Chapter 5 #2
Edmund looked down at the board. He studied the trapped king for a long moment. He looked at his knight, resting perfectly safely on the side of the board. He could have moved it. He could have blocked her rook entirely. He had seen the move three turns ago; she was certain of it.
Instead, very slowly, he reached out and tipped the black king over with his index finger.
“Well played, Miss Ashwell,” he said.
Corinna stared at the fallen piece. A strange prickle of irritation washed over her. He had lost, but there was a distinct sense that he had allowed her to win. He had held back at the very last second.
“You did not use your knight,” Corinna said, narrowing her eyes.
“The king was already lost,” Edmund said smoothly.
“The king was only lost because you surrendered the square,” Corinna insisted, leaning slightly closer. “Why would you hold back?”
Edmund looked at her, his expression turning unreadable. “Because some games are not meant to be won, Miss Ashwell. They are merely meant to be played until the time runs out.”
Not knowing irritated her far more than actually losing would have. She had not meant to enjoy playing with him. She had not meant to enjoy watching him almost lose his composure over a simple wooden board. The pause between them stretched a fraction too long. The silence grew intimate.
Edmund cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair, smoothing his expression back into the blank mask of a servant, effectively closing the invisible door between them.
“Chess is a terribly inappropriate game for a lady,” Vivienne called out from the sofa, shattering the quiet bubble.
Vivienne stood up and walked over to the table, linking her arm possessively through Julian’s arm. She looked down at the chessboard with absolute disdain.
“It requires entirely too much frowning,” Vivienne continued.
She offered a small laugh that sounded remarkably like a pane of glass shattering on a stone floor.
“It is no wonder Corinna has never been asked to dance twice at the same ball. Gentlemen do not wish to dance with a woman who is plotting military strategy in her head.”
Corinna kept her eyes firmly on the board, fighting the urge to throw the boxwood rook at her sister’s perfect nose. “I am sure you are correct, Vivienne.”
Vivienne turned her attention back to Julian, successfully redirecting the spotlight.
“Do you not agree, my lord? A lady should concern herself with beauty. Speaking of beauty, my mother and I are visiting the modiste this afternoon. I am having a gown made of the most exquisite cerulean blue silk. It is the exact color of a clear summer sky.”
Julian smiled brightly. “Cerulean is a marvelous color. It requires a very specific type of light to truly appreciate the depth of the pigment. I have always found that color fascinating.”
Aunt Phoebe walked over, holding a fresh cup of tea. She tilted her head, suddenly looking very interested. “You speak like a man who understands pigments, my lord. Do you paint?”
Julian’s face lit up with genuine enthusiasm.
“Oh, yes. I find oils to be the most expressive medium. The light in France is absolutely incredible for capturing landscapes. When I was painting in the streets of Paris, the way the afternoon sun hit the stone buildings was simply glorious. You have to mix the ochre with just a touch of lead white to get it exactly right on the canvas.”
Julian froze. His dark eyes went completely wide.
Corinna watched the wealthy Earl of Ravenswood stare at her aunt in sudden panic. He had just spoken of mixing raw pigments in the dirty streets of Paris like a common tradesman. It was a highly specific detail that a wealthy English peer would rarely, if ever, experience firsthand.
The entire drawing room went dead silent. Eleanor looked confused. Vivienne looked as though she had misheard him.
Edmund stood up from the chess table with alarming speed. He intervened in a smooth, commanding voice that completely dominated the room, drawing every eye to him.
“The earl is incredibly passionate about his patronage of the arts,” Edmund said loudly.
He stepped firmly between Julian and Phoebe, acting as a physical shield.
“During our time abroad, His Lordship spent many hours walking the streets of Paris, closely observing the local painters. He has a brilliant memory for the exact details of their work. He often speaks as though he held the brush himself. It is a testament to his appreciation for their labor.”
Julian swallowed hard and nodded quickly, recovering his posture with a highly strained smile. “Yes. Exactly. My secretary knows me too well. I am merely an enthusiastic observer of the French masters. I leave the actual messy work to the professionals. I would absolutely ruin my cuffs.”
Corinna watched the exchange with utter fascination. For five brief seconds, the humble secretary had taken absolute command of the room to rescue his wealthy employer from a conversational disaster.
What a very strange dynamic, Corinna thought, her eyes darting between the two men. The servant protects the master, and the master looks to the servant for permission to breathe.
Shortly after the near disaster, Julian checked his gold pocket watch and declared they were late for an appointment at their club. Edmund bowed stiffly, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the floor, and the two men made their polite excuses and departed the townhouse with a brisk urgency.
The moment the heavy front door closed, Vivienne twirled around the drawing room, sighing dramatically. “He is absolutely perfect. Did you see the way he looked at me? We shall be engaged by the end of the month. I must ensure the cerulean gown is finished immediately.”