“Don’t call me a kettle.” She started marching back to the beginning of the course. As best as she could; she really did look ridiculous with her two-part limp.
He waited for a moment, grinning at her back. “Are you sure you don’t want the black mallet?”
“I hate you!” she called.
He couldn’t help but smile. It was quite the merriest declaration of hate he’d ever heard.
“I hate you, too,” he murmured.
But he didn’t mean it, either.
Chapter 15
B
illie was humming quite happily by the time she reached the beginning of the Pall Mall course. She was in a remarkably cheerful mood, all things considered. Andrew was still being abominably impatient, and Lady Alexandra was still the most awful person in the history of the world, but none of that seemed to matter.
She peeked over her shoulder at George. He’d been following her the whole way, trading insults with a wolfish smile.
“What are you so happy about?” Andrew demanded.
She smiled enigmatically. Let him stew for a bit. Besides, she wasn’t sure why she was so happy. She just was.
“Who plays first?” Lady Alexandra asked.
Billie opened her mouth to reply, but Andrew beat her to it.
“We usually play youngest to oldest,” he said, “but it does seem somewhat rude to inquire…”
“I am certainly first, then,” Georgiana announced, plopping the green ball down near the starting stick. “No question about it.”
“I should think I am second,” Lady Alexandra said, sending a pitying glance over at Billie.
Billie ignored her. “Mr. Berbrooke, might we inquire as to your age?”
“What? Oh, I’m twenty-five.” He smiled broadly. He did that a lot. “Quarter of a century, you know.”
“Very well, then,” Billie said, “the order of play shall be Georgiana, Lady Alexandra… we assume, Andrew, me, Mr. Berbrooke, and George.”
“Don’t you mean Lord Kennard?” Lady Alexandra asked.
“No, I’m quite sure I mean George,” Billie snipped. Good God but that woman grated on her.
“I rather like playing with the black ball,” George said, smoothly changing the subject. But Billie had been watching him; she couldn’t be positive, but she thought she’d seen him hiding a smile.
Good.
“It’s a very manly color,” Lady Alexandra confirmed.
Billie nearly gagged.
“It’s the color of death,” Andrew said, rolling his eyes.
“The Mallet of Death,” George said thoughtfully. He swung it back and forth a few times, like a macabre pendulum. “It has quite a ring to it.”
Andrew snorted.
“You laugh,” George dared, “but you know you want it.”
Billie rang out with laughter that only grew in volume when Andrew leveled a peevish glare in her direction. “Oh, come now, Andrew, you know it’s the truth,” she said.
Georgiana looked up from her position at the starting pole. “Who would want the Mallet of Peonies and Petunias when one could have the Mallet of Death?” she put in, tipping her head toward Andrew’s pink equipment.
Billie smiled approvingly. When had her sister got so witty?
“My peonies and petunias shall triumph,” Andrew said with a wiggle of his brows. “Just you watch.”
“Your peonies and petunias are missing a vital petal,” Billie countered, motioning toward his injured arm.
“I don’t think I know what we’re talking about,” Mr. Berbrooke admitted.
“It’s just silly fun,” Georgiana told him as she readied for her first swing. “Billie and Andrew love to tease one another. They always have.” She gave her ball a whack, and it shot through the two starting wickets. It didn’t go much farther but she didn’t seem to mind.
Lady Alexandra stepped up, setting her ball into place. “Lieutenant Rokesby plays after me, yes?” she confirmed. She glanced up at Billie with a deceptively placid expression. “I did not realize that you were older than he is, Miss Bridgerton.”
“I am older than a great many people,” Billie said coolly.
Lady Alexandra sniffed and slammed her mallet against her ball, sending it hurtling across the lawn.
“Well done!” Mr. Berbrooke cheered. “I say, you have played this before.”
Lady Alexandra smiled modestly. “As I mentioned, Lord Northwick has a set.”
“And he plays in the shape of a holy cross,” Billie said under her breath.
George elbowed her.
“My turn,” Andrew announced.
“Petunias ahoy!” Billie said jauntily.
Beside her she heard George chuckle. It was ridiculously satisfying, making him laugh.
Andrew ignored her completely. He dropped the pink ball, then nudged it into place with his foot.
“I still don’t understand how you’re going to play with a broken arm,” Georgiana said.
“Watch and learn, my dear girl,” he murmured. And then, after several practice swings – one of which included a full three-hundred-and-sixty-degree rotation – he whacked his ball rather impressively through the starting wickets and across the lawn.
“Almost as far as Lady Alexandra,” Georgiana said admiringly.
“I do have a broken arm,” he demurred.
Billie walked to the starting spot and set down her ball. “How did that happen again?” she asked innocently.
“Shark attack,” he said without missing a beat.