“It would be more seemly if you were not so avid about winning all the time. It strikes me as very unfeminine.”
Her heart began beating in her ears.
“So grasping. One doesn’t like to see that in a lady. If your father were in trade, if you had some profession like an actress or an opera singer, it might be more excusable. But the daughter of a duke? I would not wantmydaughters to be so . . . competitive.”
The flutters were gone, replaced by a horrible, sick feeling. He seemed to be waiting for her to say something. He did not like disagreement.
“Yes,” she got out.
“A duchess cannot be concerned with achievement. She must not be interested in the outcome, but in the journey, the interchange, the delight of the thing itself. Yes?”
“Yes.”
“I want you to prove yourself to me. I want you to show me you can lose.” Before she could interject, before she could remind him she knew about losing, he went on. “And I don’t care about those chess games you played years ago as a child. Yes, you lost, but that was due to your inadequacy. As you yourself said, you were determined to win despite your incompetence. Are you going to Lady Huxley’s whist party on Friday?”
She had not thought that far ahead in her life. Her whole focus had been on this afternoon. Preparing to be with him again. Being perfect for him so he wanted her the way she wanted to be wanted.
He went on. “I need you to go to the party and lose on Friday. I have offered to marry you. Now this is a little offering you might make me.”
“But Lady Huxley will be so angry—”
He turned. He looked at her for the first time since he had moved to sit next to her in the barouche.
“You’re unwilling to give me this small thing?”
“N-no, Your Grace.”
“Good.” He shifted his gaze back to the passing scenery of the park.
“Wonderful news, Danforth!” Sir Josiah was panting, having come in the front door and climbed the stairs to George’s study. George reflected he might have to find a room on the ground floor in the near future to play chess with Sir Josiah. Or they might have to shift the game to Sir Josiah’s rooms.
“Do tell, Sir Josiah.”
“Let me catch my breath.” Sir Josiah collapsed into a chair and George quickly poured him a small glass of claret. Sir Josiah gulped it down and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“What is the wonderful news?”
“There is . . .” Sir Josiah paused and drew in a deep breath.
George took the man’s glass and refilled it. What would Sir Josiah say? A pending bankruptcy for Thornwick? Enormous debt? A gambling habit?
“There is to be a chess tournament in August! Hosted by our own Audley Street Chess Club. Because Valois is coming from Paris. I think you planned to be back at your estate then, but surely you can travel up for the occasion, what? I wouldn’t be surprised if you might be the one playing Valois in the final.”
Normally, George would have nodded gravely, puffed up a bit by Sir Josiah’s blandishments about his skill, and would have agreed this was wonderful news. But not tonight.
“You praise me too much, Sir Josiah. Have you found out anything about the Thornwick duchy. Is it in arrears?”
“That’s wonderful news, too!” George held his breath. “The Thornwick duchy and the Montague family’s monies are sound as a bell. Your friend can have no worries about marrying His Grace on that front.”
Of course, Sir Josiah would think that was wonderful news. He was not privy to George’s true motivation for his inquiry. Blast.
“Nothing hidden you know about?”
“No, not in his finances.”
George downed his own glass of claret and then another. Damn it all to hell. But wait. Had there been something in Sir Josiah’s voice just then?
“Is there something else hidden about Thornwick?”
