“You make a very good point.” Elizabeth accepted the shuttlecock and a battledore.
Lady Alameda laughed. “Delithful!” She waved her fan like a symphony conductor. “Listen carefully. I’ve made a few adjustments to the rules...”
Of course she had. Elizabeth expected nothing less from the enigmatic countess. Where normally it was played between a pair, she’d cleverly adapted it for four players. Lady Alameda’s servants had lain down two lines of potash in the grass about five feet from each other. Down this alley one must not step foot, or a point would be lost.
Elizabeth gave the shuttlecock a gratifying thwack! It shot up, blue feathers quivering in the sunlight, and arced down directly at Miss Devious.
“Oh dear! Oh! Oh my.” One would have thought a spider had crawled up the young woman’s dress. She danced around, holding her battledore as if it were a wilting pancake. Elizabeth had been certain the chit was going to miss. It surprised the stockings off her when Miss Helpless gave it a hearty wallop and sent the thing soaring back up into the air.
“Bravo!” Robert applauded from the sidelines.
“Well done, Miss Dunworthy.” St. Evert all but shook his partner’s hand. Miss Dunworthy beamed back at him ever so sweetly, a slight breeze waving her sprigged muslin endearingly around her legs.
Mr. Dunworthy declared his sister, “A brave little sport.”
Lady Alameda chuckled.
The battledore hung limp in Elizabeth’s hand, which was too bad, because the wretched shuttlecock came down and practically cracked her in the forehead.
“Look alive, Izzie!” Robert shouted.
Her partner, Lord Horton, gave her a tardy warning. “Above you, Lady Elizabeth. Above you.”
She glanced up just in time to see cork and feathers almost at her nose, and stumbled back trying to get out of the way. It landed in her lap.
Lord Horton rushed to her aide. Supporting her shoulders, he asked, “Are you injured, my lady? Your ankle? Any other portion of your... Oh dear. I cannot think this is a proper entertainment for a lady of your refined nature.” While he prattled on about how exceedingly delicate she was, St. Evert stood chuckling at her, and Miss Double-Devious had a smug little grin on her face. The little cat had claws.
Robert announced, “A point for Miss Dunworthy! Don’t just sit there, Izzie. Get on with it.”
Lord Horton protested. “I fear Lady Elizabeth has been incapacitated. Shall I carry you to a chair?”
“No, thank you. I am quite well. If you will simply help me up.” The gown Lady Alameda had given her did not have nearly enough room in the skirt for an activity of this sort. Elizabeth got to her feet with as much dignity as possible. Shuttlecock in one hand and her weapon in the other, she prepared to do battle.
She smacked the cork, giving it very little arc towards St. Evert, who still stood there chuckling at her like an overgrown jackanapes. It struck him in the chest. Elizabeth smiled innocently and fought back the urge to giggle at his surprised expression.
“Point for Izzie.” Robert must have decided it was his duty to keep score.
She dusted grass particles from the back of her dress while St. Evert batted the shuttlecock into the air. Play went to Lord Horton, who lined up for the shot, backed up, watched for the descent, but at the last minute shifted too far and ended up slightly off course. Luckily, he managed to lob it up to dear Miss Dunworthy, who handily whacked it to Elizabeth.
This time she was ready. She hit it early, cracking her paddle against the cork, sending it whirling crazily straight for St. Evert’s ear.
He waved the paddle at it the way one swats at a mosquito buzzing by the ear. He managed to hit it, but it slammed with a puff into the potash line at his feet.
Mr. Dunworthy applauded Elizabeth. “Deadly shot!”
Robert hooted. “She caught you napping with that one, St. Evert. Two points for Izzie.”
His Lordship didn’t look too pleased as he bent to pick up the shuttlecock and dust off its powdered feathers.
Elizabeth grinned at him and shrugged. “Beginner’s luck.”
“I doubt it.” He removed his coat and tossed it onto a chair by his aunt. “Interesting game you’ve devised, Aunt Honore.”
“Yes. I’m enjoying it thus far.”
“The day is young.”
“Just hit the thing.”
He bowed. “With pleasure.” He tossed up the shuttlecock, feinted as if hitting toward good old Pointy-Nose, but instead he swerved and drove the bird to her. Elizabeth lunged for it and caught it with the edge of her battledore, flipping it into the air in a long, predictable arch. But at least she’d gotten it and won a “Well done!” from Lord Horton. Unfortunately, Miss Devious used the distraction to land the hapless bluebird at Lord Horton’s feet, which elicited a symphony of praise from her gloating partner and the sidelines. Elizabeth noted that the dear demure gel had quite forgotten to lisp as she accepted their praise. Extraordinary, what the heat of battle will cure.
During the course of the game, Miss Ruthless Dunworthy discovered that a slapping shot aimed at Lord Horton’s knees guaranteed her a point. No matter how he ran about the yard, jumping backward, or sliding sideways, he could not return the shuttlecock. After Miss Dunworthy’s eighth point employing this tactic, Elizabeth could scarcely resist rushing to Horton’s side of the grass and making the hit for him.
She glanced over and noticed his pallor. “Lord Horton? Are you well? Your face, it’s quite red.”
He wavered and pulled at his cravat. “The sun, I fear. A trifle warm.”
“Perhaps you should remove your coat as Lord St. Evert did. You are among friends.” She scooped up the shuttlecock from the grass and held it out to him. He waved two fingers, declining. And, she realized, he was about to faint. His eyes rolled up, and he collapsed into her
