Spinster's Gambit (28 page)

Miss Holcombe nodded quietly and Daniel strode out of the room, likely not going far.

“I can barely believe you're dressed as a man,” he said suddenly, hating the silence and Miss Holcombe choked out a laugh.

“Yes,” she said quietly before looking up to meet his eyes, her jaw set bravely, “though in my defense you would look just as foolish in a gown,” she said. Aspen coughed out a laugh despite himself and stared at her again, remembering Jack’s wry humor.

“Let us not discover that empirically,” he said and Miss Holcombe's eyes lit up with amusement.

“It seems only fair,” she said and Aspen covered his face with a hand.

“Oh, hell,” he said, allowing himself to curse in front of her. She laughed again and Aspen felt his heart rise, glad to have caused it.

Until he figured out what he was going to do about it and felt his heart leap further up to join his gut in strangling him. Miss Holcombe’s eyebrows rose slowly, her eyes sparkling.

“Miss Holcombe,” he started, before clearing his throat. It didn't help. “I cannot offer you much. I know I am..scarred,” he rasped, hating his burns more than he ever had. “However… May I call on you tomorrow?”

He opened his eyes, not remembering ever closing them, to see Miss Holcombe staring at him, her eyes wide. He had played his hand; he was going to court her. She did not answer and Aspen felt humiliation wash through him yet again.

“Oh, I've cocked this one up, haven't I?” he cursed, rubbing a hand down his face, trying to figure out how to get out of the room quickly, only to hear her laughter break out, a quiet, happy sound.

“No,” she said, and he looked up to find her beaming at him. Aspen felt his smile falter and winced. “I mean, yes,” she said, shaking her head rapidly, looking rather addled. “Yes, you may.” Aspen huffed out a quiet laugh, relieved.

Aspen forced himself to breathe, encouraged.

“Tomorrow?” he asked hopefully.

“That's fine,” she stated, smiling wider. Aspen nodded, glancing around the room. It was not even proper to look at her, dressed as she was. Still,
that's fine,
that meant yes, he could court her, and the idea of it made her
smile
like he was the best thing in the world. Aspen felt his heartbeat pick up nervously. He nodded and did his best to smile at her without looking at her tight breeches.

Nervous happiness bloomed through him, watching her, and he grinned to himself, as privately as he could, when she moved her eyes to stare at the ceiling for a moment, blushing. Aspen waited until she looked back at him and nodded once before escaping the room.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

His palms were sweating by the time he got up to her front step. The door opened as he raised his hand to knock and the butler took his calling card and showed him to the drawing room as if he had not been expected. Aspen did not know whether to stand or sit and ended up perched at the front of his chair, ready to leap off it again. He remembered Jack always sitting like a woman, his legs crossed beneath his chair, his hands clasped in his lap.

Of course.
He laughed to himself, remembering Jack trying to mimic him and stretch his legs out straight, only to squawk and almost fall off his chair. Her chair.

He was still chuckling when Miss Holcombe walked in.

“Good morning,” he greeted awkwardly, feeling his thoughts stutter. She was wearing a deep blue dress with matching gloves, the bodice molded tight against her breasts. He thought he’d seen her in the gown before and wondered why his mouth had not gone dry at the sight then. She smiled at him, her eyes alight with energy and good humor and Aspen gestured wildly at the door behind her. 

“I brought my carriage,” he blurted and she blinked, looking a bit confused. “I thought, a walk, in Hyde Park?” he said, cursing himself and wishing he’d thought of something original, though he’d spent all night turning in his sheets unable to think of anything better.

She sat down facing backwards in his coach again and Aspen forced himself to breathe, reminding himself that, at the end of the day, she already knew him. Her maid squeezed in beside her, facing backwards as well, though she glanced back and forth between them, clearly baffled. 

I did not know her as a woman. It was different,
he thought, keeping his legs pressed together carefully to avoid brushing against her. She ran a hand down her skirts nervously and he did not know what to say. 

“So .. do you have any more news of Norway?” she asked finally. Aspen blew out a heavy breath, grateful for the conversation, even if it wasn’t precisely conducive to a courtship.

“Sweden is demanding that everyone and their mothers disassociate themselves from Norway and its new king,” Aspen replied. “Norway is of course requesting recognition as a sovereign nation by our government, though I doubt that will pass.” 

Why are we talking about this?
Aspen thought desperately, watching the maid glance between the two of them, only looking more baffled by the moment.

This does not look like a courtship at all.

“Is the Treaty of Kiel so well supported?” she asked. Aspen shook his head, trying to figure out how to escape the conversation, though he didn’t know what to replace it with.

I am not a romantic. 

“Trade-wise, it’s best to stay neutral,” Aspen answered and Miss Holcombe nodded her understanding. 

“Yes, but economically speaking, it’s best to support Sweden, surely. If Britain is forced to choose, Norway cannot hope to have our support. Does Norway realize that, do you think?” she asked. Aspen blinked. 

She’s truly interested,
he realized, feeling something relax in his chest. He nodded and leaned forward, letting himself get caught up in the conversation. The maid could think what she would.

Aspen helped Miss Holcombe from the carriage. She shot him a sly glance and Aspen had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing, remembering how the woman leaped from her coach in front of his home. 

The maid fell politely behind and Aspen let himself breathe, finally relaxing. The April air was crisp and cold, beginning to smell like spring, the scent of wet dirt and plant life faint in the air. The grass was wet with past rain and he kept to the walkway carefully, though Miss Holcombe did not seem particularly concerned about her dress.

“So do you think Norway is truly fighting for independence or simply a return to Danish rule?” she asked, clasping her hands before her. Aspen smiled to himself and settled back into the conversation, trying to remember for a moment what it was like to walk the same path with Miss Musgrave.

“I believe it is not one nation we are talking about. Prince Christian Frederick is not king and yet he is declaring the independence of his nation. The King signed the Treaty of Kiel and stands behind it and yet the nation is independent? That is no kind of law. We cannot talk about the desires of one political entity any more than we can say that Christian Frederick is the legal regent for his nation,” Aspen answered.

This is easy,
he thought, grinning as she frowned, clearly disagreeing with his argument. In time they turned a corner in the lightly wooded park, finally hidden from view, and Aspen pulled a cigar box from his pocket, hoping he was not about to make a horrible mistake. 

“Miss Holcombe,” he said, interrupting her thoughtful silence. She glanced toward him and down at the box. Her eyes lit up with excitement and he knew he had chosen correctly. “You said you had never smoked, and you wanted to try,” he said, pulling a cigar from its silver box. 

Miss Holcombe bit her lip and met his eyes, something like admiration shining there. Aspen looked away, feeling something warm uncurl in his chest. The maid had not followed them into the woods just yet. A smart woman. Aspen smiled and pulled a matchbook from his waistcoat pocket. 

“Put this end in your mouth,” he instructed, handing Jacoline the cigar. She obeyed, looking a bit manic, smiling around the large roll. He lit his match and leaned toward her, hoping she would not notice how his hands shook. He lit the end of the cigar and leaned back, watching as she held it in her fingers. She choked immediately and coughed, pulling it from her mouth and glaring at it like it had purposefully offended her. 

“Why these are horrible!” she said, coughing again. Aspen laughed and held out a hand.

“I’ll take it back,” he offered, wondering if it would be considered too forward to share a cigar with a woman. He certainly had never heard any etiquette rules on the subject. Miss Holcombe turned her glare on him.

“No!” she insisted, returning the cigar to her mouth and inhaling. She came up choking again and Aspen shook his head at her. 

“Why insist on it?” he asked, smiling and she grinned at him.

“Because then I can rightfully declare that I am never doing this again,” she replied, coughing, and returned the cigar to her mouth. Aspen laughed and nodded.

“Well, at the very least, do not inhale it. It’s not like breathing through a tube. You want to puff at it, hold it in your mouth, and exhale,” he said and continued forward along the path, listening to her choke and cough alongside him. She finally puffed at it properly and began to smoke with relative ease, her fast gait picking up again. 

“Why do you do this?” she asked, taking the cigar from her mouth to stare at it again. Aspen laughed and shook his head. “It tastes like burnt grass.” 

“I don’t. I stole these from Daniel,” he said, holding the box up in his hand. She laughed then, her voice hearty and full, and Aspen smiled, unable to contain his delight at the sound.

“You stole them?” she asked, still laughing and Aspen nodded.

When I asked him for your hand,
he thought, feeling his nerves pick up again. He wished he’d planned for a different day, he thought, not wanting to ruin the perfect morning. He glanced at her and saw her inhale heavily, only to cough out a pathetic kind of snort, and smiled to himself, his confidence growing. 

Breathe,
he reminded himself, inhaling sharply.

“Miss Holcombe,” he started, before clearing his throat. It didn't help.

“Would you take this back?” she interrupted, handing him the cigar. Aspen took it, smiling at how chagrined she looked. He exhaled heavily and started again.

“I hope you do not think me too hasty. I know it has not been long, that I have known you as you are, but we have been friends much longer. I have come to realize that and I want to teach you how to fence if you will continue teaching me the Queen's Gambit, you never finished your explanation after all, if -” Aspen cursed himself and stopped, forcing himself to inhale again. “I am not a romantic, and I know that it is not the highest dream of any woman to marry me, but I must say how much I miss having Mr. Jack Holcombe in my life and how pleased I'd be if you would consent to be my wife.”

He opened his eyes, not remembering ever closing them, to see Miss Holcombe staring at him, her eyes wide.

I just proposed to Mr. Jack Holcombe,
Aspen thought and felt his face heat. She smiled back and Aspen found himself staring at her, the cigar limp in his hand. 

She’s going to say yes,
he thought, his smile growing over his face slowly, as her eyes lit with joy. 

“Yes,” she said, beaming at him. “Oh, a hundred times, yes, Your Grace.”

Aspen smiled back at her, the muscles in his face beginning to ache. 

“Aspen,” he corrected and her smile widened further. She laughed lightly, her eyes crinkling. 

“Jac,” she replied, taking back the cigar, and Aspen chuckled.

I just proposed to Jacoline Holcombe,
he thought and she pulled in a heavy inhale from her cigar. She coughed and laughed again and smiled at him and he didn’t think he’d ever done anything smarter than give the woman a cheroot and ask for her hand.

~~//~~

Wedding days are horrible,
Aspen thought as he finally got out of his best clothing. He'd gotten up too early, stood in a church until he was expecting the end of mankind, greeted every member of each of their apparently extensive families, only to return to her home to eat a very late breakfast with an only slightly smaller audience. Finally they'd managed to escape to his home to introduce her to his staff, only to sit in the salon, unable to move until supper, greeting the longest chain of uninvited well-wishers London had ever been cruel enough to produce. He wasn't sure he'd spoken a word in private to Miss Holcombe – Her Grace the Duchess of Aspen, now - since the carriage ride directly following the wedding when he'd complimented her dress and she'd smiled happily and thanked him.

And, Hell, he had desperately wanted to talk to her before tonight started. It was a damn good thing he had an excellent valet for Aspen knew for a fact his hands were shaking too much to undo his own buttons. Lord knew how he was going to undo hers.

~~//~~

Aspen dismissed his valet for the night and strode straight for the connecting door, knowing it'd be ten times more difficult if he hesitated and let himself think about it. He opened the door to her room and stopped short. She was sitting at her desk in only her chemise, pulling shaking fingers through her hair. She glanced at him and gave him a weak smile. He did his best to return it but didn't think his face managed to move at all.

“I am starting to think you have too many family members,” she said and he blinked, confused. “Surely you could have killed a few rather than make me meet them all.”

Aspen felt himself grin and watched her body relax, softening into her chair. His loins tightened and he shifted his stance slightly, hoping she wouldn't notice.

“I thought the Queen frowned on such tactics,” he said and she smiled, the expression lightening her face.

“Well, true, but that's hardly reason to be inconsiderate,” she replied and he laughed, feeling himself start to relax as well. Which was half a miracle when he was standing in what used to be his mother's room wearing nothing but a robe in front of a virgin wife. But somehow, this was the virgin wife whom he'd taught to play billiards and showed around a coffeehouse. They would never have the conventional relationship of a modern man and his wife. This was better.