“You two go on into the library. I’ll bring the peach cobbler there in a few minutes,” Maribelle said.
“Peach cobbler,” Dani replied with a dreamy expression. “I haven’t had that in ages.”
“Maribelle’s will ruin you for any other.” I found my words coming out of my chest before I could help it, but when I looked over, it had brought a smile to Maribelle’s face that was worth it.
My uncle rose from the table, and Dani followed him. I met her at the arched entrance to the kitchen. “You’re playing right into his hands. You don’t have to do this.”
She searched my face, but I was unable to give her the answers she sought.
“Maybe I want to learn,” she said.
“You won’t win.”
She stared at me for a long time before breathing out, “Not everything is about winning, Nash.”
But she didn’t understand at all, because it was always about winning with Carson. It had been bled into me, and I was good at it. It was failing I didn’t know how to do well.
Dani
GRAVEYARD
“I keep running when both my feet hurt
I won't stop 'til I get where you are
Oh, when you go down all your darkest roads
I would've followed all the way to the graveyard.”
Performed by Halsey
Written by Allen / Frangipane / Bellion / Johnson / Bell / Williams / Johnson
I followed Nash’s uncle into the library and stood for a moment, just absorbing it. A beautiful room that, instead of being done in masculine mahogany as I’d envisioned for a Georgian home, was done in white with metal tones running through it. Gold, silver, brass, and copper were all twisted together into the lamps, shelves, and even the fabrics. The room was filled from floor to ceiling, on three walls, with books. The entrance itself a break in a sea of pages and spines.
Behind a huge whitewashed desk was yet another set of French doors that opened onto the veranda. The stone and marble circled partway around the house and could easily grace any of the royal houses in England. It was perfectly made for ladies in hooped skirts and men in pantaloons.
Carson found a seat in front of an unlit fireplace. This one was filled with flowers, the scents of the lemon from outdoors echoing inside. The fluffy festoons from the myrtle trees were a central part of the arrangement with yellow, orange, and magenta flowers surrounding them. I’d found there were flowers everywhere in the mansion. With the acres of greenhouses Nash had shown me, it wasn’t necessarily a surprise.
Carson’s chair and the vacant wingback next to him were a tapestry of needlework, scenes embroidered together, reminding me of Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. I sat down in the seat and eyed the chess set on the table between us. It was beautiful and old. Likely made out of ivory before it had been banned. I picked up the horse which I knew was a knight. I knew enough to know the names of the pieces, the directions they went, and that was it.
“It’s a gorgeous set,” I said.
He nodded. “It’s known as a Washington chess set. A gift from George himself to the family.”
“To Nathaniel Wellsley?” I asked.
Carson lifted heavy eyebrows in surprise. “You know of him?”
I shook my head. “Only a few words from the tour Nash took me on earlier.”
“Nash was supposed to be Nathaniel as well. But my sister, ever the rebel, decided at the last minute to break with tradition,” Carson said heavily.
I couldn’t see Nash as a Nathaniel.
“Tell me what you know,” Carson said, waving his hand at the board.
I told him the little I did.
He nodded. “That’s really all there is.”
“Don’t believe him.” Nash’s voice journeyed from the door as he walked into the room. “There is always more to chess. It’s not unlike a war game with strategies and plays you make from a given playbook.”
“Well, unfortunately, I’m not going to be much of a challenge.” I gave Carson a weak smile. “Now, if it were poker, I’d give you a run for your money.”
Carson smiled. “Ah, another game where you must read the people as well as their hand. Chess is much the same. You have to get into the head of your opponent so you can see the steps they are going to take. You have to see their real move, which will be five ahead of the one they just made.”
Carson switched the board, the white and black pieces turning.
Nash grunted. “You’re letting her go second?”
It seemed like the complete opposite of what you’d ever want as a kid―to be second—and yet, Nash’s words had made it sound like a gift.
“Ignore him,” Carson said. “He doesn’t remember when I used to let him go second either.”
Nash snorted. “You never allowed me to go second.”
Carson smiled as if a sweet memory had crossed his mind. “I did. When you first played.”
Nash rumbled in disbelief as he took a seat on a loveseat. It was white with gold embroidery that echoed in the gold leaf of the legs and the arch across the back of the seat. It felt like we were sitting in a museum we would be kicked out of. It was so unlike our house in Wilmington, which also had antiques but never looked like anything but a home, well lived in. Toys and knitting and books strewn around. Tennis rackets and sports gear discarded and forgotten by whoever had last used them.
Carson moved a pawn, and Nash choked again.
I glanced at him and then back. “If you wanted to play, you should have said something.”
“He doesn’t play anymore,” Carson repeated.
I made a move with my pawn that matched his. Nash made a noise again.
I made to stand up, saying, “Seriously, do you want to play?”
“God, no,” he said.
“Then stop analyzing it. I’m going to be shit at it, but it’s the only way I’ll
