Can they be “just friends”?
Firmly Upon the Shelf
Miss Olivia Redfield labors under no misapprehension that anything other than spinsterhood lies in her future. Not for lack of dowry, or breeding, or education, but because of one tiny flaw.... one might even call it... a curse.
Too Much Time on his Hands
Gabriel Fellowes, Earl of Kingsley is doing a favor for a friend by overseeing the dangerous–– but promising––mine on the border of Viscount Hallowell’s property. With time to spare, he finds himself irresistibly intrigued by the viscount’s daughter, Miss Olivia Redfield. In no position to promise more than a dalliance, but unable to stay away, Gabriel takes the unprecedented step of befriending a woman.
Is Friendship Even possible?
Their flirtatious attachment threatens to erupt in passion, but duty and honor forbid anything more. Will love be defeated when tragedy strikes, or can Olivia and Gabriel overcome Society’s dictates and put the notion of Olivia’s curse to rest once and for all?
THE PERFECT SPINSTER
The Not So Saintly Sisters
Annabelle Anders
Contents
The Perfect Spinster
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Epilogue
Also by Annabelle Anders
The Perfect Spinster
The Not So Saintly Sisters Series
Book 1: The Perfect Debutante
Book 2 The Perfect Spinster
Can be read in any order, and/or as standalone
By
Annabelle Anders
Chapter 1
An Awkward Situation
Stepping along the dirt path, Olivia Redfield hoped she wouldn’t stumble upon any couples who’d snuck away from the ball with wicked intentions. Not that she begrudged them such pleasures, but she needed to be alone. She required utmost privacy.
This normally wasn’t an issue for her. She’d never lacked time to herself, away from the prying eyes of others; that was, until her sister’s betrothal—to a future duke, no less. Olivia exhaled loudly, wondering how far away from the ballroom she ought to go. A burst of laughter from farther along the path disturbed the quiet.
She obviously hadn’t yet traversed quite far enough.
“Oh, bother!” Hopping from one foot to the other, she glanced from side to side and then stepped off the path as her need became more urgent. Perhaps if she were to weave her way deeper into the shadows of these magnolia trees. Or behind one of the intricately manicured box hedges. Since the Great Manor of Ashton Acres sat at the highest point of the estate, she need only travel downward.
A cloud shifted to cover the moon, momentarily concealing the path.
She needed to settle on a spot quickly, having already delayed too long. Normally, she wouldn’t care if her dress caught on any of the branches, but her sister Louella had commissioned this gown specifically for the pre-wedding ball. Mindful of the delicate material, Olivia lifted her skirts and carefully maneuvered down the slope and deeper into the darkness.
Mama would kill her if she knew what she was doing, as would Louella. But—Olivia swallowed the sob that unexpectedly rose in her throat—the ladies in the retiring room had been most unkind.
Not to Olivia’s face. But they’d spoken loudly enough that she could hear their opinions easily enough even from the foyer.
“I thought they kept her hidden away because she was simple!” A matronly and cultured voice had halted Olivia before she could enter.
“But that devil eye––moving on its own like that! How terrifying and retched for the poor viscountess! Some are convinced the girl’s a witch.”
“Lucky for the family, the younger sister is so beautiful. I’m surprised they allowed the elder girl to attend.”
Olivia had begun shaking. She’d wished she was brave enough to enter the room with her chin held high. She’d wished tears hadn’t pricked at the back of her eyes.
Tears of anger more so than hurt.
If she really was a witch, she’d curse them all to Hades!
Idiots! To imagine the devil controlled her eye.
Instead of confronting the gossiping biddies, Olivia had waited around the corner of the foyer for them to empty the room.
And waited.
And waited some more. Apparently, the ladies had an abundance of topics to gossip about.
Olivia had delayed so long, in fact, that she nearly waited until it was too late, which was why she now found herself traipsing down the hill in the Duke of Crawford’s beautifully manicured gardens.
She could postpone no longer!
Stepping into one of the darker shadows, Olivia adjusted her feet, arranged her skirts so they were out of the way, and crouched carefully. Had a minute more passed, she might have embarrassed herself.
And now, balancing carefully while squatting in such an undignified position, she wondered if the women in the retiring room had had the right of it. No true lady would ever resort to relieving herself in their host’s garden, whilst a ball took place less than fifty feet away.
She squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to make it all go away, if only for a moment. She would not cry. She wouldn’t allow them such a victory.
“Hello?” a male voice called out just ahead of her, intruding most troublesomely upon the solitude she required.
Throughout the evening, not a single gentleman had approached her. But, of course, one would choose to do so now.
She held her breath. Maybe he would go away if she remained silent.
A few branches snapped nearby, and some gravel came tumbling down the hill as the sound of crunching steps grew louder.
She completed what she had set out to accomplish but was afraid to move in fear the sound would draw the blighter closer. Dash it all! Her knees were already protesting and if she remained crouching much longer, she’d likely fall over backward.
And then she’d go tumbling down the hill to be found days later with her skirts above her head, broken and bedraggled.
The thought of such a mishap horrified and amused her at the same time.
“Who’s there?” the male voice demanded.
But oh, heavens, she could not be discovered yet!
“Stand down!” She’d read the term just two weeks ago in a military tome.
The shuffling feet and snapping branches ceased at her command. “Are you injured? Do you require assistance? You’ve no reason to be afraid of me.”
“I’m not afraid,” she returned. “But I wish to remain alone and… and… I’ve a rather large rock in my hand and am not averse to thrashing a skull with it.”
More laughter, and then the leaves direct
ly in front of her shook.
“I mean it!” she shouted in panic. “Go a—”
The branches parted and a tall, masculine shadow appeared. He only required a moment before ascertaining that she—
“Oh, hell, I… Uh… Pardon the intrusion.” He turned his back to her as quickly as he’d appeared. “I beg you to accept my most sincere apology.”
An awkward silence fell, and he seemed at a loss as to how to proceed. His shoulders, she noticed, however, seemed to be shaking as though he was stifling laughter that was exclusively enjoyed at her expense.
Please, she urged silently, just go away.
“I must admit, I’ve not found myself in this situation before.” And yet he hadn’t taken his leave as requested.
As a gentleman, apparently, he held some misplaced notion that he ought not abandon her in her present circumstances.
“I did warn you.” Olivia sighed. Because… what else was there to say? Most likely no manners book ever written contained the proper etiquette to follow if caught in this particularly embarrassing situation.
“Could you not have simply employed the retiring room? You’re not the only person strolling in these gardens this evening.” Annoyance now mingled with the laughter in his voice. “Your privacy was not assured, by any means.”
“That is precisely why I am so far off of the formal path, practically hiding in the dark. I did not expect some well-meaning gentleman to follow me. And as for the ladies’ retiring room… It was… occupied.”
“But of course. By all means then.” The man made something of a choking sound and those damn shoulders of his were shaking again.
“I’m in no mood for your condescension.” How could she put this politely? “And if you wouldn’t mind—“
“In all good conscience, madam,” he cleared his throat, “I cannot leave you alone here, to fend for yourself. Not all gentlemen would pass up the opportunity to, ahem, take advantage of such a situation.”
“Um, well. I’m pleased to hear of your upright and moral character, but really...” Please go away. Just please go! Employing an abundance of caution, Olivia rose and adjusted her skirts. “But as I’ve assured you, I’m perfectly fine and intend to return to the ballroom shortly. So, if you wouldn’t mind...”
But of course, he did not do as she wished. He instead glanced over his shoulder and upon seeing she was presentable, turned all the way and then studied her through the darkness.
Lord Kingsley! Although she’d not laid eyes upon the blighter for ages, she doubted she’d ever forget such a handsome but bothersome person. He was the one who’d first called her Lazy-eyed Livvy.
He, apparently, had had no difficulty forgetting her. Which was all just as well…
He and Lord Stanton, Louella’s groom-to-be, in fact, had both christened her with a number of derogatory names nearly ten years ago.
Lazy-eyed Livvy had been the one that stuck.
Stanton, of course, had since apologized. Louella had insisted he do so before she accepted his suit. Olivia doubted Kingsley ever would. He hadn’t remembered her even; she wasn’t fool enough to expect him to feel remorse.
No, he’d taken far too much pleasure tormenting her.
Handsome blighter.
Presenting a leg, he bowed in her direction, as though for all the world, he’d been presented to her by the queen himself. “Gabriel Fellowes, Earl of Kingsley, at your service.”
He obviously hadn’t gotten a good look at her yet.
Perhaps she could keep it that way. In the shadows, all he would see was her shape, perhaps the color of her hair. He would not see her eyes. He would not remember the name he’d taunted her with—when what she’d hoped for had been a flirtatious smile, perhaps a wink.
Barely fifteen at the time, Olivia had fallen in love with the two young gentlemen fresh out of University. Despite just reaching their majorities, they both stood to inherit lofty titles; Stanton would one day be a duke and Kingsley an earl. There hadn’t been a young girl for miles who had not fallen for one or even both of the despicable duo. Olivia had foolishly mooned after Kingsley.
He would choose to be pleasant now?
“You must admit that your timing was most unfortunate.” It really had been! If he chose to tell anybody of this encounter, she would never live it down. Her parents, to be more accurate, would never live it down and thus have even more reason to keep her hidden away. Olivia would continue her existence as something of an outcast, living in a cottage on the edge of her parents’ property.
Louella insisted all of it would change upon her marriage, but Olivia had serious doubts. Some impediments were too entrenched to ever be overcome.
She’d be happy enough right now, if she could remove the rather inconvenient impediment of his lordship, the knuckleheaded Gabriel Fellowes from her path.
And then a thought occurred to her. “Were you following me?” How else had he come to be in such an out of the way location?
“I was.” He cleared his throat. “And you did, as you say, attempt to warn me. But I would not know a moment’s peace if I left you out here alone.”
She slid him a sideways glance. Why were gentlemen so muleheaded?
“I have a younger sister, and she tends to be impetuous at times… Won’t you please accept my apology? And my escort, for the remainder of your stroll? That way, neither of us will worry over some scoundrel creeping up on you in the darkness.”
It was a rather charming apology on his part—and the concern he admitted to having for his sister was commendable.
“I will accept your escort, My Lord, on one condition.”
He grinned and winged an arm, as though meeting her requirement was a foregone conclusion. “Capital.” And then leading her sideways across the slope, he continued, “What condition would that be?”
“I would have your word that you will not tell another living soul about…” In reality, speaking the words out loud suddenly seemed too crass for even her. Mortification sent heat rushing up her neck.
He laughed again. A rich lighthearted sound. “You have my word… Miss…?”
“I am grateful for that,” she murmured.
He ducked his dark head in order to avoid a low-hanging branch, and she couldn’t help but try one last time.
“This isn’t necessary, you know. I’m perfectly capable of finding my own way back. And I realize…” That you must consider me vulgar and unrefined.
“You realize?”
That you are merely acting honorably.
“Nothing, I realize nothing,” she evaded. “Where are we going?”
“You must know that gentlemen do it all the time?” His voice held both amusement but also something else. Sympathy? Kindness?
Pity?
Olivia sighed. She knew she lacked many of the social skills required to mingle with landed gentlefolk, let alone those born into the aristocracy. It was why she’d wished to forgo Louella’s wedding festivities in the first place.
At some point, she’d simply given up. Given up adhering to all the rules, given up on fitting in with other ladies. And it went without saying that she’d never obtain either her mother or father’s approval.
“It’s different for ladies,” she lamented. Of course, he would know this.
He squeezed her hand. “There is a gazebo and a fountain one hundred yards ahead. I believe you’ll find the fountain quite amusing.”
Anything to divert this conversation from what she’d been doing when he initially stumbled upon her.
Olivia released another loud sigh. Although she knew better than to be alone with a single gentleman, she was not yet prepared to return to the ballroom. And since she wasn’t a gently bred lady, in practice anyhow, she doubted it mattered to anyone.
“Very well,” she conceded. “If it isn’t too great an inconvenience.”
Would he be so kind to her if he knew her identity? But then a thought struck. Perhaps he’d come outside to meet some other willi
ng female whom he’d arranged to meet privately. “Why are you not in the ballroom, My Lord? Isn’t it considered rude of a gentleman to absent himself from dancing while young ladies remain wallflowers?”
“Who said I was a gentleman?” He reached in front of her to pull back a prickly looking branch.
“Harrumph.” Of course, he was a gentleman. His easy confidence, his elegant posture and speech, not to mention the perfect fit of his fine waistcoat and jacket screamed his upper-class status to all within his realm.
They traveled a few more steps in silence before he deigned to answer her question. “I will tell you a secret of my own. As long as you promise not to leak it to all of the other ladies.”
“I promise.” She smiled to herself. As if he had anything to worry about.
“For all of my talents, I have failed to master the art of dance. My cohorts attribute my refusal to participate in the activity to boorish behavior. But I would dance, if I could. While attempting to learn, I was constantly in fear of trampling my partners. Every second of it was torture. In London, my refusal to dance is considered my worst fault.”
“You’re joking, of course.” But she was laughing now and so was he.
“Unfortunately, no.”
“But I thought all gentlemen were required to learn how to dance.”
“We are all required to take lessons, my dear Miss...? You never did tell me your name.”
“I did not.” Olivia wasn’t ready to reveal herself to him. The thought that he’d remember and call her that horrible nickname again was mortifying. The thought that he’d remember and apologize profusely was even worse. Besides, oddly enough, she was enjoying walking with him. Even if he was only doing so out of pity.
The Perfect Spinster: A Regency Romance (The Not So Saintly Sisters Book 2) Page 1
