CHAPTER FIVE
Evie descended the pergola steps, the Duke's words still curling in her thoughts like cigar smoke. Future Duchess of Ashford. Absurd, perhaps. But the kind of absurd that didn't leave easily.
The garden party was in full bloom. Champagne glasses caught the late-afternoon sun like shards of gold. The harpist's notes floated on the breeze, weaving between murmured conversations and the heady scent of roses.
She spotted the Duchess — poised in dove-grey silk, her court gathered in a neat arc around her. Evie smoothed her skirts, took a measured breath, and approached.
"Your Grace," she said with a warm, steady smile. "What a beautiful afternoon you've created. The gardens are blooming — like stepping into a painting."
The Duchess's gaze moved over her with polite precision. A faint smile tugged at her mouth, not quite reaching her eyes. "You're kind to say so, Miss Sinclair. One must keep standards…immaculate."
Before Evie could respond, a ripple of movement shifted the circle. Camila glided in, all gloss and charm.
"Your Grace," Camila greeted, curtsying with a familiarity that wasn't earned overnight. "The tulips are stunning this year. You've truly outdone yourself."
The Duchess's face transformed — warmer, lighter. "Miss Alcott.Dear you look divine."
Camila's smile tilted. "I only try to keep up with you."
"You must join me for tea later this week," the Duchess said, her voice carrying just enough for those nearby to hear. "We've much to discuss."
"It would be my pleasure," Camila replied, eyes glinting like she'd just pocketed something valuable.
Evie's champagne glass felt colder in her hand. The Duchess turned back to her with a nod — polite, dismissive — before drifting away with Camila at her side.
She found Miles near the eastern fountain, trading words with a viscount about racehorses. His expression shifted instantly when he saw her.
"What's the tea thing with the Duchess?" she asked, cutting straight through pleasantries.
Miles blinked. "Afternoon tea? It's… not just tea. It's where she gathers her closest, most trusted ladies. Influence gets traded there — the kind that lasts years. You were invited, right?"
Evie exhaled, slow and deliberate. "Not a word." She took a sip. "Camila was, by the way."
Miles's mouth quirked. "Wow."
"The Duchess hates me," Evie said, not angrily, just matter-of-fact.
"She doesn't. Camila's mother was practically family to her. Old ties, old loyalties." He studied her face. "You just have to give her a reason to like you."
Evie's lips curved in something that wasn't quite a smile. "I'm not auditioning for anyone's approval, Miles. If someone can't see my worth without me parading it under their nose, they're not worth the view."
His laugh was low and genuine. "That's sassy, lady."
"It's not sass," she murmured, turning toward the sound of the string quartet starting up. "It's a fact."
Arabella appeared at Miles's side like a sunbeam that demanded attention.
"Miles," she said, voice smooth, almost teasing, "Kaiden's waiting. The match is about to start."
Miles arched a brow. "The one where you and Kaiden swear you're not cheating, but somehow always win?"
Arabella's grin flashed. "Tradition, darling. Now come on, your partner's waiting."
Evie stepped closer, adjusting her skirts, curiosity piqued. "Match?"
Miles glanced at her. "The annual garden game. Tradition. Family, friends… the oldest of friends. Arabella, Kaiden, Camila, me — it's been a thing since we were children."
Evie tilted her head, a spark of mischief in her eyes. Mind if I join?"
Arabella's smile didn't quite reach her eyes. There was a pause — polite, deliberate. "I'm afraid… it's rather an inner-circle affair. Family, and a few oldest friends. I'm sure you understand."
Evie's lips twitched into a mock-curtsy. "Of course,I appreciate your relevant information. I wouldn't dream of intruding on sacred traditions."
Miles gave her a glance that clearly said don't read too much into it before letting Arabella tug him toward the manicured lawn.
Evie lingered at the edge, watching as teams were announced, players grabbing mallets with all the ceremony of a courtly ritual. Laughter and polite wagers floated through the air.
"Miss Sinclair?"
She turned to see a tall, dark-haired man with an easy grin and the unmistakable air of someone who'd been told his whole life that women found him charming. He bowed lightly. "James Fairfax — Lady Penelope's son. You've met my mother's dog, I think?"
"Ah. The dachshund," Evie said, smiling. "Yes, we've been introduced."
He inclined his head toward the croquet lawn. "I'm short a partner, and I've been told you have a competitive streak. Care to prove it?"
Evie's first instinct was to demur — to keep out of the ridiculous little royal games altogether. But her gaze slid to the lawn, where Camila was laughing at something Miles had just said, head tilted in that old, familiar way.
Evie arched an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at her lips. "And what made you think I was an option for this?"
"Instinct," he replied, eyes glinting with quiet humor. "And the fact that I refuse to lose without a proper fight."
She hesitated just long enough to make him wonder, then allowed her lips to curve. "Very well. I shall see if I can keep up."
He offered his arm with the elegance of someone accustomed to formal dances, not casual games on the lawn. "Then it's settled, my lady."
Crossing to the lineup together, they drew a ripple of attention. Miles's gaze followed her, brows rising in barely concealed surprise. Arabella's expression flickered — curiosity, annoyance, and competitive spark all mingled for a second before being tucked behind polite civility.
Camila, meanwhile, only smiled slow, sharp, and confident. The kind of smile that silently said let the game begin.
The Ashbourne croquet lawn was the picture of summer elegance , emerald grass cropped to perfection, white hoops glinting in the sunlight, and clusters of guests fanning themselves under cream-colored parasols. On the surface, it was a genteel garden sport. In reality, it was bloodless warfare in hats and linen.
The umpire, a man with a polished voice and a clipboard, called the opening round. "Competitors, to your marks."
Arabella and Kaiden were first to step forward, the very image of old-family charm. But those who had played against them before knew better. Arabella had a way of drifting into an opponent's line just before their swing, her wide skirts conveniently billowing into their space. Kaiden's specialty was "accidentally" knocking rival balls off-course ,always followed by a dazzling apology and a bow that could almost pass for sincerity.
The early rounds went quickly. A newcomer misjudged a simple shot after Arabella "helpfully" pointed out a stray thread on her dress. Another player's perfect setup was ruined when Kaiden's ball "bounced wrong" into his.
By the halfway mark, the field had thinned to just three teams: Arabella and Kaiden, Miles and Camila, and James with Evie.
Camila played like she was cutting glass , sharp, exact, and unflinching. Miles, as always, was composed and methodical, his swings precise but impersonal. Arabella's laughter trilled across the lawn whenever someone faltered. James, in contrast, was loose and easy in his style, letting instinct carry him. Evie, who had been nervous at the start, found herself matching his rhythm until Camila stepped up beside her.
Evie bent slightly, lining up her shot. From the edge of her vision, Camila shifted just a fraction , close enough for the faintest thwack of wood against Evie's shin as she began her swing. The sharp jolt of pain caught her breath, but her arms moved on reflex.
Her ball sailed cleanly through the hoop.
Gasps broke the hush as Evie stumbled, her balance tipping backward — but before she could hit the grass, James's hand was at her back, steady and sure. For a moment, their faces were inches apart, and the world seemed to pause.
Then came the whispers.
"Did you see that?"
"I thought she was with Lord Miles…"
"They look perfect together, though."
Across the lawn, Miles froze mid-step. At first there was only a flicker of surprise — as though the detail of Evie being "his" had momentarily slipped his mind. But the murmurs reached him, and something in his gaze sharpened. It wasn't jealousy, but the cool calculation of a man who understood exactly how fast gossip could travel.
The umpire's voice rang out: "Point to Fairfax and Sinclair. They take the match!"
Arabella's applause was gracious enough to be insulting. Kaiden's grin didn't falter, but his jaw was tight. Camila's smile was faint, almost polite ,except for the glimmer in her eyes that told Evie the hit to her shin had been deliberate.
The crowd broke into small knots, champagne glasses refilling, the quartet striking up again. Evie, still with James beside her, found herself the target of lingering glances.
A few more well-wishers approached, offering polite congratulations. Beyond them, Arabella's smile tightened to something brittle. Without a word, she turned and glided away from the lawn, Kaiden trailing at her side with the polite stiffness of someone who'd just lost in public.
From the refreshment tent, a crisp voice cut cleanly across the chatter.
"Miles, a word."
The Duchess's voice was a whip-crack of authority and Miles answered without hesitation. Miles glanced once toward the lawn, his gaze lingering briefly on Evie and James before striding toward her.
She waited in the shade, every inch composed elegance."Quite the display with James Fairfax" she said, her voice as smooth as silk and just as cold.
Miles kept his tone even. "She tripped. She was vulnerable at that moment ."
The Duchess's gaze didn't soften. "Vulnerability is forgivable. Carelessness is not.A woman who would be Duchess does not fall into another man's arms in public, with half the county watching.People are talking." Her eyes lingered on Evie a heartbeat too long, like a jeweler finding a flaw in what should have been a perfect stone.. "Camila would never allow herself such indignity. She knows her place."
Miles's jaw tightened. "Evie is not Camila."
"No," the Duchess agreed.She took a step closer, her voice dropping to a razor's edge. "Perception, my dear boy, ruins faster than truth.And that girl," the pause deliberate, her gaze still fixed on Evie, "is not simply an invitation for scandal, Miles. She is the scandal."
Before Miles could respond, Camila approached, her expression the perfect blend of concern and grace.
"Are you quite all right, dear?" the Duchess asked her warmly. "That was a tough match."
"I'm fine," Camila replied, though her gaze slid to Miles. "I see Evie has company."
The Duchess's brows lifted ever so slightly, but she said nothing more. Miles excused himself abruptly and walked toward the house.