Spinster's Gambit (16 page)

“And have you ever been to Bath?” he asked and Miss Longbourne gazed at her feet miserably.

“Oh, yes, Your Grace, I loved it,” she answered politely without looking up from her shoe buckles.

Right.

“It's a lovely area,” he said meaninglessly. She nodded, her eyes sliding toward where Daniel was sitting with Miss Holcombe by the hearth.

“You've been there?” she asked without looking away from the other man.

“Obviously,” he answered, his voice coming out too sharp, too annoyed. She glanced at him, looking alarmed.

Damn it.
He was not skilled with women. Aspen glanced over Miss Longbourne, deciding to take Jack's advice. He couldn't imagine this going well.

“Miss Longbourne,” he asked and the girl raised her eyes to stare at the scars on his neck, as if he wouldn't notice. “Meet my eyes,” he ordered.

Her eyebrows furrowed, but for once she looked interested. She blinked and lifted her gaze to his. She had light hazel eyes and a kind, somewhat anxious-looking expression. She smiled slightly and he nodded at her.

“Thank you,” he stated and her eyes fell back to his chest.

Thrilling,
he thought, struggling not to roll his eyes and feeling like a fool.

“Did you enjoy your time in Bath?” she asked. Aspen wanted to groan. 

Finally, his mother stood to invite them all to dinner. Aspen took the excuse to escape gratefully, moving to take his mother's arm and lead them into the grand dining hall.

~~//~~

“You should talk to him,” Daniel pressed, sitting down beside her. Jac glanced around the loud room to ensure no one could hear them. Aspen was ensconced in conversation with Miss Longbourne, who was in turn looking at them. At Daniel anyway. Jac caught her gaze for a moment and the girl blushed and tore her eyes back to the duke, looking alarmed.

“No, thank you,” Jac stated, trying to imagine walking over to the man and striking up some conversation. She'd look like a besotted fool. It was over, she told herself firmly.

“Truly, Jac. You know and like this man. He does not think he knows you; he will not make the first approach. What would you do for the rest of your life if you did not give Aspen a chance now?” Daniel pressed. Jac rubbed her thumb into her palm. She did not want to be alone and she did not want to spend a lifetime thinking it was her own fault.

“I have no conception of how to do that,” she hissed. Daniel shrugged slightly and rubbed a hand over his chin.

“No one really does. Some people just fake it long enough that it becomes easier to pretend that they know what they're doing,” he answered, winking at her.

“Oh, lovely,” Jac replied, wanting to hide her face in her hands.

“If you can pretend to be male you can pretend to be friendly,” Daniel whispered, his eyebrows rising comically. 

“Mr. Henry Charington and his daughter, Miss Laura Charington,” the butler intoned. Daniel froze in his chair, his expression tight. Jac glanced at where the foppish man was striding into the room with his thin slip of a daughter, moving to greet the duchess. Daniel angled himself away from the newcomers, shifting in his seat to face Jacoline more fully. Jac frowned, suddenly wondering why Daniel was sitting with her. Usually he was fully ensconced in flirting women by midday. 

“The rumors are worsening,” she mentioned, catching the gaze of Miss Musgrave. The girl glanced at Daniel, her lip curling slightly, and quickly looked away. 

Daniel nodded.

“Very true,” he said. “Forgive me, I’ve forgotten my book in my room,” he said, standing up and moving swiftly toward the hallway. Jac glanced over at where the duke was sitting. He was scowling at the carefully woven rug beneath his feet. Miss Longbourne was staring at the bust of St. Anslem behind him, tapping her foot. She looked remarkably bored. And boring, frankly, Jac thought less charitably. Perhaps there was a way for her to talk to the man.

As soon as the thought occurred she felt practically glued to her seat. Jac dropped her gaze back down to the embroidery in her lap, hiding her face and trying to figure out how in the world she was going to attempt to speak to the Duke of Aspen, a peer she’d barely been introduced to.

The duchess called for dinner finally, ending her misery. Aspen stood up from his conversation with Miss Musgrave, looking grateful, and Jac joined the procession at the end of the line, glad for once for the low rank which allowed her to escape from the duke's company. She was under no obligation to shout down the table at the man.

~~//~~

The duchess's house party was always easier after the first night. Presumably after letting Jac settle in it became socially acceptable to ask her to play, which usually meant she spent the rest of the party in what felt like an extended concert. In the horrid boredom of her youth she'd somehow become quite accomplished at the pianoforte, only to improve drastically when she realized how it allowed her to escape from social situations. It had saved her from every social occasion since she'd come of age and hardly failed her now.

Jac had barely finished a stitch in her morning embroidery before the duchess was asking her if she'd be kind enough to play for them. With no limit on her relief, Jac moved to obey.

~~//~~

I do not want His Grace to marry someone else,
Jac accepted, walking away from the pianoforte to return to her dratted embroidery. The armchair beside Aspen’s was empty, and she lowered herself into it, feeling quite out of place. He was sitting with a letter held open in front of him, his scarred fingers struggling to keep the paper unfolded. She could not simply turn and speak with him in the middle of the crowded room. Jac picked at her embroidery, staring at the attractive pattern without ever truly seeing it. How else would the duke ever notice her if she did not speak to him? She wanted him desperately, even if they were only to be friends. She could be quite happy as a spinster, she thought, if only she could go to the coffeehouse with him again.

“How long have you been playing chess?” Jac forced out, realizing she didn't know. Her voice came out in an unhealthy squeak. Aspen glanced at her, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

Have I ever seen him play chess when I was not disguised?
Jac wondered belatedly, desperately trying to think of an instance. She felt herself color but kept her gaze on him. She needed to try this.

“I barely remember learning. My uncle taught me. It was a love of his,” he replied rather coldly. Jac blinked.

“Were you ever better than he?” she asked and he glanced back at her again, looking only more confused. Too personal again, she thought, shifting in her seat. Oh, but she was not good at this.

“I became so. I am not sure he ever got over that. He thought it was a sign of his failing mind and not of my rising skill,” Aspen answered, frowning at her now. Jac nodded quietly and returned to gazing about the room, guessing it was Aspen's turn to talk if he were interested. She felt as if everyone were secretly staring at her as well, noticing the awkward silence between her and the duke.

You are a ridiculous woman,
she thought, wanting to growl at herself but suppressing the noise.The women would notice that, she was sure. Aspen too, certainly, if she started sounding like a rabid dog when left to her own thoughts. Aspen turned back to his letter, apparently done with the exchange. His jaw set strongly and he appeared frustrated for a moment before his fingers stretched out and splayed the folded paper again.

I did not meet his eyes,
Jac realized belatedly, wanting to kick herself. Her habits were set too strongly.

“The slavery debate is becoming more charged, I think,” she said but Aspen did not turn to face her. He nodded only. Jac pulled her attention away from him, gazing about the room instead.

Daniel was sitting stiffly by the fire, uncharacteristically alone, a book open on his lap and his blue eyes locked on Mrs. Clarence’s conversation.

What does that woman want?
Jac wondered, watching Mrs. Clarence and Mrs. Faring titter in the corner of the room. Mrs. Clarence leaned in, her tea cup jostling in her hand, and whispered some particular that set Mrs. Faring to giggling and hushing her. 

It is only gossip,
Jac told herself. Mrs. Clarence turned to smirk at Daniel, something like triumph flashing in her eyes. Jac caught Daniel’s gaze, concerned, and Daniel smiled at her easily, appearing unaffected.

Right. The maid witnessed nothing scandalous. Mr. Jack Holcombe was an acquaintance from the city and nothing more.
Jac schooled her face blank.

“You told me you played as well. Could I tempt you with a game?” Aspen asked, turning to face her suddenly as if only then realizing she was there. Jac felt her eyes widen and cursed herself for a ninny. She should have predicted he'd suggest such a thing, given how bored he was at normal social functions. She desperately wanted to play with him again. But while winning against him was acceptable, dominating him was not and she could likely beat him without her rook. Still, refusing would be rude as well.

“Oh, hang it all,” she muttered under her breath, before smiling up at him. His scars twitched as they did when he wanted to smile and Jac blinked, feeling her heart speed up. “I'd love to,” she agreed.

He smiled at her suddenly, his face lighting up and Jac felt herself smile back, her heart beating wildly.

He’s not interested,
she scolded herself and lifted her gaze to meet his eyes. 

CHAPTER EIGHT

Aspen felt his own eyes widen in shock when the woman looked up and simply met his eyes, her gaze frank and even. She was still plain, that was immediately obvious. She was a little too sharp, her cheek bones too prominent and her nose cuttingly thin. But her eyes looked softly into his own, unflinching, set somewhere between green and gray in utter contradiction to her dark, almost black hair. It was a stunning combination he thought, glancing over her face again until he realized that her eyebrows were rising slowly, waiting for a response.

“Oh, er-” he said stupidly, feeling a blush crawl up his cheeks and neck.

Fool,
he thought, before he composed himself and gestured over at the chessboard still set up with his last night’s game with Lord Monson. Miss Holcombe nodded her agreement and Aspen felt himself sigh gratefully, glad to have a chess game to escape into for a short while.

He kept his eyes off her as she sat at the small chess table, knowing his mother would be watching him. Miss Holcombe started to set up the board, her thin fingers moving deftly. Aspen joined her quietly, thinking. It made no sense that he'd met the twenty-six year old woman in the guise of an untitled, awkward young man but still he couldn't throw off the feeling that when Miss Holcombe met his eyes he'd met the same gaze but three weeks before in the eyes of his friend. The two cousins truly did look alike. Jack must have told her to meet his eyes when he’d spoken to her last. For that, at least, Aspen was grateful.

~~//~~

You are without a doubt the most impulsive woman on the planet,
Jac berated herself after Aspen made his move, watching her steadily. She couldn't win this game, she told herself as they brought their pieces into the game, struggling for the central squares. Aspen would see too much of her. He fought well, but he didn't have a concrete understanding of the value of central pawns and when the smoke cleared from the opening game he had traded pieces evenly but was in a far weaker position.

Jac saw too many ways to sack the game for herself, but they all felt disrespectful to the man across from her. She did not want to lose without ever having fought, when she had once sat across from this man in his own home and taken all of his pieces without deception.

Just play,
she told herself finally, feeling her brain kick in for the first time in too long. She'd wait and find a decisive enough way to turn the tides against herself when it was necessary. It was too tempting to be able to play with someone but her brother across the board from her.

~~//~~

Aspen knew he was playing with a stronger player within ten minutes of their game. She was more confident with greater and greater complication while he struggled to make sense of it all. The game was not difficult for her. And he knew she'd seen the danger of the fork. Her eyes had flashed over the pertinent squares, her eyes lit in understanding and yet she picked up her bishop and put it in what would be a good position if it were not for the waiting trap.

She'd sacked the game; he was sure of it.

He felt almost...betrayed for a moment, like Miss Holcombe had chosen to mock him rather than play. He opened his mouth to protest before he remembered how very unusual and off-putting it would be for a woman to wipe him off the board, which Miss Holcombe was clearly in line to do. It would offend most men, to be sure. They would hide it, surely, but they'd never court her.

And they don't,
he remembered, glancing over the face of the apparently brilliant woman in front of him.

“You sacked this game intentionally,” he said, sitting back in his chair away from the table.

Her eyes dashed up to meet his eyes again, like it were normal, and Aspen took a moment to relish the connection and the intelligence in her gaze. She swallowed heavily and did not deny it. Aspen felt the rest of his anger die and wondered if he’d been a cad to have mentioned the sacked game. What else was she to do, as a serious contender in a game that gave no place for female players? Women could play but they couldn't win, not so dramatically. And he was the one who’d asked for the game. What other option did she have?

Dress in breeches and play at the London tournament,
Aspen thought, repressing a smile. She played so similarly to Mr. Jack Holcombe. He almost believed it was possible, looking at the woman in front of him, '
Jacoline',
the only woman outside his family whose gaze met his. Miss Holcombe was a thin, sharp looking woman; she'd make a shapeless, weak-looking man.