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Mama turned around at the sound of her daughters speaking. “Ah, you have finally returned. I trust the lemonade was worth the lengthy time it took you.” She raised her eyebrows knowingly.

Marianne knew she shouldn’t have taken so long. Speaking with two gentlemen had been pressing her luck. Three was just asking for trouble.

“I was merely taken with Lord Ryecombe being injured, that’s all,” she said.

“Oh, yes. Poor man.” Mother faced forward again. “I do hope he will be all right.”

“I’m sure he will be, my dear,” Father said, patting her hand that she laced through his arm.

Another crack echoed around the field, and Mother and Father both faced the game once more. Unfortunately, Beatrice wasn’t so easily distracted, her blue eyes boring into Marianne.

In every way, the sisters were opposites. While Marianne had green eyes and dark brown hair, her older sister was blue-eyed and blonde. Marianne’s nose was littered with a sprinkling of freckles, and Beatrice had not a blemish to be seen.

Truthfully, Marianne was more than happy with Beatrice being the prettier of the two. Having such beauty meant that Beatrice would marry sooner. Or at least, it was supposed to have meant that.

“Where were you, really?” Beatrice asked, leaning toward Marianne so their parents couldn’t hear.

Marianne smiled innocently. “By the refreshment table.” That wasn’t a lie. Each man she’d spoken to had been by the refreshments.

“And what were you doing over there?”

“Why, getting refreshment, of course.”

Beatrice frowned, though no wrinkle formed in the middle of her brow. “Very well. I’ll allow you to keep your secrets, only because I’m too tired to pull the truth from you.” She stifled a yawn, covering her mouth with her laced glove. “Do you have any idea how much longer the game will last?”

“I imagine another hour or so. Lord Ryecombe’s injury delayed us a good deal.”

Beatrice grimaced.

“Are you not enjoying yourself?” Marianne asked.

Beatrice glanced sidelong. “What is there to enjoy about a cricket match?”

Marianne nodded with understanding. Though cricket was an exciting game to her, and she would die for a chance to play herself, Beatrice had never liked the sport. But after her parents had become acquainted with Lord Ryecombe at the assemblies last evening in Bath, their family had been invited to watch the match at Briarwood. Beatrice had protested the idea, but Father never passed on an invitation to improve his standing with gentlemen.

Marianne couldn’t complain about the match herself. For once, the sun was bright and warm, she was away from the confines of her home, the happy chatter around her buoyed her spirits, and the food was delectable.

The last man she’d spoken to had apparently thought the same thing.

She smiled, looking past Beatrice to try to spot him again, but he was hidden amongst the others. Shame.

“Who are you staring at?”

Marianne hesitated. “Oh, no one. I was just admiring gowns and such.”

Beatrice eyed her with suspicion again, but Marianne leaned forward, clasping her knees in her hands before Beatrice could press her for more information. “Perhaps you and I could take a walk to the refreshment table. I’m certain we could meet some interesting people on our way.”

Heavens, but she was laying it on thickly.

Beatrice shook her head. “I’m not one for socializing at the moment.”

Marianne couldn’t understand it. If she were Beatrice, she wouldn’t hesitate to speak to every man within ear shot. Heavens, Marianne wasn’t even out in Society yet, and she’d already brashly approached three different men.

If Father discovered her improper behavior, there certainly would be consequences. He was taken with appearances, especially as of late. But truly, Marianne’s behavior was as much for her sister’s sake as it was for her own. Ten years had passed since Beatrice’s search for a husband began—and five years since Marianne had believed hers would begin. She wanted Beatrice to be happily settled. Was it so very wrong for Marianne to wish for the same herself?

“If you are so very bored with cricket, perhaps we could play a game of our own,” she suggested next.

“What do you have in mind?” The usual, perpetual somberness dimmed Beatrice’s eyes.