This Duchess of Mine(53)

“Chess isn’t as much fun as dancing, eh?” Feddrington had the jovial look of a man who thought a woman didn’t truly have the brains to play such a cerebral game as chess.

“I’m looking forward to playing you,” Jemma said, meaning it.

“Your fame precedes you,” Feddrington said, “but maybe I can still teach you a thing or two. I beat that fellow Philidor when he was here, and he’s reckoned to be the best that France has to offer.”

One of the bystanders snorted, and Feddrington threw him an unfriendly look. “Of course, Philidor beat me a time or two as well. Chess is like that. Even the best can’t win all the time.”

Jemma smiled and moved a pawn. A short time later Feddrington was frowning, and the circle of onlookers around her had grown deeper. “I call that a smothered mate,” she told him sweetly. “And speaking of mates, how is the duke faring?”

Mr. Parsloe appeared to escort Feddrington from the seat across from her, and the footman leapt to action, resetting the board.

“His Grace has just won his second game,” Mr. Parsloe said. “He is now playing Mr. Pringle. May I introduce your next opponent, Dr. Belsize? Dr. Belsize is one of our very best players in the second tier.”

Dr. Belsize was a cheerful-looking gentleman wearing a pair of large spectacles. “I do believe we’ve met,” Jemma said, racking her brain.

“I’m afraid not,” Dr. Belsize said. “But I have common enough features, Your Grace. One nose, two eyes, all the rest of it. People often think I’m a long-lost uncle.”

“You’re a scientist! I heard you give a talk at the Royal Society.”

“I’m honored to think of Your Grace as a member of the audience. And now I am unsurprised to find your interests extend to chess, unlike many of your fair sex. I find that science and chess are intrinsically related.”

Mr. Parsloe inspected the board and stepped back. Jemma knew within a move or two that Dr. Belsize was a formidable opponent. There was actually a moment when she hesitated, thinking she would have difficulty disentangling herself if he…but that was thinking five moves ahead, so she made the play.

He missed the opportunity, and the chance to make the game a truly competitive one. Jemma swallowed a little sigh. This was why she preferred not to play strangers, for the most part.

“You are now on to the third tier,” Mr. Parsloe confirmed a few minutes later. “Would Your Grace wish to rise and refresh yourself, perhaps?”

Jemma stood up amid a chorus of congratulations. She looked around for Elijah, and spotted him sitting opposite a man with a mustache like a kitchen brush. “What’s the next step?” she asked Parsloe.

“Third tier games are played strictly by hierarchy,” he said. “Since you last beat Mr. Belsize, who is rated number sixteen, you will play the next available player with a lower number.”

“And His Grace?” she asked, nodding at Elijah.

“Should the duke win this match, he will be rated above Mr. Pringle at number twelve.”

Jemma swallowed her annoyance at the fact that Parsloe had been giving her opponents at a lower level than he gave to Elijah. It was up to her to prove her skill; she could educate the Chess Club by beating her husband, not to mention Villiers.

Two hours later she had just tidily vanquished another opponent when Villiers made his appearance. She was seated facing the wall, and surrounded by a circle of onlookers. She didn’t have to raise her eyes to know of Villiers’s arrival, however. The men to her left suddenly melted away.

And there was Villiers: hair unpowdered, naturally, and tied back with a ribbon. He wore a coat of deep cinnamon, embroidered in black. His heels were high and his legs muscled. She smiled to herself and made a final move.

“Checkmate,” she told her stunned opponent.

As she understood it, there remained only two players between herself and membership. Jemma smiled sweetly at her latest victim, stripping off her gloves to wiggle her fingers.

Mr. Parsloe was looking slightly distraught. “Your Grace,” he said to Villiers, “the Duke of Beaumont has beaten Mr. Potemkin, which means that the duke now challenges you. The Duchess of Beaumont will play Mr. Potemkin in the meantime.”

Jemma rose from her chair and held out her hand for Villiers to kiss. “I advise that you beat my husband with all due expediency. He’s deeply cunning, for all he possesses an honest face.”

“I shall take your advice to heart,” Villiers replied, bowing with a gorgeous flourish of his coat.

“And then I shall beat you,” Jemma said, letting it all go to her head for a moment.