As the game progressed, he caught Phyllis’ glance more than once. However, the moment their eyes locked, she would hastily look away. For some reason, it amused him. As she tried to focus on the ball, he couldn’t fail to notice her impressive croquet skills.
“Quite the skilled player, Miss St. Clair. Have you chosen this game, so you can beat us all?” he quipped, his tone light and teasing.
He knew that Phyllis would not be the one to back down, so she retorted with a sly grin. “I assure you, Your Grace, that my talents are entirely natural. No conspiracies are involved. Besides, it is your brother who chose the game, not me.”
“Guilty as charged!” Leonard lifted his mallet into the air, in confirmation of what was said, along with a mischievous grin.
“Also,” Phyllis turned her attention to Alexander once more, “it seems that you might need some extra lessons to keep up.”
Their words carried the weight of the unspoken tension between them, yet in the context of the game, it all unfolded in good humor. The onlookers chuckled at this lively exchange.
“Yes, mine isn’t a natural talent like yours,” he replied with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.
“I do believe that this is a natural talent, one that comes with navigating the intricacies of life,” she retorted, tilting her head a little, as if to take a closer look at him.
He was smirking when he replied. “I suppose you are equally adept at outmaneuvering opponents in matters beyond the croquet field?”
She maintained her composure, although he wanted to see that veil of propriety fall down again. He wanted to see her upset again, that raw, genuine emotion that he just caught a glimpse into.
“Your Grace, I assure you, my talents are adaptable,” she replied calmly, while the others continued playing when it was their turn. “Whether in a game or in the nuances of life, one must always be prepared for the unexpected moves.”
Her response surprised him, mostly for the simple fact that he couldn’t agree with her more. He wasn’t expecting that. Even this was one of those unexpected moves. And another one followed.
“But I’m sure you’d know that, as croquet isn’t as forgiving as politics, is it?” she asked, taking a very precise swing at her ball.
He responded in kind, not wanting to allow her to get the upper hand. “Just like you, I have been known to navigate trickier terrains than a croquet lawn, Miss St. Clair. Politics, after all, is a game of strategy.”
Their banter, though laced with humor, held a subtle edge. Beneath the surface, a lingering annoyance colored their interaction. He knew that she didn’t want to be here. In fact, she was only here because of her father. And she had already divulged her plan to him, although he still hadn’t made up his mind on what to do exactly. A marriage of convenience was what he had been hoping for, and many ladies would consider themselves fortunate to be in this situation. He frowned to himself.
As Phyllis skillfully maneuvered her ball through the wickets, she couldn’t help but shoot a pointed look at Alexander. “Strategy, Your Grace, can sometimes lead to unintended circumstances. Much like a poorly aimed shot in croquet.”
Alexander smirked, masking a flicker of irritation. He wasn’t bad at croquet, but he wasn’t a master, that much was true, while Phyllis either had dozens of lessons or she was truly a natural talent. Not that it mattered all that much which one was the truth.
“But isn’t that what makes the game interesting?” he asked. “The unexpected turns and surprises.”
She eyed him gravely. “I do not like unexpected turns and surprises.” She turned around to see whether they were within earshot of anyone else. When she assured herself that they weren’t, she continued. “It was actually one of those unexpected turns that resulted in me ending up here, and you can imagine my surprise.”
He didn’t know what to say to that. She could see that, and she gestured at the ball. “It is your turn, Your Grace. Or would you like to forfeit already?”
“Never,” he shook his head. “I play until the very end, Miss St. Clair and I always play to win.”
With an air of confidence, Alexander took his turn on the croquet lawn. The mallet met the ball with a decisive swing, but instead of the intended precision, the shot went awry. The ball veered off course, rolling far from the intended wicket.
A collective gasp emanated from everyone present, whose attention was focused on Alexander and his ball. The unexpected turn of events left him looking more than a little chagrined. Phyllis seemed to be suppressing a triumphant smile.
“Well, Your Grace, it seems that even the most skilled strategies can have off day on the croquet field. A bit like navigating the complexities of life, wouldn’t you say?” Her words carried a playful edge, and the subtle satisfaction in her tone was hard to miss.
It was difficult to acknowledge his less than stellar shot in a good-natured manner, but he still responded with a grin. “Indeed, Miss St. Clair. A humbling reminder that even the best-laid plans can take unexpected turns.”
Just as she was about to say something to that, a sudden gush of wind seized Phyllis’ bonnet, whisking it away in a playful dance of ribbons. Gasps and laughter erupted from the small gathering as the delicate headpiece twirled through the air.
Along with the others, Alexander stood and watched in amusement, when he heard his mother’s words. “Be a gentleman, Alexander, and retrieve the lady’s bonnet. A chivalrous act, don’t you think?”
Caught between the playful challenge and the expectations of the gathering, Alexander couldn’t refuse. With a good-humored smile, he excused himself from the croquet match and set off in pursuit of the airborne bonnet.
The garden came alive with amusement as Alexander showcased his athleticism, weaving through the shrubbery in pursuit of the elusive headpiece. Phyllis, cheeks flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and amusement, watched as the duke navigated the garden with determination.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Phyllis said, sounding truly grateful. “Although I cannot possibly wear it now.”
