Spinster's Gambit (26 page)

“Lord Daniel Holcombe is not accused of creating false identities or deceptions, Lord Candrow. He is accused of sodomy, against the Buggery Act of 1533. Do you have evidence for that?” he demanded.

Lord Candrow stared at the man, looking flabbergasted and Aspen grinned.

“No,” Lord Candrow admitted finally, his shoulders falling. “But Lord Holcombe has a home, in Kensington -” he started, shuffling through his papers again.

Lord Yearling cleared his throat.

“I move for an immediate acquittal,” the Lord Chancellor demanded.

Aspen stood with the men around him to mark his vote in Daniel’s favor and glanced around the room at the men standing with him. There was clearly no need to count; they had the majority.

We’ve gotten it thrown out of court,
Aspen thought, relieved, watching Daniel’s hands finally relax. The man turned and found him in the crowd, his eyes alight with hope. Aspen did not know how to respond. By rights he should be furious with the man and his sister for humiliating him, but Daniel’s eyes sparkled with mischief again and Aspen believed the idiot had been well-minded. Aspen smiled back, realizing the hope in his friends eyes had started to dim, and Daniel straightened, restored.

Aspen worked his way to the man through the crowd and found Daniel in a small pocket in the crowd, most of their peers keeping a careful distance despite the court case. The rumors had not been disproven, though Daniel met Aspen’s eyes and grinned at him, apparently unconcerned. Aspen shook his hand firmly and the surrounding crowd took note.

“Thank you, for everyone you’ve spoken to,” Daniel said sincerely, shaking Aspen’s hand a last time and releasing him. Aspen was not sure what to say. His mother and Mr. Charington had won the man the majority. They made it to the outer doors with the man and pushed his way through, to see Mr. Charington, and his daughter, and Miss Holcombe waiting together in the cold, leaning on the tall stone wall there. Aspen hesitated, unsure what to do when faced with Miss Holcombe again, but the woman did not seem to notice him at all. She threw herself at her brother quite improperly, her arms flung around his neck. Daniel laughed whole-heartedly and spun her in a circle like a man with a young child. 

“How did it turn out?” she demanded and Daniel laughed harder, sounding almost hysterical now. 

“Acquitted, immediately. It’s over,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief before meeting Mr. Charington and Aspen’s eyes in turn. “Thank you,” he said, releasing Miss Holcombe. The tall woman stepped back, looking a bit embarrassed. Miss Charington had no such reservations. She ran toward Daniel and hugged him about his waist, hanging on like a limpet. Daniel ran a hand over her hair, not seeming to mind. He met Mr. Charington’s eyes and his gaze softened.

“You realize this means I’ve been effectively declared immune from charges against the Buggery Act, without extraordinary, definitive proof,” Daniel said, matching Mr. Charington’s gaze over his daughter’s head. Mr. Charington’s eyes darkened, his smile growing, and Aspen had to look away from what seemed to be a private moment. He met Miss Holcombe’s gaze on accident. She looked away rapidly and Aspen kicked himself for intruding on the small family reunion. 

“Excuse me,” he interjected and walked away. He’d only gone six steps before he realized that he was going in the opposite direction of his carriage, but he couldn’t get himself to turn and look so foolish when Miss Holcombe was almost sure to notice. He turned the corner sharply, deciding to go around the block like a fool.

CHAPTER TWELVE

He had to find another spinster, Aspen decided, stepping into yet another ballroom two weeks later. The 'spinster' idea, at least, had been promising. He'd thought the main obstacle in his marriage hunt would be avoiding Miss Holcombe and her brother but it seemed they were doing that part for him. They did not often accept the very few invitations they received. Aspen did not believe they'd stayed for the end of the season at all. Miss Holcombe had abandoned her search for a husband. Aspen grimaced at the thought, trying not to feel responsible. He had never formally courted her, had barely even started, and she had lied to him beyond all reason.

Aspen sighed, glancing around the side of the ballroom to where the wallflowers and chaperones waited for the ball to end. Miss Holcombe had done him a great disservice. He found himself now to be quite a bit more picky than he remembered. He could not abide the women staring at his waistcoat and giggling like china dolls set to shatter if they made any real noise. Every woman he’d ever met embroidered and played an instrument and sang, but no one else did it
brilliantly.
At least with the spinsters he'd find women who were as miserable at a ball as he was and who were truly of an age. The appeal of Miss Holcombe, he'd decided, was that she was a woman, not a girl.

And not a man,
he added, snorting again to himself as he remembered Jack bounding about the fencing training room, dodging himself straight into a wall.

Herself,
he corrected, imagining Miss Holcombe in her skirts doing the same. He barked out a laugh at the memory, drawing the very concerned stares of a few gossiping matrons near enough to hear despite the din of music and chatter.

He'd find a spinster, he confirmed to himself, scanning the women seated at the edges of the ball. A sane one.

~~//~~

Jac didn’t think she’d let Daniel talk her into attending a ball ever again. She could not again wander around a ballroom for hours, trying to remain unseen and watch Aspen search for another spinster to ask to dance. He’d evidently decided that in that, at least, he’d done well with her.

“Are not balls magical?” Miss Charington breathed, popping out of the crowd at Jac’s side. She smiled and took Jac’s arm in hers. Jac blinked rapidly, letting herself be led around the edges of the ballroom. 

“Not particularly,” she answered finally, glancing at Aspen leading Mrs. Clarence down the center of the dance. Jac wished she could warn him away from the gossiping woman, but turned her face away. Miss Charington was watching her carefully, apparently, for her eyes narrowed.

“Would you like to join the Ladies' Philosophical Society of London?” she whispered, clutching Jac’s arm as if imparting a great secret. Jac blinked rapidly.

“I -” she started before frowning. “Does that exist?” she asked. Surely she’d have known about it, bored as she’d been for so many years.

“I’m starting it,” Miss Charington announced, holding her head up high as they turned to walk along the open balcony doors. “It’s for women scientists and scholars. I’m a scholar,” she announced, before flicking her head, throwing her bangs out of her eyes. “So?” she asked, peering at Jac.

“I’d love to,” Jac said honestly and the girl smiled hugely, looking proud of herself.

“There. Now we’re two people. A real club,” she said. Jac bit her lip to keep from laughing and nodded solemnly. 

“Thank you for the invitation,” she said. Miss Charington jumped in her skin as if she’d been prodded.

“Oh! I’m to dance the next with Lord Hartwell!” she remembered, covering her mouth with her hands. “I forgot!” she giggled and dashed off toward the man to reach him before the next music started. Jac watched Aspen bow politely to Mrs. Clarence and start scanning the crowd for his next partner. Jac slipped quietly out of the room, disappearing from the crowd.

~~//~~

Jac wandered about the upstairs hallway, not wanting to disturb her brother’s time with Mr. Charington and his daughter in the downstairs drawing room. From the sound of it, they were playing at cards and Jac did not much enjoy the pastime regardless. She settled finally in the top parlor window, facing the next street and its row of identical townhomes. She did not feel welcome to be still at home. Daniel would curse out her idiocy, she knew, but he was not the bachelor she’d thought he was. From the sound of it, he hadn’t been for years. He could have a life and a
child
in this home, if she were out of it, but instead, Mr. Charington and his daughter could only come to visit. 

Why couldn’t it have gone differently?
She wondered, imagining Aspen’s laughing face, the crinkles around his eyes. 

“Miss Holcombe?” 

Jac turned, surprised, to see Mr. Charington hovering in the doorway, a wrapped bundle in his hands. He glanced around the room cautiously and smiled at her. 

“Oh! Come in,” Jac said, turning on the windowsill to face him fully. “I was only woolgathering.” 

Mr. Charington nodded and entered the room.

“Miss Holcombe, it occurs to me that your brother and I are taking a rather large risk with your reputation,” he started. Jac held up a hand. 

“It is not a concern,” she promised him. 

I have no prospects regardless,
she added to herself. Mr. Charington nodded. 

“Be that as it may, it is not equivocal. I propose that we make a pact, to be the least proper family in England,” he said. Jac smiled lightly, not sure of his meaning. 

“I did risk your reputation quite badly,” she replied, glad the air was cleared. Mr. Charington smiled easily and settled his package on the table beside her. 

“Open the package, my dear. It is yours, regardless, but do get back to me if you are amenable. Daniel would be quite relieved,” he said, and wandered out the way he’d come. 

Jac frowned, listening to the strange man making his way down the stairs. She pulled the package onto her lap and untied its ribbons. She loosened the folded thin paper to find a beautifully embroidered, deep green cloth beneath. Jac blinked, seeing a small box tucked in the middle of the fabric. She opened it cautiously, unsure what a man like Mr. Charington would give her, to find a simple, pressed cravat pin. 

Eastern Textile Company,
she read and felt her eyes widen as she glanced back at the green fabric. She pulled it out of the packaging and found herself holding a well-made embroidered
waistcoat. 

“No,” she breathed, seeing the matching breeches beneath it. 

A pact, to be the least proper family in England,
Jac thought, feeling her heart start to pound at the idea.

~~//~~

Aspen left his coffeehouse and pushed into the cold night air, lifting a hand to call his carriage toward him. It’d been a pathetic evening. He’d not wanted to talk on any subject or to any man. He kept thinking of Jack –
Miss Holcombe –
leaning over the table, joking about Norway, arguing against Sweden’s territory rights. 

Does that mean you consider the Arctic Circle to be a better place?
Aspen remembered, snorting out a laugh as he climbed into his carriage box. 

I brought her once,
Aspen growled, slamming the carriage door closed for himself. There was no reason it should affect every other time he went to Smyrna. He’d frequented this coffeehouse for years. He’d met hundreds of men there.

She was better company,
he thought, tipping his head back in his coach seat.

~~//~~

“You have nothing to lose,” Daniel reminded her yet again as he set out a small dish of cream for the cat at his study window. As always, the cat waited until he shut the window again before it leaped up onto the edge outside and started lapping at it.

“You do realize that is hardly a hopeful, uplifting thing to say, yes?” Jac confirmed, watching the little animal. “That I have no prospects anyway?”

Daniel shrugged.

“Maybe, but it means you can go fencing. You are bored in London, that much is obvious,” he added.

“And why are we still here?” she shot back, knowing the answer. He was trying to bore her into breaking society's rules again, she was sure of it.

“I like London. I find the cloying, gray, coal-filled air to have a mystifying effect, like it came from some far-off, romantic place,” Daniel replied, holding out a hand over his desk like a player in a hopefully ill-attended theater. “The streets, the crowds, the shops, the women, they all have this certain sense of...” he continued, rubbing his fingers as he thought.

“Disease?” Mr. Charington drawled from his seat by the fire, glancing up from his book.

“Yes, precisely,” Daniel laughed, leaning back into his seat. “It must be the bile,” he agreed.

Jac laughed quietly and tied off her embroidery. She took it off the circle clamp and folded the embroidered napkin into the basket on his desk. They had twelve, now, a full set. She needed a new project, Jac thought, placing the empty circle clamp on top of the finished fabric.

“That looks like the most mindnumbing task on the planet,” Daniel stated, picking up the finished napkin and examining her work.

“It is,” she agreed and he laughed, throwing it back into the basket as he stood up.

“Oh, come on,” he cajoled and stood up from his desk, presumably to fetch her pair of breeches. “Henry has accepted our idiocy,” he pointed out, gesturing to the man.

“Resignation and acceptance are not synonymous, Daniel,” Mr. Charington replied without looking up from flipping the page of his book. Jac bit her lip and looked down at the empty circle clamp.

“It's not over, Jac,” Daniel called. Jac shook her head. Aspen had ruined too much. She couldn't even touch the pianoforte without thinking of him, much less play a game of chess, and boredom only made her think of him more.

“Oh, hell,” she cursed aloud. Daniel grinned.

“Oh, hell,” Mr. Charington muttered to himself.

~~//~~

Aspen concentrated on the background, coloring the whole canvas a quiet, dull gray, remembering the way the air had clung to everything and blocked his sight. He inhaled slowly, trying to bring back the way the air had felt and smelled, trying to picture it around him again.

“Aspen?” his mother called. Aspen opened his eyes, the vision breaking. His mother hovered in the doorway, glancing about the room. She did not comment on the papers scattered about the floor, simply stepping over one of his quick sketches and taking her seat on the model’s stool again. Aspen set down his brush and started mixing more oil into his paint so it did not dry.