Free An Ideal Duchess by Evangeline Holland

lawn.
                  “I’ve got it!” Quintus set off at a light jog to fetch the ball.
                  “My God, Vi, darling, you are absolutely hopeless at croquet,” The Duke of Malvern laughed.
                  “You know I don’t get to play as often, Bron,” There was color in her cheeks as she looked up at the duke.
                  Amanda frowned slightly, but was distracted by Quintus’s return, holding the ball above his head like a trophy. “Thanks Quin,”
                  “Don’t ruffle my hair, Manda,” Her ten-year-old brother frowned fiercely at her as he handed her the ball.
                  “I wasn’t going to,” Amanda said in mock innocence. “I know you’re far too old for it.”
                  Quintus nodded in approval and then squinted at her. “Are we going to play croquet all afternoon? I’m famished.”
                  “I’m rather famished too,” Amanda agreed. “Your Grace,”
                  The Duke of Malvern’s attention shifted immediately to her, and he began walking towards her.
                  “I hope you don’t mind if Quin and I break away from the party to fetch some refreshments,”
                  His eyes dipped to her brother’s earnest face before returning to hers, and he smiled slightly. “That sounds like a capital idea—may I join you?”
                  “You couldn’t leave the game all willy-nilly. We’re just two, but you as well would make three, and leave someone without a partner.”
                  “So you don’t want me to join you?” He narrowed his eyes, though his smile remained.
                  “I didn’t say that, Your Grace, but isn’t it rather rude to break up your own croquet match?”
                  “I’m a duke,” His eyes gleamed with humor. “I can do what I like.”
                  “Golly, I want to be a duke!” Quintus exclaimed.
                  “Sorry chum, you’ve got to be born one; the closest you’d get is if your sister were a duchess,” The duke said lightly.
                  “It figures that girls get to have all of the fun.” Quintus glowered.
                  Amanda could only laugh to cover her surprise at His Grace’s bold pronouncement as they walked towards the long tables near the weathered stone wall bordering the terrace. Like magic, or some fantastic ducal conjuration, liveried footmen appeared to take their mallets and hand them glasses of champagne (Amanda removed the coupé from Quin’s hand and replaced it with a glass of barley water). There were trays of sandwiches, masses of cake, and pots and pots of hot water tea on the table, and despite the significant number of guests on the grounds, the supply of refreshments appeared to be endless and limitless.
                  “Quin, your manners,” She warned her brother, who looked ready to grab at the sandwiches and cake like the savage so many English thought Americans were.
                  Quintus groaned as she grabbed one of the small plates on the table and placed it into his hands. The plate in his hands, he moved rapidly down the table, piling the food high until you could see nothing of the round porcelain object whose purpose was to hold dainty amounts of victuals. She rolled her eyes at the duke when he laughed.
                  “Don’t tell me you were the same at ten years of age,”
                  “I shall have to corroborate my story with Bim about our mutual tales of angelic innocence during our salad days.”
                  “I seriously doubt that,” Amanda fetched her own plate and mused over the different types of sandwiches available. “I saw that sad state of those family portraits at Challoner Hall,