Spinster's Gambit (13 page)

Doing her best to pretend it was natural, she reached first for the building’s door. It was remarkably heavy, despite gliding easily on its oiled hinges. Jac had to hope the duke did not notice her difficulty. She thought she could understand why men were expected to open all external doors, now. Aspen chuckled at her, drawing the surprised glances of the society matrons making their way up the theater steps beside them. 

Inside Jac waited for the crowd to shift away from the door, already enjoying the place immensely. It had always been her favorite part of London. The entrance room was lined in marble, everywhere but the painted, plaster ceiling. Now, the room was awash with light from hundreds of candles in the chandeliers above her. Footmen wandered about with trays of appetizers and glasses of drinks, doing their best to make their way through the churning crowd. The landed gentry mingled with the coal mine owners, merchants, and peers of the realm, outfitted in splendid style.

“Did you know that Mr. Beethoven is losing his hearing?” Aspen asked, pulling a champagne flute from a footman’s tray.

“Truly?” she asked, grabbing one for herself and the duke nodded somberly.

“It is said he has difficulty hearing voices and music and it is worsening. He is still to play a trio dedicated to His Royal Highness, Archduke Rudolph of Austria in March, according to the Earl of Blancard, but he is said to shout when he speaks now and his acquaintances are choosing to write things down, rather than speak to him.” 

Jac took a sip of the champagne but didn’t appreciate it, lost in thought at the news.

“And still he writes music?” she asked, unsure how such a thing could be possible. Aspen gestured at the theater around them.

“I suppose tonight we shall find out,” he answered and Jac nodded seriously. The duke smiled down at her, looking for a moment like a very interested, perfect suitor. Jac wanted to turn away.

“That is such a tragedy,” she said instead and Aspen nodded. 

“Of all men and all afflictions,” he replied, shaking his head and continuing forward, the crush of people parting reverently before him. 

“Your Grace!” a balding man with thick spectacles popped up beside Jac's arm. Jac jerked in surprise and almost spilled her drink. The man backed up a step. “My apologies, sir. Your Grace, I am delighted to have you here. Absolutely delighted. What can we do to improve your visit?”

He is a sponsor, then,
Jac thought, watching the duke scowl. Uncomfortable again, she thought, becoming more certain of his facial expressions.

“You have put on a wonderful event, sir,” Aspen answered instead and the man beamed at him. 

“Thank you, sir, please let me know if there is anything you require,” he replied. Aspen nodded and the man worked his way back into the crush. 

“That man is invigorating,” Jac commented, trying to regain her breath as she watched the theater director happily insert himself into another conversation. Aspen nodded, his eyebrows high.

“I’m certainly awake now,” he answered and Jac smiled, shaking her head. “Come, let us go find my box,” he offered, gesturing through the crowd toward the side door. Jac smiled. She had always envied Daniel’s invitations to such privileged seats. It would not be hard to hear this concert, she thought. Aspen led her upstairs but turned down a narrow, dark hallway, heading deeper into the theater than Jac had ever been. The ornate rugs ended abruptly at the end of the hall, where it turned out of sight of the main stairway. They walked into the much darker, smaller passageway beyond, one clearly meant for servants and theater staff. Jac felt a flash of fear hit her stomach and trailed behind the man, reminding herself that the duke did not know she was a woman. He clearly had no designs on her. Then Aspen turned, his scars twisting in a wide grin, and she felt herself relax and smile back, trust replacing her fear.

“Surely this is not a proper route,” she protested and Aspen chuckled, his good humor clear.

“Perhaps not, but it is certainly faster,” he answered. “I’d bring a lady the proper route but otherwise it’s frankly not worth it,” he said before he opened an unlabeled door. Jac blinked and followed the man back onto the ornate theater carpet, right outside of the arched entrances to the theater boxes. Aspen pulled a key out of his pocket and unlocked the third box down. He opened the door and disappeared without another word. Jac followed him quickly, not wanting to be found alone in the private box area. The duke’s theater box was lined with thick tapestries, making it look like a miniaturized drawing room. The seats were newly upholstered in a dark green pattern of Indian elephants and birds, but the furniture was made thick and sturdy, as if it came straight out of the colonies. Or the sixteenth century, Jac thought nervously, eyeing the furniture.

“My grandmother decorated. I’ve never cared to change it,” Aspen commented, sounding uncomfortable. Jac looked up to see him plucking a white thread off an elephant tusk.

“The fabric is lovely,” Jacoline reassured him. Aspen raised an eyebrow at her and chuckled. 

“I think so too,” he agreed as he pulled his waistcoat tails out of the way and sat down. Jac sat beside the man, too conscious of the way her hands automatically clasped themselves primly in her lap. Aspen leaned back in his chair and kicked his legs out in front of him. Jac moved to copy the position, crossing her legs in front of her and yelped as she felt her chair start to tip back. Aspen slammed his hand down on her seat cushion and kept her upright. Jac closed her eyes and blushed deep into her shirt. That was clearly not a man’s screech.

“Well. You are the epitome of grace,” Aspen joked. Jac opened an eye to see the man chuckling between his teeth. She hid her face in her hands and Aspen barked out a laugh. Jac groaned helplessly, imagining the spectacle she’d made, and Aspen’s laugh rang out beside her. Jac was glad for a moment that ‘Mr. Jack Holcombe’ was soon to disappear and take all of his embarrassing moments with him. Then she glanced back at Aspen and saw him laughing and wished she could stay. He leaned over to grab a sheet of paper from the table beside him and read it quickly.

“Sir George Smart is conducting. It would be a wonder to see Mr. Beethoven in Austria. I wonder if he is still conducting as well,” he murmured before looking up, rubbing a thumb absently over the program. “Perhaps I shall join Blancard in March. It is sure to be one of Mr. Beethoven’s last performances, if the rumors of his hearing prove accurate,” he said, leaning forward and glancing along the theater wall, to the next box. Jac leaned forward to join him and saw the Earl of Blancard and his wife in what looked like a heated argument. “Or perhaps not,” Aspen added, leaning back. Jac sat back in her chair, trying to ignore the murmurs of verbal sparring occurring in the box next to them. “Have you ever been with a woman?” Aspen asked, breaking the silence, his voice casual as if merely asking her about her experience with music. 

“You cannot ask me that!” she’d gasped before she’d thought and Aspen snorted at her. Jac could feel her blush up to her ears. She’d sounded like a prude. 

“Why are you shamed? I told you many weeks ago that I have not. We live in a backwards country indeed if
not
fornicating is now considered shameful,” he said and Jac knew he assumed that “Jack Holcombe’, in all his awkwardness, was very much untouched. Jac blushed deeper at the thought.

“No, I’ve not,” she answered honestly, staring out at the empty chairs and music stands on the stage. Her face was bright red, she was sure. 

“Why not?” Aspen asked easily, flicking a bit of lint off of his breeches. Jac watched him out of the corner of her eye, wishing she knew a way to end the conversation. 

Have I ever been with a woman?
How was she supposed to answer that?

“I’ve never thought about it,” she replied, wanting to laugh at the absurdity of the question and Aspen shot her a glance.

“Now I definitely don’t believe you,” he joked, grinning, and Jac glared at him. He laughed, turning back to face her, half of his face rippled beneath the scars, the other half open and beautiful, wrinkling with his smile. Jac held her breath, trying to memorize every detail of the moment.

“Why are you going to the Americas?” Aspen asked suddenly, dropping the program between his feet and turning to face her, breaking the moment. Jac stared at him, trying to get her mind to work.

Damn it I don’t want to lie again,
she thought, staring at him.

“I want to make my fortune,” she said finally. She’d certainly heard of the motivation often enough. Aspen frowned. 

“Why do you think it’ll be easier to do that there? If you have the money for the ship fare, you have enough for investment,” he stated. Jac saw the determination in his eyes and felt her shoulders fall. She did not want to deceive this man. “The war with the United States and the wars with France are soon to be over; that is clear. The trade restrictions with France will be ending. Now is the time to invest in all things French,” he continued, speaking rapidly. Jac shook her head.

“I shall do that from Boston,” she said unilaterally but the duke only shook his head at her. 

“They will not welcome a London aristocrat in those circles,” he warned. “We are at war and business is never easy for a foreigner.” 

“The war will end soon, as you said,” Jac replied, thinking she sounded like a fool. 

“Let me help you with your investments or find you other help. There is no reason to leave your family and friends in Britain,” he insisted. Jac shook her head, mentally begging the orchestra to come on stage. Aspen was silent for too long and finally his gaze on her face sharpened, the muscles in his jaw twitching. “Are you running from something?” he asked quietly. “A debt, a crime, you’re not Anglican-” he listed. Jac wanted to groan and leave the building entirely. 

“I am not running away,” she lied. “I wish only to explore more of the world, as I have London,” she stated.

“Then travel but maintain a home in London,” he replied but it sounded like an order. He turned back toward the stage looking rather embarrassed. Jac bit her lip, trying not to smile, warmed by the idea that he so wanted her to stay. They were friends.

Jac dug her thumb into her palm, massaging it roughly. She’d been hiding the entire time. She wanted to tell him. She wanted to turn her head and admit that she was not ‘Mr. Jack Holcombe’, a gentleman’s son or Daniel’s cousin, and she was not leaving. What would it be like to sit with him on this last night, the air between them cleared?

And then she just wanted the concert to start so she could tell herself she’d been at the cusp of telling him and had simply been interrupted at a bad time. Instead she sat in silence, trying not to listen to the rustle of the duke’s clothing as he shifted. She could not tell him she was a woman in a man’s attire. At least the lie was ending.

“I cannot stay,” she said over the sound of the orchestra
finally
making its way onstage, instruments in hand. The conductor walked out finally and Jacoline joined the audience in clapping. The conductor shook the hands of the first and second violinist and faced the audience. The orchestra stood as he bowed. Jac pulled herself forward on her seat to gaze out of the theater box, holding her breath as they all got in their seats again and began to tune their instruments together. This was a wonderful privilege indeed, she thought and the orchestra settled into silence again.

The music started with a long joyous note, followed by a quiet kind of ascension. 

It’s like a dance,
Jac thought, exhaling finally and resting her hands on the box railing, leaning over to see more of the music as it was performed. The music ascended and quieted, making her on edge for a burst of triumph. It came finally, ringing out loudly and Jac smiled, wanting to stand up and move with the joyous sounds. The symphony quieted again and Jac kept smiling as it slowly ascended again, waiting for the next loud burst of joy and triumph. 

“I challenge anyone to doubt that Austria is free of Napoleon, hearing this,” Aspen whispered in her ear, his soft hair brushing against her cheek. Jac shivered, feeling his hair brush against her neck and ear, his lips too close. She nodded, trying to focus on the music and failing. The duke pulled away, his eyes glittering with good humor.

He is not courting me,
she berated herself.

~~//~~

Daniel pulled himself from his coach, wishing Harold did not drive quite so swiftly. The coachman closed the carriage doors behind him with a firm snap. Daniel nodded to him as politely as he could, trying not to look at the red brick house on the corner.

“Should I stay, my lord?” Harold asked as Daniel started forward. Daniel turned back to him and the man looked stricken, sympathetic, his thick eyebrows furrowed for him. Daniel glanced behind himself at the house on the corner, standing stark and quiet.

“That sounds wise,” he admitted. He glanced back but Harold’s face was blank and expressionless once more. Daniel thanked him with a twopence piece and started for the brick house, pulling the ring of keys from his pocket as he went.

“Henry?” Daniel called out, throwing his hat and keys onto the side table before the door. 

“Office!” the man called back, his voice light and glad to greet him. Daniel sighed, unbuttoning his coat as he walked down the hallway past the stairs, toward the office. It’d been a sitting parlor originally, but they’d both agreed the likelihood of entertaining guests in this home was comically low. Henry sat behind his desk, angled in the corner between the two windows. He smiled warmly as Daniel walked into the room, his large fingers dropping the papers from his hand. He was a heavyset, somewhat foppish man with blond hair and striking blue eyes. His smile lit up his whole face. 

“How was your -” Henry started, but cut off, his expression darkening. “What’s happened?” he asked, standing up from his desk, shoving his quill into its stand with too much force. Daniel heard the quiet crunch of the tip breaking and moved to sit down in one of the great leather chairs they had in front of the fire. “Daniel?” Henry queried, standing up from his desk.