18. Chapter 18
CHAPTER 18
T he whist tournament filled one of Fairfax Hall’s grandest rooms with laughter and excited chatter that echoed off the gilt-edged ceiling. Guests crowded around tables draped in emerald velvet, their voices competing with the gentle clink of crystal as players shifted in their chairs. Marble columns rose above, wrapped in fresh roses and trailing ivy, their perfume mixing with the heady scent of punch and excitement.
Alice entered on her mother’s arm, her fingers trembling slightly against Mrs. Montrose’s sleeve. Her side ached where Victor had plucked her from death’s path, and she was certain a spectacular bruise bloomed beneath her gown where she’d landed in the brambles. She wore one of the new gowns that seemed to appear at her chamber door with alarming frequency—gifts from the dowager that felt oddly timed, given it was her birthday they celebrated. This one was of pale blue silk that whispered against the floor when she moved, its color shifting from robin’s egg to twilight, depending on how the light caught the fabric. The effect made her feel simultaneously more confident and more exposed than she’d felt in days, especially given the events of the afternoon.
Mrs. Montrose had spent hours apologizing profusely while Miss Eastridge prepared Alice for the evening.
“My nerves quite got the better of me,” she had said again and again, wringing her handkerchief as she paced the chamber. “You do understand, my dear?”
Alice had watched her mother’s reflection in the mirror as she dressed, maintaining what she hoped was an empathetic expression, while darkness writhed in her chest. She had accepted the apologies, feeling hollow inside as Miss Eastridge added rouge to her cheeks.
“However did your hair get in such a state?” Miss Eastridge had asked during a quiet moment. Her quick fingers worked through the snarls, her expression growing increasingly puzzled. “This is not the way I fixed it this morning.”
Alice couldn’t bring herself to admit that it had been Captain Lacey who had fixed her appearance after saving her life—that his deft hands had proved surprisingly gentle as he’d smoothed her hair and straightened her dress. She’d almost been sad to see his handiwork undone. Instead, she’d mumbled something about attempting to fix it herself, earning a disapproving click of the tongue from their maid.
And now she stood with her mama, glittering in the lights, as if the morning’s events had not happened at all.
They paused at the refreshment table, where footmen moved with practiced grace between crystal decanters and silver trays. Mrs. Montrose sampled the punch and made a face.
“Far too much lemon,” she declared, setting her glass down with a sharp clink. “Whoever mixed this batch should be dismissed immediately.”
Alice did not have the heart to tell her she had been the one to approve of the drink.
“I rather like it,” Alice said, surprising herself with the casual disagreement. The tart brightness of the drink matched her mood—sharp and uncertain. Just a week ago, she would have nodded along with whatever assessment her mother made.
She must be going mad.
Lady Fairfax approached them then, her movements as fluid as water. She wore a gown of deep violet silk that caught the silver embroidery at the neckline, drawing the eye to a diamond broach. No common flowers for the countess. Her light hair was arranged in elaborate coils adorned with precious stones that winked in the candlelight.
“That gown suits you beautifully, Miss Montrose,” Lady Fairfax said warmly. “Much better than it ever looked on me.”
Mrs. Montrose’s eyes widened. “This is your gown?”
“Indeed.” Lady Fairfax’s smile held no trace of falsehood. She gestured to one of the nearby Whist tables where two women already sat, their own flower pins catching the light. “Mrs. Montrose, won’t you join our table? We’re in need of a fourth.”
They approached the table, and Alice watched her mother’s quick assessment of the single empty chair.
But before Mrs. Montrose could voice the obvious issue of seating, a familiar voice spoke from behind them.
“There is room at our table for you, Miss Montrose.”
Alice nearly jumped out of her skin at Captain Lacey’s voice. When she turned to face him, something shifted in her perception, like a painting viewed in an entirely new light. His chestnut hair caught the candlelight like burnished copper, and even his perpetually furrowed brow seemed somehow ... appealing. The officer’s uniform he wore fit his broad shoulders perfectly, emphasizing the military bearing that radiated from his very stance.
She took a quick sip of punch to hide her confusion at this new awareness of him, the lemon tartness shocking her back to her senses.
“What do you say, Miss Montrose?” Victor’s eyebrow arched as he motioned to the adjacent table, his expression deceptively casual. “Fancy a game?”
Her stomach dropped as she spotted the Duke of Gainsbury at the table. Elias shuffled a deck of beautifully illustrated cards, the backs decorated with intricate flower patterns in gold leaf. He hadn’t noticed her yet, and every muscle in her body tensed at the prospect of facing him again.
“How absolutely lovely!” Lady Fairfax clapped her hands together. The obvious delight in her voice made Alice suspect a conspiracy—one confirmed when she caught the dowager raising her crystal glass in a knowing wink from across the room.
“Enjoy yourself, Mama,” Alice said with forced cheer as Lady Fairfax finally coaxed her mother to the other table.
But Alice herself remained frozen, staring at the back of Elias’s head. His dark hair was perfectly arranged, yet she could see tension in the set of his shoulders, in the way he held himself just a fraction too still.
Victor stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur.
“Do not worry. He does not bite.”
“No, but he can land a punch,” Alice replied, glancing sidelong at him. “Or ten.”
Victor’s face transformed into an expression of exaggerated shock that somehow made his severe features even more striking.
“Were you spying on us, Lady Rose?”
“If by spying you mean I witnessed His Grace thoroughly trounce you in the garden, then yes.”
“Well, trust me when I say he will not strike you.” Victor extended his hand. “Come.”
When she hesitated, rooted to the spot, his fingers wiggled playfully. Despite her racing heart at the prospect of facing Elias again, she found herself reaching for Victor’s offered hand. Something steadying flowed through the contact—like finding solid ground after walking on ice. When he released her to pull out her chair, she felt suddenly unmoored.
Elias had noticed her by now. He rose stiffly, his chair scraping against the floor as he executed a proper—if somewhat mechanical—bow. When he straightened, he cast Victor a look of unmistakable displeasure.
“I thought Miss Montrose might join us for the tournament,” Victor said with a false innocence.
“I need not stay if His Grace would prefer otherwise,” Alice ventured carefully.
“Nonsense,” Elias replied, though his jaw remained tight. “Please, join us.”
Lord Fairfax chose that moment to rise and address the room, his rich voice carrying over the crowd.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we shall play in progressive rounds. The victors of each table will advance until we crown our champion, who shall receive the title of Garden Sovereign and wear the ceremonial wreath for the remainder of the evening.”
A footman stepped forward, bearing an elaborate crown woven from fresh flowers interspersed with delicate sprays of baby’s breath and trailing ivy. The creation earned appreciative murmurs from the crowd, though Alice noticed Victor’s lip curl slightly at the sight.
As they took their seats, he turned to Mrs. Montrose at the next table.
“I personally think His Grace would look lovely in flowers. What say you?”
Both Alice and Elias shot him exasperated looks as they gathered their cards. The tension between them crackled like lightning before a storm—Elias wouldn’t meet her eyes, his usually carefree expression replaced by obvious strain.
The first hand proceeded in painful silence. Alice studied her cards without really seeing them, too aware of every slight movement from the duke beside her. Their arms nearly brushed once as they both reached to play, causing them both to freeze momentarily before jerking away.
After watching this stilted display, Victor rolled his eyes heavenward.
“You are both insufferable.”
“I do not know what you expect us to do,” Alice said, laying down a card with more force than necessary.
“Must I act as your nursemaid?” Victor set his cards face-down with deliberate care, his tone shifting to something harder. “Very well. Here is the truth of it. I treated Miss Montrose abominably—spied upon her, spread rumors, stole her drink to paint her as a lush. I chased away Miss Jennings by informing her that her father’s gambling debts would make her a most unsuitable match for any gentleman of means.”
After his confession, Victor played his card with precise, almost military efficiency. His sharp gaze moved between Alice and Elias as he continued his litany of sins, each one punctuated by the soft snap of cards against velvet.
“So you see,” he concluded, “she has every reason to despise me, especially since I just won the trick. Your turn, Your Grace.”
Elias set down his entire hand and buried his face in his hands, his broad shoulders slumping. “Good Lord, Lacey, what have you done?”
“Mucked things up beyond repair,” Victor replied cheerfully, gathering the cards for the next hand. “But it is not too late for you.”
Elias shook his head, muttering under his breath before turning to Alice. The candlelight caught in his grey eyes, making them look almost silver. “Miss Montrose?—”
“Perhaps this is not the best venue for such a sensitive conversation,” she interrupted quickly, glancing at the nearby tables where other players were already straining to listen.
“Then let us speak tomorrow morning, on the lake.” His voice dropped lower, meant for her ears alone. “Just you and I. Would that please you?”
Alice’s heart fluttered uncertainly. Her relationship with the duke seemed as changeable as April weather—sunshine one moment, storms the next. But perhaps away from scheming mamas and meddling captains, they might finally understand one another.
“Yes,” she said softly. “I would like that very much.”
“Excellent,” Victor declared, dealing the next hand with practiced efficiency. “Now play your cards before the Dowager Countess sends someone to hurry us along.”
The tournament progressed through several rounds, each victory bringing them closer to the final table. Alice relaxed as the game continued, even managing to laugh when Victor dramatically clutched his chest after she played a particularly clever card.
“Such betrayal!” he declared, though his eyes sparkled with genuine amusement.
The final table formed with both Victor and the dowager among its players. The older woman’s eyes glittered dangerously as she played, matching Victor’s intensity with her own brand of calculated strategy. Other guests gathered around to watch, their whispered commentary beneath the snap of cards.
When Victor emerged victorious, the room erupted in delighted laughter as he was brought forward to receive his crown. The wreath sat rakishly atop his auburn hair, and Alice couldn’t help but notice how the blooms brought out the green flecks in his olive eyes. He looked absurdly handsome despite—or perhaps because of—the silly decoration, especially when he struck an exaggerated regal pose for his audience.
“Come,” Elias said beside her, offering his arm. “Let us listen to the pianoforte. I hear the lady is the best in the county.”
Alice hesitated, glancing toward Victor. He caught her eye across the room and gave an almost imperceptible nod of approval before turning away to accept congratulations from the other guests. Something warm bloomed in her chest at his silent blessing.
As she took Elias’s arm and allowed him to lead her away, Alice felt strangely steady on her feet. Whether that steadiness came from the duke beside her or the captain they were leaving behind, she couldn’t quite say.
Perhaps she didn’t need to know just yet.