Page 30 of Baron in Check
He responded in kind with his f pawn capturing hers on e6, directly entering the exchange ahead.
Her breath hitched for an instant but then she paid with another major piece for blocking his way, as Greg zapped her with his bishop on c5 delivering a check.
He’d forced her move but not her heart.
She responded with d4 as he’d expected, and he pushed further when his queen took her bishop on d4 on the knight-fork. One of his pieces was attacking two of hers and her queen could no longer take the Black Knight.
The air shifted as he leaned forward, his hand reaching out to counter her move with a precision that belied his turmoil. Their eyes remained locked, a silent conversation flowing between them, each move a word, each capture a sentence in the story of their reconciliation. Through the delicate dance of knights and pawns, their hearts found harmony, reuniting them one move at a time.
Then Greg used not the knight but his black queen to mate Hermy at e1, on the very spot where her white queen had started out. It was poetry more than a victory.
I want you, the white queen, to let the Black Knight take you home and keep you. Be my black queen.
Greg still had his hand on the mating piece and Hermy inhaled. She wasn’t surprised. Greg felt as if he’d taken something that didn’t belong to him in a battle she allowed to happen. She wanted him to conquer her.
The little brown poodle sniffled and circled Hermy. She bent down and picked him up, stroking the curly fur between the dog’s ears.
“You like the dog more than me!” Greg said exasperated at the win on the board.
“Yes, I do.”
He exhaled.
“But I also don’t expect as much from him as from the man I love.”
“I beg your pardon?”
She lifted her gaze from the dog and grinned. The warmth in her eyes was like the first light of dawn, chasing away the shadows of doubt. In that smile, Greg saw the promise of forgiveness, the possibility of understanding. The pieces on the chessboard, once mere wooden figures in a game of strategy,now seemed to stand as silent witnesses to something far greater—a dance of two hearts navigating the push and pull of love and pride.
Her grin, enchanting and mischievous, invited him into a moment of shared amusement and tenderness as if she had thrown open a window in a stuffy room, allowing fresh air to cleanse old grievances. Greg found himself drawn to her, the dog forgotten, as the gravity of her admission sank in.
“In that case,” he ventured, leaning closer, his voice a whisper of hope mingled with a hint of newfound determination, “perhaps it’s time I raise my expectations of myself—to be the man you deserve.”
CHAPTER 15
The next morning, Rachel Pearler arrived to pick up Hermy for a shopping trip while Greg and Fave tended to other business. Even at dinner the previous night, Hermy had warmed to Rachel immediately. Still, it had been Hannah who had Hermy’s admiration for running a button factory to lift impoverished local Jews out of their rut and producing some of the finest buttons in the country. Even Lizzie Pearler, who’d married one of the Klonimus Crown Jewelers, had helped to make a crown for the Prince Regent. Hermy felt so inspired by the prowess and courage of Rachel, Hannah, and Lizzie that she wished she could defy her station and do more than she was destined as a high-born daughter. She wanted her return to cause a stir as if she were rising from the ashes of her reputation and achieving something much greater.
And Hermy wanted even more. She’d met all the children at the Pearlers and enjoyed the chaos at bedtime, even the little runaway in his sleep shirt hidden between her legs. All this was worth returning to society for, Hermy decided when she folded her kid-gloved hands in her lap and smiled at Rachel, who sat across from her in the carriage.
Although Rachel was dressed in the finest fashion, her eyes were warm, and her hug heartfelt. It was all too easy to understand why Greg cherished his old friends and their wives.
The carriage ride to Regent Street wasn’t long, but the closer they were to London’s shopping area, the heavier unease descended on Hermy’s heart.
“I’m not at all certain it’s wise for me to shop for a dress on Regent Street.” Hermy hugged herself when a young girl ushered her and Rachel through the elongated store. Mannequins in the latest fashion looked like oversized frilly dolls and lined the sides of the shop as if they were watching Hermy. Watching and judging the fallen girl with the audacity to return. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”
“We have a private fitting, so don’t worry.” Rachel followed the shop assistant through the store into a corridor hung with elegant drapes even though there were no windows. They turned left into another room.
Hermy acknowledged it was all rather pretty, but she couldn’t shake off her worry. “I fear being seen,” she mumbled.
“You will be seen eventually, Hermy. That’s why we came here. You’ll dazzle them with your beauty when they spot you and sharpen their tongues to lash out.”
“You make it sound like it’s a weapon.”
“It is a weapon of manipulation, you know that, don’t you?”
Hermy rubbed her upper arms. Fave had been such a quiet boy; how was it possible he’d married this brave woman, so full of wisdom and knowledge of where she belonged? Hermy never knew exactly; she’d been prepared for her debut, a beacon of hope for her family, but then she’d fallen from grace. She’d clung to chess as a way to seize control over the pieces. Each had character in her mind, personalities, and stories. Of course, each piece had claimed victory, but rooks had different ways about them compared to bishops. Even pawns had ways to becomea queen if they worked together. They advanced into a group, and Hermy couldn’t help but think Rachel was pushing her to become a queen. But for that, Hermy knew all too well she had to reach the final square of her opponent’s side. Well, if being at the most elegant dress shop on Regent Street on a Tuesday morning wasn’t that square, she’d eat her wooden rook.
Rachel had guided her into this realm of luxury and elegance, a world far removed from the simplicity of their daily lives. The back room of the shop without mannequins, a treasure trove of fashion and finery, welcomed them with open arms, drawing them into its lavishly appointed heart. Through Hermy’s eyes, the dressmaker’s backroom on Regent Street unfolded like a scene from a dream, each detail more enchanting than the last. With every added layer of elegance and seclusion, Hermy felt a little more at ease.
