After the downfall and tragic death of the Phantomhive Family, there was no salvaging whatever previous arrangement had been made with Marquess Midford, Lady Elizabeth of Midford, and the Midford family. After all, what young lady would remain the betrothed of a dead earl to be?

Lady Elizabeth had become betrothed to another noble family of the British aristocracy and had long since forgotten the late Earl for the years that came.

But now, the earl was back in the game of chess. Amongst the other aristocrats, he is underestimated and undervalued, left and right. Even with the title of the Queen's Watchdog and Earl bestowed upon him once again, he was still a child, an orphan, and owns a toy company, even if it is the most popular shop in the market. He needs to build up his connections once more and become the key player amongst the nobles.

That's why he had chosen to become betrothed once more. While this sudden betrothal was not a move he wished to play in this game of chess, he had to carefully curate whoever was available in the marriage market. With Elizabeth already betrothed, he had to set his eyes upon other eligible ladies.

--

The china teacup clinked softly as Ciel placed it down on the matching saucer plate. Across from his seat on the long, fine table was a garden of exquisite taste of flowers, a fountain, and hedges that reflected the power, wealth, and elegance.

All except the company, that is to say.

You sat opposite the Earl, underneath the shaded part of the grand willow tree. One of your hands created on your cheek as the other idly stirred your tea, mixing the cream into the amber liquid. Yet your disinterest could only be seen by the nobles. If it were with the commoners or servants, they would have thought you were daydreaming. Possibly about the thought of becoming betrothed to the influential Phantomhive family that once dominated society.

But the effort stopped there. Your eyes were blank, and your lips were pressed together tightly. Your eyes barely flickered over at the earl and only spoke on occasion, 'yes' or 'no' to seem polite.

And he noticed. Of course, he noticed.

Ciel cleared his throat quietly, garnering only a simple glimpse from you. "You don't seem particularly interested in this conversation."

He tried to hide away the tone of displeasure with the practiced aristocratic smile. Yet that didn't hide the displeasure in his left eye. Even so, his peacock-blue eyes studied you. Not in the way the Queen's Watchdog examined criminals or pawns, but a chessmaster that was eyeing his next opponent's move.

Whatever move you make next, he would have already predicted it and placed his chess piece. For this is the Phantomhive way.