Spinster's Gambit

by Gwendolynn Thomas

  CHAPTER FOUR

  There was something oddly endearing about Daniel's cousin, Aspen noted when he saw the man step into his parlor at slightly past seven o'clock, half sneaking as if he hadn't just been loudly announced. Aspen decided not to inform Mr. Holcombe that he'd delayed the beginning of the tournament for him. He suspected Jack wouldn't take well to the idea. He'd seemed half-thrilled to even be invited. The man was a strange mix of shy, witty and sophisticated. An eccentric, at the end of the day, Aspen thought, watching him.

  Aspen hosted the tournament in his largest sitting room. The red upholstered settees had been pushed to the side of the room to make way for a dozen chessboards, small tables and his set of forty matching dining room chairs.

  The arbiter, the elderly Lord Chancellor Lord Yearling, stamped his cane onto the ground heavily, calling the gossiping crowd back to their boards. Aspen took a deep breath and sat down at his table. As the higher social rank, he knew that his next opponent, Sir Richard Sherling, would come to find him. To his pleasure, Sir Richard sat down across from him and moved to greet him looking friendly and sober, which was something of a blessing on both accounts. Sir Richard started the game, a distinct advantage, but he was not an equal opponent. He neither took his time nor remembered that bishops could move backwards. Aspen shook his hand and stood up from his win at half past the hour and glanced around the room at the few pairs still battling.

  A small crowd had gathered around one table and Aspen wandered over, for once happy at the way people moved to make way for him. The group was gathered around Mr. Jack Holcombe's chair, presumably in the interest of seeing a new player. Aspen blinked, finally catching a view through the crowd. Jack Holcombe was grinning like a madman, looking rather aggressive despite his slender awkward body. Aspen frowned, thinking Daniel was mistaken about Jack’s competitive nature, before he remembered the man leaping around the fencing room with the same expression, thrilled by the practice alone. Aspen had only reached the board in time to watch for a few minutes before Jack’s happy expression settled into a polite detachment and his opponent – the fairly accomplished viscount Lord Drairs - tipped his king and reached his hand over the board to shake on the good game. Jack accepted the hand.

  “Congratulations,” Aspen said when the crowd cleared and Daniel’s cousin could finally stand up from the board. Jack smiled easily, for once looking entirely confident and comfortable in his own skin.

  “Thank you,” he said. Aspen nodded back and gestured about the room.

  “You're welcome. If you are interested in staying in London, you should join the London Chess Association. I can certainly obtain an invitation for you,” he offered.

  ~~//~~

  Jac felt her heart rise wondrously and wanted to bash it down with a skillet. She could almost feel herself getting in over her head. She wanted to accept so badly. Her mind had felt alive, during that last game, though she could have beaten the man blindfolded.

  “I'm afraid I cannot join you, sir, though I thank you graciously. I must return home,” she made herself reply, though it came out too stiffly.

  “Abingdon is not so far. Return to London and join the Association for next season,” the duke insisted.

  Damn it. How many years had she desired such an invitation?

  “Truly, sir, I could not spare the time,” she answered, wishing she could walk up and kick the closest chest table over without causing a scene. Aspen’s face cleared, as if in understanding.

  That is not good, Jac thought, frowning.

  “Yes, of course. Tell me, what is your trade?” he asked. Jac felt her eyes widen, though the duke had not sounded scornful. Lord, but now ‘Mr. Jack Holcombe’ seemed to be leagues from even her position in life and she had yet another lie to tell. This farce was rapidly becoming more complicated.

  “My brother is a landowner, Your Grace. I am not in trade,” she answered as honestly as she could. The duke’s eyebrows rose, apparently interested.

  “Oh, forgive me. But you have a brother! I did not know,” he exclaimed, sounding pleased. “And yet you grew up alone?”

  Jac grit her teeth together. She had never meant to be intentionally deceiving a man.

  “He is much older, Your Grace. I was only six when he left for his education. Then he was gone at Cambridge, then he took a trip to the continent during the short-lived peace there. He returned only in time to assist-” Jac stopped, trapped. Daniel had returned home to finally assist in her presentation at court and entrance into society. She could hardly admit to that as a young man. “It was difficult, after my father died,” she answered instead, glancing down at the chessboard beside them.

  “My own passed when I was a young lad,” he said curtly. There was pain there, Jac thought, but she could not ask about it.

  My father drank himself catatonic, she wanted to reply. The crowd around her chess table had dispersed, giving them a small pocket of privacy. Jac nodded meaninglessly, not sure how to speak to the intimidating duke outside of the fencing academy. Not for the first time, she wished she was more like the giggling confident women of her generation. She began to turn away to mingle with the rest of the crowd but Aspen spoke.

  “When did you start learning chess?” he asked. Jac turned back, surprised. Aspen smiled at her, the scars around his cheek and chin tightening badly, and she felt her skin warm slightly at the attention.

  You’re a ninny and an attention monger, she told herself, but she felt pleased all the same.

  “Five years ago,” she answered honestly as he led her to the table of drinks. He lifted up a bottle of fine brandy and Jacoline nodded, grinning at the offer. She had never drunk such a thing in public. She had always kept to sherry, though it was always served sickly sweet and unpalatable. The duke picked up a corkscrew left beside the bottle, apparently intending to open the drink himself. Jac glanced around, expecting a legion of horrified servants rushing to assist, but no one came. The duke glanced up from uncorking the expensive bottle and started to pour their drinks, his expression still baffled.

  ~~//~~

  “Only five years ago? And you just beat Drairs?” Aspen repeated. He stared at Jack before he was forced to glance back at his hands to avoid pouring brandy over his furniture.

  “I did very little else with my time,” Jack answered. Aspen blinked, surprised, and handed the man his drink. Mr. Jack Holcombe might very well be a fascinating man. And certainly not a tradesman if he had time for such pursuits. That had been a rude question, then. Aspen was grateful Jack had made nothing of it.

  “And now you've found fencing,” Aspen replied. Jack raised his glass in a quiet salute.

  “Yes, I have. And thank you for teaching me. And for inviting me here,” he said. Aspen nodded, glad that he’d delayed the tournament.

  “I trust I'll see you at the fencing hall tomorrow, same time as last week?” Aspen asked. He heard Lord Yearling calling out the new tournament pairings and turned to listen to the man. He was to face Mr. Perrington. That would be a challenge. He turned back to see Jack smiling, apparently also pleased with his opponent.

  “Tomorrow,” Jack agreed belatedly. Aspen nodded and moved to his designated chessboard, leaving Jack to find his own.

  Two games later he was facing Jack again, as opponents this time.

  “How are you faring?” he asked as Jack sat in front of him.

  “Fairly well, I believe,” Jack replied, pulling himself forward on his chair, his hands clasped demurely in his lap as he waited for the arbiter’s command to begin. Aspen repressed a smile and relaxed back into his own seat, becoming accustomed to Mr. Holcombe’s eccentricities.

  Jack began the game by moving his queen’s pawn to the fourth square. Aspen responded with his pawn to match it and Mr. Holcombe brought his queen’s bishop’s pawn up to threaten him without hesitation, surprising Aspen enough that he sat back away from the board. It was wise of course, to begin a blitz game with an opening the opponent
would not be ready for, but still Aspen found himself staring at the man he’d thought a lad only a week before. How the deuce was this apparently uncultured country man able to play an opening Aspen had never seen before? Aspen moved to take the pawn, hoping he was not pushing himself into a trap. The game was quick and brutal.

  “Good game,” Aspen said when Jack took the second knight he'd left hanging. He tipped his king for formality's sake and Jack accepted his handshake. Aspen blinked. The hand in his was too fragile, too soft. Not a man's. Barely even a lad’s.

  ~~//~~

  “Good game,” the duke said, his voice deep and full of admiration. Jac replied as politely as she could, her thoughts miles away. His hands were warm and rough with callouses. Jac felt his strength press her slight bones together and dropped his hand too quickly. She was dealing with a scarred man far above her station but still she felt herself respond to his touch. Jac berated herself and her idiocy. She was not pretending to be male to get an inappropriate notion for someone so wholly beyond her prospects. She had enough loneliness to contend with as it was. She was twenty-six years old and unmarriageable in the eyes of the ton. Fancying one of the most powerful men in the kingdom would be mortifying.

  Fortunately it would soon be time to meet her next opponent. She had wanted to attend this tournament for years. Had she thought of it, she’d likely have risked her reputation to sneak herself in under the guise of Mr. Jack Holcombe long before her marriage prospects were negligible.

  She’d have risked everything for this chance, she thought, reminding herself not to be distracted from the tournament by a man she had no chance with. He thought her a man for goodness’s sake. Jac pulled herself out of her chair and made herself walk away from the duke, heading for a quiet place at the side of the room to prepare for her next game.

  ~~//~~

  Aspen watched Jack play a thirty-minute blitz for a spot in the final game, along with most of the thinning crowd. Many of the lesser players had already cheerfully departed but a good number remained to watch the rest of the tournament and join them all for a late supper. There was a quiet crowd gathered around the last two tables still playing.

  “Jack's good, isn't she?” Daniel said and Aspen turned to blink at the man, wondering if he'd meant the slight. That was the second time he'd made the mistake, now. “He,” Daniel corrected, shrugging and smiling, not looking repentant at all. It wasn't like him to be rude. Aspen decided to chalk it up to a slip of the tongue.

  “He is,” Aspen agreed noncommittally. He did not want to start blathering on about the man, but Mr. Jack Holcombe was a wonder to watch. He apparently played chess staring at the ceiling when he got serious. The man hadn't done that at all while playing with him. Aspen felt himself flush slightly at the thought and made himself refocus on the competition while it worked itself out.

  Jack got into trouble about ten minutes into the game and Aspen felt himself slowly coming to understand what Daniel had meant when he’d said “Jack's not competitive”. The man didn't even change expression from his open, concentrating stare at the stuccoed ceiling panels; not when the tide turned against him and not when it got dire. He took his time with every move and from all the expression Aspen could detect, the man could have been winning through it all. He did not get flustered.

  'It's why he's so good', Daniel had said.

  Jack fought desperately for a draw in a rook's mate only to lose that too, but Aspen respected the hell out of the awkward man by the end of it. And that was ignoring the fact that supposedly Jack had been playing the game for less than half a decade. He’d just come in fifth at London's most prestigious tournament.

  “Good game,” Jack said at the end, smiling across the board at his partner, Mr. André Philidor, apparently entirely unaffected by the brutal defeat.

  “To you as well,” Philidor said sincerely, shaking his head and slowly standing up from the shared table. “Tell me the drinks are out?” he asked and Aspen gestured him toward the liquor cabinet.

  The last games would start in an hour but first the last few players would take a break and the losers would drink themselves foolish. Jack got up from the board and hesitated before grabbing the bottle of brandy to pour himself another glass. He gestured toward the empty glass in Aspen’s hand.

  “Shall we drink away our sorrows?” he suggested, lifting the brandy bottle.

  “I believe I failed in excellent fashion,” Aspen agreed cheerfully, lowering his glass to the table.

  “It is a blessing, isn’t it? To lose with great theatricism,” Mr. Holcombe joked, filling it.

  “You did well,” Aspen replied, taking his drink. Jack lifted his glass in quiet thanks.

  “It’s awkward, winning against you in your own home,” he commented, taking a hearty sip of the brandy.

  “Would you like to do it again?” Aspen asked, gesturing toward the connecting billiards room. A group of men were filing out of the room together toward a developing game of whist. Jack glanced through the doorway and bit his lip in a strangely feminine affectation at the sight of the billiards table inside.

  “I don't know how to play, Your Grace,” the man confessed finally. Aspen felt his brow rise sharply. He smothered the reaction as quickly as he could, but Mr. Holcombe only looked more embarrassed. The man had to be from a working family; how else would he have grown up in Abingdon and not have learned how to fence or play billiards? Given, he had confessed to filling his day with chess, but no English gentleman could have grown up so ill-educated.

  He is an odd man, Aspen reminded himself as he heard the man apologize, ready to turn away.

  “Call me Aspen, please, and I will teach you,” Aspen offered. Jack blinked at him, looking confused for a moment before his face cleared and he nodded. Aspen led the way into the room and grabbed a cue stick. He turned to ensure that Mr. Holcombe had, in fact, followed him, and held out his cue. Jack moved to take it and Aspen pulled the stick away. “On the condition that you teach me the opening you employed against me.”

  Jack's face lit up, his smile stretching into a grin.

  “The Queen’s Gambit,” he confirmed and Aspen nodded, pleased. He handed the man the cue and moved to take his own.

  “Aspen,” he ordered and Jack grinned broader. He was not accustomed to having friends, Aspen thought.

  “Very well. Aspen, how does one play billiards?” he asked, leaning on his cue stick.

  “The object is to hit your cueball into both my cueball and that red ball in a single stroke. That’s called a count. Whoever gets to twenty counts first wins,” Aspen instructed, putting the three balls into the middle of the table.

  Why is it so much easier to make friends amongst men? he wondered, cursing himself. By rights he should be at Countess Chesterton's post-matinee ball, meeting debutantes and finding himself a wife. He could meet Miss Musgrave again, see if they could put up with each other. He was thirty five. It was time to marry. And yet the thought of dancing with another girl barely out of the school room and laying side bets with Daniel on where the ladies would focus their eyes to pretend he was not covered in massive scar damage made him want to grit his teeth and never leave his home again. No, he'd much rather exchange chess and billiards lessons and keep his pride intact.

  “Will you attend the Plainsworth ball this Saturday?” he asked, lining up his next shot. He got the count but his cue ball had too much spin and rolled beyond his goal. “Oh, well, shite,” he cursed, glancing about the table to see how to redeem himself and finding nothing. He looked up to see Jack staring at him, his mouth agape. Aspen blinked rapidly and chuckled, lifting his cue for his next shot. “My word man, did you grow up entirely in the countryside?” he asked. Jack started blinking rapidly, as if trying to force his brain into processing the world again. Aspen turned back to his game, deciding to simply ensure his cueball stayed away from the corner.

  “I know the word, but I did not know gentleman spoke so,” Jack said finall
y. Aspen grinned again and took his shot before gesturing to Jack to begin his turn.

  “Well not around the ladies, certainly,” he replied honestly, stepping out of the man’s way and leaning against the wall. “But in private? I know dandies that curse like sailors.”

  Jack took his shot and missed it entirely.

  “Try it again,” Aspen instructed. Jack blinked at him and Aspen shrugged. It was hardly like he needed to prove his superiority in the game. Jack grabbed the cue ball and moved it back into position.

  “I had not realized how cloistered I’d been,” Jack admitted, before concentrating on his shot. Aspen watched Jack’s eyes dart about the table as he lined up his cue and stayed silent to let the man focus. Jack got his count, albeit barely, but missed his next.

  “Nicely done,” Aspen said, straightening.

  “What else do gentleman do when ladies aren’t nearby?” Jack asked. Aspen snorted.

  “Surely you are not that cloistered, man,” Aspen replied, shooting him a loaded glance. Jack tipped his head in a curious gesture. Aspen moved across the room to grab his drink from the sideboard and happily gulped some down.

  “Do you mean visiting women of ill repute?” Jack asked and Aspen choked on his drink. He came up sputtering.

  Who actually calls them that? Women and clergymen. Jack looked baffled by his reaction and Aspen chuckled.

  “That is what I meant, yes. But surely our normal pursuits are no great secret, not on the level of coffeehouses, cheroots, and the like,” he replied, grabbing a towel from the sideboard to wipe down his face. Jack looked embarrassed. Aspen wiped down the floor and chucked the towel back on the sideboard. He balanced his drink on the billiards table and took up his cue stick, returning to their game.

  “Can we do those things?” Jac requested suddenly. Aspen missed his shot and stood up again.

  “How -” he started, before shaking his head. Asking Jack questions about his background was only confusing him further. The man was an enigma. “You’ve truly never smoked?” he asked instead. Jack shook his head.