12. Chapter 12
CHAPTER 12
A lice walked beside Lady Fairfax, hyperaware of the stares that followed their progress across the garden towards where the croquet tournament was to be held. The cosmetics and elaborate hairstyle from that morning’s transformation seemed to have changed how others viewed her—where before she had received pitying glances, now she noted genuine interest in their expressions. She felt exposed, like a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis before its wings had properly dried.
“Why do you suppose they look at me so?” Alice asked, resisting the urge to touch her carefully arranged hair.
“Because they know exactly what is happening.” Lady Fairfax’s smile held a hint of satisfaction.
“What?”
“Most in attendance went through this process themselves,” she said. “With the Dowager Countess. And now, as they see the change in you, as they notice the rose on your chest, they understand the dowager has a new project.”
Alice’s fingers brushed the rose pin.
“And is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“I think,” said Lady Fairfax, “it is mostly good, because when they look at you, they see themselves. Maybe it was a year ago, or five, or ten, but most stood on the precipice of ruin, just as you have. You might remind them of it.”
They walked in companionable silence for a moment, winding their way through the gardens toward the croquet tournament. Alice pondered Lady Fairfax’s words, turning them over in her mind.
“If you find people treating you queerly, I would not take it personally,” Lady Fairfax continued. “They may unconsciously react to that version of themselves before they met the Dowager Countess. To that lady in progress. To that woman they used to be.”
The words sparked a sudden understanding in Alice’s mind. Her mother’s face flashed before her—not as she was now, but as she must have been years ago, wearing her own daylily pin. She had never considered that her mother’s fury might stem from her own experiences with the dowager. From what little Alice had gathered, Mrs. Montrose’s time in the Garden had not yielded the results she’d hoped for. The realization eased something tight in Alice’s chest—perhaps her mother’s pain wasn’t entirely Alice’s fault after all.
As they approached the tournament grounds, Alice took in the elaborate setup. Multiple games were arranged across the vast lawn, with painted wooden balls lined up neatly. Small tables draped in white linen held crystal decanters of lemonade and plates of delicate cakes. Ladies in their finest morning dresses flitted between the pavilions, their parasols twirling above their heads. The dowager held court from her shaded perch, surrounded by women wearing an array of flower pins, their combined laughter carrying over the yard.
A flash of red caught Alice’s eye, and her stomach tightened instinctively as Captain Victor Lacey approached, a croquet mallet tucked casually into the crook of his arm. She felt Lady Fairfax stiffen beside her, and Alice’s own body seemed to brace for whatever chaos the man might bring.
“Lady Fairfax, Miss Montrose, lovely day for a game, is it not?” His tone was almost amiable, the words themselves so unexpected that Alice found herself momentarily struck dumb.
“Quite,” replied Lady Fairfax. “How is Violet Cottage treating you?”
A muscle worked in Victor’s jaw, the only crack in his typically sardonic demeanor.
“I had to remove a dust cover or two …” he said, his words trailing off into loaded silence.
Alice remembered the flickering lights she’d observed from her window in the darkest hours of the previous night. Despite her better judgment, and perhaps emboldened by her transformation, she ventured to speak.
“Is it the building across the lake?” she asked. “I noticed it the other night ... the lights all ablaze in the wee hours of morning.”
Something shifted in Captain Lacey’s countenance at her words, as though a blade had been unexpectedly dulled. His usual sharp edges seemed to soften ever so slightly.
“The space is not particularly conducive to peaceful sleep,” he said stiffly.
Lady Fairfax’s mouth drew into a thin line.
“You should have sent word ahead of your arrival. We would have arranged proper accommodation at Fairfax Hall?—”
“It is of no consequence.” The captain’s tone brooked no further discussion.
But Lady Fairfax’s attention remained fixed on Captain Lacey, her expression troubled. There seemed to be an undercurrent to their exchange that Alice couldn’t quite grasp—something deeper. She glanced past the sweeping lawn and tranquil lake to where the building stood in the distance, its walls draped in climbing ivy, surrounded by carefully trimmed hedges that seemed designed to obscure it from view.
With a fluid motion that suggested years of military drilling, he extended his croquet mallet toward Alice. The casual offer seemed at odds with his previous behavior, and she could only stare at him, thoroughly confused. As the moment stretched uncomfortably, Captain Lacey rolled his eyes and practically thrust the mallet into her free hand. She released Lady Fairfax’s arm to grasp it properly, shooting her companion a questioning look.
“The games should begin shortly,” Victor said, impatience creeping into his voice.
“I haven’t the slightest notion of how to play croquet, sir,” Alice protested. “Surely it would be better for all involved if I were to abstain.”
Captain Lacey clicked his tongue against his teeth.
“What a pity. I had intended to include you in a game with His Grace so you might properly socialize, but if you would rather not …”
Alice drew in a sharp breath. She had assumed their interaction at breakfast had gone poorly, yet here he was, extending what appeared to be an olive branch. Something fluttered in her breast—hope, perhaps? She turned to Lady Fairfax for guidance. The woman gave her the slightest of nods, but it was enough encouragement to steel her resolve.
“On second thought ...” Alice began.
“There we are,” Victor said, turning to stand beside her and extending his arm as though it were a peace offering.
Her stomach lurched at the prospect of touching him, as if he were made of poison oak rather than flesh and blood. But as she slowly reached out, her gloved hand contacting the wool of his scarlet jacket, his presence sent an unexpected jolt through her nerves. The physical power and control of a military man showed through even the thick fabric. She suspected that his seemingly uncouth behavior was carefully choreographed, just as she had for her own social performances.
“Lady Fairfax,” he said in farewell.
“Victor,” Lady Fairfax replied coolly, dropping all pretense of titles.
As they crossed the lawn toward their appointed game, Alice glanced back at the main pavilion. The dowager’s eyes were fixed upon them, a small smile playing about her lips that made Alice wonder if this, too, was part of some greater plan.
“I feel I must warn you,” Captain Lacey said, his voice pitched for her ears alone. “His Grace is remarkably accomplished in most games he attempts, but he will probably allow you victory on account of your sex. I, however, intend to do no such thing.”
“I neither wish you to, nor do I desire His Grace to hold back out of mere pity,” Alice said.
“Do you not consider it chivalrous for a gentleman to allow a lady to prevail?”
“I find it rather a slap in the face.”
The moment the words left her mouth, Alice realized she had inadvertently criticized His Grace’s character. Horror flooded through her as she stumbled to correct herself.
“I-I do not mean ... that is to say?—”
Captain Lacey gave her an odd look, the corner of his mouth twitching as though suppressing laughter. But before she could mortify herself further, they arrived at their destination—and there stood the Duke of Gainsbury himself.
Elias cut an impressive figure in the morning light, his broad shoulders filling out his perfectly tailored blue coat, his dark hair swept back from his forehead in artful waves. The physical activity of setting up the game had brought a healthy color to his cheeks, and when he turned toward them, his gray eyes sparkled with genuine pleasure. Alice’s breath caught in her throat at the sight of him.
“Lacey,” Elias said, his face brightening. “There you are, we were about to?—”
His words faltered as his gaze fell upon Alice. The same expression she’d seen at the ball crossed his features—shock and uncertainty—and a flush crept up his neck. He seemed to forget his own sentence entirely.
“We were just speaking of you, Your Grace,” Victor said.
“O-Oh?” Elias managed, his eyes darting between Alice and his friend.
“Yes, Miss Montrose is of the opinion that any gentleman who permits a lady victory out of courtesy is nothing short of a deplorable cad of the basest nature.”
Alice’s cheeks blazed.
“I assure you I said nothing of the sort!”
“I may have taken some creative liberties with the exact phrasing,” Captain Lacey admitted as he selected a croquet ball that matched his coat.
“Well, I should hate to be considered a deplorable cad,” Elias said, offering Alice a conspiratorial wink that made her falter. His smile, directed solely at her, seemed to make the rest of the world fall away.
The memory of their dance—and its disastrous conclusion—rose unbidden in her mind, causing her throat to tighten.
“You may play however you deem appropriate, Your Grace.”
“And I shall thoroughly trounce you both,” said Captain Lacey.
Another couple joined them; the lady wearing a begonia pin on her pelisse. The newcomers appeared somewhat taken aback by the competitive energy crackling between Alice, Victor, and Elias as they took their positions.
Victor proved true to his word, approaching each shot with tactical precision while offering razor-sharp commentary. When his scarlet ball sent Alice’s pink one spinning off course, he gave her an expression of exaggerated innocence.
“My deepest apologies, Miss Montrose. Years of cavalry charges have made me rather particular about hitting my mark—be it French soldiers or croquet balls.”
“Lacey,” Elias chided gently, “perhaps war talk isn’t quite suited for a garden party.”
But Alice barely registered the duke’s mild reproach. There was something in Victor’s tone that caught her attention—not his words themselves, but a fleeting shadow beneath his haughty manner. Though he smiled, she noticed how his fingers flexed on the croquet mallet, a subtle movement she might have missed if she hadn’t grown familiar with masking her own disquiet.
He’s broken just like you.
She pushed the thought away, determined to focus her energy on the duke. Not his very disagreeable friend.
“Come now, Gainsbury,” Victor said, his usual sardonic tone returning. “I am merely speaking in jest.”
After Victor’s comment, it was Elias who truly shone at the game. His natural athleticism showed in every movement as he lined up each shot with careful consideration. When his ball passed through three wickets in succession, his apologetic smile did little to disguise his obvious pleasure in the achievement. Though he played to win, he tempered each successful strike with genuine kindness—particularly toward Alice.
She warmed to the game despite her initial reservations, caught up in the friendly competition. Though she missed more shots than she made, neither man made her feel foolish for her lack of skill. Indeed, Elias seemed to pay particular attention to her attempts, offering gentle suggestions for improvement that never felt condescending.
Then, after some fine shots, Alice’s ball stuck fast against a wicket, leaving her at an impossible angle. As she surveyed the hopeless position, Elias approached her.
“If I may?” Elias asked, stepping closer with careful propriety. “The trick lies in the angle of the strike.”
“Please,” Alice said, finding herself oddly at ease as he moved behind her.
“First, your grip must be just so.” His gloved hands settled over hers on the mallet’s handle, adjusting her fingers with utmost delicacy. Though he maintained a respectful distance, she could still feel subtle warmth radiating from him, the familiar scent of citrus and salt.
It was pleasant, she decided. Comfortable, even. Like sitting beside a fire—warm but not overwhelming. Yet she couldn’t help but notice the absence of the feelings she had expected now that she was well. No racing heart, no trembling hands, no heightened awareness of every breath. Just a gentle contentment that left her wondering if something was wrong with her that she couldn’t feel more.
“Now, if you angle your stance thus ...” Elias demonstrated the proper position, his voice dropping to a gentle murmur near her ear.
And as he stood back to allow her the space to practice her swing, Alice felt like this would be the only opportunity to say the things weighing upon her spirit.
“Your Grace, I feel I must apologize for my behavior at the ball?—”
“No,” he interrupted, his expression earnest. “I must beg your forgiveness. I should not have been quite so ... vigorous in our dance.”
“The fault lies entirely with me,” Alice said. “I was so eager to accept your dance that I failed to mention my indisposition.”
“Eager, you say?” A hint of pleasure colored his tone.
They both flushed at the implication, gazes darting away from each other. Alice became intensely interested in the handle of her croquet mallet while Elias seemed to find the distant hedgerows fascinating.
“Well, if truth be told,” he finally ventured, “I was perhaps overly enthusiastic myself. So much so that I neglected to ensure your comfort.”
They had somehow stumbled into an elaborate dance of apologies, each attempting to claim the greater share of blame. The ridiculousness of their situation struck Alice suddenly—here they were, a duke and a gentleman’s daughter, arguing over who bore more responsibility for her sudden illness.
“Your Grace, I must thank you for your kindness,” she breathed. “Many men would not wish to stand within five yards of me after such an incident.”
His expression softened.
“Then they would have missed out on something rather extraordinary.”
The words hung between them until Captain Lacey’s voice cut through their private moment.
“If you two have finished your tête-à-tête,” he called, “some of us would like to complete this game before the next century dawns.”
The other players exchanged knowing looks, hiding smiles behind their hands. Alice felt her cheeks warm, though whether from embarrassment at the attention or frustration at Victor’s interruption, she could not say. Elias stepped back immediately, ever mindful of propriety, though his eyes lingered on her face.
Heat flooded Alice’s cheeks as they rejoined the group. Victor’s knowing smirk suggested he had observed every moment of their exchange.
“How generous of His Grace to offer such ... personal instruction,” he said, making Alice’s flush deepen.
They resumed play, with Elias suddenly flustered, making poor shot after poor shot. To everyone’s surprise, Alice was not far behind. Perhaps it was due to providence, or maybe the duke’s instruction had made a difference. But every stroke she made from that point onward seemed charged with luck. While Elias’s victory seemed a foregone conclusion in the last moments of the game, Victor’s aim went mysteriously awry. His ball somehow knocked Alice’s through the final wicket, securing her an unexpected victory over the duke.
Everyone gasped and clapped, even Elias’s face lighting up at losing the game. Victor’s clap was slow and deliberate, his unfortunate countenance cutting through her.
“Did you just do what I think you did?” she whispered furiously as they both retrieved their balls.
Captain Lacey’s face was all innocence as she threw his ball in the air and caught it with a sudden swipe.
“What can I say?” He shrugged, lowering his voice for her ears alone. “I am a deplorable cad.”