Page 37 of Discovering Grace

He leaned toward her to mutter, “I’m not sure I like this one.”

Although she agreed, she knew Hope would most likely laugh such an awkward moment away. She must endeavor to do the same. “It was entertaining.”

He made a sound in the back of his throat that did not sound like an agreement. Mr. King had another gentleman up next, and then allowed others to take turns as first hat. Everyone who wished a turn had one, and Grace clapped along with the rest when someone at last could not keep up. Sometimes it was the first hat who ran out of ideas, most often it was the person playing second hat. The best moment was when Sir Isaac and Matthew Barnes faced each other.

“Would you like a punch in the nose?” Sir Isaac asked, all politeness.

Matthew hesitated. The truthful answer must be no, the contrary answer would be yes. He tilted his chin down, as though presenting a better target, and said, “I would very much enjoy one, thank you.”

Everyone burst out laughing and Isaac gave up with a wave of his hand.

They played a rhyming game after that, and then a short game of riddles. Most of the group seemed to be in good spirits when Grace suggested they play a game of Fox and Hounds.

Jacob’s frown reappeared, but she studiously ignored it. A game of chase could not be nearly so improper as a game of Blind Man’s Bluff or one that necessitated hiding in tucked away places. It had been a favorite in the neighborhood for as long as Grace could remember, but she explained the rules for Mr. King’s sake. She retrieved a handkerchief from the reticule she had kept tied to her wrist.

“The game starts with one hound and the rest of us are foxes. The foxes all carry handkerchiefs in their hands by the corner, like this.” She demonstrated, holding just the corner of the linen square between thumb and fingers. “The hound chases the foxes and, if he catches their handkerchief, turns them to his side. If a fox makes it back to where the game began still in possession of his or her tail, the fox is safe and wins the game.” She pointed through the trees. “Foxes must run to the brook and back to this spot.”

“I elect Mr. Ashworth,” Miss Parr said, “as the first hound.”

Matthew Barnes seconded the election, and the grinning Mr. Ashworth started to preen. “I shall have a pack of hounds on my side in next to no time. What are the limits of the playing field?”

“The orchard. No other place will serve,” Elizabeth Barnes said with a clap of her hands. Everyone agreed, as it had been the proper place to play many years before.

“The hound must count to ten before he begins his pursuit,” Mr. Barnes added as he helped a smiling Mrs. Muir to her feet. “And no cheating. Everyone must have their handkerchief where all can see it.”

Jacob stepped close to Grace, standing just over her shoulder and close enough she could feel his breath on the back of her neck. “I am not certain this is the best idea,” he said. “We ought to play in an open field. There are too many trees—”

Grace did not immediately answer him, but instead her gaze took in all of the people around her. Thus far, her party had been a triumph, without Hope. Calling a halt to this game, one that every miss and gentleman about her did not mind, could undo the success she had thus far enjoyed.

She looked over to where the chaperones were seated, talking and laughing amongst themselves, and then stepped away from Jacob, making her way deeper into the trees. “I think the orchard will do splendidly.”

Without waiting for his response, she called out, “Begin your count, Mr. Ashford.” Then she darted into the trees, smiling all the while, her handkerchief clasped in one hand. She glimpsed the others darting about on the paths marking the rows of apple trees. The orchard rang with laughter and challenges issued by her guests.

She looked back once, seeing no one behind her, then forward to the line of trees. The brook was not far. One could walk through the orchard to the water, from this position, in five minutes at a stroll. There was a shout somewhere to her right, startling her, before it was followed by laughter. Had the hound caught someone?

“Miss Everly,” a voice shouted. She looked behind her, one hand clutching the handkerchief and the other holding her skirt.

Mr. King, handkerchief in hand, cut through the trees toward her. “I thought that was you. I neglected to ask where the brook is located! And I—”

“King, I have you,” another voice shouted. It was Mr. Ashworth’s voice.

Grace hesitated, but Mr. King grinned and motioned for her to run before he took off in the opposite direction. The man was drawing his pursuer away from her. She almost laughed at the show of gallantry in the midst of a children’s game. Giving it no more thought, she continued to the brook. Breaking from the trees, she went to the bank and then turned, not hesitating before running back beneath the branches.

She took a serpentine route. If someone caught sight of her, someone not wearing a dress, she had no hope of outrunning them. She went around one of the older, larger trees a trifle more slowly, endeavoring to make her feet fall lightly.

A hand snatched at her wrist, above her handkerchief, and she stumbled sideways. The hand kept her upon her feet, and another came around her waist, halting her downward momentum.

Her chest constricted and her gaze shot up to identify her captor.

Jacob held her; his eyes so dark in the shadows they were more black than brown. They stared at each other, he still and firm as the tree at his back, and she trying to make sense of their predicament.

Hurried footsteps from the other side of the tree made her head turn at the same instant Jacob pulled her toward him. His back hit the tree and she bumped into his side. Miss Kimball ran by, pursued by a laughing Miss Parr and Isaac. They were too intent on their chase to see Grace and Jacob standing there, pressed against the tree and each other.

Grace slowly tilted her head to peer up at Jacob. He was staring into the trees, and she could see his pulse beating rapidly in the strained vein beneath his jaw.

“Jacob?” she whispered, aware of his hand at her waist. “They are gone.”

He dragged his attention back to her, apparently with great effort given the amount of tension she saw in his expression and felt in his body so near hers.