Chapter 36

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 36

Chapter Title: Practice Partner

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Dumblin Cricket & Tennis Club boasted utter perfection.

It offered every convenience for its members, including practice partners for those who visited alone.

These partners were typically retired players with tournament awards or active professionals.

Olivia headed to the desk on the first floor of the main building to inquire about a partner to practice with.

“No one’s available right now.”

Olivia steadied her disappointed expression and asked politely once more.

“How about tomorrow? I’d like to reserve someone if possible.”

“Everything’s booked solid until the end of the month.”

The staffer, brow furrowed deeply, replied curtly without so much as glancing at the schedule.

“I see. Thank you for checking.”

Olivia offered a measured smile and her thanks, then turned on her heel without another moment’s delay. She had no desire to put the powerless employee in an even tougher spot.

Packed tennis courts and packed schedules.

Olivia let out a hollow laugh at the Dumblin Club’s stale notion.

“No chance.”

Russell lounged half-reclined on the sofa, twirling his mustache as he exhaled a long plume of cigarette smoke.

Court 12 might as well have been a mirage for any woman. Fine grass or no, without an opponent, it was back to the wall for her.

Well now, what’s your next move, Miss Olivia Blanchett?

Heh heh. A chuckle escaped him.

Charles called him petty, but this went beyond pettiness.

One hundred fifty years.

Preserving the storied history handed down through that vast span was a noble duty—and upholding an untarnished pride was a matter of dignity.

He was the guardian of this weighty mission, a mantle his son, his son’s son, and all their descendants were fated to bear.

So no mere woman—let alone some lowly bastard—could sully it. Not on her life.

Let anyone dare partner with her. He’d make them regret it and boot them from the club.

His bulging eyes fixed on the verdant vista beyond the grand window, lost in reverie. Satisfaction tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Olivia ran through her fallback options one by one. The equipment shed ranked lowest on her list. No more of that. She gave her head a small shake.

God, she wanted to shatter those glass panes. The image of that man leaning against the sill with a grin set her cheeks ablaze.

Her brisk footsteps echoed through the marble lobby. Sunlight poured in through the floor-to-ceiling windows lining the space.

Anne, trailing quietly at her side, eyed Olivia’s flushed face with concern, wondering if she had a fever.

“Let’s head back for today, Miss.”

Olivia whipped her head toward Anne’s soft voice.

“Yes, Anne!”

Olivia seized Anne’s arm with delight, as if she hadn’t even realized she was there.

“M-Miss?”

Olivia’s wide eyes sparkled. Anne’s did too, in flustered surprise. But Olivia’s soon dimmed, like a star winking out.

No good.

She lacked the confidence to train Anne for the court in three weeks. Time was far too short.

What now?

Olivia’s crestfallen gaze drifted aimlessly. It trailed up the reddish mahogany staircase, then snagged on a portrait mounted on the wall.

Men in crisp white tennis whites beamed brightly, each clutching a silver disc in one hand.

Her eyes roved over the winners’ portraits before locking onto the third from the end.

Ah!

A glad exclamation slipped from Olivia’s rose-red lips.

Edgar.

Unmistakably him.

His hair gleamed damply, as if beads of sweat might drip any second. Striking.

She smiled at the familiar sight.

Perfectly languid, perfectly kind, perfectly arrogant—Edgar Langcaster Lancelot.

“Anne. That’s the one.”

Olivia’s voice bubbled with excitement.

“Looks like he won.”

Her face lit up pure and innocent, like a child bursting to show off her prized possession.

“Incredible, isn’t it?”

Her hair, grown out to her shoulders, brushed her cheeks as her gaze flicked between Anne and the portrait.

Color returned to her once-pale cheeks.

Just then, as Olivia lost herself in the photo, the lobby stirred with commotion.

Olivia and Anne turned on instinct.

A cluster of men strode in through the entrance. Their eyes landed on Olivia.

The lobby’s chatter died, replaced by icy stares and dead silence.

The air grew thick with unease as the distance shrank.

One man bore down aggressively, shoulders squared as if to shove past, brushing perilously close to Olivia. She knew his face.

Her luck was rotten.

Russell Junior’s mood soured in an instant at the sight of Olivia Blanchett.

“How the hell do you lose to a woman like that? Feet tied together or what?”

The young noble scions snickered as they acknowledged the staffer’s bow and filed into the lounge.

The club lounge bustled at lunchtime. They claimed the table directly beneath the chandelier.

“Bet she’d still win if you used your feet.”

The men skimmed menus idly, erupting in giggles once more.

“Will you shut it?”

Russell Junior’s voice cut sharp amid his friends’ guffaws. Tension creased his cleft chin.

Damn it all.

Lately, it was like this everywhere. Ever since that day of shame.

He’d dreamed of heroic fame in Dumblin’s annals by crushing the impudent woman invading sacred ground. Instead, reality branded him the pathetic fool who handed Dumblin defeat.

Small wonder his spirits wallowed in the depths.

Society mirrored the rot.

‘Sir Dixon. You really lost to her?’

Ladies flocked like sparrows, batting lashes in wide-eyed disbelief. The humiliation stung.

‘What’s that bulk even for?’

‘Useless in bed too, eh?’

Giggles and whispers slipped past fans—he ignored them, feigning deafness.

He prayed the scandal would fade fast, but the meddling press kept it alive, dredging up his past victories to question his skill.

“Whiskey. Straight up.”

The waiter nodded and withdrew. Then, like an unwelcome side dish, Olivia Blanchett surfaced atop their table talk.

“You didn’t tank it daydreaming about some skirt, did you?”

“I gave her a handicap!”

Russell Junior bellowed his defense at last.

“Ha! Now you’re lying. Your old man said you scampered like a mutt.”

They howled till winded.

Son of a bitch.

Russell Junior’s fists shook. Veins throbbed, fit to burst.

That was when his jeering friends’ faces froze.

“Hello there.”

Hush fell over the lounge. Every eye swung to the woman who’d approached without a sound.

“Oh, Olivia?”

Someone fumbled his cigarette, dropping it as he named her.

Even Russell Junior, seconds from erupting, gawked up at her in a daze.

Murmurs rippled as eyes converged, but Olivia glided one light step nearer, planting herself before Russell Junior.

“I wanted to say hello. Lucky to run into you like this.”

Her clear blue eyes—transparent as glass—crinkled with a smile.

Brazen chit. Who does she think she’s dealing with?

Captivated a beat by those enigmatic eyes, Russell Junior snapped back to cold clarity.

He parted thick lips to glare and snap—too slow.

“Thank you so much for letting me win that day.”

“……”

Russell Junior blanked, utterly lost.

“I know you threw it on purpose.”

Eh?

His face slackened to stupidity now, mouth agape beneath his cleft chin as he stared up at Olivia.

“What? That’s how it went down?”

Doubt flickered in the eyes that had mocked him moments before.

“For real? You tanked it deliberately, Russell Junior?”

Skeptical stares pinned him.

What game was this woman playing? Lips twitching uncertainly, he hesitated—then she spoke.

“Of course. I’m so grateful for the chance to practice here. Meeting someone as thoughtful as Mr. Dixon is pure fortune.”

Her sincerity shone undeniable. Even Russell Junior wavered.

Did I?

Maybe... or maybe not...

Confusion clouded his features as he eyed her.

“That surprise passing shot? My heart nearly stopped. So fierce—I still can’t shake it.”

Admiration sparkled in her gaze.

“Ahem... Eh, nothing special.”

Russell puffed his chest and lifted his chin high for the first time in ages.

“Nothing special? You’re far too modest.”

See that, you lot?

Elated, he leveled a slow, forceful glare at each man. His bruised ego mended a touch.

Russell Junior swung his gaze back to Olivia Blanchett, leisure oozing from his posture.

“You hold your own pretty well too, Miss Blanchett.”

Olivia beamed, childlike at the praise.

“No, not at all. Only because Mr. Dixon guided me so well.”

Russell Junior leaned languidly into the backrest and shrugged.

“Think nothing of it. Rookies rarely catch such nuances. You did—so you’ve got real skill.”

By now, he layered on a dash of bravado.