Page 41 of Miss Dramatic
Her ladyship laughed and brandished her mallet at him.
“My sister is in charity with her spouse again. One is relieved for the peace of Crosspatch Corners.”
“Let’s stroll a bit, shall we?” Rose said, offering him a suspiciously bland smile. “The referees will soon be quoting Marcus Aurelius over by the terrace.”
Gavin happily obliged. In this situation, he would not take Rose’s arm, much less her hand, but something troubled her besides the tedium of play. She’d been sending glances at the windows since choosing her ball and mallet.
“The ladies have been asking me about you,” Rose said, pausing as if to admire a torch stand surrounded by thriving red salvia. “Asking me what I think of you. It happened at supper last night and again at breakfast.”
“I’m the only bachelor in sight. Of course they’ll ask about me.”
“Not that sort of asking. Lady Duncannon has looked into your finances. She and Miss Peasegood both wanted the specifics of how I’d met you. Their interest did not seem benign.”
“They aren’t showing me any special attention.” Or were they? Gavin thought back to the initial buffet, when Lady Iris had insisted on being introduced to him, then swanned off. Miss Peasegood had intruded on Drysdale’s introductions at supper, and Lady Duncannon had dragooned Gavin onto her team.
Over by the terrace, Lady Iris had adopted the politely anxious air of a woman who didn’t want to hold up play, while Drysdale and Lord Phillip again measured a mallet length below the single step that raised the terrace. Gallantry won over strict protocol, and her ladyship’s ball was placed at an easy angle for her next wicket.
Her smile was self-conscious and convincing, but also…
“She’s acting,” Gavin muttered. “And that hesitant, bashful air… I have the sense I’ve seen Lady Iris before.” In a different costume, in a different role.
“If you frequented Town between terms, you might have come across her. Could she have attended one of your performances?”
“Not likely.”
Her ladyship, under the guise of tilting the brim of her straw hat, looked directly at him. Her smile shifted, and she waved politely in a manner that included Rose.
“She was watching us,” Rose said, “and trying not to get caught at it. Gavin, what in blazes is going on?”
“Maybe nothing more than a little perfunctory nosiness.” They had reached the far end of the hedge, and the temptation to nip around, out of sight of the other guests, to steal a hug, a kiss, even a clasp of hands… “Would youmindif the ladies were matchmaking?”
Rose’s gaze went again to the house. “We were seen, last night. Somebody spied us taking our practice shots. My maid remarked it. I am the only guest on this side of the house, and Timmens implied she’d not been the one keeping watch. Vigils at darkened windows don’t usually characterize matchmakers.”
“If somebody’s maid wanted privacy with one of Tavistock’s footmen, they’d seek it on the west side of the house. Are you sure Timmens wasn’t simply being protective of your reputation? She’s something of a dragon where your good name is concerned.” Gavin kept to himself the notion that Timmens herself might have been trysting. Those overly preoccupied with decorum in others were often the first to bend rules on their own behalf.
“Timmens does like to scold, you are right about that,” Rose said, starting toward the court. “We’ll be up next. Can you arrange to stroll the towpath with me this evening?”
That did not sound like a romantic invitation. “Of course. We’re scheduled for a picnic supper if this tournament ever concludes, then Drysdale has agreed to entertain us with a few choice speeches. He was made for the speeches, for short recitations with all eyes upon him.”
Rose swung her mallet idly as she walked along. “What were you made for, Gavin DeWitt?”
Loving you.He knew better than to speak the words aloud, but they resonated in his mind with an authenticity he hadn’t felt since he’d last been on the stage—oddly enough. A rightness. A substance and truth that sprang from his soul.
“To hear my family tell it, I was made for respectable squiredom. My steward thinks I was made for repetitious weekly lectures about the approach of harvest. At the Arms, I’m to give a good account of myself on darts night, and Mr. Dabney would tell you my purpose is to heed all of his sage and antiquated wisdom regarding horse racing.”
None of those burdens was onerous in itself, and try as he might, Gavin could find only goodwill and best intentions aimed his direction. And yet…
“As I am to appreciate Timmens’s frequent displays of disapproval. You miss the acting, don’t you?”
They stopped at the edge of the court while Lady Duncannon deflected her shot off Tavistock’s ball to make a nearly impossible angle through a wicket. She curtseyed dramatically to the smattering of applause and blew the marquess a kiss.
“We are all acting most of the time,” Gavin said. “I miss being able to choose my roles.”
“You miss the stage?”
He gave her his best green-room smile. “I’ve put all that behind me, exorcised a youthful demon, put away childish things.”
Lady Ducannon took her extra shots and yielded the court to Miss Peasegood.
