Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
The following afternoon, the Kenton lawn was bathed in warm sunlight, the air fragrant with flowers and freshly cut grass. Jasper had expected a quiet afternoon, perhaps a moment to relax, but that was not to be.
Evelyn clapped her hands and announced with that bright, energetic tone of hers. “Now, everyone! We shall play croquet. It will be fun, and each of you shall play against all others, every man, every lady, for the glory of skill and precision!”
He raised an eyebrow at Mason, who only shrugged with that infuriating calm of his, and cast a glance toward Matilda. She was poised with a mallet in her hand, her skirts tucked just so, looking impossibly proper despite the exertion she’d suffered the day before.
Jasper felt a smile tug at his lips. Croquet. It was a game of strategy, patience, and the occasional jostle of luck. Nothing dangerous, nothing wet. And yet… knowing Matilda would be close, with her eyes sharp and her lips pressed in that determined line, he felt a thrill he hadn’t anticipated.
He picked up his mallet, running a hand over the smooth wood, and caught sight of Matilda across the lawn. She didn’t even glance in his direction. That was perfectly infuriating.
“May the best player win,” he called lightly, raising his mallet in mock solemnity.
She didn’t even blink. She didn’t so much as twitch. Jasper’s jaw tightened. How dare she ignore him?
He strode a few paces closer, trying to catch her eye, but she was wholly focused on the game, perfectly oblivious to his existence. For some inexplicable reason, the complete lack of acknowledgment made his chest tighten with irritation he hadn’t felt in years.
By the time the game began in earnest, with balls clacking and mallets swinging, he found himself watching her movements with more intensity than necessary. Every tilt of her head, every careful step she took, seemed designed to aggravate him by its utter disregard for his presence.
And yet… he could not deny the fascination it sparked. The more she ignored him, the more he wanted her attention. Every missed glance, every serene disregard, was like a dare.
Every so often, someone called her name or offered a suggestion on how to line up a shot, and each time she responded with laughter and good humor.
“Ah, Matilda, perhaps if you aim a touch more to the left, you might clear the stake!” Cordelia called, gesturing dramatically.
Matilda’s face lit up, her eyes sparkling. “Ah, Cordelia, and here I thought the stake was conspiring against me! Left it is! But do not think I shall forgive it if it continues to mock my aim!”
Hazel shook her head, trying not to laugh. “You have a most… inventive way of addressing obstacles, my dear.”
“I assure you,” Matilda said, spinning around with a flourish, “the stakes themselves tremble at my approach. One must always maintain decorum, even when toppling over inanimate objects.”
Jasper’s jaw tightened. She was radiant, playful, and utterly bright in the presence of everyone else, but as soon as he opened his mouth, she ignored him completely. He stepped closer, mallet tapping against the grass.
He tried to near her, but she pulled away from him. In fact, she didn’t so much as glance in his direction. Instead, she laughed and leaned toward Mason. “Mason, do you think the ball prefers polite coaxing or a sharp command? I have yet to discover its temperament!”
Mason raised an eyebrow, grinning. “I believe it favors you, Matilda. But I would hesitate to anger it, it might bite.”
Matilda threw her head back in exaggerated horror. “Bite me? Preposterous! Surely a noble ball would never!”
Jasper’s hands clenched around his mallet, though he tried not to smile. She was impossible. Joyful, irrepressible, witty and deliberately ignoring him.
He muttered under his breath, “I cannot stand it.”
Jasper swung his mallet with precise ease, sending the ball rolling perfectly between the stakes. He glanced up at the group, smiling confidently.
“Well done!” Robert called, clapping his hands. “A most impressive stroke!”
Cordelia laughed. “Jasper, you make it look effortless! I daresay the ball itself obeys you.”
Hazel nodded approvingly. “Quite the demonstration of skill, I must say.”
Jasper’s grin widened as he glanced toward Matilda, expecting… no, hoping for even the slightest acknowledgement.
Nothing.
Her grey eyes were fixed on Hazel, bright and sparkling with laughter as she recounted some joke Hazel had just told. Her animated and joyful lips moved, but she didn’t so much as glance in his direction.
He raised an eyebrow, amused and infuriated in equal measure. “Not a word of praise?” he muttered under his breath. “I would have thought the lady who nearly fainted at my presence yesterday might at least acknowledge my… skill.”
Cordelia leaned close, whispering conspiratorially, “Perhaps she’s just plotting how to embarrass you, as usual.”
Jasper snorted quietly, though his attention remained fixed on Matilda. She was radiant, lively, and utterly immune to him at this very moment, and it drove him madder than any opponent on a battlefield ever could.
He swung his mallet again, this time with a flourish, making a show of guiding the ball perfectly to the next stake. Cheers erupted from the others. And still, Matilda laughed with the others, completely ignoring him.
Jasper was lining up his next shot when he noticed Matilda stepping a little too close to the stake, completely absorbed in the trajectory of her ball. A slow grin spread across his face. Perhaps a little distraction would remind her he existed.
“Careful, Lady Matilda!” he called, feigning alarm.
She didn’t flinch. “I assure you, Duke, I am perfectly safe,” she replied, still laughing with Cordelia.
Jasper leaned slightly forward, pretending to be concerned, but the thought struck him: if she misstepped, she might tumble right into the path of his ball. He frowned playfully at the idea. This would be a perfect, harmless scare, nothing more.
He gave the ball a gentle push, and it rolled straight… right toward her feet. Matilda shrieked and jumped backward, flailing her arms. Jasper acted shocked, throwing up his hands.
“Good heavens! Are you unharmed?” he asked, rushing forward, though secretly he was thoroughly entertained.
“I… I’m fine!” she exclaimed, brushing grass off her skirts. He noticed that her cheeks were pink with that mixture of shock and outrage he relished so much. “You… this is exactly why I refuse to trust you in any activity requiring balance!”
Jasper grinned, leaning casually on his mallet. “I only meant to… test your reflexes. It appears they are excellent.”
Matilda’s grey eyes narrowed dangerously, though her lips twitched in spite of herself. “Test my reflexes? You nearly sent me flying!
“Merely enhancing your skills, Lady Matilda. Consider it… practical instruction,” he replied smoothly.
Matilda muttered under her breath. “I do not have the words for how irritating you are.”
And that, for some reason, only seemed to spur him on.
Matilda was not often in the mood to be playful.
Yet the afternoon sun, bright but not oppressive, and the merriment of her companions had managed to soften even her usual reserve.
They were now gathered beneath a canopy of white canvas, where a table had been set with fresh tea, cakes, and the promise of further entertainment.
Evelyn was flushed with happiness and a sisterly zeal which could never be resisted nor entirely approved, and she now leaned forward in her chair with the triumphant look of one about to announce a wicked scheme.
“We shall play charades,” she declared, “just as we used to in Bath. And this time in pairs! It will be livelier, I am certain.”
Matilda, who had been at first inclined to think very well of the idea, felt her contentment diminish with every word.
Pairs. Of course.
She had not survived six-and-twenty years, one ill-fated marriage, and countless mortifications only to be placed in precisely the company she wished to avoid. And indeed, she needed no oracle to tell her how this would be arranged.
Cordelia clapped her hands. Hazel arched a brow of amusement. Evelyn smiled too broadly for innocence.
“Matilda and His Grace, the Duke of Harrow will be the first pair,” Evelyn announced with the triumphant tone of a hostess certain she has contrived a delight.
The group’s laughter followed, for all seemed vastly entertained by the prospect of her being matched with him. Jasper Everleigh. That insufferable man.
Matilda had not forgotten the ignominy of dripping weeds, nor the scandal of laughter ringing in her ears. She had thought herself rid of him for the day, at least. Yet here he stood, dimples at the ready, bowing as if fate had merely granted him another triumph.
“Your partner, my lady,” Jasper said, offering a hand. His tone was polite, but his eyes danced with mischief.
She ignored the hand and rose without it. “How very fortunate for me,” she replied, her voice cool enough to freeze the steaming tea.
The game began. Jasper was to act, Matilda to guess.
It was immediately clear that Jasper had no intention of making the task straightforward. He leapt into the center of the lawn and bent into a dramatic bow, sweeping an imaginary cape with a flourish.
“A highwayman?” Matilda guessed.
He shook his head, and then clutched his chest as though stricken with a mortal wound.
“A tragic poet?”
“No.” He staggered, fell to one knee, then sprang upright again, grinning all the while.
“A lunatic?” she tried and was rewarded by the company’s laughter.
He pretended to brandish a sword, fought an invisible opponent, and then struck a pose so exaggerated that Cordelia squealed.
“A fencing master?”
Another shake of the head. Jasper’s eyes flashed toward her, daring her to keep up. He mimed pointing at the horizon, hand to brow like a conquering hero surveying a battlefield.
“Alexander the Great?” she said flatly.
It was only followed by more laughter. Jasper grinned and carried on, his dimples deepening as he mounted an invisible horse with great ceremony, trotting in a circle.
“A general? A soldier? A knight? A… oh, for heaven’s sake, you look ridiculous!”
“Not as ridiculous as a lady who refuses to see what is before her eyes,” he murmured, low enough for only her to hear, though his smile never faltered for the rest.
Her cheeks burned. Her guesses grew sharper, her tone brisk, but none struck true. The others, watching in delight, offered no rescue.
At last the round ended in laughter and teasing, Evelyn declaring, “It was Don Quixote! Oh, Matilda, how could you not see?”
“Because His Grace appears to believe all performances require the energy of a circus,” Matilda retorted.
Jasper bowed again, careless and victorious. “If the lady cannot guess, I must accept the fault lies entirely in my enthusiasm.”
The company laughed anew. But Matilda, though she sat straight and silent, felt her heart thunder. She told herself it was indignation, nothing more. Yet his voice lingered, his grin tormented her, and the memory of pond water clinging to his hair the day before returned most unwelcomely.
She sipped her tea with the air of a woman determined never to forgive him. But her hands trembled ever so slightly on the cup.