"Dear, be free with me. My son can be extremely blunt at times. Talk to me and I would discipline him."
Duchess Ashford stared at me like I was a wounded puppy. Her elegant features arranged themselves into what probably worked wonders on normal society ladies who felt guilty about things.
I was not a normal society lady.
Duke Ashford stood beside her—tall, imposing, every inch the Regal noble. The crowd had materialized around us like vultures.
A woman in a blue hat was literally massaging a hedge leaf to edge closer.
I met the Duchess's gaze and smiled my brightest, most unrepentant smile.
"I won't say it again. He did but exist. That alone was his crime."
SYSTEM: +two hundred Hatred Points. (Duchess Ashford: Offended)
SYSTEM: +sixty Hatred Points. (Duke Ashford: Disapproving)
SYSTEM: +three hundred Hatred Points. (Assorted Scandalized Guests)
Current Balance: nine thousand three hundred and ten pounds
The numbers rolled in like a jackpot. I had to physically restrain myself from grinning.
"Your Grace," I added, like I'd just remembered basic manners existed.
Duchess Ashford's lips pressed into a thin line.
Maryann gasped from somewhere behind me. James's jaw ticked so hard I thought he might dislocate something.
Theodore's eyes narrowed.
Then James stepped forward and executed a perfect ninety-degree bow.
"I must apologize for my fiancée's outburst today. She's been under considerable strain—"
"Hey!" I started. Was he seriously apologizing for me?
"Let's not cause a scene any further."
Duke Ashford's voice cut through the tension. The kind of authority that made grown men snap to attention.
"We shouldn't ruin this lovely gathering any further."
Several guests nodded fervently. Relief washed over their faces.
I nodded enthusiastically. "Excellent words, Your Grace! All I need is an apology and I'll forget this ever happened."
Stunned silence.
You could have heard a pin drop.
Duke Ashford's left eye twitched.
"I beg your pardon?" Duchess Ashford's voice climbed half an octave.
"An apology. From Captain Ashford. For accosting me earlier. And for being generally insufferable. Then we can all move on with our lives."
"Accosting—" Duchess Ashford looked ready to have a fit. "Young lady, you threw champagne in my son's face—"
"After he provoked me with his existence. I think that's a perfectly measured response."
"Beatrice!" James hissed. His face had gone the color of a boiled lobster. "Stop talking. Right now."
"Why? You were the one who wanted me to speak. To explain myself. Well, I'm explaining. I find the Captain intolerable, I acted accordingly, and now I expect an apology for being subjected to his company in the first place."
Maryann made a small, wounded sound.
"Beatrice, please. Please stop. You're making everything worse. I'm so sorry, Your Graces. She's not normally like this. She's just—" A delicate hiccup. "She's been so difficult lately. I don't know what's gotten into her."
Sister solidarity at its finest.
SYSTEM: +one hundred and fifty Hatred Points (Maryann: Public Victimhood Successful)
SYSTEM: +four hundred Hatred Points (Crowd: Increasing Scandal Investment)
Current Balance: nine thousand eight hundred and sixty hatred points
The entire party had circled around us now. Servers had stopped serving. The string quartet had trailed off mid-note. Even the fountain seemed to babble more quietly.
This was spiraling.
I'd wanted a scene, yes. Hatred points, absolutely. But this was becoming something else. Something I hadn't planned for. The attention was too focused, too intense.
I didn't like not being in control.
"Lady Cruelton, I don't know what you think you're accomplishing—"
"Mother."
Theodore's voice cut through the chaos quietly, but with enough authority that everyone fell silent.
He stepped forward, positioning himself between me and his parents. Something in his expression had shifted. There was a glint in his eyes—sharp, calculating, almost amused.
"This has gone on long enough. Lady Cruelton is clearly distressed. As am I." He turned to face the crowd, his posture relaxing. "I apologize to everyone here for the disruption to what should have been a pleasant afternoon."
Wait. What?
"Theodore, you don't need to—"
"I insist." He smiled—that diplomatic smile that probably charmed generals and politicians. "Clearly there's been a misunderstanding. These things happen." He turned to me, and the smile didn't waver, but something in his eyes sharpened. "Lady Cruelton, I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive any unintentional slight on my part."
The garden held its breath.
He was apologizing to me? After I'd publicly humiliated him? Insulted his parents? Demanded an apology like some kind of deranged extortionist?
This wasn't how this was supposed to go.
But there was an opportunity here. A chance to twist the knife one more time.
I dropped into a curtsy so exaggerated it was clearly mocking—back straight, head tilted, one hand flourished dramatically.
"I'm terribly sorry my champagne found your face so magnetic, Captain. Truly, the glass simply leaped from my hand. It was quite beyond my control."
Fresh gasps erupted.
"—she's still—"
"—unbelievable—"
"—no shame at all—"
SYSTEM: +five hundred Hatred Points. (Crowd: Scandal Threshold Exceeded)
SYSTEM: +two hundred Hatred Points. (Duchess Ashford: Maternal Fury Activated)
SYSTEM: +hundred Hatred Points. (Duke Ashford: Stern Disapproval Intensified)
MILESTONE ACHIEVED: ten thousand Hatred Points
Current Balance: ten thousand six hundred and sixty pounds
WARNING: Social Consequences Escalating
WARNING: Multiple Variables Acting Outside Parameters
Duchess Ashford looked ready to faint. Or possibly commit violence.
Duke Ashford's expression could have frozen the sun.
James looked like he was mentally drafting our engagement announcement's cancellation.
Maryann had stopped crying, her eyes wide and calculating behind the tears.
And Theodore—
Theodore smiled.
Small. Dangerous. The kind of smile a cat gives a mouse before deciding whether to play with it or eat it.
The smile didn't reach his eyes at all.
"No apology necessary, Lady Cruelton. In fact, I insist you join us for dinner next week." He paused, and the smile widened just a fraction. "I find you... fascinating."
The System went haywire.
SYSTEM: ERROR ERROR ERROR
ROMANTIC INTEREST DETECTED—INAPPROPRIATE TARGET
THEODORE ASHFORD NOT DESIGNATED MALE LEAD
NARRATIVE STRUCTURE COMPROMISED
RECALCULATING SURVIVAL PROBABILITY—
47.3%
39.2%
28.7%
CRITICAL: MISSION PARAMETERS UNSTABLE
The notifications flashed so rapidly I could barely read them. The numbers dropping like stones.
"That's very kind. But I'm afraid my schedule is quite full. Crushing souls, ruining reputations, the usual."
"I'll send a formal invitation." Theodore continued like I hadn't spoken. "I'm sure we can find a mutually convenient time. After all, we have so much to discuss."
It wasn't a request. It was a declaration.
"Theodore, surely you don't—"
"I do." His eyes locked onto mine. "Lady Cruelton has proven herself to be unlike anyone I've met in quite some time. I'd be remiss not to pursue the acquaintance further."
Pursue the acquaintance. Like I was a research subject. Or a strategic objective.
"I'll consider it."
I nodded curtly—neither acceptance nor refusal—and turned away. Time to salvage what was left of my evening. I'd earned my points. Now I could enjoy watching everyone else squirm.
The crowd parted before me like the Red Sea. Mouths still agape. Eyes tracking my every movement.
Perfect.
I spotted Charlotte Chatterton in the distance, frantically fanning her mother—the same Mrs Chatterton whose hat I'd insulted earlier. The woman looked ready to collapse.
Even better.
"Absolutely not."
James's hand clamped around my wrist. Firmly. Almost painfully.
I turned, eyebrow raised. "Excuse me?"
"We can't possibly stay here any longer after the scene you've caused. I'm taking you and Maryann home. Now. Is that right, Maryann?"
He turned back, clearly expecting his damsel to be standing where he'd left her.
She wasn't.
I followed his gaze. Found Maryann several feet away, rooted to the spot. She wasn't looking at us. Wasn't even pretending to cry anymore.
She was staring at Theodore.
Theodore, who was being quietly lectured by his parents. Head slightly bowed in filial obedience. Expression carefully neutral.
But Maryann's expression—
Fear.
Raw. Undisguised.
Not the delicate feminine fear of a scandal or social embarrassment. Real fear. The kind that makes your blood run cold and your survival instincts scream warnings you can't quite articulate.
She knew something.
She knew something about Theodore Ashford.
The realization hit like a physical blow. Maryann had been reborn—she'd lived through this entire story once before. She knew how it ended. She knew who mattered and who didn't.
And she was terrified of Theodore.
Which meant—what did that mean?
"Maryann!"
James's voice cut sharp enough to break through her trance.
She flinched. Turned slowly to look at us. The fear vanished behind her usual gentle mask so quickly I almost questioned whether I'd seen it at all.
Almost.
"Let's go." James mouthed it, his expression leaving no room for argument.
Maryann hurried toward us, pink skirts rustling. Face once again the picture of delicate distress.
But her hands were shaking.
And not from tears.