Foxglove (Belladonna, #2)(53)
“Thank you, Miss Killinger,” he said. “That’s truly appreciated.”
Charlotte shyly glanced away as she pushed a fallen curl from her shoulder. It seemed they might mill about each other all day if someone didn’t do something to rouse them from their stupor. And though Signa opened her mouth to relieve her friend, Fate beat her to it.
“The day is far too perfect for us to continue standing around chatting.” He tipped his head toward the garden. “How would you all fancy a game of croquet?”
TWENTY
THE PALACE GARDEN WAS THE OPPOSITE OF WISTERIA’S IN EVERY way, understated in its beauty with elegant rosebushes and shady oaks that lined trim pathways. Servants passed by with trays of dainty sandwiches and savories, which guests ate as they gossiped together in the shade. As she and Blythe made the trek across the lawn, Signa found herself wishing that she could be one of those guests, soaking in the garden’s beauty while stuffing her face with food.
Instead, she found herself continually looking at Everett, examining the smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes as he greeted others. Might he have had a motive to kill his father? Could his face be that of a killer?
Charlotte was at his side, speaking to him in low and happy tones. Signa watched them all the while, trying purposely to keep her focus from Fate. Blythe must have been doing the same, for she whistled quietly under her breath. “Perhaps it’s time to turn your attention toward being a princess, after all. They seem to be forming quite the pair.” Blythe spoke as if testing Signa’s feelings about the matter.
“And yet neither one has spoken a word about an attachment,” Signa replied, and nudged Blythe toward where Everett was bowing to more ladies and eager mothers that approached as Charlotte watched, her expression more vacant with each new face.
It felt like they were stopped every few feet as Fate led the way across a seemingly endless lawn of the most perfect grass—truly, not a single blade was browning, and all seemed cut to precisely the same length. When Fate caught Signa stealing a look at him, he offered his arm with a gloating puff of his chest. Blythe practically shoved her forward, and Signa shot her a withering glare before she begrudgingly took Fate’s arm and allowed him to pull her ahead.
“What do you say to a game, Miss Farrow?” he asked. Though the question was teasing, it was easy to see the vulnerability he was masking.
“I would say no,” she answered honestly, “but do I have a choice?”
Fate took the jab in stride. “Would your answer change if I said we can consider it part of our courting?”
She nearly missed a step. Before so many eyes, the last thing she wanted was to be seen courted by Fate, nor did she wish to fan the flames of his interest when he refused to promise he would not harm Death. But even if she refused, she doubted Fate would leave. Not to mention that Signa would give just about anything to hear Death’s voice again.
“Give him to me for a full day.” Signa sidestepped a little closer toward Fate, trying to keep her voice low. Blythe, she was sure, was likely trying her best to listen in. “Starting now.”
Fate walked with strong, confident strides, yet somehow still managed to look elegant. Almost like he was floating, with no scuffs on his leather boots. “I will not change the terms of our agreement.”
She made certain to kick the grass a little harder with her next step, hoping to send some mud onto his boots. Somehow, it didn’t land. “Very well. But no cheating. I don’t like men who play dirty.”
He laughed. “If playing dirty is what it takes to get you to remember all that you have lost, then I will be the filthiest bastard you’ve ever met, Signa Farrow. You’ll have your time with Death after our game.”
Signa had not anticipated the warmth that flared within her. Her throat was too tight to swallow, and she dared not look Fate in the eye.
The field was empty apart from the wickets and stakes meant for the game, and whether that was because everyone else was smart enough to enjoy palace food while they could or because of Fate’s hand, Signa had to wonder. She was glad for a few seconds of reprieve when he left her side to scoop up two of the mallets, one of which he handed to her.
“What do you say, ladies? Up for a game?” There was a spark in Everett’s eyes, and after all he had undergone these past few weeks, Signa’s foul mood eased at the welcomed sight.
“I’d rather watch,” Charlotte answered with a small smile that immediately had Everett grinning back. Signa couldn’t believe her eyes—just when had this fire between them begun?
“You’ll stay nearby?” he inquired.
“Of course.” Charlotte walked a few short feet away, stopping beneath the shady bend of a tree. “I’ll be right here, rooting for both teams!”
“If that’s the case, then my team will be me and my cousin,” Signa said, not about to allow herself or Blythe to be stuck on a team with Fate.
While she expected him to be annoyed by her declaration, his amusement seemed only to grow. “Very well, though you should know that in Verena we play for prizes.”
Dread crept into Signa’s stomach. She should have known there would be a catch.
“What’s the prize?” Blythe asked as she tested the weight of her mallet.
“Whatever you’d like it to be.” Fate kicked over two balls for each team. Both of Signa’s had a stripe of purple around them to match her mallet. “For us, perhaps a song written and sung in our praise? A favor? Or maybe even a kiss from a lovely lady?”