“I love Pall Mall,” Billie announced, rubbing her hands together in the brisk afternoon air. “This is a brilliant idea.”

“It was your idea,” George pointed out.

“Of course it was,” she said merrily. “Oh, look, here comes Georgiana.”

George shaded his eyes as he peered across the lawn. Sure enough, she was leading Lady Alexandra in their direction. And, if he wasn’t mistaken, one of the Berbrooke brothers.

“Thank you, William,” Billie said as the footman brought the set into place.

He nodded. “Milady.”

“Wait a moment,” Andrew said. “Didn’t we break one of the mallets last year?”

“Father commissioned a new set,” Billie informed him.

“Same colors?”

She shook her head. “We’re not having red this time around.”

George turned to look at her. “Why not?”

“Well,” she stalled, looking slightly sheepish, “we’ve had very bad luck with red. The balls keep ending up in the lake.”

“And you think a different color might rectify the problem?”

“No,” she said, “but I’m hoping yellow will be easier to spot beneath the surface.”

A few moments later, Georgiana and her little band of players arrived on the scene. George took an instinctive step toward Billie, but he was too slow. Lady Alexandra had already taken hold of his sleeve.

“Lord Kennard,” she said. “What a delight it will be to play Pall Mall. Thank you for inviting me.”

“It was Miss Georgiana, actually,” he said.

She smiled knowingly. “At your behest, I’m sure.”

Billie looked as if she might gag.

“And Lieutenant Rokesby,” Lady Alexandra continued, her hand a tight little claw on George’s arm even as she turned to Andrew. “We hardly had a chance to speak last night.”

Andrew bowed with all due chivalry.

“Are you acquainted with Lord Northwick?” she asked.

George desperately tried to catch his brother’s eye. This was not an avenue of conversation any of them wished to pursue.

Luckily for all, the footman had just pulled the cover off the Pall Mall set, and Billie was taking efficient charge.

“Here we are,” she said, pulling one of the mallets from its position. “Andrew already promised Georgiana the green, so let’s see, Mr. Berbrooke will take blue, Lady Alexandra can have pink, I’ll be yellow, Lieutenant Rokesby will be purple, and Lord Kennard will be black.”

“Can’t I be purple?” Lady Alexandra asked.

Billie looked at her as if she’d asked to have the Magna Carta revised.

“I like purple,” Lady Alexandra said coolly.

Billie’s back stiffened. “Take it up with Lieutenant Rokesby. It makes no difference to me.”

Andrew gave Billie a curious look, then offered his mallet to Lady Alexandra with a gallant bow. “As the lady wishes . . .”

Lady Alexandra nodded graciously.

“Very well,” Billie said with a sniff, “Georgiana is green, Mr. Berbrooke is blue, Lieutenant Rokesby is pink, I’m yellow, Lord Kennard is black, and Lady Alexandra is”—she gave her the side eye—“purple.”

George was coming to realize that Billie really did not like Lady Alexandra.