Spinster's Gambit

by Gwendolynn Thomas

  “Mother,” he greeted in surprise, putting down his brush, and she waved a hand at him.

  “Do not mind me, please. I am only escaping from the gossip and noise for a moment,” she said, sitting down in the model’s chair as if she commonly attended his work. Aspen pretended to continue on his painting but he kept his brush a safe distance away from the canvas, waiting for his mother to reveal her true purpose.

  “You have been painting less of late,” she commented, slowly pulling off one of her gloves.

  I’m happier, Aspen silently agreed, pretending to inspect one corner of the blank canvas. The duchess hummed quietly and pulled off her second glove.

  “Miss Holcombe plays the pianoforte like an angel, do you not think?”

  Aspen wanted to roll his eyes. He grunted, knowing better than to engage her, but she was not to be deterred.

  “She is what, twenty-six this year? That is not so very old. I was thirty-four when Dominic was born,” she added, glancing about the candle-lit room as if she were only making small talk.

  Avoid the machinations of women. They’re terrifying to behold. Aspen scoffed out a laugh. Jack had that right, certainly.

  “Mother,” Aspen growled, looking up from his canvas, “I am not courting her.” His mother blinked owlishly and pursed her lips.

  “Pity. Why not?” she said, raising her eyebrows at him and Aspen wanted to growl.

  “It was only a slip of the tongue. I know Mr. Jack Holcombe, her cousin from Abingdon. She is -” he started, before pausing.

  Miss Holcombe was an intelligent accomplished grown woman. Aspen recalled how she’d laughed, full and hearty and happy over a chess game with him. Was he daft?

  Out of curiosity, why have you never considered pursuing my sister? How had he never seen her before? Why was everyone speaking of her now? She’d met his eyes, Aspen remembered. In eight years of attending society events with the woman, she’d never talked to him. But then she’d gone and met his eyes. What had changed? His mother's eyebrows had furrowed suddenly, her gaze narrowing. Aspen opened his mouth to explain when she held out a hand for silence. She was frowning now, her eyes pinched and concerned.

  “Daniel Holcombe does not have a cousin named Jack Holcombe. And not from Abingdon, certainly,” she stated. Aspen felt his eyebrows rise at the certainty in his mother’s voice. Aspen nodded at the implication. Many things about Mr. Holcombe made more sense if he were illegitimate. Still, his mother peered at him, looking concerned. “I knew Lord Peter Holcombe, Lord Holcombe's grandfather, quite well. We went to Lady Holcombe's house parties as young children. The late viscount, Peter, had an aunt, a brother, one sister and no uncles. The sister died at a day past twelve years old, I remember it clearly. The aunt never married and lives in Scotland, and the sister married a Mr. Hartford and left for the Americas. Lord William Holcombe had no siblings, as I recall. He was the only one who lived to adulthood. Any cousins Lord Daniel Holcombe has must follow his grandmother’s line and do not carry his name. So if there is a Jack Holcombe in Abingdon, he is a brother, not a cousin, and Lord William Holcombe was not the man I remember,” she stated, her voice thin. Aspen winced. Could that explain it? That Jack was Daniel’s illegitimate brother, found in adulthood? That did not explain why Daniel would lie to him. They’d shared more difficult confessions.

  “I do not understand,” Aspen admitted, putting his brush and pallette down.

  “Is there a chance you have been lied to?” she asked, looking concerned. Aspen frowned, thinking over the few weeks that had passed, the ways Jack hesitated over his answers, how nothing seemed quite straightforward, and the rumors about the man sneaking from Daniel’s home.

  “A strong one, yes,” he answered unhappily. His mother's brow furrowed again and she looked out of the stretch of large gardens beside them. “I do hope the Holcombes are not involved. They have always been such a staunch family,” she stated quietly, getting up to leave.

  “I'm sure it is nothing, mother,” he lied. She glanced back at him and pulled a wisp of hair from in front of her eyes.

  “I hope you're right,” she answered. “But I am going to keep my conversation with other families, for the evening.” Aspen grimaced and she left the room. He backed away from his easel and started toward his desk, desperately hoping the Jack Holcombe affair would come to nothing.

  ~~//~~

  “Your Grace?” a quiet voice called from the bedroom doorway. Aspen turned to face it, trying to peer through the dark. A servant, he guessed.

  “Come in,” he called, turning away from his borrowed writing desk. A young girl stepped further into his room, looking nervous. She was dressed in a servant's clothes and stood like a maid, hunched and almost hiding within herself. She was practically vibrating with nerves, rubbing her hands as if cold in the well-heated room. Aspen felt his eyebrows rise, hoping he was not about to get an uncomfortable offer.

  “My Lord – Your Grace, I have some information you might want-” she started. Aspen opened his mouth, confused now. He was hardly spying on anyone. “About -about Jack Holcombe, Your Grace,” the girl clarified. Aspen frowned. The girl's eyes widened and she stepped back into the darkness of the doorway.

  “Come here,” Aspen ordered. The girl stepped forward again and he gestured her closer until she was less than four feet from him and standing in the light. She was pretty, light haired and clear of any skin blemishes. He would remember that face.

  “I caught them, see. The Lord Holcombe and the one he was calling Jack -”

  Aspen held up a hand sharply. He felt anger building in his chest.

  “What is your name?” he demanded. The girl stepped back again, falling back into the shadows away from his lamp. His tone was off, Aspen guessed, and the scars couldn’t help.

  “Victoria Mason, Your Grace,” she said, sounding hesitant.

  “Well, Victoria, I'll tell you this. You were just halfway through threatening to spill information on two of my very good friends. Now, you are going to return to your work. If I hear a single word of gossip about Mr. Jack Holcombe, I will assume it was by your doing and I will inform your employer. You can be certain that you would be let go without a reference. So it's discretion or the gutter,” Aspen ordered, his voice coming out rough and angry. Curiosity flickered at him; what had she caught Daniel and Jack doing? But he would not reward a servant to be dishonest. “I should hope you have not told anyone else your so-called information,” he added. The girl stepped back again, her eyes wide.

  “Yes, Your Grace, no, Your Grace, I ain't told no one,” she promised, her voice fearful and thin. Aspen wanted to curse at the sound and turned away from her, doubting she was telling the truth.

  “Have a good night,” he ordered.

  “Yes, Your Grace, good night, Your Grace,” he heard her reply and footsteps rushed from the room. Aspen got up from his desk to close the door behind her, trying to convince himself that he'd made the right choice. There were secrets to Mr. Jack Holcombe; of that he was certain.

  ~~//~~

  The cricket game was planned for the next morning and Jac told her maid to get her up early. She thought to go and watch and, if possible, isolate His Grace long enough to see him as Aspen once again. She rose with the sun even without the maid's interference and stayed in bed, struggling not to flutter about the room chewing off her own fingernails. Sarah entered the room finally, somehow opening the door for herself despite the tray of tea in her arms. She put the tray down on the bedside table without making a sound and tiptoed across the room to close the door.

  “Oh, my lady, and to see you awake already! I’ve brought up a hot pitcher to see you out of bed, though I'd yet decided whether to serve it or toss it on ye,” Sarah stated, smiling at her as she poured the tea. Jac smiled back and pulled herself up to sitting on the bed with her blankets around her.

  “Thank you, Sarah,” she said and the woman glanced about the room.

  “Well, we'd
better get you in your blue gown then, shouldn't we? It is your most handsome. Hair clips today, I think?” she rambled, walking toward the wardrobe.

  “It is only a cricket game,” Jac replied, doing her best to sound indifferent. Sarah shot her a knowing glance, utterly beyond her station as a servant. Jac swore she'd never have survived womanhood if it weren't for Sarah Yesden.

  “Come now, milady, if you're awake before noon I can be knowing there is somm’t exciting you. Tell me, if it is not too bold, is it that Lord Kimberley that has you blushing?”

  Jac felt herself only reddening more as she shook her head.

  “There is no reason to dress up for a cricket game,” she protested instead, feeling entirely foolish. Sarah nodded demurely.

  “As you wish, my lady,” she said but she pulled the blue gown from the wardrobe all the same. Jac could have kissed her.

  Jac followed her nose across the house and turned the corner into the large breakfast room only to pause in shock at the crowd there. Four of the young ladies had apparently chosen to rise early as well. The men ate together, discussing the upcoming game for which there weren't enough players. Aspen seemed to feel no awkwardness among his fellow men and Jac tried to ignore her pang of envy when the second son of the baron of Norcaster made him throw back his head and laugh. The women sat together at the other side of the table and glared at each other for having thought similarly. Jac filled her plate from the buffet on the side bar and joined them quietly, feeling utterly the fool. She would never be able to compete with these women and of course they'd thought to join the men. She should have stayed in bed.

  It was soon quite obvious that the whole party of ladies had planned to join them and Jac watched out of the large window as servants started hauling tables and chairs down to the cricket lawn to accommodate them. The duchess and a few of the married chaperones were apparently the only women who'd decided to stay in bed. Jac desperately wished she had been wise enough to avoid the spectacle herself. Instead she sat at the table in her best gown, praying no one noticed her.

  The men’s hearty conversation died suddenly, laughter cut off mid breath. Jac looked down the quiet table to see Daniel standing in the doorway, his eyebrows slowly rising at his reception.

  “Good morning,” Daniel greeted and the men mumbled, trading glances. The silence went on too long.

  “Good morning,” Mr. Henry Charington greeted finally, frowning at the gentlemen around him.

  “Good morning,” Aspen greeted more sincerely, looking rather baffled.

  “We’ve got too many players,” Mr. Faring mumbled. He was a short man with thinning hair and severe pockmarks. Daniel raised his eyebrows at the man.

  “Now, that’s patently false. Cricket requires eleven to a side, we have too few men if anything,” Daniel replied, his voice chipper as if he did not see what was going on.

  “Changed our minds, didn’t we? Decided to play a match of football,” Lord Musgrave lied, nodding at Mr. Faring as he spoke. Aspen frowned between the two of them.

  “That’s seven to a side at least,” Daniel replied, leaning against the doorway and pushing his hands into his breeches pockets in an overly casual gesture.

  “Daniel -” Mr. Charington started and Daniel’s eyes snapped to him.

  “What? I’m hardly going to make it more comfortable for them to scorn me. At the very least they should have to think of a game that’s four to a side,” Daniel replied, his gaze scanning the eight men at the table. The Earl of Kimberley cleared his throat.

  “See here -” he started and Daniel met his gaze, looking hurt though the earl had not yet spoken. The awkward silence stretched thin again.

  “Bocce, for instance,” Daniel piped up finally, holding up a finger.

  “Or you could play cricket with us,” Aspen suggested, scowling around the table at the uncomfortable men.

  “He doesn’t know,” Miss Harring whispered loudly to Miss Charington. Miss Charington glanced between her father and Daniel, looking concerned.

  “Know what?” she whispered and Miss Musgrave giggled.

  “Out of curiosity, who is this mysterious ‘Mr. Jack Holcombe’ to you, sir?” Lord Musgrave demanded. Daniel swallowed heavily. Jac felt her heart drop into her stomach.

  I did this. How could such a little thing get so out of control?

  “My cousin,” Daniel answered finally. Jac closed her eyes for a moment, ashamed. Miss Musgrave snorted into her drink.

  “This is awkward,” Miss Faring whispered too loudly.

  “Or darts!” Daniel exclaimed finally, snapping his fingers. “That has teams of four on occasion.”

  “We’ve decided to play a game of bocce,” Mr. Faring stated, staring at him. Daniel pushed himself away from the doorway, smiling coldly.

  “Ah, such a shame. That has teams of four to a side, doesn’t it? I’ll just go sip tea in the yellow salon. Do enjoy your cricket game,” he pronounced, before turning around and disappearing into the hall.

  Jac got up slowly, ignoring the uncomfortable looks of the men and women around her. She grabbed her fan and rushed from the room, lifting her skirts away from her feet in her hurry to catch up with her brother. Daniel was striding down the hall, his back held straight with pride, his shined shoes clicking evenly on the wooden floor.

  “Outside his bedchamber?” she heard Lord Monson squeal behind her, apparently only just then getting the news. Jac groaned and hurried to catch up with her brother. To her surprise, Aspen ran past her, his feet thundering down the hallway.

  “Daniel!” Aspen shouted, catching up with the man and grabbing his shoulder to spin him around. “What the deuce just happened?” Daniel’s shoulders fell. Jac paused in her steps, unsure if she should interrupt them.

  “That man was not your cousin,” Aspen stated, pulling his arm away. Jac stopped walking. The man must have looked up their lineage. “And he is not from Abingdon,” Aspen added, sounding only more confused.

  “Aspen-” Daniel started.

  “Daniel, who was that man?” Aspen demanded, his voice rough.

  “He was no one. He will not return to London and I need you not to look into it,” Daniel requested, his eyes flickering to where Jac stood in the hallway. Jac backed up a step, unsure where she should go.

  “You can not tell me he was not related to you. He was a veritable spitten image of your sister,” Aspen growled, digging too deep, too close.

  “Aspen,” Daniel barked. Aspen straightened in surprise. The convenient thing about Daniel never getting angry was people tended to notice, then, when he did. “We have been friends for years. I am asking this of you in all sincerity, let it go,” he ordered.

  Aspen went silent. Jac wished she could see his face, know what he was thinking.

  “I missed two days of sleep, traveling to Paris to get you out of there,” Daniel growled. Jac felt her eyes widen; it was not like Daniel to pull up old favors. He could lose a good friend today, she thought.

  He’s desperate, she thought, wanting to hide her face in her hands.

  “What scandal happened here?” Aspen asked shaking his head but Jac knew he wasn't looking for an answer. Daniel’s eyes softened. “It can’t be true, the recent rumors-” he started and Daniel swallowed heavily.

  “They’re true,” he forced out, his voice dry. Aspen shook his head. Jac closed her eyes. Daniel would admit to the lie, tell the world that a man was in his bedchamber, simply to protect her reputation? She wasn’t to be married anyway. Jac shook her head fervently, trying to catch his gaze, trying to tell him not to do it.

  “I cannot believe that. You would never betray Henry and Jack was clearly related to you,” he replied and Daniel closed his eyes. Jac frowned, confused.

  Henry?

  “Let it go. You owe me that,” Daniel ordered, backing away from the man.

  I’m sorry, Jac mouthed silently, but Daniel’s gaze barely flicked to her.

  “Kee
p your secrets, then, where Jack is involved. I do not care overmuch about his background. Keep it to yourself if he was a servant or your lover or a French spy. So be it. I only demand to know if I was used or stolen from. I trusted that man and I would need to inform my steward,” the duke stated finally.

  Jac winced.

  I did not steal from you.

  “None of those things,” Daniel stated. Aspen nodded stiffly. “His friendship with you was real,” he offered. Aspen shook his head.

  “Albeit riddled with lies?” the duke asked, snorted quietly. Jac wished she could sink into the floor. Daniel sighed.

  “Only one deception,” Daniel offered and Jac started walking forward again, letting her footsteps ring out. Aspen backed up away from the man. “Does that matter so much?” Daniel asked and the duke stilled.

  “I do not know,” he answered, sounding distinctly disappointed. Daniel started down the hallway again, his head held high as he led them into the yellow salon. To Jac’s surprise, the duchess, Lady Musgrave, Mrs. Clarence, and Mrs. Faring were already inside, sitting around the fire with their respective embroidery.

  The duchess looked up as they entered, frowning in confusion at Aspen and Daniel’s presence.

  “Was cricket not this morning?” she asked though she clearly knew it was. Lady Musgrave and Mrs. Clarence looked up from their work at her question. Aspen cleared his throat uncomfortably.

  “They switched to bocce,” Daniel lied, his voice light. The duchess’s brow furrowed with displeasure at the apparent exclusion but, from the way she returned to her embroidery, Jac knew the woman understood it all.

  “You should host them all the same,” Daniel muttered to Aspen, glancing around the unwelcoming room. It was too quiet, Jac determined, huffing out a breath and sitting down in an open circle of chairs, expecting Daniel to follow her. He did not. He stood in the middle of the salon, wiping his hands on his trousers and looking remarkably uncertain for the first time since he’d entered the breakfast room.