She had to thank Rookdean: he’d been wonderful. When all focus had been directed on her after Lady Pinesdown’s spiteful query, she had wanted to shrink under the table. All her self-conscious nervousness came back when confronted with Lady Pinesdown’s beautiful face, framing a question that Clara had no idea how to answer. In retrospect, she should have come up with an excuse beforehand for her bruised lip, but most people were too well-mannered to comment, and she had been heavily guarded tonight by Jack and Rook’s uncle.
There was another reason to thank Rookdean, she realised. Only he could have moved the place names, and then asked his closest companions to look after her. It was extremely kind, and something that she hadn’t really equated with him. Previously, when they had attended the same balls and routs, he had always seemed rather… fierce and domineering. That side of him attracted her, but she had to acknowledge that, his sympathetic manner to her plight this evening had made her feel softer towards him, dissipating her previous annoyance at his withdrawal from the kiss.
Hehadglowered a lot tonight though, especially when she’d laughed at Jack’s antics. Could he be… jealous? It was rather a lovely notion, she mused, but one that didn’t hold. He’d been seated next to a beauty. If he had wanted to talk to her, he could have sat her nearer to himself at the table, and not next to Jack, the biggest flirt in the county.
Jack, she conceded, was delightful, but he didn’t impart on her that…something, like Rookdean did. Instead, he was rather like a naughty brother, causing outrage and laughter on purpose – she was sure those stories had been trotted out over and over again for the ladies. Still, she had been glad of his company, especially when he had saved her wineglass and patted her hand under the table in reassurance, as Rookdean had started his tale.
And what a tale it had been! Clara had been completely forgotten, as Rookdean transformed himself into master story teller, like a bard of old, enrapturing his audience with laughter and sadness. She was sure most people had forgotten she was actually involved, her part ended up being so small.
The door opened, and the two other girls, whom Clara had been conversing with, stopped and smoothed down their gowns. Serene, calm expressions came over their faces which, just moments ago, had been so animated. They both adjusted the same ringlet in their hair, and Clara grimaced. Thus, probably the first expression that the men saw when they entered was Clara’s frowning countenance and her creased gown.
Jack strode over immediately, bowed, flipped his exquisite, dark blue coat tails, and sat next to her and the two girls, Charity and… Mercy, she thought their names were.
“Lord Winterbourne, a pleasure,” Clara murmured.
“It’s Jack, remember. Keep thinking my departed father’s behind me when I’m called that. And it’s always more informal at house parties, you know. Now, introduce me to your lovely companions. I saw the ‘Three Graces’ sitting here and had to come straight over.”
Clara rolled her eyes – he really was the worst – but the girls blushed and twittered with excitement, while Clara did the introductions. She really couldn’t blame them. He had the reputation of a rake, that was true, but it was also well-known that he never debauched innocents. Most mothers felt reasonably safe leaving their daughters conversing with him – it was probably good practice!
Her eyes left Jack, as he flirted with the other two ‘Graces’ and wandered beyond him to watch Rookdean enter the room with some other gentlemen. His eyes seemed to glitter as they swept the room, before resting on her, and Clara shivered with the intensity of them. Before she could draw breath, the blue gaze moved on and settled on Lady Pinesdown, holding court in the corner of the room. She watched as he strode to join them, and Clara let out a sigh of … relief or disappointment? She wasn’t quite sure.
“Clara?”
“Oh, er, what?” She looked into Jack’s amused, dark eyes.
“I mean, pardon? My lord…Jack…er,” she stumbled.
“You should just call me ‘darling’, and then it wouldn’t be so difficult.” The girls gasped at his audaciousness and then tittered, as Jack winked and Clara laughed.
“I was wool-gathering, ’tis true. What was your question…Jack?” she said deliberately.
“Ah, she breaks my heart. Do you play chess, Clara?”
She did. Very well in fact, as it was her uncle’s favourite game, and in the end the pupil had become the master. Uncle Daniel had bemoaned the day he’d ever taught his niece, eyes twinkling with laughter. He also taught her to play to her strengths – including being female.
“I do Jack. Unfortunately, I have not practised much lately.”True. “But I can remember the basics.”True. “I’m afraid I will not be at my best.”Utter lie, she would play to win– she crossed two left fingers behind her back at the falsehood. Clara fluttered her eyelashes innocently, and Jack looked nonplussed. Probably going too far, she accepted.
“Well,” he said, “Thought we’d have a game, yes? I believe there is cards and pianoforte playing tonight, but I’m sure we can find a quiet corner.”
“The game might not last that long, Jack,” Clara sighed innocently.
“Just do your best, Clara love.” And he moved off to find a table and a corner. The two girls moaned in disappointment as he left, but they were soon joined by a young officer, and equilibrium was restored.
She followed Jack, and couldn’t keep the smile from her face. She enjoyed chess: the chase, the capture of pieces and the tactical thinking. She rarely got to play nowadays, it wasn’t particularly seen as a ‘game for ladies’, by her aunt, and she would relish this opportunity.
Jack had indeed found them a secluded corner. It was in a large bay window, but burgundy, velvet drapes at either side gave it an intimate feel. Two chairs were opposite each other, with a beautiful, oval, rosewood and brass inlaid games tables in the centre; it was exquisite. Jack was setting out the chess figures – they looked to be carved jade – and the most stunning things Clara had ever seen.
“The pieces, Jack. Where did they come from?”
“My father acquired them when he travelled in India. Gifted to him by some Maharaja, but for what I know not. The stone is jade, with silver inlay,” a deep voice answered from behind her.
Rookdean. He was standing close. She could smell his cologne of frankincense - musky, spicy and masculine.
“All done, Rook?” Jack questioned with a raised eyebrow.
“I believe there won’t be a repetition.”
“Good, good. Now, I have suddenly realised that I have to… be somewhere. Rook, you’ll take my place with Clara, will you not? You can have a good ‘conversation’, during the game.” With that he whisked himself off, leaving both Rook and Clara staring at his retreating back. Clara with bewilderment, and Rook, with at first anger, and then with an exasperated shake of the head.
