They arranged themselves in order. Prudence, as the eldest among the callers, announced herself umpire when not striking, and no one contested it; even Stephen gave her a small bow that meantby all means.
“First hoop,” Temperance said, pointing to the far-off white-painted semicircle on the grass. “A fair distance. No tricks.”
“Not yet,” Stephen said under his breath.
Maria’s hands were steady as she took up her mallet. They became less so when Stephen stepped near, not close enough to startle but close enough to be felt.
“Your grip,” he said, calmly, “May I?”
All four friends became the portrait of respectable attention to something else. They were giving her a moment.
Maria held the mallet a fraction tighter. “Yes,” she said.
Stephen’s hands settled over hers. “Thumb here,” he said softly, sliding it to the top. “The other hand looser. You direct with the right; you drive with the left.”
Even though her friends were trying not to look, she could feel that their attention was entirely on the two of them. But it hardly mattered, for Maria could hardly focus herself. It was always a problem when Stephen was too close by.
She tried to breathe normally. “And then?”
“Then you forget I am speaking, and I forget I am a duke. And we play this game as it ought to be played.”
“That seems within our power,” she said, almost steady. But there was a little tremble in her voice. She hoped to god that he missed it.
She swung. The green ball almost reached the hoop, but then missed.
“Well played,” Prudence said at once, both pleased and relieved.
Stephen stepped back and removed his hands.
“A dangerous beginning,” he told Maria. “I shall be obliged to try.”
He did not tryhardat first and missed his shot. Temperance sent the white ball cleanly through the hoop. Charity hit her yellow ball too hard and had to work to bring it back. Alethea’s red ball bumped the hoop and stopped outside, and she looked embarrassed.
“Do not repent,” Stephen said gently. “You may be assured the ball will continue to exist for your next attempt. It does not respond to sorrow.”
“Oh,” Alethea said, surprised, “Then I shall try cheerfulness.”
“Admire the coaching,” Prudence murmured to Maria. “He respects the ball and the woman both. You seem to have a good one in your hands.”
As they advanced from hoop to hoop, the politeness of the first five minutes loosened. The lawn is filled with good sentences. Maria was happy that everyone seemed to be getting along.
“Is one allowed to trounce a duke?” Charity asked, eyes bright.
“Only if one looks sorry afterwards,” Prudence said.
“I do everything looking sorry,” Charity returned. “It is my talent.”
“You must teach me,” Maria said, striking cleanly through the third hoop. “I have run out of talents that do not need practice.”
“Then add this one to your list,” Stephen said. “You take instructions quickly.”
“Do not sound so surprised,” she murmured.
“I am only making a note,” he murmured back. “It will go in the same place I kept the first time you laughed at breakfast.”
She missed the next hoop by an inch. Prudence smiled down at her scorecard.
“Allow me,” Stephen said quietly.