Spinster's Gambit (17 page)

I've gone mad,
he thought, realizing what he was considering and tossing the idea away. Jack Holcombe was simply in very good contact with Miss Holcombe. It explained some of their similarities as well, for them to have been in close association.

Aspen rubbed his hand over his face, grateful no one could read his thoughts. They'd think him fit for an asylum.

~~//~~

Jacoline glanced over the duke's face, trying to discern his feelings. He looked hurt and angry. Jac fiddled with her king piece. She wanted to console him and tell him she hadn't thrown the game but she couldn't lie to him anymore. The anger slowly slid off his face, leaving something like puzzlement behind.

I've got nothing to lose,
Jac reminded herself, reaching her hand forward to take her knight back, knowing she was admitting she'd intentionally dropped it. It didn't matter if he thought her too good at chess to be attractive; the rest of the room was ignoring her and he was not going to marry her regardless.

Aspen stopped her, lifting his hand as if to cover her own. He pulled back before he touched her.

“Another game,” he said.

Jac looked over at the duchess to see the woman heading toward a footman standing at the edge of the room.

“I believe your mother is preparing to invite us to dinner,” she said, just as the duchess cleared her throat.

~~//~~

Aspen purposefully didn’t turn from where he'd spent the morning gazing out the side window when Miss Holcombe graciously accepted his mother's request to play at the pianoforte. He did not want to encourage any of the party’s women to talk to him, even if it would be rude to ignore the spinster. Miss Holcombe started to play.

Aspen felt his jaw drop slightly and closed his mouth, turning to watch her.

He'd known that there was always excellent music at his mother's house parties, but he'd never remembered why.
This would explain why his mother always agreed to invite Daniel and his sister, then, though Miss Holcombe was too old and together the siblings did nothing to even out her numbers.

It was a quiet piece, likely chosen not to interrupt conversation, but the room silenced anyway. Aspen felt his eyes widen in recognition. This was the woman his mother spoke about looking forward to hearing behind the piano again, the only one who 'truly' knew music. How had he never noticed who was playing it? Did all of Daniel’s relatives have such hidden talents?

Aspen's struggled to swallow as he watched the woman sway back slightly on her piano bench, leaning away from the instrument as she stared at the ceiling, her eyes open. Miss Holcombe's fingers flew over the keys in what looked like a wild flurry, but her posture barely changed at all, and all Aspen could think was of his friend Jack leaning away from the chessboard in what could be the exact same position. The music that resulted was incredible, fast paced and airy until it dipped, soft again, and Miss Holcombe relaxed, leaning back into the piano and continuing as if the piece was yet again no effort at all. Which, given her skill, perhaps it wasn’t. Conversation built back up around them quietly, interfering with its beauty but Aspen couldn't keep his eyes off the woman. She looked
exactly
like Mr. Holcombe when she played.

“Miss Holcombe seems to disappear entirely until she plays,” he heard his mother murmur from her seat by the hearth. He looked over to see her smiling at Miss Holcombe, obviously ignoring the Charington girl beside her.

“Yes, how does she come off as so bland?” the girl replied, but it was too loud and Aspen turned in time to see Miss Holcombe frown, though her playing was not interrupted at all. His mother closed her eyes at the awkwardness and the girl blushed up to her ears.

Aspen wanted to go to the piano, to give Miss Holcombe some compliment, but it would be too obvious, would only make the situation worse and somehow he thought the woman was tired of compliments to her playing.

“I mean, when she really is quite beautiful,” Miss Charington added, even louder now and Aspen had a feeling his mother was ready to smother the girl. He glanced at the piano in time to see Miss Holcombe grin openly, only for a moment, before she refocused on her playing, not seeming hurt by the awkward girl in the least. Only…amused. She was not intimidated, Aspen realized, glancing over Miss Holcombe's rather plain, much older face. The Charington girl was but a child to her as well.

~~//~~

Jac sat in the yellow salon that evening while the men drank and smoked and played billiards. Miss Charington and Miss Harring were chattering avidly in the corner while Lady Harring and the Duchess played cards at the center table. They were having fun, but Jac didn't quite understand how. She was simply glad to see Mrs. Clarence caught up in the game with the Duchess. The woman’s foul rumors would stay dormant tonight, at least. Jac sat by the fire, trying to focus on her book. It covered the basics of embroidery but Jac didn't think she was any better at the art than when she'd started, book or no.

It was a relief when Miss Charington begged her to play. Jac did her best to smile and look entertained as she walked up to the piano set in the corner. The Duchess of Aspen beamed at her, clearly thrilled with the prospect and Jac smiled back, doing her best not to look too unhappy.

Aspen was in a separate part of the house, spending his evening with the other men. Aspen was paying more attention to her now that he’d ever done in the ten years of house parties she’d attended, but it was a reserved, distant kind of attention. He did not know her and he had no motivation to change that. She was not beautiful and they were not friends. Lord, but she already missed it. The men were playing billiards and she could hear their laughter at the edge of her hearing, before her piano playing covered it. She would have to wait for the next day, to see if the duke would remember their proposed second game. In that, perhaps, she could be herself with him again.

Jac finished the piece and got up from the piano to excuse herself to her room.

~~//~~

Aspen waited until the next morning to approach Miss Holcombe again, so as not to draw attention to them. Miss Holcombe sat near Miss Longbourne in the sun porch at the back of the house. She sat with her book open in her lap, staring off at the open gardens. Miss Longbourne glanced at her occasionally, looking rather concerned, as if expecting Miss Holcombe’s eyes to dry up in their sockets or for the spinster to fall from her chair. Aspen was careful to make noise as he approached them. Miss Longbourne looked back immediately and her eyes darted from his scarred face to his boots to his chest and back to her book. Miss Holcombe continued staring forward, apparently still unaware of him.

“Miss Holcombe,” he greeted, bowing slightly. She blinked and turned her head to face him finally and his breathe caught, still caught by surprise when her gaze met him evenly. She looked hopeful and Aspen was glad he did not again lose his tongue.

“I was hoping you would join me for a rematch,” he said and her eyes seemed to sparkle with excitement.

She was intimidating, he thought, stepping back to give her room to stand. Her eyes were bright and sharp and Aspen mentally prepared himself to lose badly. He gestured back into the house and she moved to follow him. He started through the marble hallways leading toward the green parlor where the rest of the party had gathered and had to quicken his pace as Miss Holcombe’s long strides almost surpassed him. She did not take the small, mincing steps that would give the illusion of floating, he thought, stepping aside to let her into the parlor before him. He gestured to the small card table near the fire, knowing the waiting footmen would see that as direction enough. Indeed, the next moment a footman was very carefully placing his favorite chessboard in front of them and setting up the pieces. Aspen waited for Miss Holcombe to sit and followed suit. His mother nodded approvingly at his manners, as if he were still a boy at Eton.

“This is a splendid set,” Miss Holcombe said, carefully rolling a knight around in her thin fingers as she took in the details of the hand carved horse.

“Thank you. It's black walnut, from the tree’s burls and American whitewood,” he said, smiling proudly as she picked up another piece to inspect it.

“Miss Holcombe,” his mother called and he felt himself start to blush, knowing what she'd say. Miss Holcombe turned in her seat to listen. “What he is not telling you is that he carved it himself.”

Aspen saw how Miss Holcombe's eyes had widened when she turned back to the set to appreciate it again, and he had to admit he was glad that his mother had bragged for him. He set up his side, playing white, and tried to figure out why he felt so nervous when he didn't mind the idea that he was about to lose the coming game. His heart was beating oddly and he felt the need to run his hands through his hair. He had to clasp his hands together to keep his dignity.

He released them to reach forward and take Miss Holcombe's knight, giving himself a strong advantage. She glanced up into his eyes, looking concerned and returned the piece to the board.

I know you are better than me,
Aspen thought, reaching forward and taking the knight again. She glared at him and replaced the piece, and Aspen had to blink, having never seen such a look on a woman’s face before, apart from his mother and past governess. It was improper, to say the least. Still, he detected a quiet gleam of amusement beneath the expression and Aspen bowed in fake acceptance and removed both of his own knights from the board. He would lose spectacularly and do it in style.

And she laughed aloud.

It was a wonderful sound, full and hearty and nothing like the tittering giggles of the grown women he'd known. It was real and drew the surprised, somewhat reproachful glances of the other women in the room. Aspen was heartedly glad that Miss Holcombe had her back to them. His mother raised his eyebrows at him quietly and Aspen turned back to his chess opponent, ignoring her.

Miss Holcombe smiled at him, unaware of their censure and took her rook off the board. Aspen felt his eyebrows rise and she bit her lip, nodding. He nodded back and replaced his knights, wondering how on earth she knew enough of his chess skill to estimate the handicap.

Aspen moved his queen’s pawn up to the fourth square and grinned, having an idea when Miss Holcombe moved her pawn up to match him. He moved his bishop’s pawn up to attack, watching Miss Holcombe's face as he played the Queen’s Gambit, knowing full well he was likely sacking the game for himself using an opening he didn't know. Though given, he thought, watching as Miss Holcombe's eyes widened with what looked very much like recognition, the game was doomed for him anyway. Miss Holcombe raised her eyes to stare at him, looking almost afraid for a moment, and Aspen felt his curiosity deepen. Miss Holcombe pulled her eyes back to the board as she brought her knight out, apparently deciding not to take the unprotected pawn, though Aspen wasn’t sure why she didn’t.

He needed the handicap, he thought, not five minutes into the game. Miss Holcombe had started to focus more and more, her eyes glazing over before she made her moves and her hands only steadier as she made her decisions. She was evening their positions from the start. Aspen fought desperately for a win, taking more time in his moves than was perhaps socially amiable, but still he felt as if all of his pieces were threatened and all his attacks questionable.

He saw a way to pressure her queen, at a time when he desperately needed to push her back and he played it. Miss Holcombe leaned back in her chair, gazing resolutely at the ceiling for a moment and Aspen felt a jolt of pride strike through him that he'd managed to surprise her.

How likely could it be for Miss Holcombe to be so similar in chess skill to her cousin? A man who had very few equals in all of London?
Aspen wondered, blinking before he realized that he was drawing attention from his mother by staring at the spinster and he averted his eyes back to the game.

“They do seem to be very close, don't they?” Miss Faring said from across the room. Aspen realized belatedly that Miss Holcombe was taking her move and he refocused, letting the rest of the room and its gossip fall away. It took him three moves to discover how he'd trapped himself.

“Oh, well done, Jack!” he exclaimed, grinning at the board as he admired the trap. He was in a very good position to lose a rook, which would definitely cost him the game.

The room was too silent and Aspen looked up to find Miss Holcombe staring at him with very wide eyes, along with the rest of the room. Most especially her brother. And he remembered what he'd said.

Jack. Oh, Lord.
He could guess how the rest of the room saw it, that he'd just called her by her Christian name and worse, by a diminutive of it.
Jacoline.
Aspen stared at the woman, trying to imagine what she’d look like, dressed in a man’s garb. Mr. Jack Holcombe had seemed to curtsy to him, when they’d first been introduced.

No…

“Excuse me, Miss Holcombe, you remind me of a friend of mine so strongly I forgot my opponent,” he babbled and she nodded, her eyes still wide. His mother had a smile on her face, he realized, and closed his eyes in mortification. No doubt she thought he'd been secretly courting the spinster. Aspen wanted to bury his face in his hands but tore his eyes back to the board in front of him, pretending to concentrate. 

But how was it possible that 'Jack' and 'Jacoline' Holcombe had such similarities? They looked practically identical, had the same voice, same fierce intelligence, the same social oddities. Jack, whose voice was too high pitched, his hands too soft; Miss Holcombe, who'd let herself out of a carriage without a glance to the waiting footman. He'd swear they were one and the same and he'd met Miss Holcombe in the fencing hall that day, but it was madness, utter madness. Perhaps they were both simply too smart by half to fit into their society and it manifested in similar ways. Jack, at least, could still join the chess association and blow almost all of them off the board. Miss Holcombe had to hide it.