sighed. “Chess is a passion.”
“The problem was that Benjamin was too good to play most people, and not quite good enough for the very best. He used to try to get your husband to play with him; he even said that he would trade a game for his vote in Lords.”
“Ha,” Jemma said. “He misstepped there. Beaumont has one god: his honor.”
“Beaumont just said that he never played anymore. He doesn’t, does he?”
“Not so far as I know. I only played him a few times when we were first married.”
“Did you beat him? Your husband, I mean?”
“Yes. But he was awful y good.”
“Is there anyone you haven’t beaten, Jemma?”
“Every chess player loses occasional y. I only played one game with the French king and he won.”
“King Louis? Then you al owed him to win,” Harriet said with a little crooked smile.
“Prudence is part of strategy,” Jemma said. “But you know I haven’t played very many people, Harriet, so it hardly signifies.”
“You’ve never played Vil iers?”
“Never. I only met him once and that briefly. He was traveling on the continent during the first year of my marriage, and I’ve been in Paris since.”
“They say he’s the best player in England.” She took a deep breath. “I hate him for what he did to Benjamin.”
Jemma blinked. “What did he do?”
“He shamed him. And I think he did it deliberately. I’ve thought and thought about it. I think he agreed to play the game in White’s, just to make Benjamin stop nagging at him. And then—and then Benjamin lost, of course, but Vil iers had played it so that Benjamin thought he would win.”
“But—”
Harriet wasn’t finished. “He’s an awful man. A positive wolf. He had affaires with half the ton, if you believe the stories, and he treats al his lovers despicably. They say he has at least four il egitimate children.”
There was a noise at the door and Jemma came back with a tea tray.
Harriet drank half of her tea in one gulp. “I want you to do me a favor, Jemma.”
Jemma reached to the sugar bowl. “Anything, dearest.”
“I want you to shame Vil iers.”
She straightened. “What? Shame him— how? ”
“I don’t care!” Harriet said fiercely. “You could take him as a lover, and spurn him. Or take him as a lover and make fun of him, or something like that. I know you can do it.”
Jemma was giggling. “I love your faith in my abilities,” she said. “But—”
“You could play chess with him.”
There was a moment’s silence. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it? You came from the country not to see me, but to ask me to play chess with Vil iers?”
Their eyes met. “I came to see you, Jemma. We’re not as close as we were when we were children. You’ve changed; you’ve grown sophisticated, and even more beautiful, and I’m just a country mouse.”
Jemma’s eyes had assessed her brown curls and her clumsily handled panniers; she must know it was the truth.
“I didn’t live in the city with Benjamin,” Harriet said, though her throat was so tight she could hardly speak it. “I just couldn’t make this life work, putting my hair up, and powdering it, and taking hours to get dressed. Having a maid, and a dresser, and al the rest of it bores me. I just couldn’t stand the boredom!”
“I can understand that, of course,” Jemma said. “It can be quite tedious.” She smiled, but she was cooler now, more distant.
“So I left Benjamin here and I went to the country,” Harriet stumbled on.
“You couldn’t have stopped him from loving chess,” Jemma said.
Harriet felt a wave of desperation. “You don’t understand!” She almost shouted it.
“What?”
“I couldn’t be around him, because—because—”
“Many couples live apart,” Jemma said. “It certainly isn’t your fault that Benjamin committed suicide, simply because you were living in the country. You could not have stopped him from losing a game to Vil iers.”
“You don’t
“The problem was that Benjamin was too good to play most people, and not quite good enough for the very best. He used to try to get your husband to play with him; he even said that he would trade a game for his vote in Lords.”
“Ha,” Jemma said. “He misstepped there. Beaumont has one god: his honor.”
“Beaumont just said that he never played anymore. He doesn’t, does he?”
“Not so far as I know. I only played him a few times when we were first married.”
“Did you beat him? Your husband, I mean?”
“Yes. But he was awful y good.”
“Is there anyone you haven’t beaten, Jemma?”
“Every chess player loses occasional y. I only played one game with the French king and he won.”
“King Louis? Then you al owed him to win,” Harriet said with a little crooked smile.
“Prudence is part of strategy,” Jemma said. “But you know I haven’t played very many people, Harriet, so it hardly signifies.”
“You’ve never played Vil iers?”
“Never. I only met him once and that briefly. He was traveling on the continent during the first year of my marriage, and I’ve been in Paris since.”
“They say he’s the best player in England.” She took a deep breath. “I hate him for what he did to Benjamin.”
Jemma blinked. “What did he do?”
“He shamed him. And I think he did it deliberately. I’ve thought and thought about it. I think he agreed to play the game in White’s, just to make Benjamin stop nagging at him. And then—and then Benjamin lost, of course, but Vil iers had played it so that Benjamin thought he would win.”
“But—”
Harriet wasn’t finished. “He’s an awful man. A positive wolf. He had affaires with half the ton, if you believe the stories, and he treats al his lovers despicably. They say he has at least four il egitimate children.”
There was a noise at the door and Jemma came back with a tea tray.
Harriet drank half of her tea in one gulp. “I want you to do me a favor, Jemma.”
Jemma reached to the sugar bowl. “Anything, dearest.”
“I want you to shame Vil iers.”
She straightened. “What? Shame him— how? ”
“I don’t care!” Harriet said fiercely. “You could take him as a lover, and spurn him. Or take him as a lover and make fun of him, or something like that. I know you can do it.”
Jemma was giggling. “I love your faith in my abilities,” she said. “But—”
“You could play chess with him.”
There was a moment’s silence. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it? You came from the country not to see me, but to ask me to play chess with Vil iers?”
Their eyes met. “I came to see you, Jemma. We’re not as close as we were when we were children. You’ve changed; you’ve grown sophisticated, and even more beautiful, and I’m just a country mouse.”
Jemma’s eyes had assessed her brown curls and her clumsily handled panniers; she must know it was the truth.
“I didn’t live in the city with Benjamin,” Harriet said, though her throat was so tight she could hardly speak it. “I just couldn’t make this life work, putting my hair up, and powdering it, and taking hours to get dressed. Having a maid, and a dresser, and al the rest of it bores me. I just couldn’t stand the boredom!”
“I can understand that, of course,” Jemma said. “It can be quite tedious.” She smiled, but she was cooler now, more distant.
“So I left Benjamin here and I went to the country,” Harriet stumbled on.
“You couldn’t have stopped him from loving chess,” Jemma said.
Harriet felt a wave of desperation. “You don’t understand!” She almost shouted it.
“What?”
“I couldn’t be around him, because—because—”
“Many couples live apart,” Jemma said. “It certainly isn’t your fault that Benjamin committed suicide, simply because you were living in the country. You could not have stopped him from losing a game to Vil iers.”
“You don’t
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