Page 78 of Ordered Home for the Holidays
And she remembered with a pang how he had longed for a son. He never spoke of it, not in so many words, but she had seen it in the way his gaze lingered on the sons of other men, the wayhe pressed a little too hard when teaching Susie to ride, or Alice to recite her Latin. Pearl had failed him in this, and though he would have denied it to the end, she carried the guilt.
Now she watched her daughter and her former almost-lover and felt a complicated mix of pride and regret, of longing and relief.
Susie’s next move was disastrous. She saw it at once, the second her hand left the piece. “Oh,” she said, and her shoulders sagged. “I have lost.”
Victor shook his head. “Not yet.” He rearranged the pieces slightly, then gestured for her to try again. “There is always a way out if you are willing to sacrifice.”
Susie stared at the board, chewing her lower lip. “I suppose I must lose my knight.”
“It is only a game,” said Victor. “But if it were war, what would you do?”
Susie looked up, surprised by the question. “Try to make peace, I think.”
Victor laughed—a surprising sound, rough and rich. “That is the hardest move of all.”
Pearl’s chest tightened. She recognized the lesson being offered, and she knew her daughter did too.
She let the moment stretch, unwilling to interrupt the current of warmth that ran, improbably, between her daughter and this man she hadn’t allowed herself to think of as family.
At last, Susie made her move. Victor nodded, then, without fanfare, tipped his own king. “Well done. A proper duchess’s game.”
Susie’s face bloomed with pleasure. She stood, gave a careful curtsy, and said, “Thank you, Your Grace.”
“You may call me Uncle Victor, if you wish,” said Victor. He reached to ruffle her hair, then thought better of it, settling for an approving pat on the shoulder.
Susie hesitated, then asked, “May I go find Alice?”
“Yes, but beware the dragon in the kitchens.”
She gave him a suspicious glance, then hurried out, nearly colliding with her mother, who had slipped into the room in the commotion.
“Hello, Mama,” Susie said, breathless. “Did you see me win?”
“I did,” Pearl replied, her voice steady. She squeezed Susie’s arm, then watched as her daughter vanished down the hall.
Victor was already resetting the chessboard. He didn’t look up at her, but she felt the awareness radiating off him, as palpable as a winter fire.
“I hope you don’t mind that I appropriated your daughter for my amusement.”
Pearl crossed to the table, her steps soundless on the carpet. She regarded the board and, for the first time in years, it looked less like a puzzle to be solved and more like something she could learn. “I mind only that you let her win.”
He looked at her then, with the briefest flash of warmth in his eyes. “I have never let anyone win anything in my life.”
Pearl smiled, and for the first time since Percy’s death, the smile felt unforced, natural. She sat opposite him, her hands folded in her lap.
“She has your courage,” Victor said.
Pearl’s hands tightened involuntarily, then relaxed. “And my stubbornness.”
He considered this, then shrugged. “A dangerous combination.”
They sat in silence, the cold pressing against the windows, the light growing sharper with the approach of midday.
Pearl wanted to ask him,Did you ever wish for children of your own? Did you ever resent that I married Percy instead ofyou? Did you ever, even for a moment, regret the way our paths diverged?
But she said nothing. Instead, she studied the chessboard, the pattern of black and white, and tried to imagine all the futures that might have played out if only she had moved her pieces differently.
She looked at his hands—broad, capable, a little battered from years of riding and fencing. She wondered for a wild second what it would feel like to have them close over hers.
