The terrace of Hamilton House was a sanctuary of calm compared to the battlefield of the Pall Mall lawn. Here, the air smelled of steeping Darjeeling tea and lemon cakes, not competition and crushed grass.
Ines, the Duchess of Carleton, sat in a white wicker chair, looking every inch the picture of relaxed aristocracy. She poured tea from a silver pot, the amber liquid steaming in the cool afternoon air.
Opposite her sat Lady Celine Farrington.
Celine was still holding her pink mallet, though she had rested it against the table leg. Her cheeks were flushed from the game, and a few strands of golden hair had escaped her bonnet. She looked less like a Diamond of the First Water and more like a young woman who was simply enjoying the sun.
Ines handed her a cup.
"Thank you, Your Grace," Celine said, taking the saucer with steady hands.
