“Very well, then,” Billie said, “the order of play shall be Georgiana, Lady Alexandra… we assume, Andrew, me, Mr. Berbrooke, and George.”

“Don’t you mean Lord Kennard?” Lady Alexandra asked.

“No, I’m quite sure I mean George,” Billie snipped. Good God but that woman grated on her.

“I rather like playing with the black ball,” George said, smoothly changing the subject. But Billie had been watching him; she couldn’t be positive, but she thought she’d seen him hiding a smile.

Good.

“It’s a very manly color,” Lady Alexandra confirmed.

Billie nearly gagged.

“It’s the color of death,” Andrew said, rolling his eyes.

“The Mallet of Death,” George said thoughtfully. He swung it back and forth a few times, like a macabre pendulum. “It has quite a ring to it.”

Andrew snorted.

“You laugh,” George dared, “but you know you want it.”

Billie rang out with laughter that only grew in volume when Andrew leveled a peevish glare in her direction. “Oh, come now, Andrew, you know it’s the truth,” she said.

Georgiana looked up from her position at the starting pole. “Who would want the Mallet of Peonies and Petunias when one could have the Mallet of Death?” she put in, tipping her head toward Andrew’s pink equipment.

Billie smiled approvingly. When had her sister got so witty?

“My peonies and petunias shall triumph,” Andrew said with a wiggle of his brows. “Just you watch.”

“Your peonies and petunias are missing a vital petal,” Billie countered, motioning toward his injured arm.

“I don’t think I know what we’re talking about,” Mr. Berbrooke admitted.

“It’s just silly fun,” Georgiana told him as she readied for her first swing. “Billie and Andrew love to tease one another. They always have.” She gave her ball a whack, and it shot through the two starting wickets. It didn’t go much farther but she didn’t seem to mind.

Lady Alexandra stepped up, setting her ball into place. “Lieutenant Rokesby plays after me, yes?” she confirmed. She glanced up at Billie with a deceptively placid expression. “I did not realize that you were older than he is, Miss Bridgerton.”

“I am older than a great many people,” Billie said coolly.

Lady Alexandra sniffed and slammed her mallet against her ball, sending it hurtling across the lawn.

“Well done!” Mr. Berbrooke cheered. “I say, you have played this before.”

Lady Alexandra smiled modestly. “As I mentioned, Lord Northwick has a set.”

“And he plays in the shape of a holy cross,” Billie said under her breath.

George elbowed her.

“My turn,” Andrew announced.

“Petunias ahoy!” Billie said jauntily.

Beside her she heard George chuckle. It was ridiculously satisfying, making him laugh.

Andrew ignored her completely. He dropped the pink ball, then nudged it into place with his foot.

“I still don’t understand how you’re going to play with a broken arm,” Georgiana said.

“Watch and learn, my dear girl,” he murmured. And then, after several practice swings – one of which included a full three-hundred-and-sixty-degree rotation – he whacked his ball rather impressively through the starting wickets and across the lawn.

“Almost as far as Lady Alexandra,” Georgiana said admiringly.

“I do have a broken arm,” he demurred.

Billie walked to the starting spot and set down her ball. “How did that happen again?” she asked innocently.

“Shark attack,” he said without missing a beat.

“No!” Lady Alexandra gasped.

“A shark?” Mr. Berbrooke said. “Isn’t that one of those toothy fish things?”

“Extremely toothy,” Andrew confirmed.

“I shouldn’t like to come across one myself,” Mr. Berbrooke said.

“Has Lord Northwick ever been bitten by a shark?” Billie asked sweetly.

George made a choking sound.

Lady Alexandra’s eyes narrowed. “I can’t say that he has.”

“Pity.” Billie smacked her mallet against her ball with thundering force. It went flying across the lawn, well past the others.

“Well done!” Mr. Berbrooke again exclaimed. “Jolly good at this, you are, Miss Bridgerton.”

It was impossible to remain unmoved in the face of his relentless good cheer. Billie offered him a friendly smile as she said, “I’ve played quite a bit over the years.”

“She often cheats,” Andrew said in passing.

“Only with you.”

“I suppose I’d better have a go,” Mr. Berbrooke said, crouching down to set the blue ball next to the starting pole.

George took a cautionary step back.

Mr. Berbrooke frowned down at the ball, testing out his mallet a few times before finally swinging. The ball went flying, but unfortunately so did one of the wickets.

“Oh! Terribly sorry,” he said.

“It’s no trouble,” Georgiana said. “We can put it back into place.”

The course was reset, and George took his turn. His black ball ended up somewhere between Lady Alexandra and Billie.

“Mallet of Death indeed,” Andrew mocked.

“It’s a strategic sort of assassination,” George replied with an enigmatic smile. “I’m taking the longitudinal view.”

“My turn!” Georgiana called out. She didn’t have far to walk to reach her ball. This time she hit it much harder, and it went sailing across the field toward the next wicket, stopping about five yards short of its destination.