A Game of Chess, Ch. 17 -- PG-13

[librarian_7]

Wow, time slips away on me. I think I had this chapter half written months ago, and just didn’t realize how long it had been. My profound apologies for being so slow to update…

A Game of Chess

Chapter 17


In her inner sanctum, Mrs. Marshall had decorated in a French provincial theme somewhat at odds with her personality. Josef shifted and pretended to take a sip of his tea, ill at ease on a spindly-legged couch he felt might not be sturdy enough to hold his weight. He’d not been invited this far into the Marshall home before, and he thought perhaps he had preferred the more formal reception parlor.

He found himself comparing this room, with its herd of porcelain Dresden shepherdesses that peered at him with watchful china eyes, and the flimsy chairs upholstered in machine-produced brocade, with the more elegant, more authentic décor of Coraline Duvall’s flat. It was difficult, as well, to reconcile the majestic black widow’s weeds and stately figure of Mrs. Marshall with the frothy lightness of the room. He blinked, mentally overlaying Honoria Marshall in her fifties with the girl he’d known, thirty years before.

An image jumped into his mind, another year, another room, bright with afternoon sun, brightened further by the dancing figure of a girl. Her arms filled with daisies, she moved about the chamber, depositing bunches of flowers in vases scattered on tables and shelves, her black kid slippers and the lace hem of her pantalets twinkling below the pale yellow of her dress. Dark corkscrew curls framed a pert, smiling face, and Josef—Bobby Fitz, as she knew him then—had been on the receiving end of a good many flirtatious glances. She’d been a sweet thing. And the sight of those dark curls brushing against the unmarked skin of her neck had been tempting, but some sense of propriety had kept him from her blood. Propriety, and practicality. His business with her father had led to circumspection with the girl.

The memory shifted and faded. In his mind, sprightly music filled the air. Dozens of couples whirled around the floor in a polka. He looked down at the young woman laughing and breathless in his arms, her feet flashing to keep up with his steps. With a last flourish of notes, the music ended, and the room erupted in chatter from the dancers as they left the floor.

“Punch, Miss Vane?”

“Why thank you, Mr. Fitzgerald. Yes.” She spread her fan and waved it to send a little air across her flushed and heated face. “I find myself all aglow,” she said, fluttering her eyelashes up at him.

When he returned to proffer her a cup of cool punch, she took it gratefully, tilting her head to one side with a winsome smile, showing off her dimples. “Why thank you very kindly, sir.”

“You are most welcome, Miss Vane.”

“Mr. Fitzgerald, I hear that your friends call you Bobby Fitz. Can I call you that?” She was being daring, and they both knew it. A proper young lady using a nickname, of the sort gentlemen only used amongst themselves, it was unheard of, especially on such short and superficial acquaintance as she’d had with a business associate of her father’s.

He bowed slightly. “They do indeed, and I would be pleased to number you among them, Miss Vane.”

She took a gulp of her punch that was rather less than ladylike, then recovered enough to sip slowly. To cover the gaffe, she said, “I must say, you waltz like an angel, and polka like the devil himself.”

“Only when I have a partner such as you” he returned.

“They say that any man who can dance a polka like that must be wicked. Are you wicked, Bobby Fitz?”

He smiled slowly, and put his hand over his heart. “I should be wounded if you thought so.” He paused. “And do you….think so?”

She laughed, a bright, airy sound, full of practiced flirtation. Folding her fan, she tapped him on the chest with it. “I should only think you truly wicked, if you failed to ask me for another dance.”

He raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. By God, she was a little flirt. “I thought your dance card was filled, Miss Vane.”

“Perhaps I can…create a space on it, for you.” Her head tilted coquettishly, eyes sparkling.

“Only a wicked girl would flout propriety so,” he answered, smiling.

She pursed her lips and looked around, then very deliberately ran the tip of her pink tongue across her lower lip. “Then let us be wicked together, Bobby Fitz.”

Honoria Vane, carefree and careless, faded away and Josef came back to her present incarnation as a careworn matron. That was the problem with humans, he thought. They were constantly changing, and rarely for the better. He was used enough, he thought, to the vagaries of fate that swept him together with people for a time, then carried them away from his knowledge again. If he hadn’t come to New York, he might never have given Honoria Vane another thought, or if he had, he’d have pictured her in his mind’s eye as that same young girl, endlessly dancing in candlelit ballrooms. He thought he might have preferred that.

"Mrs. Marshall," he said, "what can I do for you this evening?"

"You're very direct, Mr. Fitzgerald." She smiled faintly. "As I recall, your uncle was much the same."

Josef smiled, and he inclined his head in acknowledgment. "I'll take that as a compliment," he replied. "Perhaps it runs in the family."

"It would seem that charm does, certainly." She paused. "Since this is not a time for idle chatter, I will do you the courtesy of coming straight to my point. I have reached the end of my rope. I fear that my son may well be lost to me, lost to his family."

Spreading his hands in a gesture of futility, Josef shook his head. "I have tried all the weapons at my disposal," he said. "I'm not sure what else can be done."

She looked away. "There must be something," she insisted. "This family is all that I have, Mr. Fitzgerald. My son is all that I have. I refuse to give up."

"That's very commendable, Mrs. Marshall, but you must understand, at this point, detaching Mademoiselle Duvall from your son could prove a Pyrrhic victory." He paused. "It is difficult to explain a creature such as La Duvall to a woman of your delicate sensibilities. It is not impossible that she could do more damage to him than could be repaired."

"I would not have suspected you of an inclination to indulge in such drama. Surely the woman can be forced from town somehow." Honoria Marshall sat up even straighter, which Josef would not have thought possible, and looked him in the eye. "You can make this happen, Mr. Fitzgerald. I know you can."

"Your faith in my abilities is flattering, Mrs. Marshall, thinking the extent of the connections, the other resources you can call upon. Mr. Smith, business associates of your husband, members of your extended family? From what I – what my uncle told me – New York is a city of infinite obligations. And it is your city, not mine."

She held a delicate lace handkerchief in her hands, and as he watched, she began to twist it mercilessly. "Have you not understood," she said, "that we did not wish the situation to become common knowledge. I still have hopes that Cam and his wife will give me a grandson. I cannot allow him to sully the family name."

Josef sighed, shaking his head. "I have talked to her, I have threatened her. I have even tried to entice her. I have brought every pressure to bear upon her that I could ethically afford. She remains… adamant… in her attachment to your son. What would you have me do? Set ruffians on her in the street?"

"In my day, Mr. Fitzgerald, a gentleman would not speak of such things to a lady." Her voice grew even more steely. "But that is not to say that a man of honor would fail to employ whatever devices were needed to accomplish his goals."

Josef sat back in his chair, and regarded his hostess with open admiration. "It strikes me," he said, "that Mr. Lincoln has grave need of generals as strong in their resolve as you."

"If Mr. Lincoln were as resolute about the Union, as I am about my family, our country would not now be at war." Had she been only a shade less dignified, he thought he might have applauded that sentiment.

As it was, he merely nodded approvingly. "I'll try again," he said. "I am not sure what I can do, but you persuade me that I must try."

"I can ask for no more, Mr. Fitzgerald."

And, he thought with resignation, you will certainly accept no less.

[allegrita]

Oh my gawd, I love this story!!!

What a duel. Josef has yet another worthy opponent here, and I think she's got him hoisting the white flag! Heck--he should just put Honoria and Coraline in a room together and let the victor take the spoils. I mean, Cam.

LOVED this scene. TOTALLY worth the wait.

[librarian_7]

Thanks so much, Alle! I'm sure I don't deserve such devoted readers. But I sure love them!

Lucky

[francis]

This wasn't chess, this was more like wrestling. And she won.

[jen]

Now this is a chess game!!

Before this, I thought that Josef acquired his steely resolve over centuries of observing the game, but now I think he may have learned a trick or two from this lady. You have created a wonderful character in her, determined to protect her son from himself no matter what the cost and she will not accept anything less than total success from Josef.

Fabulous!!!

Thank you!

Jenna

[darkstarrising]

Lucky, I have to agree with Jenna - this really is a chess game and I'm not entirely sure who's going to win this.

This one paragraph stood out to me, highlighting the curse of human kind - unlike vampires, once born, you age and eventually die:

Honoria Vane, carefree and careless, faded away and Josef came back to her present incarnation as a careworn matron. That was the problem with humans, he thought. They were constantly changing, and rarely for the better. He was used enough, he thought, to the vagaries of fate that swept him together with people for a time, then carried them away from his knowledge again. If he hadn’t come to New York, he might never have given Honoria Vane another thought, or if he had, he’d have pictured her in his mind’s eye as that same young girl, endlessly dancing in candlelit ballrooms. He thought he might have preferred that.

Still, there is a sense of sadness here on Josef's part as he mentally contrasts the young, carefree, flirtatious Honoria with the older woman she is now. As an immortal, there have been many who have touched his life, only to die as he continues to live. Is there just a touch of longing here on Josef's part?

The final exchange between the two is classic - Honoria may older, but she's also wiser than the young girl Josef remembers.

Josef sat back in his chair, and regarded his hostess with open admiration. "It strikes me," he said, "that Mr. Lincoln has grave need of generals as strong in their resolve as you."

"If Mr. Lincoln were as resolute about the Union, as I am about my family, our country would not now be at war." Had she been only a shade less dignified, he thought he might have applauded that sentiment.

It would be unwise to underestimate this woman....

[cassysj]

Wow. Honoria is quite a force to be reckoned with. I do sort of wish that Josef could have kept his image of the young girl though. Look forward to the next move on the board.

[NightAir]

Josef has been drawn into the middle of a battle between two formidible women. Whatever he has to gain,... or lose, it is his own sense of honor that is keeping him involved.