had ever known Callum.

But not that night. She still remembered the way he’d dragged her through the water towards him, his hands strong and purposeful, his dark eyes burning. Before his father died, before he became a duke. Before everything changed.

“All right, ladies. The Duchess Games continue!”

Summer’s voice cut through her daydream. It was probably best not to think about Callum. About what they might have been to each other. About the way she sometimes caught him looking at her in the drawing room and the heat that chased through her in response.

Lady Imogen perched comfortably on a smooth stone outcrop, her legs making circles under the water. “I think I shall forfeit this race.”

Summer raised an eyebrow. “Very bold.”

Lady Imogen flushed as though she had been offered the best of compliments. “Anyone else?”

“Certainly not,” Lady Siddal said, surprising no one. She floated like a leaf, delicate and elegant. There was nothing hesitant about her.

In the end it was down to Lady Siddal, Lady Ruby, Miss Wentworth, Miss Emmeline, and Cat. The pool was just wide enough to accommodate them. Cat’s heart bumped its rhythm. She might not be as competitive as her sister, but she owned she did not wish to lose to Lady Siddal and her belittling sneers. She wised Viola were here. She’d have already won the race and would be sitting daintily at the finish line wearing a crown of wildflowers.

But alas. It was down to Cat to save the family name.

In so many more ways than this. A twinge of unease went through her. This race meant nothing, really. But it felt heavy and sharp, nonetheless. Like a foreshadowing. If she could not win a simple swimming race, how could she run a smuggling gang? How could save her siblings?

The water lapped at her neck, tauntingly. How could—

“Miss Sparrow! Swim!”

She was only a second or two behind, but she’d been so trapped in her own thoughts, she hadn’t heard Summer shout “Begin!” It was Lady Imogen screaming Cat’s name in a screech worthy of any fishwife that set Cat to moving. She pumped her legs, sliced her arms through water. All she could see were bubbles, frothing waves, a slice of blue sky above. The tide pool churned with the force of their swimming, pushing, pushing. Someone cursed. Loudly. The race ended abruptly in gasps for air and bursts of laughter.

Summer stood on the edge of the pool, red-cheeked from shouting encouragements. “And it’s a tie! Congratulations, Lady Siddal… and Miss Sparrow!”

Never mind the revenue men.