Gail Eastwood by An Unlikely Hero Page A

offend our hostesses.”
    ***
    Later, after all the guests were fully sated, the company prepared to scatter about the meadow to enjoy the fine afternoon. Equipment for quoits, battledore and shuttlecocks, ninepins and trap-ball had been brought along for any who wished to play, and sketching materials were available. For a little while, however, Venetia insisted that the men compete in the games, while the ladies watched. It seemed to Gilbey that she singled him out particularly, perhaps in retribution for his earlier inattention.
    He allowed Lord Amberton to beat him at trap-ball, and the Viscount Newcroft, a small, agile fellow, beat him handily at battledore and shuttlecocks. Despite his dandyish ways and the affectation of constantly using his quizzing glass, Lord Chesdale had the competitive spirit to be expected from an ex-cavalry officer, and he was clearly disappointed with his easy victory at quoits. Gilbey, however, was quite pleased with his own undistinguished performance.
    Eventually Venetia relented and allowed the guests to do as they wished. Many simply strolled or lounged upon the pillows, indulging in relaxed conversation. Gilbey wandered down to the river’s edge, intent upon investigating its potential for fishing. Everyone else seemed contentedly occupied. The twins had gathered up pads and paint boxes, so he had restrained his own impulse to sketch or paint. Nicholas was caught up in a game of tag that Lady Norbridge had started by tickling people with Gilbey’s peacock feather. Their muted squeals and laughter made a pleasant counterpoint to the gentle murmurs of the river, which was slow enough here to sport masses of water crowfoot in the center of the stream.
    Gilbey admired the turquoise bands on a damselfly that hovered near some yellow flag at the water’s edge. The sun was warm and brought out the insect’s jewel colors. The mild breeze was fresh and sweet—in fact, the day was idyllic, all trace of the morning’s mist vanished. Why then did he feel so at odds?
    He asked himself all the obvious questions. Was it because he would rather be back at Cambridge with his nose in a book? Or was it because he did not fit in here at Rivington among the duke’s guests? The answer was always no. Still, he could not seem to banish the restlessness and discontent that plagued him.
    He was lost in thought, still watching the damselfly above the surface of the water, when the sound of voices near him intruded upon his consciousness.
    “Netia, you have already made them wait upon us like servants, and the games provided ample opportunities for us to observe their fitness and physical skills. Why is that not enough for one day?”
    “I want to see how far they will go. Courtesy is a fine quality, but do you want to marry a man with no backbone?” There was a brief pause, and then Gilbey heard Venetia say, “I expect the river is still quite cold.”
    Gilbey knew he should not be shamelessly eavesdropping. A clump of brush and a willow tree with its roots reaching right into the water stood between him and the twins, effectively screening him from their view. But what the devil were they up to?
    “What if the current takes your hat too quickly, or what if none of them will go after it?” Vivian asked quite rationally.
    Venetia sighed. “Well, it is only a hat, after all. I think it would still be worth the price to see if any of them will go after it.”
    So, it was all a plot. Was everything the twins did so calculated? Gilbey did not like the feeling that gave him. He stepped back behind the bushes and the tree trunk and emerged on the other side.
    “Lord Cranford!”
    “Oh dear.”
    Surprise and displeasure registered on their faces. Vivian was properly bonneted and she held a parasol to protect her from the sun as well. Venetia stood bareheaded with her wide-brimmed cork hat in her hands. The sun shone gloriously on her golden hair, which must have come partially unpinned when she removed the