“Let me help you up,” Abigail said, “I don’t think His Grace will be pleased to find that you drowned in two feet of water under my watch.”
Amused, Cecilia replied, “I agree.”
Dressing in a nightgown, a slip of pink silk this time, and her white wrapper, she ate her light supper and then went back to her library. She lit every lamp, then settled the chessboard on the table and took a seat.
The pieces were so quaint, the king was short, rotund, with a mass of robes, while the queen stood tall and had robes reminiscent of Mary, the mother of Jesus.
Gazing at the Bishop, a man holding a chalice, she wondered aloud, “Who made these?”
“That would be a rather irreverent American my father knew,” Cassian strode into the room.
From the way his robe was wet in places, and his hair was damp, she knew he had bathed as well. He plucked up a pawn, a very short man in rags holding a dagger, “His name was Arthur Bramfield, and he had an odd sense of humor.”
“It seems like your father associated with a lot of Americans,” she noted.
Settling the piece down, he snorted, “Heamusedhimself with them.” Taking the seat across from her, he reclined. “It is how you women swoon over little animals, like you and that kitten of yours—” he paused, “—where is the little furball, by the by?”
“His mother came to retrieve him last night,” she said.
He shrugged while flicking a fingertip over the rook. “—Well, my father thought they were amusing and liked to hear about theirnewindustries and the tensions between the south and the north. I honestly had forgotten about this thing.”
“It was in one of the trunks from your father’s study,” she noted. “Do you want to play?”
Cassian inclined his head, his eyes coasting over the board before he met her eyes. He took the chessboard and nodded to the door. “Come with me. I have a way to make this more interesting.”
Her brows lowered as she stood and left the room. He took her down to the library and trimmed the lamps, then vanished again.
With him gone, she arranged the pieces on the board and then tried to remember some chess strategies. Cassian returned with a bottle of wine and two small glasses.
“Cassian…” she began cautiously, her eyes focusing on the bottle while he poured out a small amount. “Are you sure about this?”
“Yes,” he nodded boyishly. “You only take a drink when you lose a piece. And if your King is checkmated, you take three.”
“Chess is the worst game to play inebriated,” she told him.
“Do you have court tomorrow?” He asked. “A visit with the Prince Regent or a business meeting perhaps?”
She tempered a smile. “No.”
“Then you can play,” he shrugged, while looking at the board. “You are taking the first move?”
“I’ve found myself on the defensive side for far too long lately,” Cecilia replied, while shifting a pawn. “I think I would like to try my hand at being the aggressor for once.”
His brows ticked up, but he followed with his move. Ten minutes in, Cecilia had taken four drinks while Cassian had taken seven.
As he castled his King, he asked, “What did you do today?”
She blinked and surveyed the scant pieces on the board. “I went to visit a few ladies I’d met at Earl Rainsville’s home.”
Grimacing, she took his rook with her last Bishop, knowing he would take that in the next move. It did not matter; she had her eyes on the King and was so near.
“Really…” he did as she expected and took the Bishop. “May I ask who?”
She was in the middle of taking another drink and fighting back the swooping feeling growing in her head. “Lady Jane and Catherine,” she said honestly. “Whitmore had courted them before me.”
“And why did you do that?” Cassian asked as he nudged his lone Knight forward.
She shrugged, “Misery loves company, I suppose.”
