Spinster's Gambit (25 page)

“I had not predicted that we should have become … friends,” she said, watching him hopefully, wanting to reach out, run a hand over his hair. He snarled at the word and turned to sneer at her. 

“A friend under false pretenses is worse than none,” he stated, looking revolted by her for a moment. Jac pressed her lips together, feeling her eyes water at the cut, and turned toward her own window, forcing herself to count the passing trees to keep from crying.

That answers that, then,
she thought, nodding to herself and pulling her chin up. It was truly over, as she’d said. Now they only had to protect Daniel and it’d be almost the same as before.

There are women scholars,
she told herself and had to cover her lips with a hand to keep from weeping, not three feet from the man she loved terribly. They stayed silent and Jac composed herself, looking forward to the night’s inn when they could separate.

As was polite, the duke dropped Jac off first back at the London townhome. Rupert let her inside and led her through the very quiet empty house to Daniel’s office.

Daniel did not seem particularly surprised to see her. He looked up from where he was sitting behind his desk, his head in his hands, and stood up to greet her.

“It does occur to me now that you gave in far too easily,” he said, his voice light but his eyes hard, turning toward the bar table to pour a glass for her. Jac hesitated, frowning, counting two glasses already on Daniel’s desk. Someone cleared his throat beside her and Jac startled and jerked around to see Mr. Charington standing by the fireplace, his meeting with her brother apparently interrupted. He must have pressed onward through the night and traveled straight to London when she’d left for the Aspen estate.

“Oh, excuse me,” Jac said, moving to leave, but Daniel only stretched out his arm, her drink in hand. She took it cautiously, glancing at Mr. Charington. Mr. Charington grimaced, apparently not liking having their discussion so cut off.

“I have done what I could for court on Friday,” he sat, sitting down in one of the chairs in front of Daniel’s desk. Jac nodded and lowered herself into the chair beside him. 

“As have I,” she answered.

“Will the Duke of Aspen lend his vote?” Mr. Charington asked her, almost casually. Jac nodded. 

“How is this? How does Aspen know?” Daniel demanded. Jac winced and his eyes narrowed with concern. “And how do you know Henry?” he asked, pointing at Mr. Charington. 

“Is that your Christian name, then?” Jac asked though she’d known it before, ignoring her brother. Mr. Charington’s eyes lit with a quiet humor and he leaned back.

“At your service,” he replied, apparently deciding to ignore Daniel’s protests as well.

“The Duke of Aspen has recruited his mother,” Jac added and Mr. Charington’s eyes widened comically. 

“The House of Lords will not know what hit them,” he replied, beginning to smile.

“Your reputation -” Daniel started, and from the way Mr. Charington sighed, his fingers tightening around the glass in his hand, it wasn’t the first rendition of the argument. Daniel glanced at Jac, his expression heavy and Jac stood, setting her glass quietly on the desk and retreating for the door. 

“Your reputation is mine. Am I your mistress or your partner? As your mistress I may back away from you when you have been monstrously irresponsible with your reputation. As your partner, I cannot, and I will not stop apologizing for forgetting that,” Mr. Charington insisted, his voice hard. 

“That said -” Daniel started and Jac got to the door. 

“Your mistress or your partner?” Mr. Charington demanded again. Jac shut the door.

~~//~~

Aspen placed his calling card in the butler’s hand and let himself be guided into the fading entrance parlor. The air smelled faintly of dust, wool, and body odor, the musky scent that always seemed to linger around the elderly. The butler withdrew and Aspen forced himself to stand at the window and maintain his hands clasped behind his back, to keep from pacing about the room and tearing at his hair. He could only pray Lord Yearling would meet with him.

So he could save his two friends from their own idiocy. He’d thought Daniel Holcombe the most open, guileless man he’d ever met. Instead, he’d been dealing with a viscount who dressed his sister in men’s clothing. How had he
possibly
have thought Daniel Holcombe free of secrets?

Aspen closed his eyes, remembering how Miss Holcombe had pleaded with him in his parlor, barely able to look at him. For a moment he’d wanted to lash out, to tell her that she’d burned her bridges when she’d entered his home in a man’s disguise. But she had not done that; she’d waited in the carriage for him, making her footman knock, being quite rude, at the end of the day, to avoid entering his home at night. To protect him, so if she’d been discovered he would not be found with a woman in his home. 

They had deceived him, but they had not entrapped him. They were foolish and
insane,
but not undeserving. Aspen straightened his spine, resolve striking him again. 

“Your Grace,” Lord Yearling croaked out behind him. Aspen turned swiftly, relieved to see Parliament’s Lord Chancellor standing in the doorway, apparently agreeing to meet with him. 

“Lord Chancellor,” Aspen greeted gratefully, bowing. Lord Yearling made his way to the closest armchair, his movements disjointed and careful. He was going on eighty-six years old and by the looks of it, his health had finally started to fail. Aspen winced, watching the man pant for breath, finally settled in his chair, and sat across from him.The elderly man had not struggled so much at the chess tournament as arbiter.

“This is not a social call, I think. So, what can I do for you?” the man asked bluntly, pushing himself further back onto the cushioned chair. 

“Viscount Holcombe was recently indicted for crimes against the Buggery Act,” Aspen started. Lord Yearling rose an eyebrow at him, looking wary. 

“I cannot change that, Your Grace,” he answered. Aspen nodded and leaned forward. He needed this to work. 

“I have reason to believe that this case is being heavily influenced by Lord Holcombe’s involvement in the slavery debate. The House of Lords has turned against him and they’re using the court as their weapon,” he insisted. The Lord Chancellor’s single eyebrow lowered slowly, but he didn’t look any more impressed. 

Too dramatic,
Aspen thought, embarrassed.

“I cannot change the Lords of the House’s biases, Your Grace, and you likely would not want me to. Surely you are using all of your power to influence them in the opposite direction. We shall have to trust that Lord Holcombe’s peers are honorable,” the man stated, not pausing when the maid came in with tea to serve them. Aspen leaned forward to grab a filled cup immediately, hoping to prolong the visit as long as possible. Lord Yearling did not look concerned by the action and Aspen suspected the man was fully willing to toss him out of his house like a street thief, the delicate cup and saucer still in his hands. “Trial by the House of Lords is a privilege, Your Grace, not a necessity. If your friend is so concerned, he may choose to be tried by the House of Commons,” Lord Yearling stated, starting to push himself forward on his seat as if readying to rise. Aspen gulped down his mouthful of tea painfully. 

“The case would damage him just as much there. The prosecution has no evidence of sodomy, Lord Chancellor. I suspect they desire only to pull as much humiliating gossip and slander in front of the court as possible, though they are doomed to lose the case,” Aspen insisted, leaning forward in his chair and speaking faster. “Lord Holcombe can sue for defamation after the fact, but that will not reverse the damage. The prosecution is using your court as a theater,” Aspen insisted. The Lord Chancellor blinked and paused from pulling himself from his chair. Aspen released a relieved breath and Lord Yearling’s eyes narrowed.

“They have no evidence of penetration?” he asked and Aspen closed his eyes, fighting off an absurd blush at having such a discussion about his friend with an eighty-five year old peer of the realm. 

“None, Lord Chancellor,” he promised. The Lord Chancellor huffed out a breath and pointed a finger at him. 

“That had better be true. I would rather look omniscient than biased, of the two options,” he warned. Aspen nodded again and Lord Yearling resumed shifting himself to the front of his chair. Aspen did not dare offer to help him stand, but positioned himself in front of the man, ready to catch him should he fall. Lord Yearling straightened finally, on his feet again, and scowled at him.

“And tell your mother that I’m only trusting you on this because of her holiday dinner’s treacle tart. Otherwise I’d have thrown you out,” he groused, starting out of the room. 

“Lord Yearling?” Aspen called. The man turned back slowly, placing his feet carefully away from the edge of the rug. “Who pushed for this indictment?” he asked. The Lord Chancellor grimaced and shook his head.

“Lord Candrow. And don’t doubt he will be hearing from me, should your notion prove correct, though I must worry about any claim against a case’s prosecution when you don’t even know who’s behind it,” he said, his eyes narrowed. Aspen wanted to kick himself, and kept his eyes on the old man, praying the Lord Chancellor would not change his mind. “I’ll trust you anyway, Your Grace. May it not make me look like a raving old coot,” the man said finally, shaking his head as if at his own idiocy before carefully turning around again, apparently trusting Aspen to find his own way out.

~~//~~

Mr. Charington acted as if the indictment were already withdrawn. He strode around the foyer, his hands clasped in a fist in front of his mouth, his eyes alight with good humor and relief. Daniel and Aspen and presumably every other peer of the realm were gathered in the House of Lords, their court closed to the public. Jac wandered toward the parlor, worry heavy in her stomach. By the time she got to the piano she didn’t know what to do with it. She sat down in an armchair and Mr. Charington slumped down in the seat across from her, apparently weak with premature relief. 

“He took me back,” he murmered and Jac wasn’t sure he’d meant to speak aloud. “Oh, thank the lord for daughters,” he exclaimed, running his hand through his thick hair and tugging it through its knots. 

I will speak with my father,
Miss Charington had threatened, Jac remembered, smiling. 

“Does she know, then?” she asked curiously and Mr. Charington looked rather abashed. 

“There was rather no hiding it. Daniel helped raise her,” he replied. Jac felt her smile melt. How had Daniel kept her from this much of his life? She felt very alone, confronted with this man. “After my wife died-” Mr Charington started, the light from his eyes fading. “We were too alone,” he said, before shaking his head and smiling rather ruefully. “Love has a way of assuring you that you’ll never be that alone again.” 

Jac felt something leaden land in her stomach and did her best to smile happily for the man. From his concerned frown, she guessed she’d looked rather disturbed. 

“And he forgave me,” Mr. Charington breathed, leaning back in his chair. Jac ran her finger over the arm of her chair, wishing Mr. Charington would leave her alone. His relief was palpable and exhausting. “Come, enough of this useless waiting. If we are to wait, let us wait outside the House of Lords,” he said suddenly, pushing himself from his chair. Jac smiled and nodded. She needed to
do
something and she needed to stay out of the quiet house. Perhaps Mr. Charington knew it, for he called for a servant to ready his carriage. 

How many does he own?
Jac wondered idly as the man left the room.

~~//~~

Lord Candrow sat at the front of the room, his hands clasped together on the prosecution’s table in front of him. Aspen had not spoken to him in years, since he’d stopped going to the exhausting, miserable meetings of Parliament, and found his way in painting. This was too soon to see him again, Aspen thought, watching the man stare around the House of Lords, looking for allies. This was the man who’d courted Miss Holcombe? It was a disturbing thought.

Lord Yearling worked his way across the room, his feet and cane shuffling along the hard stone floor. The tension in the room rose steadily, until Aspen thought that most of the peers of the realm were holding their breath, thinking of the damage the marble tiles would do, should the old man fall.  Lord Yearling got to the Woolsack seat and sat down, facing the room, taking his position as the court’s Lord High Steward. Aspen sat, following the Lord Chancellor’s example with the rest of the crowd, and was finally able to see Daniel at the defendant’s table. Daniel sat staring at Lord Yearling, his hands clasped too tightly on the tabletop, his usually joyful expression still and solemn.

“Lord Candrow, if you cannot present definitive evidence of sodomidical penetration, I hereby recommend an immediate acquittal for Lord Daniel Holcombe, Viscount Holcombe,” Lord Yearling stated clearly, staring at the prosecution table. Aspen exhaled heavily, relieved, and glanced about the room at the other lords’ faces. They did not all look surprised. Daniel looked perhaps the most shocked out of all of them. His mouth opened, fully agape, and he turned in his seat to glance about the room, as if one of the peers of the realm would stand from his bench and shout an explanation to him. Lord Candrow stared at the Lord Chancellor for a moment, apparently processing, and his expression soured.

“Well, no, your honor, but circumstantially-” he started awkwardly. Lord Yearling held up a hand, his eyes clearing in what looked like relief. 

“Definitive proof, my lord, or I will move for an immediate acquittal,” he threatened again, before glancing at Lord Holcombe. Daniel stared at the elderly Lord Chancellor, looking utterly relieved. Lord Candrow flipped through the papers of what looked like genealogy charts on his small desk. 

“Viscount Holcombe clearly lied about the origins of the man who went under what I will prove to be the false identity of Mr. Jack -”

Lord Yearling held up his hand again, looking frustrated.