Chapter 12 #2
“Will you play again, or is one loss quite enough?” Hugo goaded, his blue eyes twinkling in an annoyingly enchanting fashion.
Although she noticed that he had a tendency to close his left eye from time to time, not a wink or a blink but a deliberate closure, as if it caused him some pain or strain. It was the eye that, on nearer inspection, was a shade lighter than the other.
“Have you ever suffered an injury to your eye?” she asked as the next game began.
Hugo stared at her as if she had just exposed his darkest secrets. “Pardon? Why would you say that?”
“One is paler than the other, and you blink it more often,” she explained, putting down her card.
Hugo scarcely looked at his own cards before placing one down, just as she had hoped. “What an… astute observation, but you will not learn anything from it. I give nothing away when I play at cards.”
“Oh, but you do,” she replied with a smile. “More than you think.”
He blinked that left eye more firmly than his right, his lip curling as if he had just realized what he had done. “It gets dry sometimes, that is all.”
“If you say so.” She knew she had him somewhat rattled, though she did not know why.
Was I right? Was he injured somehow?
She did not care to press too much, for there was a line between skillful distraction and outright prying that she would not be crossing, but it gave her food for thought.
A rising curiosity about the gentleman who had led her in the best dance of her life, and had made her…
feel something, even if it was just part of his revenge.
If she ended up marrying the baron, she would need all of the nice memories she could muster. Indeed, fantasy and imagination would probably be her means of surviving such a marriage.
She lost the second game, though not as badly as the first. It was rather close, in truth, so much so that Selina had gone quiet. Maybe she had not expected Evelyn to learn so quickly, getting better with each passing round.
“Ready to give up?” Hugo asked, though his smile was not as wicked as before.
“Not in the slightest. I shall not relent until I am victorious,” Evelyn replied, feeling rather buoyant. “I am learning more about the game and its players with every loss. That is, of course, the value in losing, Your Grace. It is always an education.”
He made a small, amused sound. “You have such pearls of wisdom, Lady Evelyn. Wherever did you read that?”
“I did not,” she replied. “I thought of it just now.”
“Surely, that cannot be true.” Hugo leaned in slightly. “Come now, do not attempt to fool us by claiming the words of a philosopher as your own.”
She glanced at him, her eyebrow raised. “If you do not believe me, I would happily wait while you read all of the philosophy books in my household library, so I might then feel some satisfaction when you discover that you are mistaken.”
In truth, she was probably pooling together thoughts and theories of philosophers that she favored, but the sentiment was her own.
She had experienced enough loss to understand the value and virtue in it, and how one could choose to let it crush you or use it to carve a stronger version of yourself that would not be crushed the next time.
“If you win the next round, I shall believe you,” he said with a knowing smile, no doubt expecting her to lose again.
She shrugged. “Very well. Let us begin.”
She picked up her cards and eyed them carefully, keeping Selina, Hugo, and Lord Arthur in her periphery, watching for any sign of joy or dismay or uncertainty. Selina was the easiest to read, for Evelyn knew her the best, but Lord Arthur was not so subtle with his expressions either.
I can do this, Evelyn told herself as she played a nonchalant four of hearts.
It was like poetry. Every card put down by the others flowed directly into the cards that she possessed, her confidence and her hope rising as, one by one, the other players were forced to concede defeat. Lord Arthur was first, Selina was second, muttering that she did not favor this game anyway.
Then, it was just Evelyn and Hugo, down to their last few cards.
He placed a ten of spades and she put a ten of jacks on top of it. He set down a jack of hearts on top of that, which she trounced with the queen of hearts. He gingerly put down the king of diamonds, one card left in his grip.
Come on… come on…
Breathless, she lay the king of hearts on top of it and raised her gaze to see what she might read in Hugo’s expression.
With a slight rise of his eyebrow, he stared at his cards and shook his head. “Your turn. I have nothing.”
Feeling as if she might shriek with delight, her face broke into the widest of grins as she put the ace of hearts onto the stack. All that remained was whether he had a two in the red suit, for there were no more kings in the red that could be placed on top.
He puffed out an annoyed breath, and tossed his last card onto the table. A three of spades.
“It would seem you are the winner, Lady Evelyn,” he said, with a note of amusement in his voice, as if he were not quite as disappointed as he wanted her to think. “Well played. A philosopher and an expert at gambling. I wonder what other mysterious talents you possess.”
She could not believe that she had actually won, unable to school her face into anything like polite reserve. It was a rush that she wanted to relish, and as she gazed into Hugo’s eyes, she saw a spark of admiration that made her heart skip a beat.
Indeed, if she had not seen the three of spades for herself, she might have thought that he had let her win. But no, she had done it, all on her own.
And he is happy for me. He is… happy for me.
Bombarded with a sudden attack of shyness, Evelyn lowered her gaze and cleared her dry throat. “I think that is where I must end my participation. Best to leave when one is winning.”
She pushed back the chair in a hurry and, with a brief curtsy to Hugo and Lord Arthur, she took herself out onto the garden terrace, for she found she was in dire need of fresh air and a cool breeze to temper the warmth in her face.
He is not for you, she told herself sternly as she walked to the edge of the terrace and looked out across beautiful gardens, fragrant in the evening air, the shadowed shapes of topiary and hedges not quite as unnerving as whatever had just happened inside the manor.
“No,” she whispered, her voice catching, “my path has already been decided.”
And in that future, she was anything but the victor.