Chapter 32

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 32

Chapter Title: Dumblin Cricket & Tennis Club

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"The tea smells wonderful."

The old gentleman, owner of the largest club in the Britt Kingdom and a collateral royal of Britt, offered tea with a friendly smile. Edgar lifted his cup and took a sip. A stubborn bitterness lingered in the complex aroma.

"It's a rare blend. I brought it out especially for you, so drink it quietly and be on your way."

Henry buried his nose in his teacup as if he had nothing more to say, his gaze drifting far away. Through the front window, green grass courts stretched out. People in dazzling white outfits were playing.

"Judge for yourself after seeing her."

Edgar said, setting down his cup.

"My stance hasn't changed."

A few days earlier, Edgar had requested permission for Olivia Blanchett to use the club.

She needed a place to practice away from reporters' eyes for the month leading up to the tournament. Henry MacDowell, the Marquis and owner, had refused.

"No matter how much the world changes, I won't have women flapping their skirts around my club."

The reason was that this club, boasting a long tradition and history, accepted only a select few from high society as members—a men-only establishment. Utterly exclusive and stuffy, an anachronistic stubbornness.

"You'll change your mind once you see her."

"The princess will win anyway. Why bother with the hassle?"

The predictable winner each year killed the excitement of spectating, leading to dismal popularity for women's tennis compared to the men's, where illegal betting thrived on predictions.

Friends of Princess Annblin and nobles propping up her face barely filled the seats. In short, it was running at a loss.

"Have you finished your tea?"

"If the princess doesn't win."

Edgar's low voice carried weight. Henry withdrew his gaze from the window.

"Then will you grant permission?"

"There have been plenty better than Ann. They all lost to her status."

"She's not Brittish."

"......"

"She has no reason to defer to the princess."

Edgar didn't miss the faint flicker in the old man's weary eyes.

"In this tournament, she'll bring an upset."

A spark began to gleam in the old man's golden eyes, once dull with boredom.

"That's the charm of sports."

Edgar tugged at the corner of his mouth. Henry's eyes shifted to those of a gambler.

Henry's heart raced, diluted blood of the Dumblin royals—who obsessed over close matches—stirring in excitement.

He was the type to keep his eyes wide open until the end, checking if his player won even on his deathbed. How could he resist?

Their probing gazes ended in Henry's hearty laugh.

If the Lancelot Duke was a raccoon dog, what was his son like......?

Sunlight streamed into the office, beautifully illuminating the confident young man's shoulders. Over that dazzling youth at its midday peak, Henry's own aged reflection overlaid.

He'd been struck at his weak spot; surrender was the natural course. He was intensely curious about this new challenger to Britt's princess.

Of course, he knew Edgar had ulterior motives. Still, better a skirted player in the club than watching Princess Annblin win for the seventh year.

"You sly fox."

Henry laughed, crinkling the wrinkles at his eyes.

"I figured you'd say that, so I called you here."

Edgar smiled back.

"My goodness!"

Olivia pressed her face to the carriage window, forehead nearly touching the glass, and let out an exclamation.

Crossing a lawn without a single weed, a grand building filled her view. Ivy clung to the red walls, turning everything green.

Suppressing the urge to jump out, she peered around until she spotted Edgar striding toward them from afar.

Anne straightened Olivia's attire. She adjusted the boater hat neatly and smoothed her skirt wrinkles as the coachman opened the door.

"Did I keep you waiting?"

Edgar took Olivia's hand and asked.

"I just arrived."

Olivia wore a fluttering white blouse with a white flare skirt. White lace stockings paired with slightly cream-tinted satin shoes.

"Don't tense up. Keep it light, just like always."

Looking down at Olivia, Edgar flashed a grin. She nodded slightly and followed him into the club.

Curious and hostile stares stabbed at her. Though Edgar said not to tense, the malice made her uneasy.

But that lasted only a moment. Her blue eyes darted around the club's opulent interior decorations.

"Save the sightseeing. This way."

Edgar chuckled and led her outside. Beyond the long corridor, grass courts opened up, the sea visible at the end.

"Wow! It's so beautiful."

Olivia's mouth fell open. A sea breeze swept over the grass. Far off, white yachts bobbed gently in the yacht harbor.

"Yachts next time. Show your skills today."

Olivia finally tore her eyes from the sea and looked up at him.

"You have yachts too?"

Her round eyes blinked prettily at him.

"Even Johann has one. Never taken you?"

Olivia's gaze shifted to the stairs.

"He's...... busy."

Sunlight pooled on the white nape of her neck as she descended carefully. Suddenly, Edgar felt a strong urge to ask why Johann had sent the letter.

Their marriage hadn't been amicable. She knew next to nothing about Johann. As rumors said, he ignored his wife's existence. Olivia, on the other hand...

She didn't hide her affection for her husband.

The sudden news of her ex-husband's engagement. The international mail to London via her maid. And Johann's letter.

The implications were clear.

Olivia Blanchett's love wasn't over yet.

The hot late-spring breeze clung unpleasantly to Edgar's cheek. Summer had crept in.

"This lady?"

"Miss Olivia Blanchett."

Edgar introduced her to Henry. The club president, key executives, and chief manager were present.

"Hello. It's an honor to meet you."

Standing before them, Olivia felt a slight tension. The paradise-like scenery no longer registered.

Henry observed the woman before him with a gentle gaze.

She looked sturdy, but her slender wrists and ankles seemed fragile enough to be swept away by the wind.

Yet her clear face radiated the vibrant energy of youth, thick as deep green foliage, just like Edgar's.

Appearance-wise, she doesn't lose to Princess Annblin. Pass.

A divorced illegitimate and Britt's divorced princess.

The titles alone were thrillingly provocative.

This cunning fellow.

Foxes bred true. Henry looked at Edgar with satisfied crinkles around his eyes. Edgar replied with a genuine smile.

"Let's begin right away, Your Excellency."

A cold voice cut between them.

It overshadowed the teas on the table, but this wasn't a leisurely afternoon social; no retort came.

Russell Dixon, serving as president of both the Dumblin Cricket & Tennis Club and the Britt Tennis Players Association, was deeply displeased.

How dare she, in this place.

A mere woman.

His indignant mustache quivered.

For over 150 years, a sacred space for gentlemen. Not to be sullied by some wench. Especially a lowly illegitimate.

This was an outrageous violation of tradition, a challenge to gentlemen's authority, a desecration of the grass. Unforgivable.

The other members felt the same.

If women's entry was allowed here, they'd have to carry their wives' baggage even in this forbidden realm.

Oh, the horror!

Apocalypse would be preferable.

Resolute opposition!!!

The chilly stares at Olivia screamed in unison. Russell shot a look of solidarity to his ally, the leader.

"What's the rush? A cup of tea first—it won't be late."

A, no. Your Excellency?

Russell flushed at Henry's sudden about-face.

When denying the permit, he hadn't been like this. The once-furious owner now seemed half-swayed by this fox-like woman.

Jaw clenched in betrayal, Russell glared at Olivia as if to devour her.

"No. Better to play light on an empty stomach."

Olivia said, looking straight at Henry.

The atmosphere wasn't for sipping tea. She wasn't brazen enough to savor it under their blatant displeasure.

They were psychologically attacking her. She'd expected no welcome, so she wasn't too daunted.

But still. Was this necessary? She'd asked Edgar. He'd grinned and replied,

'If there's no path, we make one.'

Most clubs were men's domains, and tennis courts—nobles' sport—were owned only by Britt Palace, some universities, and a few hotels. For discreet practice away from press, the highly secure Dumblin Club was ideal.

'I don't aim for the win.'

'I'm only interested if it's a win.'

Recalling his words from signing the entry form, Henry's kindly voice rang out.

"Then let's do that."

"Yes."

Olivia's eyes hardened with resolve. Victory wasn't the goal, but she wouldn't look ridiculous before these men.

For her senior's honor.

She gripped her racket tightly, steeling herself.