“I’ve never played this before,” Mr. Berbrooke said. He swung his mallet a few times, narrowly missing George’s leg. “It looks like jolly good fun.”

“Right,” Billie said briskly. “The rules are quite simple. The first person to hit his ball through all the wickets in the correct order wins.”

Lady Alexandra looked at the collection of wickets currently hooked onto the set. “How will we know the correct order?”

“Just ask me,” Billie said. “Or Lieutenant Rokesby. We’ve done this a million times.”

“Which one of you usually wins?” Mr. Berbrooke asked.

“Me,” they both said.

“Neither,” George said firmly. “They rarely manage to finish a game. You’d all do well to watch your feet. This may turn vicious.”

“I can’t wait,” Georgiana said, practically thrumming with excitement. She turned to Lady Alexandra. “You’ve also got to hit the pole at the end. Billie didn’t mention that.”

“She likes to leave out some of the rules,” Andrew said. “So she can penalize you later if you’re winning.”

“That is not true!” Billie protested. “At least half the times I’ve beaten you I’ve done so without cheating.”

“Should you ever play Pall Mall again,” George advised Lady Alexandra, “I would ask for a full recitation of the rules and regulations. Nothing you learn here will be the least bit applicable.”

“I have played before, you know,” Lady Alexandra said. “Lord Northwick has a set.”

Georgiana turned to her with a puzzled expression. “I thought Lord Northwick was engaged to your sister.”

“He is,” Lady Alexandra replied.

“Oh. I thought . . .” Georgiana paused, her mouth open for a second or two before she finally settled on, “You speak of him so often.”

“He has no sisters of his own,” Lady Alexandra said crisply. “Naturally, we have become quite devoted.”

“I have a sister,” Mr. Berbrooke piped up.

This was met with a beat of silence, and then Georgiana said, “That’s wonderful.”

“Nellie,” he confirmed. “Short for Eleanor. She’s very tall.”

No one seemed quite to know what to say to that.

“Well then,” Andrew said, breaking the now decidedly awkward moment. “It’s time to set the wickets out.”

“Can’t the footman do it?” Lady Alexandra inquired.

Billie and Andrew both turned on her as if she’d gone mad.

George took pity, stepping forward to murmur, “They can be somewhat particular about the placement.”

Lady Alexandra’s chin rose an inch. “Lord Northwick always says the wickets should be laid out in the shape of a cross.”

“Lord Northwick’s not here,” Billie snapped.

Lady Alexandra gasped.

“Well, he’s not,” Billie protested, looking to the rest of the group for affirmation.

George narrowed his eyes, the visual translation of an elbow in the ribs, and Billie must have realized that she had crossed a line—an absurd line, but a line nonetheless. She was the hostess, and she needed to behave as such.

It was fascinating to watch, though. Billie was a born competitor, and she had never been known for an abundance of patience. And she certainly was not inclined to acknowledge Lady Alexandra’s suggestion. Still, she straightened her shoulders and fixed an almost pleasant smile on her face as she turned back to her guest.