Spinster's Gambit (8 page)

“The worst part by far are the women. These young girls, barely sixteen, come and attempt to flirt with me, complimenting my waistcoat, my carriage, my horses, and they look distinctly miserable. You cannot tell me they're not under parental orders. Most often, the parents in question are less than twenty strides away. The older ones refrain from glowering at me but it couldn't be more clear that they want to act as the younger set do. It is times like that when I wish I had a lesser rank. Let me fill my brother’s shoes and be a man with good connections fighting in the Navy. I will not marry a woman who is forced into it,” he stated.

“Is that why you're so ungracious with women? You believe they are all acting dishonestly?” she asked. She tried not to let her eyes follow down his sweat-soaked shirt again but failed completely. She pulled her eyes up to see Aspen regarding her sharply, affronted. 

Oh...hell. 

“I am not ungracious with women,” he said, frowning.

I’ve offended him,
Jac thought, rather relieved despite herself. 

“You're brusque,” she answered. “I’ve watched you. It’s as if you were performing some wretched duty to engage with them and you'd sooner to have it accomplished forthwith so it is best they not engage you in too lively a conversation,” she answered. Aspen pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers and closed his eyes.

“That does sound accurate,” he said. “I shall work on it.”

Jac nodded, staring down at her lap only to hear Aspen tap his head back on the plaster again. This was likely to become more awkward than it warranted. But she was unwilling to sit there and let him think so ill of his chances.

“I suspect that not all of your suitors are being dishonest. You're not an unattractive man,” she said finally, feeling a blush build in her cheeks at the forwardness of it all. Aspen turned to face her, looking surprised and rather uncomfortable. “They're just scars. Women can look past them.”

Aspen's mouth twitched.

“Suitors?” he asked. Jac coughed, realizing how she’d referred to the women who’d set their cap for the duke. 

“It’s not so different. Ladies will set their cap for a man and go after him just as avidly as any man does a lady. It is simply done more subtly. You should avoid the machinations of women. They’re terrifying to behold,” she added, grinning at the memory of a girl dropping her handkerchief
four times
in front of the same pitiable man. “It is not unreasonable to think that a woman may have set her cap for you.”  

“It doesn't sound likely,” the duke replied finally, pushing himself up off the floor and away from the wall. “I've not met one that would even meet my eyes. They tend to focus somewhere off my left shoulder,” he said, turning and offering her a hand. Jac took it, something like pleasure shooting through her at the way he simply pulled her up without seeming to notice the effort at all. She released his hand quickly and stepped back before realizing that she was indeed focusing on the wall behind him. She shifted her gaze to his face, feeling cruel. 

She noticed the scars first. His left eye didn't open fully and looked weighed down and pinched with damaged skin. Aspen met her eyes calmly, a slightly self-deprecating smile twisting his face. He had tired wrinkles around deep, golden brown eyes. He arched an eyebrow at her in a clever, playful expression and Jac felt herself smile at him. She'd managed to befriend a man without truly looking at him at all. He had to be the most tolerant man in England. 

“Either way the fact remains; were I not a duke none of these women would look twice at me. I want a woman who wants me more than the money and prestige that follows my name,” Aspen growled.

“Thirteen to ten,” she blurted. The duke blinked rapidly, looking befuddled. 

“Pardon?” he asked finally, looking bewildered. Jac sighed.  

“There are thirteen women looking for husbands to every ten men, in my estimation. In society of course, not all of London. I have not checked the city records and no one trusts the census anyway,” she replied, forcing herself to take a breath when she realized Aspen was staring at her. “It’s not romantic, but it’s true. Men die more frequently. Women will get over the scars. Not every lady is under duress or being charitable when she is flirting with you,” she said. “Many of them have money of their own. They’re looking for love and company and children. A marriage, a husband and a life of their own.” Jac swallowed heavily, finally breaking eye contact, hoping she had not revealed too much. Those dark brown eyes seemed to see right through her. Aspen’s face cleared in understanding and he started to smile, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening warmly.

“I know it has gotten grim when I find it very comforting that there is a plethora of women lonely enough to settle for me,” he answered. Jac felt her eyes widen.

I did say that. 

“Well, that is better than nothing. I’ve given up entirely. You at least have your height to recommend you,” she replied, snorting and glancing down at her thin body so badly shaped for the breeches she wore. The duke snorted. 

“Let's start on bladework,” he ordered, starting for the side of the room and its rack of practice weapons.

~~//~~

The Marchioness of Plainsworth threw a grand ball on the first of February every year. She had to be particularly obsessed with the beauty of autumn, for every year she spent enough on decorations to bankrupt a small country, outfitting her home as a portal to the wrong season. Green and tan fabric leaves were sewn into vines and woven up the staircase railings and columns of her double wide town home, leading to the upstairs ballroom. Jac bent to inspect one of the blown glass American pumpkins adorning the ballroom entrance, ignoring the clambering crowd and the sounds of the music further inside. 

“Ooh! Look at these little squashes,” Lady Eleanor squealed, clapping her hands too close to Jacoline’s ear. Lady Eleanor was the eldest daughter of the Marquess of Plainsworth, and was even more beautiful than she was wealthy. Jac smiled at her as politely as she could. Lady Eleanor was reported to be the silliest woman in the kingdom and yet Jac had heard multiple times of her good regard amongst the ton. The two seemed to go hand in hand, she thought.

“They are American pumpkins, I believe, my dear,” a man stated, sounding exhausted. Jac glanced up from the glass decoration to see the Duke of Mariton standing behind Lady Eleanor. He was a tall, fine featured man that Jac had seen multiple women drop their handkerchiefs for, though none had interested him but Lady Eleanor since she’d come of age. 

“Pumpkins are squashes, Your Grace,” Jac corrected, standing up slowly to face the man. The Duke of Mariton stared back at her, looking baffled. 

We were introduced five or six years ago,
Jac thought, praying the man remembered. He blinked at her, and looked back at his fiancée as if for explanation.

This is why you never got proposed to,
Jac thought, wincing. Eleanor beamed at her, dimpling prettily, her skin clear and unblemished as if she’d never heard of disease or sunspots. Jac smiled back quietly, feeling distinctly unwelcome in the conversation. 

“Excuse me,” she muttered, moving to escape. 

“Lady Eleanor, Your Grace, it is lovely to see you again,” Aspen’s voice sounded behind her. Jac turned to see Daniel, Mr. Henry Charington, and the Duke of Aspen standing behind them, apparently ignoring the crowd of people stuck on the stairs behind them. Jac straightened, grateful that the two dukes were now to blame for blocking the stair landing. No one would think to mention that as impolite, surely. Indeed, she saw the Countess of Blancard turn to the gaggle of young girls behind her, as if content to continue their conversation in the Marchioness’s stairwell. 

“My word, man, I have not seen you in an age,” the Duke of Mariton greeted Aspen, holding out a hand. Aspen shook it and led the Duke and Mr. Charington into the ball, leaving Jac with Daniel, Lady Eleanor, and the pumpkin. Jac smiled awkwardly, unsure what to say. She did not believe Lady Eleanor Plainsworth and she ever
had
been introduced. 

“It
is
a squash,” Jac said, pointing to the pumpkin. Daniel made an uncomfortable noise, something between a whine and a groan. 

I have nothing to lose,
Jac reminded herself, glancing around the cramped staircase landing. Her reputation was meaningless. Surely that did not only apply to adventures in fencing and billiards. She could finally relax at these horrid balls.

“I’ll be with their graces. I shall see you inside, I hope,” Daniel commented, bowing to them both and moving past them with the rest of the crowd. He did not know Lady Eleanor Plainsworth either then, Jac thought, blushing. 

“Can one say, ‘their graces’?” Lady Eleanor asked, tilting her head as she watched Daniel walk inside. Jac bit her lip, smothering a smile, and the woman turned back to face her, still blocking the landing. “Miss Jacoline Holcombe, yes?” Lady Eleanor asked.  

“Er.. Yes, though I admit I’m surprised you remember it,” Jac said honestly, moving with the crowd into the beautifully lit ballroom. 

“Oh, no, Miss Holcombe, I assure you. I admire you a great deal,” the woman answered quickly, taking her arm. Jac blinked, glancing down at her outdated gown, now slightly dusty about the knees. It was a deep blue and silver gown decorated with a diamond and sapphire pin by her hip. It had faded but it fit well and she’d never seen any reason to go to the modiste for an almost identical replacement. She rather regretted that now. She had to be five years older than this woman, a great deal less handsome, wealthy, or well-liked, and she was quickly approaching the unaltering life of a spinster. There was little for Lady Eleanor Plainsworth to admire about her. She glanced up to see Lady Eleanor smiling gently, as if guessing her thoughts. 

She is indeed a pleasant woman
, Jac thought, liking her despite an odd desire not to, if only because Lady Eleanor was gorgeous and highly regarded. Lady Eleanor led her around the edge of the ball, out of the way of the small group of early dancers.

“It takes a great deal of effort to hide even a mediocre level of understanding, Miss Holcombe. You instead choose to reveal it to all who speak to you,” the woman explained, raising her eyebrows as if daring Jac to disagree. Jac frowned, wondering if she’d mistaken something. She did not think Lady Eleanor was insulting her but she could not quite make it out. She could hardly hold back a groan thinking about the years after her coming out, when she’d tried to turn her more caustic sense of humor on the men who’d flirted with her, hoping they would tease her in return.

Well neither of us will be great beauties but I suppose we can reassure ourselves that if nothing else, we have not enough rank nor wit to draw attention to ourselves.
She’d said that to Mr. James Wesserley, the baron Lord Wesserley’s third son. He’d simply gaped at her as she’d babbled her apologies, until he’d found an excuse to walk away. She had barely spoken to him since. 

“I have not been rude in many years,” she replied instead and Lady Eleanor grinned, almost mischievously. “Barring that squash-pumpkin incident,” Jac added ruefully. 

“Oh, but we know when you’re thinking it,” Eleanor replied, patting her arm and winking at her. “Excuse me. I have to go find my fiancé and claim to have been horribly lost.” 

Jac blinked and the woman slipped behind the large Basingstroke family as they pushed their way deeper into the crowd. Apparently Lady Eleanor Plainsworth had successfully fooled all of society into thinking that she was as idiotic as a particularly gleeful hitching post. And she was well liked and engaged to a duke for her efforts. Jac sighed. If she’d been half as clever on her own coming out, perhaps Mr. James Wesserley would have courted her instead of spreading word of her offensive nature to all that would listen to him. 

Jac continued along the edge of the dance, meeting the eyes of the men she passed in the hope that they would ask her to partner them. They didn’t and she ended up by the open doors to the balcony. It was cooler there and quieter and Jac settled into the empty chair between the late Mr. John Clarence’s widow and the dowager Lady Branbury. Lady Branbury scowled at her, her mouth tight. 

“You are much too young, Miss Holcombe,” she bit out. Jac blinked.

“Pardon?” she asked, turning to face the woman.

“You heard me, girl. You are too young to insert yourself in a seating area clearly designed for those with little better to do than talk over the din of the louder younger guests,” she ranted. Jac opened her mouth to reply, but ended up only gaping at the woman for a few minutes until she regained her balance.

“Where else do you propose I seat myself, Lady Branbury?” Jac asked, hoping her tone came out politely. The dowager scowled at her, not looking impressed. Mr. John Clarence’s widow was carefully not looking their way, Jac noticed. She hardly believed the woman disinterested. Mrs. John Clarence was well known as the most accomplished gossip that ever graced the ballrooms of their social circle. This was sure to be mentioned to at least six people, she thought, if the widow found Lady Branbury’s complaints to be interesting in the least. 

“Very well, as you like, but I do not see why you are not yet married,” Lady Branbury stated, staring at her like she were a wild thing. Jacoline smiled tightly and caught sight of Daniel standing in a less populated corner of the room.

Daniel, do come tell that story of that stray cat. The one we joked about shooting. 

Somehow, Jac didn’t think she could get away with Daniel’s antics. It never seemed to matter what social rules the man broke; everyone loved his company. 

“Excuse me,” Jac ordered instead, extricating herself. She made her way over to her brother purposefully, knowing he at least would be happy to speak with her. She realized too late that Aspen was standing beside him, obviously already involved in a conversation. She stopped short and accidentally caught both of their attention. 

“Miss Holcombe,” Aspen greeted, his voice too flat. Jac had to remember to
curtsy
this time. Aspen bowed in return.