Queen of my Hart - Emily Royal Page 0,3
out a laugh. “That would increase your eligibility tenfold, my friend. Next to a title and a substantial income, there’s nothing more attractive to a lady than a man with a broken heart.”
“Then I’m safe,” Dexter replied, “for I have no heart—at least not for a woman.”
“I almost feel sorry for her,” Pelham said.
“Don’t,” replied Dexter. “If she agrees to this marriage, then she’ll prove she’s as avaricious as her sister.”
And he would take pleasure in teaching her what happened to women driven by avarice.
Chapter Two
“I don’t understand!”
The child pouted and folded his arms. Meggie knelt beside him and placed a hand on his arm.
“It’s quite simple, Thomas,” she said. “The bishop moves along the diagonal—see? So if you place your knight within his eye line, then my bishop can take your knight.”
She picked up the knight and moved it across the board.
“But, place him here,” she said, “then not only does he threaten the queen, but he’s safe from being taken by other pieces. That’s the beauty of the knight, you see. Because he moves differently to the other pieces, he can capture them by deception and wit, rather than an outright attack.”
“Like the knights in the story of King Arthur, which you taught me last week?”
“Yes!” she said. “Clever child!”
The door opened, and a simply-dressed woman with iron-gray hair walked in.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Preston,” Meggie prompted.
Nine little voices struck up in unison. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Preston!”
“Thank you, children,” Mrs. Preston said. “That’s enough lessons for today. But before you go, what do you say to Miss Alder?”
“Thank you, Miss Alder,” the children chorused, and they filed out of the schoolroom.
Meggie tipped the chess set into a box.
“I’ll never understand why you insist on teaching the children that game,” Mrs. Preston said. “It’s too difficult for them.”
“As with anything,” Meggie said, “it’s easier to learn the basics while you’re young. Thomas is a bright lad.”
“But what opportunities will a child of his class have to play chess?”
“Perhaps none,” Meggie replied. “But chess is a game of strategy, and as such, it can equip us for life. Learning the moves is simple. The complexity arrives when one begins to understand how all the pieces interact with an end goal. You must plan several moves, anticipating your opponent’s moves, and adopt counter-strategies if necessary.”
She hesitated, the flash of a memory stinging at her heart. “It also teaches us the necessity of sacrifice.”
A look of sympathy crossed Mrs. Preston’s eyes. She took Meggie’s hand and gave it an affectionate squeeze. “Dear child.” Mrs. Preston began tidying the books and papers.
“Oh, no,” Meggie protested. “Let me.”
The old woman let out a sigh. Since yesterday, she seemed to have aged.
“Is something the matter, Mrs. Preston?” Meggie asked.
“I’m just a little concerned about Mr. Adams.”
“Our landlord?”
“His solicitor wrote to demand an increase in our rent,” Mrs. Preston said, “and I have accounts in the village to settle. Mr. Jones is a kind man, but he’s insisted that he’ll supply us with no more meat until I’ve paid him. And Mr. Timmings asked me only yesterday where the payment was for the last bag of coal. It seems as if every tradesman in Blackwood Heath is demanding we settle our accounts, and I don’t have sufficient funds.”
I could ask Mr. Clayton for extra work,” Meggie said. “A few more hours at the Rose and Crown will soon add up.
“Best get going,” Mrs. Preston said. “You were due at the Rose and Crown five minutes ago.”
Meggie glanced at the clock on the desk and gave a low cry.
“On no—what will Mr. Clayton think of me?”
“Doubtless the same as I,” her companion said. “That you devote too much of your time to others. Now, run along and tell him he’s not to utter a single harsh word unless he wishes to answer to me.”
Meggie grabbed her shawl and dashed out of the tiny building. By the time she reached the inn, her sides ached. But she welcomed the exercise, which helped to stave off the bitter cold. With winter well on its way, the country was gripped by frost.
A side door opened, and a voice called out. “Afternoon, Meggie!”
“Mr. Clayton, forgive me, I…”
“No matter, lass,” he said, “you’re here now. Come in quickly. We’re in sore need of your stew tonight with this cold weather, and we have a full house—plenty of empty bellies. Mary’s got a nice bit of scrag end.”
“I’d best get started,” Meggie said. “That’ll take some time to cook.”
The innkeeper took her arm.
“Before ye