Page 102 of Duke of Sapphire

Charlotte pushed herself up, her skirts gathered in one hand. The grass was soft. The hill sloped gently downward toward the stream, which glimmered between reeds.

“Very well,” Henry said. “We circle here. No one near the bank.”

Ian rolled his eyes. “I know where the water is, Sappherton.”

“And you will remain well away from it,” Henry replied.

They formed a rough circle on the flattest portion of the meadow. Ian took command at once, assigning roles with great seriousness.

“James is the messenger. He carries the ball. Sophia and Lavinia are sentinels. Tristan an’ Henry are captains.” He pointed at Charlotte. “Ye’re the keeper.”

“What does the keeper do?” Charlotte asked.

“Ye save folk,” Ian said. “If they drop the ball, ye run in an’ pull them out before the enemy gets them.”

“An admirable occupation,” Henry murmured.

She ignored the way the words brushed her skin.

Keeper. I am already that. For Ian. Perhaps for Henry.

The game began. James toddled from person to person, handing over the ball with solemn care. Each adult tossed it lightly to the next. Ian shouted instructions. Sophia laughed. Tristan pretended to misjudge and nearly dropped it, just to make James shriek.

Charlotte moved with the circle, her eyes on the children. The grass grew more uneven as they edged toward the lower part of the field. Henry shifted to keep the line from straying too near the stream, but excitement had taken hold.

“Throw it to Charlotte!” Ian cried. “She’s the keeper!”

James obliged, hurling the ball in her direction with more enthusiasm than skill. It veered, skidding across the grass toward the bank.

“I’ll get it!” Ian shouted, already in motion.

“Wait,” Henry called.

Ian did not wait. He ran fast, drawn by the gleam of water and the sudden appearance of a mother duck shepherding her ducklings along the shallows. James tore after him, laughing.

Charlotte’s heart lurched.

They will fall. The bank is muddy. Ian will not see it until too late.

She gathered her skirts and ran.

“Ian, stop!” she cried.

He did not. He had dropped the sword and was crouching, hands on his knees, talking to the duck as if she were an old acquaintance. James hopped at his side, trying to mimic him.

Charlotte reached the bank. The ground beneath the grass was softer than it looked. Her boot slid. Mud slicked away, and her foot slipped toward the water.

She felt herself tipping.

I am going to fall into the stream in full view of everyone.

A hand closed firmly around her waist.

She stopped, breath catching hard in her chest. Strong fingers steadied her. She felt the solid line of Henry’s arm behind her, his body a barrier between her and the stream.

“Careful,” he said quietly.

Charlotte stared at the water, then at her boot half-buried in mud.