“I would be delighted to show you the finer points of bowls, Mr. Estwood.” She had no qualms about Estwood not having a proper pedigree. He was attractive. Intelligent. But there was no humming against her skin when he touched her. No delicious sensation curling around her spine. Not even a modest display of the feelings Granby invoked in her.
Most troubling.
Holding Estwood’s arm, Romy followed him off the terrace to an area set some distance from the house. A great expanse of lawn greeted her as well as a perfectly maintained green for bowls.
“I didn’t realize the duke had such a proper green. I think you must be teasing me, Mr. Estwood. You are obviously a frequent visitor to The Barrow. Surely you play much better than you’ve led me to believe. You seek to take advantage of my good nature.”
“Am I succeeding?” The friendly glint in his eyes shifted, deepening into something Romy didn’t wish to encourage.
“Not in the least.” Romy lifted a brow.
Estwood laughed softly. “I find you very direct, Lady Andromeda. It is a trait I don’t often see in young ladies.”
“So I’ve been told. A fault of mine. Now, I think you must confess as to your abilities in regard to the game before us.”
“I never played until recently. The old duke wouldn’t have allowed such a thing.” He hesitated, the small brackets on either side of his mouth deepening as a frown crossed his lips. “We didn’t get on,” Estwood said slowly, choosing his words carefully. “He was very particular regarding the guests who came to The Barrow.”
Granby’s father hadn’t approved of Estwood despite his friendship with the man’s son. “I’m sorry if he treated you poorly, Mr. Estwood.”
A light flush crept up Estwood’s neck; was he embarrassed by her show of empathy?
He gave a careless shrug. “I was one of many, my lady. There were those who suffered much more.” Estwood’s gaze was focused on the far side of the green where Granby stood.
“How unfortunate.” It was all she could manage under the circumstances.
Estwood turned with a grin, his mood once again pleasant as he led her to Theo and Lord Carstairs, stopping any further conversation. She suspected Estwood had said more than he’d meant to and was now embarrassed about it.
Carstairs seemed intent on displaying for Theo the correct posture necessary to roll the bowl down the length of the green. He explained how one side was weighted heavier than the other, which influenced which way the bowl would land, as well as how to cup the bowl, placing your fingers properly while using the correct stance.
All of which was wasted effort on Carstairs’s part.
Theo knew perfectly well how to play bowls, though she would be hampered today by her inability to see properly. Her sister pretended ignorance of the game in order to gain Blythe’s attention and have him assist her. Theo’s plan wasn’t working. The earl was engaged elsewhere.
Blythe laughed, clearly amused by Lady Meredith who pouted up at him coquettishly, and it echoed across the green. Meredith, propriety be damned, apparently, spun about, giving Blythe a glimpse of her shapely calves. Rosalind stood off to one side, gamely pretending to enjoy herself.
Theo squinted, glowering at Meredith, who, Romy was convinced, her sister couldn’t clearly see.
Miss Waterstone strolled along the side of the green, parasol in hand, showing little interest in a game of bowls. Her skirts trailed along the grass as her chin dipped, watching her feet. She looked forlorn, like the heroine of a tragic gothic novel, especially with the foreboding backdrop of The Barrow behind her.
“Lady Andromeda, Mr. Estwood.” Carstairs nodded his head in greeting, eyes kind but vacant.
“Lord Carstairs,” Romy greeted him warmly.
Carstairs was a good sort, and he’d been a friend of the Barrington family for as long as Romy could remember. Far from brilliant, Carstairs made up for his lack of intelligence with his unfailing kindness and good nature. His interests seemed to revolve around hunting, fishing and other outdoor pursuits, though Romy supposed Carstairs had now added his wife, Rebecca, to that list. Romy liked Carstairs because he wasn’t complicated.
She glanced in the direction of Miss Waterstone, plodding along with resignation.
Carstairs was regaling Mr. Estwood with the story of a large trout he’d caught while Estwood tried to appear interested.
Romy was positive he wasn’t.
Lady Mildred arrived, glancing with interest at Estwood. Apparently, the guidance of Lady Foxwood had little effect on the spinster. It appeared Mildred had designs on Estwood.
“Mr. Estwood,” Mildred cooed. “I’d be much obliged if you’d partner with me?” She fluttered her lashes and pursed her lips in an imitation of Lady Beatrice.
Estwood’s brows drew down in consternation; he was clearly uncomfortable and looked as though he would refuse.
If Mildred wished to court scandal by flirting with Estwood, who was Romy to deny her? The poor thing probably needed a little excitement in her life. Taking pity on the plain-faced older woman, she said, “Please excuse me, Mr. Estwood. I need to have a word with Miss Waterstone.” Romy nodded to the melancholy figure at the edge of the green. “Do partner with Lady Mildred.” She gave Mildred a discreet wink. “She is an excellent player.”
