“I’m a country man,” he said and Aspen snorted.
“Who has never smoked?” he asked doubtfully. Jack looked embarrassed again.
“I’ve smoked,” he said, but it sounded like a lie. Aspen wanted to laugh but the awkward man looked too uncomfortable.
“We’ll go to Smyrna,” he said instead. Jack’s eyebrows furrowed and Aspen cursed himself. He was acting like an overstuffed fool, referring to specific London sights to a foreigner and expecting him to understand. Jack tilted his head curiously, his eyes still focused above Aspen’s shoulder.
“A coffeehouse, too well known for its own good, but its drink and snuff is good all the same,” Aspen explained, hoping the man would agree to join him. Jack smiled shyly at him and Aspen nodded, reminded again how little of modern life Jack had witnessed. “Excellent. It’s your turn,” he said, gesturing toward the board. Jack returned to the game, his whole demeanor brighter. Lord, but it was easier to make friends amongst men.
All the same, Aspen confessed to himself when a footman announced the evening meal and ended the teaching session, he was grateful to have something else to stomp the man at, after such an embarrassing display at chess. Especially as it was tradition for the Association to proceed into dinner and sit in the order of chess performance, rather than rank, which had him very firmly at the middle of his own table, placed too far from Jack's position to even hear his conversation.
~~//~~
Daniel had left her the carriage, refusing to let her take a hired coach home. Personally, Jac didn't know how the servants were going to explain her arriving at the house so very unaccompanied but there was nothing to do about it. The servants would think what they would.
Jacoline sighed and let her head fall back against the carriage wall. She'd been beyond happy that night. She was starting to wonder how she'd ever go back to a life of embroidery and soirees. Thinking about it made a gulf open up somewhere below her stomach. How was she supposed to put on a gown in two weeks and meet Aspen at the Plainsworth Ball and remember what she'd said to His Grace when she was dressed as a man and what she'd said dressed in a gown?
It helped that she'd barely said anything to him as a woman at all, she figured, her mouth twisting. She’d barely exchanged two words with the quiet man when playing the role of Miss Jacoline Holcombe, the polite and boring spinster. Their growing association would die with the farce she was playing at.
Jac closed her eyes and brushed her hands down her skirt, wishing desperately that she could live both lives at once, as a woman who could beat a room at chess and then turn around and dance and be married. Instead, it seemed she could do neither.
~~//~~
My life has officially gotten out of control, Daniel thought, pressing his forehead to the cool glass of his carriage window while he waited. Harold would not open the door until the street was clear. Daniel fiddled with his glove, trying to pass the time. He was a fool to be helping Jacoline, he knew, but she’d never had an adventure. She needed this time to see the world before she resigned herself to spending the rest of her life trapped in their childhood home. But it needed to end soon.
He heard footsteps outside the coach and moved to stand. Harold opened the carriage door, his face characteristically blank.
“Good evening,” Daniel said, stepping down from the coach and hurrying onto the front steps of the red brick house on the corner. He rushed inside, keeping his coat collar propped up around his face until he’d gotten out of the street. Henry stood just inside the doorway and moved to close the door behind him.
“Welcome home, my dear,” Henry greeted him warmly. Daniel smiled, relaxing finally as he unbuttoned his overcoat.
“How is Laura today?” he asked, dropping his hat onto the dresser by the door. Henry kissed him and took his coat.
“Still sulking. Her piano cannot be repaired before next week,” Henry answered, leading him further into the house.
CHAPTER FIVE
Jac was ready to send up a prayer of thanks for her survival by the time the Duke of Aspen finally declared them finished in their footwork practice. She let herself slump down to the floor against the wall in a way she hadn't since she was eleven and away from any governess. Aspen joined her, thankfully out of breath as well. Jac pulled her eyes away from his scarred face and found her attention settling on his sweat-soaked shirt. She could see the outline of muscles beneath the thin fabric and a hint of chest hair growing out of his shirt collar. She darted her gaze away again, only to end up at the muscles in his arms. She finally focused on his feet, cursing herself as the silliest woman in the world.
“Well done today,” he panted out, sliding down the wall to sit beside her and stretch. Jac nodded tiredly and followed suit.
“Thank you.”
Silence settled between them comfortably and Jacoline rested her head back on the plaster wall behind her, grateful for its support. It felt good, just sitting with him. He was an interesting man when he stopped scowling.
When away from women, Jac concluded.
“What is it like to be a duke?” she asked, turning her head along the wall to face him as much as possible. Aspen glanced at her and Jac noticed belatedly that she was on his wrong side, where his face was hard and unyielding and wouldn't allow him to see as well. Still, it seemed he managed well enough for he did not turn to use his undamaged eye. He sighed and rubbed a thumb into his bad hand.
“Mostly it is a great blessing. I am well situated with multiple, well-staffed estates, comfortable clothing, and good riding mounts. I come from a good family and I can provide the same things to them and to children of my own,” he glanced at her ruefully. “Assuming I have any. That possibility, to be frank, is only made possible by my being a duke so that should also be considered a benefit.”
Jac cocked her head.
“What do you mean?” she asked, though she thought she could guess. Aspen flashed her a knowing glance.
“It is no secret that I have little to offer beyond my circumstance,” he said, holding up his damaged hand and manipulated it a bit in the air to show how the skin twisted and bubbled.
I'd marry you anyway.
Jac blinked at the thought, reconsidering it. If he had no funds to offer her, if they had to rely on Daniel or go poverty stricken?
I already have to rely on Daniel, she thought, glancing over the man's damaged face, his sweat-soaked shirt, his hands. He laughed at her jokes, argued with her politics. He was smart, and in this, at least, so self-conscious.
Oh...hell, she thought, closing her eyes. She could not fall for the Duke of Aspen. The very notion was absurd. She barely knew the man. She would be quite content as a spinster; she’d have her finances and her life under her own power. She did not need a husband, and most certainly not one she did not know.
He may have syphilis, she reminded herself, cutting off her romantic thoughts and remembering the old rumors. She’d get ill, probably die, if she were to have children with him.
I cannot have children as a spinster, either. The thought came hard and Jac let her head fall back against the wall, trying not to wallow in it. It was a foolish consideration regardless. The duke’s wounds had faded into scars, clearly not the work of the French pox, and either way the man did not want her. He barely knew her as more than an impolite spinster, when he knew her as a woman at all.
Aspen growled suddenly and slammed his head against the wall.
“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 th
e 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.
Spinster's Gambit Page 6
