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“YOU KNOW THE FUNNY thing about chess. Kings can only move one space, but the queens can move any way they want.” Lady Margaret entered the library, trying desperately to keep a straight face as Lord Harrington looked up.
“What is your point, Meg?”
“I think, Charlie, that it means you’d better watch out. Jane will beat you yet.” She poked Lord Harrington in the side and he jumped. Jane laughed, encouraging Meg who did it again.
“Meg, I am not above throwing you in the lake.” Lord Harrington warned as she poked him again. “Meg...”
“Very well, I’ll behave if you do.” She sat to watch the game while fiddling with her necklace.
Lord Harrington watched Meg out of the corner of his eye as he addressed Jane. “And now, Miss Shaw, before we go much farther we ought to wager.”
“I am much more well versed on wagers now, my lord, and I have found the perfect reward for when I win.” Jane moved her knight and propped her head on her hand. Meg started giggling.
“And what would that be?” Lord Harrington tried unsuccessfully to keep his lips from curling.
“I should like to name Lord Petersham’s foal. The one you said you were allowed to name.” Meg laughed even harder.
“Why would you want to name him?” He moved his king, and her mouth twitched.
“Because you’ll name him something awful like ‘Princess’ and then no horse will be safe from the pair of you.”
“She’s got you there, Charlie.”
Lord Harrington smirked at Meg’s response, but kept his eyes on Jane.
Jane looked at the board, confused by the emotions that swirled up in response to his looks. “And you, my lord?”
“I would wish...” And here he moved a pawn aside. “...for the first two dances with you at the ball.”
Startled, she looked up as Meg gasped.
“But, my lord, surely you mean....” Jane’s face felt hot and in confusion she looked at Meg who nodded and asked what she was thinking.
“Charlie, have you not already asked Cynthia for those?”
“No, I have not. In fact, I have not asked her for a single dance as of yet. And why my little sister should worry whether I dance with her is entirely out of hand.” Frowning, he took his turn.
“Oh Charlie, don’t be such a pig-headed bull.”
He laughed. “I don’t think it’s possible to be both, scamp.”
“Of course it is. Will- Mr. McInnes is both quite constantly.” At that, Jane laughed too, and their awkward wager was set aside for the moment.
“Who is winning?” They all turned to see Mr. Lawrence come forward to view the board.
Jane bit her lip; their encounters lately were more frequent, and just this morning he had asked permission to call her by her first name. The result was an intimacy she was not quite used to. She carefully tried to banish the delicate situation with her own remark.
“I hope to, Mr. Lawrence, despite Lord Harrington’s reputation.” She exchanged smiles with him, but as her face felt too quick to blush, tried keeping her eyes on the board once more.
“I am astonished at your bravery, Jane, for I know enough stories about Charles and George to keep me from playing chess with either of them.” He took a seat to observe, and Jane, who blushed to the roots of her hair at his use of her first name, kept her attention on her planned strategy.
“Miss Shaw,” Lord Harrington spoke her name with some deliberation, “I am not sure that was very wise of you.” He gave her a look as he absconded with her bishop.
She pushed her triumph into her stomach as he fell for her trap, but carefully avoided his eyes. “Perhaps.”
“Oh Jane, you must beat him someday, for I am sure he needs the comeuppance, and anyway, I should like that beautiful foal to be named something wonderful.”
Meg leaned forward and Mr. Lawrence looked as if he might speak. However he was interrupted by an exultant “Hah!” from Jane, who sat back, a smug look on her face. “That, my lord, is checkmate.” Her grin grew bigger as Lord Harrington studied the board.
“I say, Ja- Miss Shaw. That is...” He moved her pieces back a few steps and played it out again. “What an excellent strategy that was. I was entirely taken in. Congratulations.” He held out his hand and she took it.
“Jane, that is fantastic! And you, Charlie, it is about time you met your match.” Meg looked at him triumphantly, but he looked only at Jane as he said, “Yes, it is.”
Jane, blushing once more, looked over at Mr. Lawrence who looked at Lord Harrington and back at her. She hoped he did not comprehend their growing friendship, but he only added, “Well done, Jane.”
They stood to leave, Meg prattling on about different names for the chosen foal, while Mr. Lawrence left to find a particular volume he wanted, when Lord Harrington called her back.
“Miss Shaw, may I have a moment?” He stood there, his hands at his sides.
She nodded at Meg, who rolled her eyes at her brother, and made Jane promise to meet her to see the puppies.
“My lord?” Jane moved closer to Lord Harrington feeling like a chess piece herself as she noted Mr. Lawrence eyeing them from across the library.
“I had wondered if you still might allow me the first two dances at tomorrow’s ball.” His right hand clenched and unclenched and Jane looked at his face, which had the same intense look she had seen so often on him lately.
“I am not sure that would be wise, my lord, for I am sure it is expected that...” here she floundered, not knowing how to explain that gossip from his mother was something to pay attention to.
“Miss Shaw, if your only objections are unfounded gossip, then let me assure you they are truly unfounded.”
She thought on Cynthia Pratt’s many conversations where she had seemed so sure of the future and looked back into Lord Harrington’s face which seemed much closer than it should. Again.
Sighing, she looked down. “I would be honored, my lord.”
“Thank you.” And with a bow, he departed without a backward glance. She looked over to Mr. Lawrence whose back was turned to her and wondered how much he could have overheard. With another deep sigh, and the strangest compulsion to throw her hands in the air, she left.
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DEAR FRIEND,
I am delighted with Lord Harrington’s efforts to modernize his estate and tenant farms. I’m not privy to the particulars, of course, but he seems a very capable and compassionate landowner which is to be commended. What do you feel has motivated this change, for I cannot help but feel he is strongly pressed to do more. I do not mean to put him in an unkind light, merely acknowledge that there seems an urgency in his address when he speaks of the future.
In regard to the other matter, I must tell you that you are the second person to ask my opinion of Miss Pratt, and while I understand Lord Harrington’s motives, I cannot pretend to understand yours, especially if you are whom I suspect. Instead, I will tell you a story and perhaps that will tell you what you want to know.
When I was 14, my father bought me a dress. He had no idea what was in fashion, and later my mother mentioned he was confused at me being nearly grown up and had found himself at a loss at how to deal with me. As a result, I now owned a frothy pink dress that my mother declared I looked dreadful in. I wore it that evening to make my father happy and to let him know how much his thoughtfulness had meant to me. I had only ever been told I was an amiable little girl, and once very darling, so to be told I was beautiful and by the man I most admired in the whole world meant I was delighted with my appearance. However, later, my mother told me not to wear pink in public if I could possibly avoid it. I was astonished, for hadn’t my father told me I was beautiful? She explained what a father’s love could do for his eyesight, and frankly told me she would never order another pink dress for me in the future. This afternoon, Miss Pratt told me to wear the pink dress my aunt had made over for me as it “does wonders for my complexion”. I cannot tell you in so many words what you wish to know, only that I find I tread very lightly around her.
Jane
***
“PETERSHAM! STILL CAN’T believe Trapper threw you, what?”
Lord Petersham’s eyes narrowed as he regarded Reggie across the dinner table. “Unlike you, Reg, I expect certain things from my horse. Stopping to take luncheon is not one of them.”
Meg was giggling in her napkin as most of the table stopped to listen.
“Oh, he’s fine if you know how to handle him.” Sir Reginald sat back in his chair. “I expect you just have a hard time with the rejection. Or at least that bruised rump of his does!” And with a guffaw, he looked about at the rest of the party.
Lady Harrington’s eyebrows had risen so high, they built a roof. Taking a cue from their hostess, the guests each turned back to their plates with better attention.
Lord Petersham mumbled something more about ‘rejection’, his face focused entirely on his fork, and shoved a bite in his mouth.
Jane looked past Mr. Lawrence to observe Mary who had gone white, her mouth set as she carefully picked at her dinner. Her gaze moved back to Lord Harrington who had also noticed Mary’s reaction. He looked at Jane and raised one eyebrow. She gave a short nod and went back to her dinner.
Miss Pratt pressed her lips together, her eyes moving from Lord Harrington to Jane, where she settled her glower, her appetite forgotten.
Dinner soon ended with Mr. Pratt and Sir Reginald arguing about the correct way to handle horses with a curricle. Barely containing her annoyance, Lady Harrington declared it was time for the ladies to leave, but rather than stay behind, the men followed immediately. Meg and Mr. McInnes came up with such a variety of ways to solve Mr. Pratt and Sir Reginald’s argument, from a straw hat and a baby lamb (Meg’s suggestion) to a horse whip and a mug of ale (Mr. McInnes’ idea), that everyone was in good spirits by the time they entered the drawing room.
Tables had been set up for cards when Miss Pratt sidled up to Lord Harrington, her eyes a tempting azure that sparkled with determination. “My lord, I had hoped you would partner me for a game of whist.”
“Instead, Miss Pratt, I had wondered if you would prefer to join me in a game of chess.” Lady Harrington’s head swiveled to look at him, her eyes pinched.
Miss Pratt’s jaw dropped, but she quickly retained her composure. “Of course, my lord. I would be honored.”
“I beg your pardon. I assumed you knew how to play, but if not, of course we could join them for whist.”
“Oh, I assure you I do know how to play chess, but you are sure to win of course, for you are much more clever than I.” Her hand was on his arm and her face was back in place as she said this. Lord Harrington raised his eyebrow at Lord Petersham, but he merely grinned back at him and moved closer to watch.
The game started out easily, with Miss Pratt insisting she would do well with black. No wagers were made, and the conversation stayed comfortably on the banal.
That is, until Lord Petersham spoke. “Miss Shaw, have you decided on a name for the foal?” He smirked as he looked at Jane’s face which had gone pink. She should have guessed they would have spoken of her, but the realization was still quite overwhelming. Lord Harrington smiled at the board while Miss Pratt casually included Jane in her peripheral.
Jane forced confidence in her tone. “I hadn’t quite decided, my lord.”
“Make sure it is a good one, for Charlie was set on something boring like Daisy.” He paused and waited for Miss Pratt’s curiosity to get the better of her.
“The foal?” Miss Pratt’s question hung in the air, and Lord Petersham waited to let his brother answer it, a smile on his face.
“Miss Shaw won a wager and as a result will be allowed the naming of Rascal’s foal.”
Miss Pratt’s head rose even higher, her neck accidentally at great advantage. “A wager?” She was fully looking at Jane now whose face had gone red. She took a breath and answered herself.
“I beat Lord Harrington at chess.” Her voice was bursting with pride.
“You beat Charles? At chess?” Lady Harrington’s questioning eyebrows were directed at her son.
Lord Harrington ignored the unasked questions. “I trust her naming will be better than Georgie’s.”
Jane carefully turned back to Miss Makon and their interrupted conversation and pretended she couldn’t feel several pairs of eyes on her. “Mary, you must tell me when the orphanage is presenting their play.”
Mary obliged her with details about the orphan’s annual play they put on at each harvest festival. Jane had just offered to help sew the costumes when they were interrupted by, “Checkmate!” from Miss Pratt, who looked smugly at Jane.
“By George, she did it.” Charles looked at George, who was grinning. “Miss Pratt, well done.”
She smiled back. “Thank you. It’s really a shame we did not wager, for I should very much have liked the naming of your foal.”
Jane bit her lip but continued her conversation with Mary. She found herself leaning back, however, distracted when Lord Harrington came over to Lord Petersham and said, “Well done, George. But as I said, you would have had my approval anyway.”
“Thanks, Charlie. It was underhanded, but now we know, eh?”
“Well, I confess I held back a bit, for I was as curious as you to know if Miss Shaw was correct.”
George cuffed him in the arm. “Sure you did.” Shaking his head, he moved to Miss Makon’s side.
Lord Harrington chuckled, then began his farewells for the evening, his limp barely noticeable as he left.
Jane waited only a few minutes more despite it being early. She was tired, and the day had worn her out more than anticipated. She stepped out into the hallway, but before she reached the stairs, she saw Lord Harrington leaning against the wall, his face pinched.
“Miss Shaw.” He rubbed his arm where his brother had playfully hit him.
She nodded. “My lord.”
“I was wondering if you had planned on a walk tomorrow.” Simmons came out of nowhere bearing a cane.
“Tomorrow? I...yes.”
Lord Harrington flinched, his knuckles white as he adjusted his weight to the cane. “And when might you be out conversing with the trees?” His smile seemed in such contrast with his obvious pain, that she stumbled.
“I...suppose I would be there around 8 o’clock.”
“Excellent. Good evening.” And with a quick bow, he moved to ascend the stairs.
Jane watched him for a moment, then moved toward the library to hopefully retrieve a note. She was rewarded with another letter that said only her Christian name on the outside, and smiling, she made her way to her room.
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JANE,
I believe Lord Harrington is trying to be a good man and thoughtful landlord, but I also believe that is coupled with your perceived urgency for reasons unknown to any but him.
Your story did answer my question better than I had anticipated. I must tell you, though, I believe men sometimes understand a woman looks well in a particular dress, but we cannot attest to what it might do for your complexion. For example, the navy dress you wore at dinner yesterday made your hair shine and you looked very lovely, but I cannot attest to its properties of afflicting complexions.
I am curious to know what face you would put forth for my identity.
Your friend
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SHE SMILED, INDEED, fairly glowed. Her hair had shined and someone had noticed. It was amazing how a compliment, even an anonymous one, could have such an effect. Before her thoughts could distract her further, she blew out her candle, and fell back into her pillow.