Spinster's Gambit (21 page)

“Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” she greeted, her gaze returning to the chessboard. Aspen frowned, unsettled, feeling like he’d already spoiled something between them. What more did she expect from him?

“If you’re waiting for Daniel, I saw him upstairs not long ago,” he said. Miss Holcombe nodded without looking up from the chessboard.

Rude,
Aspen thought, but he couldn’t be annoyed. It was a boring statement.

“Miss Holcombe,” he started,  only to curse himself. He had no idea how to speak with women. “How long have you been playing chess?” he asked, stepping into the room, and her gaze shot up to meet his. Her eyes were bright and focused, so alike her cousin’s.

Or whoever ‘Mr. Jack Holcombe’ was,
Aspen amended, not believing that claim at all anymore.

“Since I was one and twenty. Daniel came home from the continent where he'd learned, and taught me,” she replied.

“That was not long ago,” Aspen stated, blinking. He remembered teaching Daniel how the different pieces moved, back in their shared travels. It had been so strange, realizing his aristocratic friend did not already know.

Their father was absent,
he remembered, glancing at the woman before him. He wanted to ask what that had been like, but he did not know her well enough. He did not know how to play at these social games; when he was supposed to start conversation and when it was her turn. He did not wish to speak about the weather or gossip about the other house guests.

“May I ask you a question then?” he asked as filler. She raised her eyebrows at him slightly and Aspen was vaguely reminded of Daniel. “I recently saw an opening that started with the queen’s pawn matched by black’s king’s pawn, and then the queen’s bishop’s pawn was moved up to threaten-”

Miss Holcombe grinned suddenly, her whole face brightening, and he knew she recognized it.

“Ah, the Queen's Gambit,” she said. “It's an old opening, but it's not well known.”

Then why do you and Jack both know it?

“How do you know of it?” Aspen asked instead. He'd keep his promise not to pry.

“Do you know the name Gioachino Greco?” she asked and Aspen shook his head, feeling odd speaking down at her. The only chairs in the room were by the fire and the window, both too far from the table to speak with her. Miss Holcombe smiled again, almost wistfully and looked out the window, toward the back gardens where his mother’s roses grew. “He wrote a book I recommend you read, called the Royal Game of Chess Play. In it I read about the Queen's Gambit, and it's been a favorite opening of mine ever since,” she stated.

“Why?” he asked. Miss Holcombe gestured for him to sit across the board from her. Aspen obeyed gratefully, settling into the chair.

“Because it looks so foolish,” she answered, smiling at him again. “I mostly studied chess while Daniel was away on business and one day after he returned he wanted to play with me. Do keep in mind that Daniel could be an absolute cad and I knew he was only asking for the chance to crush an opponent as he was quite poor at the game compared to his peers. So I started with the Queen's Gambit and he mocked me for a full five minutes before I ate his knight and rook with no losses to show for it. He'd given up his central control by accepting the gambit and he was utterly unprepared when I won back the pawn.”

She grinned almost ferally at the memory. Aspen did his best to keep his surprise off of his face.

“Oh, but I remember that!” he exclaimed suddenly, thinking back. “Daniel came back from Abingdon and demanded I teach him more about the game. It's a good thing he could best me in fencing or I swear we'd never have maintained our friendship. It was years before he became anything close to my equal in chess. I suppose at that point you could probably have beaten my mentors in the game.”

Miss Holcombe chuckled, her voice light and wonderful.

“The only thing else to do in my world was play the piano or dance. I enjoy both but still I hid in Daniel's office at every occasion and tore into his books,” she admitted.

“You would have doubled our marks at Eton,” Aspen stated and she shook her head.

“No, my interests are too fickle. I pick one thing and study it, and for that time I don't care about anything else in the world,” she replied. Aspen thought of her concentration and nodded his agreement.

“So when did you pick up the pianoforte?” he asked and Miss Holcombe tipped her head back slightly, looking somewhere over his head, but for once he did not think it was to avoid his gaze. She simply looked up when thinking as Jack had done.

“Oh, I think I was about five or six. It was the only thing my governess did not need to scold me into doing. My first interest, as it were. So first it was piano, then chess, then piano again when I realized that it meant I could escape the social scene at house parties,” she said. She jerked her head down, her eyes wide. “I had not meant -”

“No, my mother's parties are horrendous for me as well,” he assured her, grinning. “I wish I had something solitary I could hide in.”

Her eyes furrowed, looking confused for a moment.

“But you can always leave to play billiards or ride on your own without it being questioned,” she stated, sounding envious. Aspen tipped his head, accepting the point, and clasped his hands together.

“True, but there are multiple problems with that. First of all, I do in fact respect my mother and I want to make her happy, for which my presence is required. Second, it's hardly secret that I am in need .. er.. in want of a wife,” he stated, rubbing his thumb into his palm and cursing his own awkwardness. 

“Fair,” she replied easily, tipping her head to him. “But in any case, the Queen's Gambit has two obvious responses. You can take the pawn, and accept the gambit, or not,” she stated.

“Why wouldn't you?” he asked.

“I'll show you how white can regain that pawn. Without the pawn advantage, it breaks down into a discussion of central board control. Alright, so let's take it from the bishop’s pawn,” she started, setting up the scenario on the board between them.

They were
talking,
like it was no effort at all.

“Lord, but you're as stubborn as a mule. Let us hope you're not as sterile,” she cursed when he would not stop trying to defend his hanging pawn. “Ignore the pawn, you cannot keep it. You will only lose. Take my word on that. What do you see?”

I cannot believe you just said that,
Aspen thought, staring at the chessboard in front of him. She had to be the least refined woman on the planet.

Is this why her few suitors quickly turned away?
He wondered, remembering now the few men that had circled around her, but each only for a very short time.

“You know I read a book that mentioned that. Mules are not always infertile,” he corrected, doing his best not to blush at the idea that they may, in fact, be talking about him. Still, Miss Holcombe looked up with only scientific interest in her eyes.

“Really?” she asked, leaning forward, revealing more of her chest below her neckline. Aspen forced himself to look away and met her eyes.

“Only with female mules and a normal horse as sire,” he clarified. Miss Holcombe grinned suddenly, amusement back in her eyes.

“Well then, that's hardly a defense for you, is it?” she asked and that time Aspen knew he'd blushed. She laughed again, throwing her head back and Aspen blinked, somewhat awed by the woman in front of him. She must be so bored, hiding behind that quiet, spinster facade. Were all women so alive in private? He somehow doubted it.

“How do you know that? About the mules?” she asked, still smiling.

“I studied everything I could about farming when my father died. He'd known quite a bit, but only from the financial point of view. I’d felt unprepared to wield power over anyone so I studied as much as I could,” he replied. “It’s how I came to know the Duke of Mariton. He knows everything there is to know about animal husbandry.”

Miss Holcombe tilted her head, apparently intrigued and Aspen relaxed, feeling almost interesting for a moment.

“What did you learn?” she asked and Aspen chuckled, blowing out a heavy breathe.

“That I am very bad farmer. Most of my predictions for field placement and rotation ran exactly counter to what my tenants suggested, and of course they were right. I came to leave them to their business, and see to my own,” he answered. Aspen shook himself out of his thoughts and turned back to their game.

“That sounds wise,” she answered.

“Alright, so I won't look at the pawn,” he stated, covering the piece with his hand. It was difficult to believe that the woman across from him had only been studying this game since she was one and twenty. Five years, then, if he had her age correct.

Five years,
Aspen repeated to himself, missing Miss Holcombe's reply entirely. Jack had been learning the game for five years, he'd said. Aspen stared at Miss Holcombe's face, so identical to Jack's. The same skills, the same look of concentration, the same intelligence, wry humor, interests. The same face. Only the clothes were different. It was mad, to think anything of it. But how could he not?

Was he to believe that she’d dressed in a man’s clothing and met him at Daniel’s fencing hall? With Daniel’s assistance?

The man would do it,
Aspen thought, staring into Miss Holcombe’s bright green eyes. She matched his gaze and smiled and Aspen felt his jaw start to drop. Mr. Jack Holcombe. Not a man at all.

Utter madness. And it would explain everything. Jack’s long pinned-back hair hidden beneath an old fashioned wig, his ill fitting garb, his awkward stride and feminine posture, his high pitched voice and soft hands, so much like a woman’s. Miss Holcombe’s motivation in sitting next to him three days before and prompting him for a chess game and knowing his skill level. For she’d played with him in the guise of Mr. Jack Holcombe. Aspen swallowed heavily. How had he not seen this before?

He had to confirm it. Surely, this was madness only. Why would she have approached him three days before, if she’d had so much to lose?

“So then, for example, in your last game of the tournament, when Philidor managed a rook mate after he captured your second pawn, he'd been using a similar technique?” Aspen asked, practically babbling. Miss Holcombe had been nowhere near there; it had been a gentleman's event – but her eyes lit up with recognition.

“Yes, precisely. The mistake there was in losing control of the center in a fairly similar scenario. He forked my knight with my rook, and I managed to move my rook to a position that protected the knight, but I'd lost control of the central squares. This opening can lead to black doing the same thing, and it is possible to make it a strong opening for black, but it's difficult. Let’s imagine black takes the queen’s bishop’s pawn-”

Aspen felt his jaw drop, unable to control his expression. He tried to imagine the woman in front of him putting on
breeches,
standing in the middle of his home surrounded by men, and wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh uproariously or back away. She had to be utterly, utterly mad.

Aspen kept blinking, trying to remember all the times he'd seen ‘ Mr. Jack Holcombe’. He'd taught this woman
billiards,
he'd taken off his waistcoat in front of her.

How much else about women's lives am I missing?,
he wondered, imagining his mother sneaking off to fight the French on the border every season, only to return for the few weeks of her house party.

What in the hell?
This woman he'd been considering courting had met him as a man? That awkward, effeminate Jack Holcombe that'd become his friend, not a man at all. He felt a blush start to work its way up his face and he turned away. She was utterly insane, enough for an asylum. And he'd thought of
courting
her.

Miss Holcombe stopped talking suddenly, cutting off halfway through a word, apparently noticing his silence. Her eyes jerked up from the board and her eyebrows furrowed, clearly trying to figure out when she'd lost him.

Her eyes widened suddenly, her whole face whitening as if she were about to be ill, and Aspen knew that, at very least, he didn't have to say it aloud.

“I-” she started, and stopped. Aspen felt his mind start to whirl, trying to figure out what on earth he ought to say.

Nothing,
he thought. He'd be grateful, were he so humiliated
as to be caught wearing women's clothing, if no one said anything at all. 

How the hell had this happened? She had to be insane. And Daniel just as much so.

“It was never meant to be more than the once,” she stated finally.

And then what? You fancied the wig?

“I will keep your privacy, ma'am,” he promised, standing up from the board as rapidly as he could. She stared up at him, her face white and pleading. Aspen bowed to her and turned around to make his exit, doing his best to maintain his dignity. The woman was leaving that morning. That at least was fortunate. 

CHAPTER TEN

Jac was glad Aspen – His Grace to her now, surely – had spoken with her in the green salon. It was private and had a locking door. She leaned her forehead against the door and stared down at her feet, trying to slow her racing heart.

What would have happened, had I not exposed myself to him?
He'd been so friendly, unlike how he usually was with women, like he was speaking with her as Jack again. She'd been able to smile and tease and
curse
and he had responded in kind. Where would that have gone?

I would have been living a lie,
she told herself, stepping away from the locked door, tears starting to build up behind her eyes. Her throat felt pinched. And Aspen was gone.

He was never going to propose and if he had, I'd have lied to him even before our first day together. It's just as well. Don't think about it.
She curled up in the large armchair at the back of the room, praying Daniel did not find her until she was done.