By the time Lavinia fell into bed that night, she was too exhausted to wonder why she was still sleeping in Armand’s bed instead of one of her own when it was becoming increasingly apparent he wasn’t interested in her. As soon as she’d gathered her friends and headed into the house after her upsetting conversation with Lord Shayles, she’d been met with a wave of the incomprehensible. She’d expected to find Armand fuming and ready to hang Lord Shayles from the highest tree. What she’d discovered was a pack of men buzzing with plans for a cricket match that would be played the next day.

“Is this really the time for sports?” Lady Stanhope had asked precisely what Lavinia wanted to know as the men marched through the front hall, gathering their coats so that they could head down to the village to recruit players. “Aren’t there more important things at stake?”

“This match will decide everything,” Lord Malcolm informed her with a look as though he were heading into battle.

“But…but cricket?” Marigold asked.

“The winner of the match gets the letter,” Mr. Croydon told her, planting a quick kiss on her lips as the men whisked out the front door. Lord Shayles and Lord Gatwick followed them without a glance for the ladies. Maxwell and Carl hopped into action, following on their heels like prison guards.

“Where are they going?” Dr. Miller—who had been loitering by the side of the hall, looking put out for being excluded—asked. “I want to come with you.” He scurried after them like a puppy.

“Something stupid is going on,” Lady Stanhope said as soon as the men were gone. She made a scoffing noise. “Playing a game to win a letter like that?”

“They could have at least paused to explain why they think a game will solve the whole thing,” Marigold sighed.

“They’re men,” Lavinia said, barely loud enough to be heard. “They won’t ever tell us anything.”

Lady Stanhope sent her a sideways look full of unreadable emotion. Lavinia wasn’t certain the woman had heard her statement. She took a breath and said, “As long as Shayles is gone, we should search high and low for that letter.” She picked up her skirts and headed for the stairs.

“There’s no point.” Lavinia stopped her. “Lord Shayles is carrying the letter in his coat pocket.”

Lady Stanhope let out an irritated breath and crossed her arms. “Well, we can’t just stand here and do nothing while those fools attempt to solve their problems with cricket.”

“Alex loves cricket,” Marigold said, crossing her arms and chewing her lip as though trying to reason a way out of their predicament.

“Who came up with the idea anyhow? Lady Stanhope asked, pacing the hall. “If it was our men, then what were they thinking? If it was Shayles, then what is he up to?”

“And why hasn’t he already sent the letter to the press, like he threatened to do?” Marigold added.

“I don’t know,” Lavinia sighed. She rubbed her head, which was still aching. “All I know is that I have guests to feed and now a cricket match to prepare for.” When her friends glanced questioningly at her, she said, “Armand showed me the pitch the other day. It’s on his property, which means I’ll be responsible for providing tea tomorrow for eleven players on each side, two umpires, a scorekeeper, and who knows how many spectators?” She broke away from her friends and headed for the hallway that led downstairs.

“We’ll help you as much as we can,” Marigold said, rushing after her.

Marigold and Lady Stanhope were helpful, but that didn’t stop Lavinia from practically expiring from exhaustion that night, or waking in the morning with her nerves already bristling. She hadn’t heard Armand come in the night before. He’d stayed up late with his friends, planning for the match and whatever else they intended to do about Lord Shayles and the letter. He was still asleep when Lavinia rose and tip-toed from the room to head across the hall to her dressing room, or so she thought.

“Lavinia?” his soft question came just as she’d opened the door and started into the hall.

She paused, turning back to him. “Go back to sleep,” she whispered. “You’ll need to be rested for your match.”

“No.” He shifted in bed, rolling to face her and muscling himself to sit and rub the sleep from his eyes. “Come here.”

Lavinia swallowed, dreading whatever reason he had to delay her. She shut the door and dutifully crossed to stand beside the bed, but once there, she couldn’t think of anything to say.

Armand reached for her hand. “We’ll win today, don’t worry,” he said, looking as though he was still trying to wake up.

“I’m sure you will,” she replied, not certain she believed it. Nothing about the situation seemed right.

“We need that letter,” he went on, “but even if we lose and Shayles sends it to the press, Malcolm is convinced we can counteract whatever damage it would do with a second letter stating that ours is a fake.”

“But it isn’t a fake,” Lavinia said, in spite of the fact that a few more pieces of the puzzle clicked into place in her mind. It was all a game of politics and pride, one side scoring points against the other in an effort to win the prize of power.

Armand sighed and pulled her closer. She sat on the side of the bed as he threaded his fingers through hers, his gaze focused on their hands. “I haven’t been involved in what Alex, Malcolm, and Peter have been doing in Parliament up until this point. They’re so determined to steer the government in the right direction. Determined enough to resort to a few underhanded tricks themselves.”

“Isn’t that what politics is about?” she said, staring at their hands as well. “I’ve been observing it for years now, and most of what I’ve seen is maneuvering and manipulation.”

He huffed a humorless laugh. “Medicine is so much simpler. A patient presents with an illness, I heal them. If I can.”

Lavinia pulled her hand out of his grasp and stood. “You should do what your heart tells you to do,” she said, stepping away. “I need to get ready for what is bound to be another exhausting day.” She started back toward the door.

“Lavinia,” he called after her again. When she turned to glance at him over her shoulder, his mouth hung open for a moment and his face was lined with frustration before he said, “I’m sorry.”

The words twisted her stomach as much as Lord Shayles’s filthy speech the day before. “Yes, Armand, I know,” she said, then left the room before he could tell her yet again how he hadn’t wanted to marry her and how he would soon be gone.

She didn’t have time to dwell on the hollow ache that grew in her heart. She washed and dressed as fast as she could, then headed downstairs to see how the servants were doing with breakfast and preparations for the match. They were surprised to see her up as early as they were, but ultimately, Lavinia had the feeling they were grateful for her supervision and help.

And yet, as she assisted the servants in carrying food and supplies out to the wagons so that it would be transported to the cricket pitch, her thoughts refused to fully settle. Everything Armand had said whirled back into her mind whenever she tried to push it away. Lord Shayles hadn’t sent the letter to the press yet, even though he kept insisting he would if Mr. Croydon and the rest didn’t ensure his club was protected. Lord Malcolm said he knew how to foil Lord Shayles’s plan to ruin the new Liberal government before it started by denying the letter. Was the letter truly that important, or was there some other, more sinister reason Lord Shayles was at Broadclyft Hall?

There wasn’t time to dwell on the question. The match was set for ten in the morning, but Lord Shayles and his team arrived at the pitch well before nine to practice. Lavinia was already there, directing the servants to set up the table for the scorekeeper, and another table for refreshments. All it took was one glance at Lord Shayles’s team as they arrived and began to toss the ball around for her to know something wasn’t quite right. Over half of Lord Shayles’s team was made up of dark-haired, brown-skinned men from India.

“Lady Helm,” Lord Shayles greeted her with a lopsided grin as he and an Indian man in cricket whites ambled toward her. “I believe that’s the most noticeable reaction I’ve seen from you yet.”

Lavinia instantly schooled her features. “Lord Shayles,” she greeted him with an even nod, glancing to the man with him.

“This is Dr. Tahir Maqsood,” Lord Shayles introduced the man.

An electric jolt shot down Lavinia’s spine. “How do you do, Dr. Maqsood?” she greeted the foreigner politely. Her heart beat double-time. Dr. Maqsood was the man who had offered Armand a position in India.

“Lady Helm,” Dr. Maqsood greeted her with a respectful nod and a friendly smile. “It is a pleasure to meet you.” His accent was crisp and genteel, hinting that he was educated and worldly.

“Dr. Maqsood is the captain of my cricket team,” Lord Shayles said.

Lavinia couldn’t stop herself from blinking, but instead of expressing shock that an Indian would captain a cricket team, she merely asked Lord Shayles, “You do not intend to captain it yourself?”

Lord Shayles made a dismissive noise. “It’s all I can do to catch a ball without bruising my hands. I’ll leave captaining to the experts.”

Things still didn’t add up. “I was unaware that you were acquainted with Dr. Maqsood,” she said as blandly as she could with her mind racing over the connection.

“Oh, I don’t know him at all,” Lord Shayles said. “I only just met him yesterday. Your husband and his friends might have seen fit to recruit their team from the local sportsmen, but Gatwick, Miller, and I rushed down to Exeter as fast as our little feet would take us to see if we could find players of untapped skill. We were directed straight away to Dr. Maqsood and some of the crew on the ship he is about to sail away on.”

A fresh round of suspicion swept through Lavinia, but of all the things Lord Shayles said, the one that stuck with her was that Dr. Maqsood’s ship was ready to sail.

“I was not aware cricket was played in India,” she said to Dr. Maqsood with a pleasant smile.

“The game has been played by Englishmen in our homeland for over a century,” Dr. Maqsood said. “But it is only recently that my countrymen have taken up an interest in the sport.” He pivoted to glance over his shoulder. “The men on my team have honed their talents playing in coastal towns here in England when the ships they sail on are docked.”

“I see,” Lavinia said, studying the men spread across the field to practice. She didn’t know much about cricket, but from what she could see, they were good. The entire match felt more and more like yet another trap with each passing second. “If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I still have much work to do.”

“Of course, Lady Helm,” Lord Shayles said. Instead of leaving as Lavinia turned back to the tables, he went on with, “It seems to me that when Dr. Lord Pearson Helm leaves with Dr. Maqsood in a few days, he’ll be leaving his estate in good hands.”

Lavinia froze, her spine going stiff. She turned back to Lord Shayles. “I am not privy to my husband’s current thoughts on the position you have offered him, Dr. Maqsood,” she said, hating the fact that she was forced to give away what she knew, “but I will do whatever duty is required of me.”

“Is that so?” Lord Shayles said. “Perhaps you could put in a good word with your husband to give his cousin leave to administer his estate while he’s gone.”

Lavinia’s heart hammered so hard in her chest that she was certain any attempt on her part to pretend disinterest would fail. “I will,” she said, figuring the fewer words she spoke the better. She nodded, then marched toward the table, determined not to let Lord Shayles side-track her again.

“I told you she was nothing interesting,” she heard Lord Shayles say to Dr. Maqsood as they walked away.

As soon as Lavinia was certain they were gone, she let out a breath, hand pressed to her stomach. The pieces of the puzzle felt as though they were coming together, but she couldn’t quite see the picture yet. Lord Shayles wanted Armand gone and Lord Gatwick in his place. She didn’t believe for a second that he’d only just met Dr. Maqsood the night before. But that still didn’t tell her what the letter had to do with anything, or why they were playing cricket with the letter as the prize. Unless the entire match and the letter itself were merely a way to distract everyone from Lord Shayles’s true aim. But even if it were, what was Lord Shayles true aim?

“My lady, are you well?”

Lavinia gasped and glanced up at Mr. Bondar’s question. The Broadclyft Hall butler was dressed in an umpire’s uniform, but he still looked ready to serve her. Mr. Bondar, at least, was someone she could trust.

“Has Lord Shayles done or said anything that seems suspicious to you since his arrival, Mr. Bondar?” she asked, stepping to the side to speak to him quietly as more men in cricket whites and other observers began to arrive.

Mr. Bondar huffed a humorless laugh. “Everything the blackguard has said and done since arriving has been suspicious, my lady.”

“Anything that stands out specifically?” she asked.

Mr. Bondar frowned. “He’s been giving the staff a hard time, which is to be expected. I daren’t go into the details of what he’s said to some of the maids.”

Lavinia blushed. “Thank you.”

Mr. Bondar paused before saying, “I overheard him asking Lord Gatwick how much he thought the artwork was worth. That isn’t suspicious in and of itself,” he rushed to add, “but I have heard that Lord Shayles’s financial situation isn’t good.”

“He’s after money,” Lavinia sighed, returning to the conclusion she’d entertained briefly from the start, before Armand had dismissed it. “And he thinks Lord Gatwick could somehow take Broadclyft Hall from Armand.”

“Lord Gatwick has been well-behaved since arriving, my lady,” Mr. Bondar said with a frown. “I’ve known him since he was a boy.” Lavinia’s brow shot up. “He’s never struck me as the sort to cause trouble. He’s always been very quiet and circumspect, even as a child. I don’t know how he became so closely associated with the likes of Lord Shayles. When the courts awarded the title and estate to Lord Helm, Lord Gatwick accepted the decision without guile.” Mr. Bondar paused, looking troubled. “It pains me to think Lord Shayles is using Lord Gatwick in some way.”

Lavinia chewed on her lip as she mulled over Mr. Bondar’s words. “Something isn’t right here.”

“No, my lady,” Mr. Bondar agreed. “We must be vigilant during this match.”

“I believe you’re right,” Lavinia said. Though it would have been far easier to be vigilant if she knew what to look for from Lord Shayles and his associates.

Armand was slow to roll out of bed to wash and dress for the cricket match after Lavinia left. More than games or letters or enemies, he wanted to find a way to make things right with her. He marched downstairs with the intention of seeking her out in the breakfast room, only to discover that she’d already gone down to the cricket pitch. His friends were helping themselves to breakfast, however, and before he could head down to the field himself, Alex caught him and dragged him into discussions of strategy.

“We managed to recruit several strong players for our side,” Alex said, making a list of names on a card as Armand sat and helped himself to coffee. “I’m going to open the batting with Paul Green and Ernie Precious. They should be able to hold strong for a dozen overs at least. Then I’ll come in at number three, followed by you at four, Jon Kennon at five, Chris Lawrence at six, then you, Malcolm, and—”

“Why aren’t you letting Kennon open the batting?” Malcolm protested. “From what I watched yesterday, he’s the best batsman on the local team.”

“Yes, but he said he’s a mid-order player,” Alex said. He tried to go on with, “As for bowling, I want to get Mike Thomas in against their opening batsmen, and Ken Griffiths as—”

“Thomas is a slow-bowler,” Malcolm argued. “That other chap, that young lascar, Kalim something. He was better.”

Armand blew out a breath and stood. “To hear the two of you go on, you’re more interested in the match itself than what we’re playing for.”

“We can’t get what we’re playing for without winning,” Malcolm told him. “Sit down and finish your coffee and help us figure this out.”

Armand sat, but only because the eggs and sausage on his plate were needed to get him through the match. He couldn’t bring himself to listen to Alex and Malcolm’s team maneuvering, though. Letter or no letter, nothing would be right in his life until he made things right with Lavinia. And the only way to do that was to foil whatever plot Shayles had in mind and to get him and everyone else out of the house. Maybe then he could explain his ever-changing and conflicted thoughts on India.

He was ready to put everything aside and focus on what had to be done as they headed down to the cricket pitch, but the moment he noticed the opposing team, the instant he saw Shayles standing at the edge of the pitch chatting with an Indian gentleman in whites, a knot formed in his stomach.

“Ah, Dr. Pearson.” Shayles rushed to greet him as Armand, Alex, and Malcolm approached. “I believe you know the captain of my team, Dr. Tahir Maqsood.”

Armand was instantly on guard. “Dr. Maqsood.” He shook the man’s offered hand as Alex and Malcolm looked on with varying degrees of alarm and suspicion. “I trust you received my letter?”

“About delaying your posting to our hospital? Yes.” Dr. Maqsood smiled, though the expression didn’t sit right with Armand. “To be honest, when I heard Lord Shayles was searching for cricket players for a match on your estate, I jumped at the opportunity. We should sit down and discuss the advantages of you sailing with us next week.”

“You see?” Shayles said. “It appears this match of ours is more serendipitous than anyone could have thought.”

Armand narrowed his eyes, searching for reasons why Shayles would seem so pleased by the notion. He was stopped from saying anything as Gatwick approached their group. He looked odd and uncomfortable dressed in cricket whites instead of his usual, finely-tailored suit.

“Mr. Bondar would like to do the toss now,” he said, glancing from Armand to Alex.

“Very well,” Alex said, heading off with Gatwick toward the wicket. Malcolm sent Shayles one final glare, then walked with Dr. Maqsood as though expecting him to draw a gun at any moment. Armand stayed where he was, searching the area for Lavinia. Unfortunately, Shayles stayed as well.

“Imagine my surprise when the man I stumbled across to captain my team turned out to be someone you are associated with,” Shayles said.

“You stumbled across him?” Armand asked, not believing it for a second. At the same time, he didn’t want to find any sort of connection between Shayles and Dr. Maqsood. If Maqsood was somehow one of Shayles’s cronies, then India was out of the question. And if India was out of the question, where did that leave his future?

To his surprise, Shayles thumped him on the back and steered him to walk toward the scorer’s table. “I envy your chance to stay true to your future and your training,” Shayles said. “It was such bad luck when you became viscount, but now you have a chance to change all that.”

Armand sent him a sideways look, unable to tell if the man was just rubbing it in or if he had an ulterior motive. “Why should you care what I do with my life?”

Shayles chuckled. “If you can’t see that, you’re far denser than I imagined. One less vote in Parliament means far less danger to my club.”

“I’m not gone yet,” Armand growled, shaking Shayles’s hand off his shoulder. Only a fool revealed his motivations for mischief, and Shayles was no fool. There was something deeper to his seeming encouragement. “I might not go at all now,” he said, testing the waters to see what more Shayles would reveal if given the right prompt.

Shayles shrugged. “Perfectly understandable, what with your pretty new wife, dull as she is. But I suppose she’ll do to get an heir. Poor Gatwick. He’ll be so disconsolate once your red-headed dishrag pops out a son.”

“Lord Shayles,” Dr. Maqsood called from across the pitch. “We’ve won the toss and elected to bat first. Come on.”

For a moment, Shayles looked put out at being ordered to the other end of the field, where his team was assembling.

“Come on, Armand. We’re in the field,” Alex called, gesturing for Armand to hurry.

Armand let out an impatient breath and glanced to where Lavinia was standing with Katya and Marigold near the scorer’s table. Bondar and the other umpire, a local man named Bruce, were conferring with a woman, of all things, who had a scorebook set out in front of her and an array of colored pencils lined up beside it.

“Such a pity,” Shayles said with an irritated sneer. “I was so hoping to continue our conversation. I hear India is lovely this time of year, and they are so desperate for trained physicians.”

“I’m not going,” Armand told him, surprised to discover that he meant it. He glanced to Lavinia. She looked up from her conversation at that moment, and their eyes met. He smiled. She blushed and glanced away. “I’m staying right here,” Armand went on, half wishing Lavinia could hear him.

“If that’s the way things are,” Shayles said, striding away to join his team, “then don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Warn me of what?” Armand asked with a frown.

But Shayles had already broken into a jog.

“Armand,” Alex shouted from the field. “Get your arse over to mid-off, now! They want to start.”

With one final glance to Lavinia, Armand trotted out to the position where Alex wanted him. He’d never been less excited about cricket. If it wasn’t for the fact that they needed to win the letter back from Shayles, he would have prayed for a quick loss just to get off the field. But as it was, he would have to tough it out through hours of playing. Hours in which anything could happen.