Polo — a game once dubbed the sport of kings — had long been associated with nobility, wealth, and elite tradition. Played on horseback, it required not only skill and athleticism but also access to expensive stables, trained horses, and private grounds. For centuries, it had been more than just a sport — it was a social event, a gathering ground for alliances, displays of elegance, and the silent negotiations that shaped the upper echelons of society.
So, when the Sinclair family received an invitation to a grand polo match hosted by a noble house closely aligned with them, it was far more than a casual outing. It was an event of political importance — a chance to maintain bonds, affirm alliances, and be seen.
When House Whitmoore, one of the Sinclair family's oldest allies, announced they would host a grand polo match in a neighboring city, invitations were sent not only as formalities, but as veiled summons. To decline such an event would be a grave misstep.
Adrian, freshly bathed and dressed in a crisp white shirt with his sleeves casually rolled, wandered into the Sinclair library, expecting a moment of solitude after facing the day. But as he stepped through the tall oak doors, he paused.
Evelyne was already there.
She stood near the center shelf, skimming through titles, her fingers brushing over spines with quiet interest. Morning light filtered through the high windows, casting a warm halo around her. She looked serene. Unaware.
Adrian hesitated. He wasn't sure why — but something about seeing her there, in his usual place of retreat, made him inexplicably still.
Before he could say a word, a soft knock came behind him.
He turned.
Mr. Thorne, ever the composed butler, entered with a small silver tray bearing an envelope. "Pardon the interruption, my lord," he said with a respectful bow. "A letter just arrived. It concerns a matter from House Whitmoore."
Adrian took the envelope without a word. He broke the seal and unfolded the letter, his eyes scanning quickly — and then stopping.
A two-night event.
Traveling to another city.
An arranged room for him and Evelyne — one room.
His mind stalled.
Of course. Of course they would assume a newlywed couple would share a suite. There would be no polite way to refuse without stirring questions or offense.
Behind him, Evelyne had noticed the stillness. She turned from the shelves and tilted her head. "Is everything alright?"
Adrian didn't answer right away. He folded the letter slowly, as though doing so would delay the inevitable.
"It's from the Whitmoores," he said at last, his voice unreadable. "They've invited the Sinclair family to a polo match this weekend. An overnight event."
"Oh," Evelyne said, cautious. "Will the Duke and Duchess be going?"
Adrian shook his head once. "They're sending us in their place."
He glanced at her then, something flickering in his expression — discomfort, maybe, or frustration. "The hosts have arranged a room for us."
There was a pause.
Evelyne blinked, then gave a faint nod. She didn't say anything for a moment, and neither did he.
There was no use pretending they hadn't both registered what that meant.
One room. One bed. Two nights.
Shared room…?
The thought struck Evelyne like a cold splash of water. Her pulse quickened, and she suddenly became very aware of the space between them — the small, suffocating space that had always existed but now felt far too close.
What will he think?
She stole a glance at Adrian. He was still looking at her, his gaze unreadable, but his silence spoke volumes.
This is absurd.
Adrian's mind raced as he processed the words. A shared room?
He hadn't been expecting this.
Still, Adrian couldn't help but feel… something shift inside him. He had hoped for peace, a night alone, without any further obligations, but now that was slipping away.
I'll make sure to keep my distance. This won't change anything between us.
Despite his cold resolve, a small part of him wondered if the situation could somehow ease the tension. Would this forced closeness change anything?
But he immediately pushed the thought away.
No. We are strangers. We remain strangers.
Adrian's eyes flickered back to Evelyn, and for the briefest moment, he thought he saw something — something unfamiliar in her eyes. But it was gone before he could grasp it.
"Well," she finally said, voice quiet but steady, "I suppose we'll have to make it work."
Adrian gave a slight nod and looked away, eyes narrowing toward the window, as if the glass could offer an escape. "There's nothing I can do about it."
"No," she said softly. "I know."
The silence between them stretched again — awkward, uncertain — but beneath it, something warmer lingered. A flicker of shared understanding. They didn't choose this situation.
But now, they would have to navigate it — together.
• A Dose of Deceit
The quiet of the night was broken by the faint clink of glass against wood as the family doctor, Dr. Lennox, poured himself a glass of brandy. He settled into the leather chair in his private study, the fire casting a low, flickering light across the room.
The clock chimed softly — midnight. Right on time.
The telephone on his desk buzzed once, a sharp, expectant sound. He reached for it with a steady hand, lifting the receiver to his ear.
"Yes?" he said, his voice low, cautious.
There was a pause on the other end, then a soft voice — curt and filled with veiled impatience. The words were brief, but the meaning clear: Was everything proceeding as planned?
A slow, confident smile tugged at the corners of Dr. Lennox's mouth.
"You have nothing to worry about," he said smoothly. "Everything has been taken care of."
He swirled the brandy in his glass, watching the amber liquid catch the firelight.
"The poison is working exactly as intended. Lady Evelyne's stamina continues to decline. She appears naturally fragile to anyone who sees her — even to her husband."
He leaned back in his chair, letting the satisfaction settle in his chest.
"Moreover," he continued, lowering his voice, "the maid has confirmed it. The Duke's son and Lady Evelyne have not shared a bed. He spends his nights either in his study or in a separate room."
There was a faint murmur of approval from the other end of the line.
Dr. Lennox's smile deepened.
"Given her current state, even if they are ordered to spend time together, any attempt at... consummation would be highly unlikely. The girl is too weak, too easily fatigued. It will appear entirely natural."
He paused, listening to a few more whispered instructions.
"Yes," he replied. "I will continue to monitor her. If needed, I can always adjust the dosage to keep her just well enough to avoid suspicion — but never strong enough to cause... complications."
There was another brief exchange. A warning.
Dr. Lennox's expression cooled slightly, but he nodded.
"I understand. Discretion above all else."
With that, the call ended. The doctor replaced the receiver carefully, the click of the cradle loud in the otherwise silent room.
He sat there for a moment longer, savoring the crackle of the fire, the heavy scent of brandy in the air, and the quiet satisfaction of a plan unfolding perfectly.
After all, appearances were everything in this household — and as long as Lady Evelyne remained delicate and helpless, their goals would remain safe.
For now.