Chapter 11

The following afternoon dawned under the long shadow of that lingering anxiety. Selena retired to Lady Eleanor’s chambers for tea, leaving only the three gentlemen behind in the drawing room.

The hour of the match had arrived.

“Leon, what of the cards? Did you find a deck in your luggage?” Dwight’s voice carried an eagerness quite unlike his usual tepid demeanor.

“Since Lord Dwight requested them,” Leon replied, offering a smooth, ingratiating smile as he produced the cards. “I would have had to paint a deck myself had I failed to find these.”

The obsequious tone set Elwin’s teeth on edge. Having spent the day shunning Leon’s gaze out of sheer embarrassment—terrified his cheeks would flush if their eyes met—Elwin felt the blood drain from his face. The strange, charged intimacy of the previous night must have been nothing more than a trick of the darkness.

“Then what shall we play? Bézique? Whist?” Leon shuffled the deck with a theatrical flourish. “Perhaps écarté would suit us best?”

“You certainly know your way around a deck,” Dwight said, his eyes gleaming. “Let us play écarté. But a simple game would be dry. Why not place a wager? A pound, perhaps?”

“A pound sounds perfectly agreeable,” Leon replied.

“But écarté is a game for two…” Elwin murmured, his eyes widening.

The introduction of real money made the game feel dangerously like true gambling. He quickly withdrew to the edge of the table.

“You two should play first,” Elwin added, lingering near the perimeter. “I have only recently learned the rules, so I shall watch for a while.”

He was determined to study their play. By observing a few rounds, he hoped to grasp Dwight’s habits and tells. If he could excel at a game Dwight loved, it would surely curry the man’s favor—just as Leon had advised the previous night.

While Leon shuffled and dealt, Dwight tapped a lively, restless rhythm on the mahogany tabletop, his cheeks faintly flushed. Elwin watched, curious to see the true skill of a man so consumed by cards.

Of course, there was no need to reevaluate Leon’s ability. During their game the night before, Elwin had been privately astonished by how swiftly Leon calculated his moves. This promised to be an intellectual duel, and Elwin’s heart quickened with anticipation.

By the time the opening round concluded, however, that excitement had withered.

What on earth is he doing? Why is he playing like that?

Leon discarded and played in an incomprehensible sequence, practically handing the first round to Dwight. A single misstep could be dismissed as an error, but as the game progressed, Elwin’s bewilderment only deepened.

He should have exchanged cards then. Did he attempt a psychological feint and fail?

Whether from uncharacteristically rattled nerves or simple bad luck, Leon played with far less precision than he had against Elwin. He secured an occasional trick, but his overall strategy was sloppy and disjointed.

Because of Leon’s erratic play, gauging Dwight’s actual skill proved difficult. Nevertheless, after several rounds, Elwin managed to discern the man’s tendencies. Dwight demanded the lead and favored aggressive, headlong strategies. When dealt a poor hand, his frustration flared so visibly it was impossible to miss.

Dwight’s hand is dreadful. If even I can read his face, there is no way Leon hasn’t noticed. So why does he keep playing so defensively?

Leon committed another bizarre blunder, practically gifting Dwight the winning point. Watching Leon knit his brows in mock frustration, a sudden, jarring realization struck Elwin.

Is he throwing the game on purpose?

Surely not.

Just yesterday, Leon had insisted that a gentleman would be delighted if someone played skillfully at a game they enjoyed. Why would he contradict his own advice now? If Dwight ever realized he was being patronized, would he not be furious?

While Elwin stood lost in confusion, Dwight secured the final trick, claiming another victory. Having won three consecutive rounds and six out of eight overall, Dwight curled his lip into a smirk that bordered on a sneer.

“I win again. Leon, was all that talk of dominating the gaming tables on your voyage mere bluster? Or perhaps…”

“That is right, Mr. Dwight. Mr. Leon is now—” Elwin began, intending to point out the bizarre nature of the play, but Leon rose abruptly, cutting him off with smooth, glib charm.

“Ah, how could a mere traveler who only dealt with sailors ever hope to stand against Lord Dwight? Before such razor-sharp tactics, I have no choice but to throw up my hands in surrender.” Leon offered a theatrical bow. “I am thoroughly bested, Lord Dwight. I believe I owe you seven pounds? Let me see…”

“Forget the debt. Consider it recompense for the meals you provided during our journey.”

As Dwight smiled with the magnanimity of a lord granting a favor, Leon smoothly redirected the focus.

“Sir Elwin, have you mastered the rules yet? Will you take a hand?”

The atmosphere felt thick with unexpressed motives, but Elwin had gone to the trouble of learning the game, and playing seemed far better than standing there like a statue. He nodded.

“Yes. Shall I take your place?”

“Please do. I shall step out for some fresh air.”

With a subtle, inscrutable smile, Leon slipped from the drawing room. Elwin, harboring a vague sense of unease, took his seat opposite Dwight.

“Sir Elwin. Are you quite certain? I must confess, I feel a bit self-conscious playing against a complete novice.”

At that moment, Elwin realized they were alone together for the very first time. Whatever the strange undertones of the afternoon, this was the opportunity he had prayed for. Determined to bridge the distance between them, Elwin’s eyes focused.

“Not at all, Mr. Dwight. Please, do not hold back. Shall I act as dealer?”

Remembering Dwight’s preference for taking the lead, Elwin gathered the cards. He adjusted his spectacles with a crisp, deliberate motion and began to shuffle as Leon had shown him. But his nerves betrayed him; his fingers fumbled, dropping a card or two onto the green felt. Dwight intervened.

“The cards are slipping because your grip is far too rigid.”

“My apologies. Should I hold them like this?”

“No. Cradle the deck with your thumb underneath.”

Under my thumb?

Seeing Elwin’s blank confusion, Dwight reached across the table and physically corrected his hand. The instant their fingertips brushed, Dwight’s murky, intense gaze swept over Elwin from head to toe. A smirk touched his lips, as though he had just identified easy prey.

“At any rate, there is a certain clumsy charm to you, young lord.”

Had Elwin possessed a sharper instinct for such social dynamics, he might have recognized the predatory nature underlying Dwight’s superiority. This was the exact moment to play the helpless darling, but the earnest young lord was simply mortified by his own clumsiness and desperate to redeem himself.

“Do not worry. I can play well enough.”

From the moment Dwight laid down his opening card, Elwin calculated every probability with fierce concentration. To Dwight’s visible surprise, Elwin secured the first round with ease. Dwight’s brow twitched, though he quickly recovered his poise.

“You won this round. Beginner’s luck is a real phenomenon, it seems.”

Encouraged by Dwight’s polite response, Elwin assumed that playing with absolute sincerity was indeed the way to win his respect. In the next round, however, Elwin was dealt a miserable hand, and Dwight claimed victory with a smug, self-satisfied tone.

“I win.”

Yet that complacency was short-lived. When Elwin secured the next three rounds in rapid succession, a dark shadow settled over Dwight’s pale face.

“…I shall deal.”

Dwight’s voice was like ice as he commenced the sixth round. In truth, Elwin had sensed the shift in the room’s atmosphere the moment he won his second consecutive game. His hand in the fifth round had been so overwhelmingly strong that he had won almost by accident.

An uncomfortable silence settled over the drawing room, suffocating the warmth of moments before. Even the crisp snap of the shuffling cards felt sharp, like a knife edge. Elwin’s discomfort mounted.

Of course. No one enjoys losing.

Was this why Leon had thrown his games?

Regardless, the match had to proceed. Elwin cautiously inspected his hand.

“Um… I shall play without exchanging.”

His cards were mediocre at best, but he felt a desperate urge to avoid another win. Dwight, however, misread the move as a sign of supreme confidence. His brow furrowed deeply, his irritation mutating into something darker than simple competitive pride—it was thick with contempt.

In his growing panic, Elwin understood.

There is no doubt. I must not win this round.

He hastily revised his strategy, but engineering a natural loss was a remarkably complex task for a beginner. Throwing the cards down or upending the table would be too overt; he had to construct a believable defeat through intricate calculations.

How did Leon manage it earlier?

Recalling that Leon had discarded his highest cards early to lose the later tricks, Elwin led with his strongest card: the Ace of Hearts. Dwight deliberated for a long moment before playing the Seven of Clubs. Elwin took the first trick.

He managed to hand the next two tricks to Dwight, but through sheer mathematical coincidence, Elwin won the fourth. The score stood at two to two, and Elwin held the lead for the final trick.

I am left with only the eight of hearts. What should I do? Judging by his inability to play a heart in the first round, Dwight likely has none.

If Dwight had no hearts, Elwin, as the lead, would inevitably win the trick and the round. Cursing his luck, Elwin reluctantly laid down the Eight of Hearts.

Then, it happened.

“There. The King of Hearts. This round is mine,” Dwight declared, throwing down a heart card higher than Elwin’s with a triumphant sneer.

Elwin’s eyes widened, a tremor of shock rippling through his gaze.

He held a heart back? He hid it?

This was one of the precise cheating techniques Leon had warned him about just yesterday. Dwight had cheated openly, right before his eyes. Elwin desperately tried to rationalize it as a simple oversight, but with only five cards in hand, such an error was virtually impossible.

The King of Hearts was the highest card in Dwight’s hand.

Undoubtedly, Dwight had refused to waste his best card on the opening trick. It was a flagrant violation of gentlemanly conduct—and something Elwin’s rigid moral compass could not comprehend.

How should I react?

A fierce urge rose within him to demand an explanation, but he was in no position to demand anything. Not only did he need to secure Dwight’s favor, but Dwight would soon inherit the earldom, leaving Elwin and his sister at his mercy.

“…Yes. I shall deal the next round,” Elwin murmured, choosing to feign ignorance. Yet the hesitation had lingered too long. Dwight, sensing that Elwin had noticed his deceit, went rigid.

Dwight had clearly assumed a novice would never recognize the infraction. No one liked having their moral failings exposed, and when they were, they invariably despised the witness rather than reflecting on their own shame.

“No. Let us conclude here for today.” Dwight’s voice was glacial. “Sir Elwin won four rounds to my one, was it? In that case, three pounds…”

His pride severely wounded, Dwight’s tone was sharper than ever. As he reached into his breast pocket for his wallet, Elwin waved his hands frantically.

“No, please, Mr. Dwight! There is no need for money. It was merely a friendly game for amusement.”

Dwight turned his cold, dark eyes toward Elwin, his gaze drilling into him.

“Is that so? Indeed, it was hardly a serious match. I shall retire to my chambers. Holding cards for so long has fatigued me.”

Seeking to salvage his dignity, Dwight dismissed his cheating as a mere jest in an inconsequential game. He threw down the words, rose abruptly, and swept out of the drawing room. A startled Elwin hurried after him, but Dwight’s retreating figure vanished down the corridor in an instant.

Immediately, Elwin was overcome by a wave of self-loathing and emptiness. If this was the outcome, he should have resolved to lose gracefully from the start, like Leon, or at least masked his expression more quickly. Yet he felt incredibly cowardly and pathetic for wishing he had abetted a cheat.

At that moment, a broad shadow fell over him.

“Did the game go well?”

That infuriating voice.

At Leon’s inquiry, Elwin clenched his fists and turned. Bathed in the golden afternoon light of the corridor, Leon stood with an expression of supreme, innocent ignorance. But Elwin knew better: the man knew everything.

In a match against Dwight, the only correct move was to lose.

Elwin had asked him directly the previous night if that was the path he should take. Leon had known the answer, yet he had deliberately pushed Elwin to play to win.

Why?

Leon knew Elwin’s desperate desire to make a good impression on Dwight. He had practically spelled it out for him. Why, then, had Leon intentionally set him up to clash with Dwight’s fragile ego?

Perhaps from the very moment Leon offered to teach him the rules, or perhaps even when he suggested a card game at dinner, the man had anticipated this exact outcome.

Was he trying to sabotage me? Did he want to make things difficult? What a cruel, twisted amusement.

Elwin wanted to lash out, to demand answers, but the words died in his throat. He knew the truth. The person with the truly cruel nature was someone else entirely—a man who swelled with arrogance at cheap flattery, sat smugly while others threw games to spare his feelings, and resorted to cheating the moment the tide turned against him.

“Haa… Mr. Leon. Is Mr. Dwight always…”

He almost asked if Dwight was always so dishonorable, but Elwin silenced himself. He refused to show his vulnerability to Leon of all people.

“…It is nothing. I shall return to my room as well.”

Elwin offered a stiff, polite bow and retreated to his chambers, his mind plagued by a heavy chest of unanswered questions and profound discomfort.

Their next encounter was at dinner, where Dwight made his displeasure agonizingly clear without uttering a single word. His icy silence hung heavy over the table.

Selena appeared so intimidated that she spent the entire meal walking on eggshells, constantly gauging his temper. And the moment Dwight returned to his chambers, he snapped viciously at an innocent maid.

After hearing Toby’s account while helping him prepare for bed, Elwin’s suspicions were confirmed. He could no longer ignore the glaring flaws in Dwight’s character. Venting one’s spleen on those in subservient positions was the antithesis of a gentleman.

“What happened, young master? I thought you were studying so diligently last night, but did it have the opposite effect?” Toby grumbled as he brushed out Elwin’s coat, unaware of the actual events.

If by “opposite effect” he meant exposing the rot beneath the surface, then yes, it certainly had. Had they never sat down to play, Dwight would have had no cause for anger, and Elwin would have remained blissfully ignorant of his petty, shallow nature.

“It is nothing like that, Toby. The room is tidy, so you may retire for the evening. I wish to sleep.”

“What is going on, young master? We must devise a strategy. This is no time to rest. You must orchestrate a romantic encounter with Lord Dwight and—”

“I said I am tired, Toby. Go on, hurry along.”

Even after ushering the persistent valet out, Elwin could not bring himself to lie down. He remained seated at his desk for a long while. Outside, the moon shone with pristine clarity, but Elwin’s heart was lost in a turbulent fog.

He had been enduring with stubborn composure, but ever since his father’s passing, a relentless anxiety had dogged his steps. Upon learning that their title and estate would pass to a distant branch of the family, he had agonized over his and Selena’s future. After conceiving the desperate plan to marry Dwight, he had worried constantly about whether he could pull off such a deception.

And now, Dwight’s arrival had brought a fresh wave of dread. Unbidden questions haunted his thoughts.

What is marriage?

What kind of man is Dwight?

Was this entire endeavor a mistake from the very beginning?

Now that his course was set, he should have been running toward the goal with single-minded devotion. Instead, he was sinking into a mire of hesitation. Elwin let out a long, heavy sigh.

***