“Maybe we’ve all had too much fun in the sun,” Leonard announced, looking about. “How about we all go back inside for a nice glass of lemonade?”
Everyone accepted, and fifteen minutes later, the atmosphere shifted from the sunlit croquet lawn to the elegant drawing room, adorned with opulent furnishings. As the guests gathered for a refreshing glass of lemonade, Alexander heard Phyllis say.
“It seems that you lost, Your Grace,” she teased.
Alexander, sipping his lemonade with an air of nonchalance, countered. “I beg to differ, Miss St. Clair. I believe my strategic retreat with your bonnet secured my victory.”
A chorus of laughter followed, punctuating their banter. But Phyllis did not leave it there, much to everyone’s amusement.
“A victory earned through muddy sacrifice. How gallant of you,” she retorted when the laughter subsided.
He, in turn, offered a mock bow. “I aim to please, Miss St. Clair. Sacrifices, even in the form of bonnets, are a small price for triumph.”
Alexander continued to sip his lemonade even when the topic of conversation moved onto other areas. He wondered if what he said was true. Did he really win? Did it even matter?
* * *
Phyllis believed that she had finally come to a well-deserved moment of respite, as she watched Alexander and his brother speak with their mother, while Joyce seemed to busy herself with her glass of lemonade. She closed her eyes, allowing the moment to subside in her mind, congratulating herself on a well-played game, as well as arranging everything in a manner that suited them all. She even smiled barely noticeably to herself, when she heard her father’s voice drip into her ear.
“Was that truly necessary, Phyllis?” she could hear him ask, although she wasn’t sure what exactly he was referring to.
She opened her eyes, only to lock with his. Displeasure was etched on his facial features, each line on his forehead telling a story of disapproval.
“What do you mean, Father?” she asked, leaning closer to him, because she could tell from the tone of his voice that this was not the sort of conversation he wanted anyone to overhear.
“I mean the croquet game,” he explained, still in a hushed voice, with his eyes focused on the trio seated slightly further away from them. “That is not how a lady plays a game.”
“I played a game as I would have played it with Joyce,” Phyllis couldn’t understand what was expected of her.
“A woman should not care about winning any games,” he clarified through clenched teeth.
It was now that she understood. Her father was worried that the duke might think her too competitive, or even worse, better than him at something that was considered a man’s game. Phyllis was momentarily enraged. It wasn’t enough that she was forced to marry a man she didn’t know anything about, least of all whether he was a good man or not, but she was also supposed to play the role of a submissive woman, not to insult or bruise that same man’s ego. Phyllis could barely sustain her outrage at this.
“A woman should be ladylike,” he continued. “Which was exactly the opposite of what you yourself have been with the duke.”
Phyllis could not understand it. She was doing what was asked of her. Only, that didn’t seem to be enough. They had to kill her spirit completely in the process of forcing her to fit a certain mold that the ton expected a woman to fit. Phyllis hated it, but she knew well that she would never have any outlet for this displeasure. All she could do was comply. After all, her sister’s happiness depended on her own actions. She couldn’t let Joyce down.
“I understand, Father,” she managed to muster, through equally clenched teeth.
“Do you?” he wondered, tilting his head as if to take a closer, more introspective look at her. “Because sometimes, I think you do not realize what an incredible opportunity this is for us all, not just for you, Phyllis. The duke is a man of quite a standing, and his title would bring many benefits to our family.”
Benefits.That was all he ever cared about. Benefits and their status in society. Phyllis had much to say to that, but she kept quiet. This was neither the time nor the place for an outburst, which was slowly simmering just underneath the surface of her being.
“I will behave in a more ladylike manner from now on,” she said, realizing that this was the easier way out of this conversation.
All she had to do was agree. That was, after all, everything her father had ever asked of her, of her mother, of her sisters. Just agreement and blind obedience. That was what she had been trying to escape her entire life, and by avoiding marriage, she was hoping to regain her own life, her own freedom. Now, it seemed that this dream was destroyed.
Her father smiled at her. “You will eventually realize, my dear, that this is for the best. Trust me.”
She would never agree with that, but it would be a silent disagreement, one that would fester deep inside of her, never seeing the light of day. Because if it did, she knew it would cost Joyce her happiness.
CHAPTERSEVEN
She was seated in her chamber, staring at her reflection in the looking glass. The soft candlelight cast a warm aura around her, as the peach-colored gown, intricately adorned with delicate lace and satin, draped elegantly over her figure, casting a silhouette that mirrored the grace expected of a duchess to be.
A lock of her honey-dew hair, adorned with delicate ribbons, fell gracefully over one shoulder. The mirror captured the soft radiance of her features—the gentle curve of her lips, the green eyes reflecting a mixture of emotions, and the subtle flush on her cheeks. With a final adjustment to the delicate folds of her gown, she took a moment to appreciate the image before her. She was a vision of regal elegance poised on the precipice of an engagement party that held the promise of both scripted performance as well as uncharted depths of connection.
Because, no matter how hard she tried to convince herself that this was all just a game, the truth was, she was enjoying it far more than she was willing to admit. When she thought about it, these moments were both surreal and surprisingly enjoyable. For the past couple of days, laughter echoed through these corridors, something she didn’t think was possible. The glances exchanged between her and the duke held a newfound depth. She couldn’t help but acknowledge the unexpected camaraderie that had developed during these days. They were together in this conspiracy. Together, against the world.
