The Countess Conspiracy

Violet shook her head in bemusement and followed along.

She had never played cards with Oliver, but she had with Robert. Robert was simply terrible at cards. He had the potential to be very good—he kept a count on the cards and had an excellent grasp of strategy—but he would always get distracted by what might happen instead of concentrating on what was likely to happen. He had a tendency to convince himself that his hand was better than it was, that somehow, he could not lose with even middling cards because it would make a better story if he won. He played with great, reckless abandon. Luckily for him, he also never played for money.

Oliver, on the other hand… She glanced over at him. She suspected that he would be the opposite of his half-brother. He would play carefully. Too carefully. He’d hoard his best cards until it was too late for them to do any good.

“Oh, good,” Violet said, rubbing her hands together. “I don’t need any more money, but it can’t hurt, can it?”

Oliver and Robert exchanged amused glances.

“A little presumptuous, don’t you think?” Oliver said.

“It’s not a presumption,” Violet said. “It’s a demonstrated fact based on lengthy empirical evidence.”

Robert snorted. “I have become better since last we played.”

Proof that he hadn’t. If he had actually become any better, he’d have had the wits to withhold that information.

They led her to the private dining room downstairs. Oliver made a point of opening the door for her and holding her chair out as she sat. Robert asked what she would like to drink. They were being overly solicitous, and that was when Violet began to get suspicious.

She fixed them both with her most fearsome glare. “I thought this was a gathering of the Brothers Sinister.”

“It is!” Robert said, a little too jovially.

“Then where is Sebastian?”

He and Oliver exchanged glances. “Not…here,” Oliver finally said. “He’ll be back. I think.”

Violet folded her arms across her chest. “Oh, you did it again, did you?” she said.

“Did what?”

“That thing you do—you two are so tightly in each other’s pockets, and sometimes you don’t notice. You ignore Sebastian—”

“Ignore Sebastian! As if anyone ever could! Have you ever watched the man?”

“—and then pretend ignorance after you’ve completely left him out in the cold.” She sniffed. “That’s awful of you. I may be…a little uneasy around him at the moment, but that doesn’t mean we can start without him.”

Oliver and Robert exchanged a long, meaningful glance.

“I say,” Oliver finally said, “what are you two arguing about?”

“Was that an attempt to be circumspect?” Violet answered him. “Because, really, that was awful. It pains me that one of my friends has reached the advanced age of thirty-two without being able to tell a proper lie. How do you ever expect to accomplish anything in politics?”

Oliver flushed. “I’m better at it when it’s not people I know.”

Good. She’d managed to distract him. Violet sniffed in disbelief, and then surveyed the room.

“Sebastian will be back,” Robert said. “He was here earlier.”

“Ah,” she said, taking in the overly exuberant quantity of food. “Yes, he must have been. I can see that now.”

“What makes you say that?” Robert asked.

“He overdid it,” Violet said. “There’s an entire pig and two roasted chickens and besides, I see blueberry-sesame cakes. I don’t suppose either of you remember that those are my favorite.”

Robert flushed.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I don’t hold it against you. There can be only one Sebastian.”

“Hear, hear,” Oliver said.

“Now, you mentioned deep play,” Violet continued. “What are the stakes?”

Robert rummaged about on the table. “Here—ah, yes. Here we are. We have counters.” He took out little bags of glass marbles, each a different color. Oliver took the green ones, Robert the red ones. After some hesitation, Violet took the bag of blue marbles.

Robert frowned. “You aren’t going to take the purple ones?”

“Why should I? Because my name is Violet, I’m forced to take purple?”

“That thought did cross my mind, yes. Also, you wear purple a great deal, and I had thought you favored the color.”

“I do,” Violet said. “But then I realized that if I took the blue ones, Sebastian would be stuck with the purple ones. It seemed more important to flout his wishes than to indulge my own tastes. And I like blue, too.”

Oliver laughed.

“But you haven’t really answered my question. What do these marbles represent?” Violet asked.

“The only thing of any importance,” Robert proclaimed. “They represent glory. And victory. And honor.”

“Piffle,” Violet responded. “Nobody wants your honor, Robert. That’s boring. I suggest that they represent favors.”

“Favors?”

“Favors,” she said determinedly. “If someone wins your marble, they can ask you for a favor, and you must comply. You could make me jump up and down twenty times, if you wanted, or have a long conversation with your mother.” If he won, which he wouldn’t.

Robert glanced uneasily at his brother. “But…there ought to be some limit on them. Wouldn’t you think? You could ask for a vote in Parliament, or…”

Violet waved her hand. “That’s what makes it fun. Only the limit that friendship imposes, don’t you think?”

“But—”

“Or do you not trust me?”

“I don’t wish to offend you, Violet, but when you look at me like that, no. I don’t.”

The door opened, and Sebastian strode in. He stopped as he caught sight of Violet.

And then he smiled. His smile was brilliant—a roaring fire of relief and happiness. For one instant, she felt like dry tinder, ready to erupt with him. Her own smile flashed back before she could stop it—one that broke through all her walls. It threatened to consume her.

She looked away before it could. She pressed her lips together, compressing her expression into flat nothingness.

His smile tilted, transforming into a rueful shake of his head. “Don’t mind me,” he said. “I’ve returned now.”