Eveline adjusted her silver gloves and studied her reflection in the mirror. The Duke of Skelington would be hers. She had endured one season already, survived the whispers after Lord Femur's ball, and hired the best dancing master in the city. Now she needed to secure Mortimer's proposal before Countess Grimshaw stole him away. The Countess made him laugh too easily, danced with him too well. But Eveline had made him laugh at the musicale too. She descended the stairs and headed toward the town square. The Regal Phantasm Symphony would be performing this afternoon. Nobles always gathered there to listen and socialize. Mortimer might attend. She needed to position herself where he would see her, speak with her, remember that she could make him laugh just as the Countess did. The croquet lawn stretched before her on the way. Eveline paused. She had practiced with the elegant wooden mallets for weeks, perfecting her form. If Mortimer saw her skill and grace, it might catch his attention. She lifted a mallet and sent a brightly colored ball rolling across the grass in a perfect arc. The strike was clean, confident. She imagined the wedding pergola where she would stand beside him. Gold accents gleaming. Emerald green bows against delicate blue flowering vines. Every detail perfect. Every moment earned. The Duke would be hers because she refused to accept anything less. The Countess might make him laugh, but Eveline would make him choose her.

Eveline needed to learn everything about Mortimer's interests if she wanted to win him. She walked through the square, listening to conversations, gathering details. One nobleman mentioned the Duke's love of rare teas. Another spoke of his collection of antique timepieces. She made mental notes of each fact. At a small shop, she paused to examine a display of imported tea leaves. The shopkeeper explained the differences between varieties. Eveline purchased three types the Duke might appreciate. Knowledge was power, and she would use every advantage. If the Countess knew his favorite dance steps, then Eveline would know his favorite everything else. A pale building ahead caught her attention. Dried wisteria clung to its lilac walls. White accents framed the windows. Wisteria Manor stood quiet in the afternoon light. This was where society gathered for intimate events. She climbed the steps and entered. The ballroom stretched before her, empty now but still elegant. She imagined Mortimer here, turning to see her across the polished floor. Their first real conversation might happen in a room like this. Eveline walked through the manor, studying each detail. A golden candelabra stood near the window, blue bow tied around its base, dark vines wrapped along the arms. The metal gleamed even in the dim light. She touched the smooth surface. Beautiful things required care and attention. So did winning a Duke. Near the entrance, she found a gold table with refreshments arranged across its surface. Crystal glasses caught the light. She lifted one and took a sip. The manor held possibility. Every gathering, every conversation, every moment she positioned herself correctly brought her closer to her goal. The Countess might have his laughter now, but Eveline would have his ring. She set down the glass and smoothed her dress. The work had only just begun.