Free Spinster's Gambit by Gwendolynn Thomas Page A

at all. She released his hand quickly and stepped back before realizing that she was indeed focusing on the wall behind him. She shifted her gaze to his face, feeling cruel. 
    She noticed the scars first. His left eye didn't open fully and looked weighed down and pinched with damaged skin. Aspen met her eyes calmly, a slightly self-deprecating smile twisting his face. He had tired wrinkles around deep, golden brown eyes. He arched an eyebrow at her in a clever, playful expression and Jac felt herself smile at him. She'd managed to befriend a man without truly looking at him at all. He had to be the most tolerant man in England. 
    “Either way the fact remains; were I not a duke none of these women would look twice at me. I want a woman who wants me more than the money and prestige that follows my name,” Aspen growled.
    “Thirteen to ten,” she blurted. The duke blinked rapidly, looking befuddled. 
    “Pardon?” he asked finally, looking bewildered. Jac sighed.  
    “There are thirteen women looking for husbands to every ten men, in my estimation. In society of course, not all of London. I have not checked the city records and no one trusts the census anyway,” she replied, forcing herself to take a breath when she realized Aspen was staring at her. “It’s not romantic, but it’s true. Men die more frequently. Women will get over the scars. Not every lady is under duress or being charitable when she is flirting with you,” she said. “Many of them have money of their own. They’re looking for love and company and children. A marriage, a husband and a life of their own.” Jac swallowed heavily, finally breaking eye contact, hoping she had not revealed too much. Those dark brown eyes seemed to see right through her. Aspen’s face cleared in understanding and he started to smile, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening warmly.
    “I know it has gotten grim when I find it very comforting that there is a plethora of women lonely enough to settle for me,” he answered. Jac felt her eyes widen.
    I did say that. 
    “Well, that is better than nothing. I’ve given up entirely. You at least have your height to recommend you,” she replied, snorting and glancing down at her thin body so badly shaped for the breeches she wore. The duke snorted. 
    “Let's start on bladework,” he ordered, starting for the side of the room and its rack of practice weapons.
    ~~//~~
    The Marchioness of Plainsworth threw a grand ball on the first of February every year. She had to be particularly obsessed with the beauty of autumn, for every year she spent enough on decorations to bankrupt a small country, outfitting her home as a portal to the wrong season. Green and tan fabric leaves were sewn into vines and woven up the staircase railings and columns of her double wide town home, leading to the upstairs ballroom. Jac bent to inspect one of the blown glass American pumpkins adorning the ballroom entrance, ignoring the clambering crowd and the sounds of the music further inside. 
    “Ooh! Look at these little squashes,” Lady Eleanor squealed, clapping her hands too close to Jacoline’s ear. Lady Eleanor was the eldest daughter of the Marquess of Plainsworth, and was even more beautiful than she was wealthy. Jac smiled at her as politely as she could. Lady Eleanor was reported to be the silliest woman in the kingdom and yet Jac had heard multiple times of her good regard amongst the ton. The two seemed to go hand in hand, she thought.
    “They are American pumpkins, I believe, my dear,” a man stated, sounding exhausted. Jac glanced up from the glass decoration to see the Duke of Mariton standing behind Lady Eleanor. He was a tall, fine featured man that Jac had seen multiple women drop their handkerchiefs for, though none had interested him but Lady Eleanor since she’d come of age. 
    “Pumpkins are squashes, Your Grace,” Jac corrected, standing up slowly to face the man. The Duke of Mariton stared back at her, looking