Because of Miss Bridgerton

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.

“I think you will like it this way,” she said primly. “And if you don’t, you can tell Lord Northwick all about it, and then you will know for certain that his layout is superior.”

George snorted.

Billie ignored him.

“The wickets,” Andrew reminded everyone.

“George and I will do it,” Billie said, grabbing them from Andrew’s proffered hand.

George looked at her with some indulgence. “Oh we will, will we?”

“Lord Kennard,” she said through clenched teeth, “will you be so kind as to help me set out the wickets?”

He glanced down at her injured ankle. “What, you mean because you cannot walk?”

She gave him an over-sweet smile. “Because I delight in your company.”

He almost laughed.

“Andrew can’t do it,” she went on, “and no one else knows where they go.”

“If we played in the shape of a cross,” Lady Alexandra said to Mr. Berbrooke, “any one of us could set the wickets out.”

Mr. Berbrooke nodded.

“We would start at the nave,” Lady Alexandra instructed, “then move on to the transept and then the altar.”

Mr. Berbrooke looked down at his mallet and frowned. “Doesn’t seem like a very churchy game.”

“It could be,” Lady Alexandra replied.

“But we don’t want it to be,” Billie said sharply.

George grabbed her arm. “The wickets,” he said, pulling her away before the two ladies came to blows.

“I really don’t like that woman,” she grumbled once they were out of earshot.

“Really?” George murmured. “I would never have known.”

“Just help me with the wickets,” she said, turning toward a large oak at the edge of the clearing. “Follow me.”

He watched her for a few steps. She was still limping, but it was different somehow. More awkward. “Did you hurt yourself again?”

“Hmmm? Oh, that.” She let out an irritated snort. “It was the sidesaddle.”

“I beg your pardon?”

She shrugged. “I can’t put my bad foot in a stirrup. So I had to ride sidesaddle.”

“And you needed to ride because…”

She looked at him as if he were an idiot. Which he was fairly certain he was not.

“Billie,” he said, grabbing her by the wrist so they were both yanked to a halt, “what was so important that you had to ride with an injured ankle?”

“The barley,” she said plainly.

He must have misheard. “What?”

“Someone had to make sure it was being planted properly,” she said, deftly pulling her hand free.

He was going to kill her. Or rather he would, except that she would probably end up doing it herself first. He took a breath, then asked, as patiently as he could, “Isn’t that the job of your steward?”

Her brows pulled together. “I don’t know what you think I do all day when I’m not flitting away at house parties, but I am an extremely busy person.” Something changed in her expression; something George could not quite name, and then she said, “I am a useful person.”

“I can’t imagine anyone would think otherwise,” George said, although he had a feeling he’d thought otherwise, and not too long ago.

“What the devil are you two doing over there?” Andrew bellowed.

“I am going to massacre him,” Billie seethed.

“The wickets,” George said. “Just tell me where you want them.”

Billie separated one from the bunch and held it out. “Over there. Under the tree. But over the root. Make sure you put it over the root. Otherwise it will be too easy.”

George very nearly saluted her.