Page 5 of The Duchess Games

“Or bathing in it. They already think us savage.”

“And so we are, when required.” Cat climbed into the fountain. The water was cool and clean. Poseidon watched her impassively, his crown green with moss. She crouched down, water soaking into her dress despite her precautions. Upon closer inspection, the turtle had wedged itself tightly between two stone whorls. “You’re going to have to get in here with me,” Cat said.

“Absolutely not. This dress is new! It has silk ribbons!”

“We can’t just leave Bartholomew here.”

Viola paused. Cat had no doubt that their mother’s voice was singing a similar chorus inside her head. “Bartholomew is a ridiculous name.” She sighed and scowled at the turtle. “Serves you right. How did you even climb up there?”

He did not deign to reply.

“Sir Bartholomew is a man of mystery,” Cat said with a mock sniff.

Viola took her off her shoes with much more care than Cat had shown. Her stockings followed, unmended and pristine. She rolled them carefully and tucked them inside her shoes, far from any offending dirt. Then she sighed again, before stepping up onto the fluted edge of the fountain. She might complain, but she wouldn’t leave a creature stuck and stranded any more than Cat would. It just wasn’t in their blood.

“At least it’s clean,” she said, sounding cheerful again. “Remember that pond with the heron stuck in the netting?”

“Remember it?” Cat snorted. “I still have nightmares.” It had smelled like rotting death and was full of bugs. The heron, once freed, had left a mess on her arm. Gratitude in the animal kingdom was not particularly clean.

Viola squeezed next to Cat. “This is cozy.” Her elbow jabbed Cat’s ribs accidentally.

“Ouch.”

“Like I said. Cozy.”

“Grab the end of the shell there. Mind you don’t cut yourself. Ready?” Cat waited for Viola’s nod. “One, two… three!”

They pulled.

They pushed.

They heaved to and fro.

Nothing.

Well, not nothing. Bartholomew made a sound very much like a hiss. Cat hadn’t known turtles could even make that sound. Could she translate it into English she felt certain it would be more suited to the docks than a duke’s gardens. His neck extended and Cat remembered quite suddenly why snapping turtles were called snapping turtles.

“Get back!” She shouldered Viola behind her. Viola squeaked.

Bartholomew extended his head again, snapping the air once in warning. Cat stepped back to catch her breath and recalculate their efforts.

“Of course, this couldn’t be easy,” Viola muttered, wiping water off her face. She pointed at the turtle accusingly. “You, sir, have terrible timing.”

As if to prove her point, there was a rustle from the other side of the fountain.

A large man-sized rustle.

Viola peeked over Poseidon’s shoulder, staying hidden. She stiffened. “The duke!” Her eyes widened with panic. “Cat, he can’t see me like this. It’s not genteel.”

Viola was the only Sparrow with any particular regard for gentility. It did not make her life any easier.

“I’ll lose before the games even begin!”

Cat didn’t point out that games implied some kind of fun being had and the dowager’s competition sounded like anything but. She’d rather sit in this fountain with Bartholomew for the rest of the week.

Viola was confident, kind, competitive. She was also chewing anxiously at her thumbnail. Her breaths were too short, stuttering. Cat tried her most soothing smile. “Vi, it’ll be fine. I’ve got this, you sneak through that juniper hedge and get back to the house.”

Viola’s mouth trembled. “Truly?”