Page 93 of Playing to Win

They sat for the first course, oysters on the half shell. Thanks to Andrew’s dress rehearsal, Colin knew to use a fork to pick out the meat, then drink the remaining juice from the end of the shell, and finally to use the finger bowl to clean his fingers.

Most etiquette rules, Colin had discovered, were mere common sense. Still, it was exhausting to remember them all—like eating soup off the side of the spoon instead of the end, or tearing off each bite of bread instead of chomping the roll and setting its saliva-drenched remains on his plate—while at the same time keeping up pleasant conversation. But he wouldn’t have done so well on his A-levels if he weren’t clever and a quick learner.

At the end of the main course, the door to the veranda opened, but instead of the butler, out streaked a pair of yapping terriers, one white and one black. They rushed down the porch stairs and into the garden, ignoring the diners.

“Bonnie! Clyde!” Lord Kirkross called as he stood. The dogs ignored him. “I’d better collect them before they dig up all the roses.”

“I’ll give you a hand, Dad.” Andrew got to his feet, giving Colin’s shoulder a reassuring brush of fingertips. “Be right back.”

“Those wee rapscallions,” Lady Kirkross said to Colin. “The problem with collecting a pack of animals no one else wants is that there’s often a good reason no one wants them.”

Colin watched the dogs spin around the garden, easily avoiding their pursuers. “Is ‘pack’ the term for a group of terriers? Seems it should be ‘tornado.’”

Lady Kirkross laughed. “Oh, I like that. ‘A tornado of terriers.’”

Dermot came out then to serve the pudding course, a mixed-berry sorbet.Good, something simple.Colin waited until Andrew’s mother had tucked in, then began to eat his own.

“How did you enjoy New York?” she asked him. “Was it everything you’d imagined?”

“And more. The energy was tremendous.”

“It sounded quite the lark.” She took another dainty bite of her sorbet. “I hope it was worth it.”

Colin’s spoon froze above his dish. “Sorry?”

“On your weekend abroad, Andrew was meant to go to the Perth Ball, a significant event in our social season.” She dabbed her napkin at the corner of her mouth. “Several royals were in attendance. One of them asked after Andrew, and I had to tell them my son had broken his commitment to be present.”

“I’m sorry.” Colin’s heart thundered in his chest. “I didnae—I didn’t know.”

“Andrew explained what this Broadway show meant to you. About your uncle’s death in the war.” She tilted her head. “I was sorry to hear about that.”

“Thank you. But he shouldn’t have broken his obligation. We could have waited.”

“My son’s not one for waiting, as I assume you’ve noticed. When he wants something, he takes it and asks forgiveness later. Or not.” Lady Kirkross dipped her spoon into her sorbet but didn’t lift it. “He has made some foolish decisions on your account.”

Colin’s mouth went pure dry.

She turned her head toward the garden, where Andrew and his father were laughing at the dogs. “This may seem an outrageous statement to someone in your position, but we can’t offer Andrew much, his father and I. Dunleven costs a fortune to maintain.”

Colin nodded, afraid to speak. Even the crickets seemed to have suddenly hushed.

“This means that after university, Andrew won’t have the sort of money which automatically opens doors to success. To make his way in the world, he’ll need to rely on his social connections.”

Or his abilities, like the rest of us.Anger boiled within Colin. He set down his spoon as lightly as he could.

“Ma’am.” Colin struggled to keep his voice low and level. “Are you asking me to save Andrew’s reputation by leaving him?”

Lady Kirkross raised her chin. “I wasn’t finished.”

“But—”

“Please.” She held up a silencing hand that Colin recognized well from his time with Andrew. “I was about to add the words, ‘Or so I’ve always believed.’”

Colin squinted at her. Now he knew where Andrew inherited his sense of drama.

Her face softened, and her voice dropped to a whisper. “He may lose his station if he loves you, but he’ll be happy. I’ve not seen such genuine joy on his face since he was a child. When he looks at you…” She paused, smoothing the ends of her shoulder-length silver hair. “He’s always put on a good show, but deep down—not even very deep—he’s growing weary of the life he’s built for himself. He wants something more. He’sworthsomething more than being a Twitter celebrity and the toast of London society. If he goes down that path, he’ll become yet another shallow, self-absorbed toff.” To Colin’s surprise, she reached across the table and grasped his hand. “But with someone like you to inspire him, he could do great things.”

He knew he should be flattered—and relieved—by her faith and support. But a few of her words made him uneasy. “By ‘great things,’ you mean…”

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