The Perfect Spinster: A Regency Romance (The Not So Saintly Sisters Book 2)

by Annabelle Anders

  “My father gave him his blessing.”

  The earl stiffened again. Not so abruptly this time as to distract the mount beneath them.

  Olivia did not think Luke Smith was delusional. Likely, he knew her prospects as well as she did. “Who else would be willing to marry a spinster, of five and twenty, with… such as myself?” The minute the words flew out of her mouth, she wished she could summon them back. They sounded so… self-pitying.

  “Someone of your own ilk, I imagine.” He spoke through clenched teeth.

  “You sound angry,” she pointed out. “Remember, my life is no concern of yours.”

  “Unless, of course, you present me with an afront such as this. You are not considering accepting him, are you? Four children? Good God, Miss Redfield, you’ll work yourself to death before you reach the age of forty.”

  “I had thought of that,” she conceded. “But there are other things to consider.”

  “Convince me it’s a good idea and perhaps you’ll convince yourself. I don’t mean to slight Smith, but… I simply don’t see it. Unless,” he slid her a sideways glance, “you’re madly in love with him. Or perhaps in the family way?”

  Again, with his teasing. She ducked her head to hide a smile from him. How utterly absurd! “I am not. And as to the second, I most definitely am not.” They rode in silence, each contemplating their own thoughts for a few hundred feet. “Louella told me you’d been traveling a great deal. Do you ever get lonely?”

  “Is that why you would marry a man so far beneath you? You are lonely?”

  “Can you not simply answer my question?” Were all earls this infuriating?

  He shrugged, and in doing so, rubbed his arms along her. “When I find myself in want of company, I have no trouble finding it.”

  “Not like that.” How could she explain? “Somebody who is a foundation to your person. Keeps you from feeling as though the ground can be swept out from beneath you.”

  “I have a mother, a sister, and two younger brothers. Is that what you mean?”

  Louella’s trusting smile came to mind. Yes, that was precisely what she meant. “I suppose I’m feeling melancholy with my sister marrying.” The admission made the reality of the future all too real.

  “But you’ve a mother and a father. And you’re not completely obnoxious. You must have a few friends who live nearby.”

  “Ever the flatterer, Lord Kingsley. And I’ll have you know that I have more than a few friends.” There was Eliza, and the vicar, Mrs. Markham… and… others in town.

  She and Lord Kingsley had been riding along for several minutes now, and he’d turned onto her father’s property, Thistle Park. “You may set me down here. I don’t want anyone to see—“

  “See you riding with a disreputable rake such as myself?” Well, she hadn’t considered that at all. “Allow me to take you to your father’s door. I don’t like the idea of you walking in the twilight all alone.”

  Anyone who might see her riding along atop a horse with the greatly exalted Earl of Kingsley would laugh at her audacity. And nearly as much as she hated being pitied, she hated being laughed at.

  Perhaps the reason Lord Kingsley got away with his teasing was that he laughed with her, rather than at her. Even when he’d called her that horrible nickname, he’d had a twinkle in his eyes, almost as though he considered it an endearment.

  Foolishness!

  The incorrigible man!

  Everything was a joke to him. Not in a bad way, but in a way that made his arrogance tolerable.

  “I no longer live in my father’s home.” She pointed down the small trail leading to the dower house. “I live alone but for my maid.” When he hesitated, she added, “It’s not far. I’m perfectly safe.”

  He stared at her curiously but then relented and assisted her off the side of the horse. When her feet landed on the dirt, her legs shook for no reason at all. And she felt oddly bereft without his solid person beside her.

  “Thank you, again, My Lord. For both the ride and the apology.” Despite an absurd reluctance to part company with him, she turned toward her house.

  “Miss Redfield.”

  “Yes?” She spun around and walked backward so that she could stare up at him. Seeing him, so proud and strong, reminded her again that he was of a different world. One in which she’d never belong.

  “Don’t marry him simply because you find yourself a little lonely. As you’ve said, you do have friends.”

  And for some reason, she tilted her head and asked, “Do I?”

  He nodded and smiled grimly. “You most definitely do.”

  Gabriel watched Miss Olivia Redfield saunter away, chin held high, almost defiantly optimistic, until she disappeared into the trees. Why did she not live with her parents?

  He could not imagine any circumstance in which his own sister would not be welcome in their family home. There was nothing she could do that would ever cause him to evict her.

  And what the hell was Viscount Hallowell thinking, giving his blessing to a union between his gently bred daughter and Luke Smith, a man of good character but also a common laborer?

  Brandy reared her head just enough to gain his attention. He’d been standing still too long for his horse’s liking. She apparently wished to continue back to Ashton Acres for a rubdown and grain. Gabriel would make do with some leftover bread and cheese that he kept in the unused gamekeeper’s cottage where he resided. He’d also take advantage of the fine scotch Stanton had sent over before departing for London.

  Crawford’s duchess had offered him a chamber in the main house, but Gabriel had declined, preferring privacy to luxury. He could have traveled once a week from his own country estate, Sky Manor, almost thirty miles away. But had he chosen to do so, his oversight of the mine would have seemed like a token gesture, at best. Furthermore, making the journey even once a week likely would have become tedious.

  When Stanton had expressed concerns that his father, the Duke of Crawford, would rush operations at the mine in his hunger to extract the gold, Gabriel had impulsively offered his services and engineering expertise in order to keep the duke’s impatience in check. Men’s lives were at stake. The last time the mine had been opened, several died. Gabriel could postpone his own journey to London until Stanton returned and do what he could to prevent any such tragedies this time.

  Which was already proving to be a challenge.

  Earlier that morning, Crawford had shown up at the mine. He’d questioned the pace of operations and insisted work proceed more rapidly. The gleam of greed in his eyes lowered an uneasy foreboding onto Gabriel’s shoulders.

  He’d never cared for Crawford. Upon becoming acquainted with any titled gentleman, especially a duke, one expected arrogance, outright rudeness at time. But Stanton’s father’s demeanor went beyond that. He expressed outright disdain for the working class, for those in his employ—an utter lack of reverence for their worth as human beings.

  To put it simply, he was a mean son of a bitch who could not be trusted.

  And now, due to Stanton and Miss Louella Redfield’s marriage, Crawford owned partial rights to the mine. A third belonged to Viscount Hallowell, and the final third his daughter, Stanton’s bride. The contract had originally stipulated all of the rights go to the Crawford dukedom, but Stanton had changed them without the duke’s knowledge. Crawford was spitting mad about the changes and seemed to be taking it out on everyone working up at the mine.

  Although acting as a proxy for Stanton, Gabriel had only marginal authority over operations—and none over Crawford—but Hallowell might…

  Gabriel turned his horse back in the direction he’d just come from.

  While in the neighborhood, he might as well see if he could enlist some assistance from the enigmatic viscount.

  “Join us for supper, my boy.”

  Twenty minutes later, Gabriel sat in Hallowell’s study at the pleasure of Miss Redfield’s father. Obviously well past his sixth decade, Hallowell had los
t most of the hair on his head and his skin seemed to sag over his face.

  “If it isn’t any trouble.” Gabriel had not considered the time of day when he’d made the decision to visit. But sharing a meal would give him a chance to come to know the man better.

  And perhaps something of the circumstances of his eldest daughter.

  She ought to be delighting in what small entertainments local Society could offer. Instead, her situation seemed more suited for a distant relative who’d been shunned. He doubted she’d been embroiled in any sort of scandal. From what she’d said, her banishment had more to do with her imperfection than her behavior.

  Gabriel hadn’t expected the violet-eyed minx to be in attendance but felt a pang of disappointment, nonetheless, when the viscountess entered the study unaccompanied to announce dinner. It was as though their eldest daughter didn’t exist. It was all Gabriel could do to keep from asking why the man hadn’t even censured him for his behavior in the gazebo the night before the wedding.

  Were they blind?

  The viscount and viscountess and he spent the first few courses discussing the wedding, the weather, and common acquaintances. Not until Lady Hallowell removed herself from the room did Gabriel attempt to tackle the subject of the mine.

  “You must be satisfied, My Lord, to see your resources put to work for your estate,” Gabriel ventured.

  The older man swirled his port in the bulbous glass and stared at it intently.

  “Not by choice, I assure you. I merely did it of necessity.”

  This went along with what Stanton had told him.

  “Are you doubtful gold can be extracted? Or fearful it’ll collapse?” This was a reasonable question; after all, it had collapsed before, fifty or so odd years ago.

  Hallowell sipped the drink and blew out a loud breath. “To be honest, a little of both. I’ve read the engineers’ reports and Stanton’s assured me it can be done safely…” He shrugged. “But, as I’m sure you are aware, it’s cursed.”

  Gabriel wasn’t a superstitious man himself, but he wouldn’t insult the viscount by dismissing his beliefs. In addition, the viscount’s fears could actually work to his benefit.

  “All the more reason to exercise restraint.”

  The viscount nodded. “Being a stranger around here, you likely don’t realize there is more to the curse than just the mine.”

  Gabriel raised his brows in question.

  “My father was warned.” Warming to his subject, Hallowell lifted the carafe and poured them each another splash of the rich drink. “His father, and his father before him, tried extracting the gold. And yes, I’m quite aware of the suspected wealth hidden in its depths. My great-grandfather was the first to dig. At that time, a band of Romany was passing through. One of their elders, a soothsayer amongst them, advised him to halt or else tragedy would strike. He took her for a fool and proceeded despite her warnings. His eldest son died the day they discovered the vein.

  “It remained closed until a few years following his own demise, when his second son, my grandfather, went after the gold. While traveling to London to have the first few ounces made into jewelry for my grandmother, he was robbed by highwaymen and killed.

  “After a series of crop failures, my own father turned to the mine once again. That was the first collapse. Eight men remain buried in the earth till this day.” He eyed Gabriel intently. “Do not be surprised when you excavate their bones.”

  Gabriel simply nodded.

  “One might have thought I would have learned.” Hallowell swallowed the remaining contents of his glass. “All I did was contemplate the wealth I could extract, request an analysis. That night, an old man came to me in a dream. Warned that if I went ahead with my plans, I’d live the remainder of my days knowing the eye of the devil was on me.”

  The viscount sat back and folded his arms, as though Gabriel ought to know the significance of such a curse.

  “I don’t understand.” But before Hallowell could answer, the insanity of the man’s possible meaning came into focus. Gabriel’s blood ran cold.

  “The next day, my viscountess gave birth to our first daughter, Olivia.”

  Gabriel swallowed hard. “Surely, you cannot imagine it anything more than a coincidence?” Was the man mad?

  But the older man was shaking his head. “The dream was quite clear. If only one tragedy had occurred, I’d call it a coincidence. We probably ought to have sent her away much earlier. My heir might still be alive today… It is my belief that she looked on him too often. He had always been a sickly child and didn’t have the strength to fight it…” He shook his head mournfully. “All in all, I cannot deceive myself the curse does not exist.”

  Hallowell blamed Olivia for his heir’s death? Because of her eye!

  The belief was an asinine one.

  Suppressing an urge to knock some sense into the man, Gabriel placed his glass on the table and asked the obvious question. “So why now? Why are you willing to open it now?”

  “The same reason I nearly did before. The same reason my father did, his father, and his father before him. The coffers have run dry. It’s either that or starve.”

  “Crawford’s settlement has assured you needn’t worry about either,” Gabriel pointed out.

  “Yes.” Hallowell swirled the contents of his glass thoughtfully. “Perhaps the curse has lifted finally.”

  The man made no sense whatsoever. Did he only believe that which was convenient for him?

  Because, Gabriel thought cynically, a daughter with a crossed eye was not.

  “Where does that leave Miss Redfield?” She was none of his business, he was well aware. But couldn’t help but ask. “If the curse is lifted, why not bring her back into your home?”

  An indifferent expression crossed the older man’s face. “No longer relevant, Kingsley.”

  “You mean because of Luke Smith’s offer?” Gabriel pressed. It behooved him not at all to challenge the viscount on this matter. He could not help but imagine his own sister turned away from her family. Priscilla had spirit, much the same as Miss Redfield. Perhaps it was the similarities that caused him to persist.

  Because Olivia Redfield, despite her arguments to the contrary, did not wish to accept Mr. Smith’s offer. Any sane person would expect her father to be in agreement. She’d not been raised for labor and would likely have her life cut short by the hardships she’d inevitably endure. Having been treated as an outcast by her own parents had obviously shaken her confidence in herself.

  “Respectable, wouldn’t you say? The man needs a wife. The children need a mother, and that chit,” he paused meaningfully, “needs a husband. It isn’t cheap to fund a second household, I’ll have you know.”

  Such cruel sentiments drew even more of Gabriel’s ire. Without thought, he leaned forward menacingly. “Smith is a laborer who lives in a two-room cottage. Is that the future you wish for her?”

  Lord Hallowell’s pale eyes flashed angrily. “You mean to tell me what to do with my daughter?” Gabriel had pushed the viscount too far. “What has she been telling you? If you think she deserves better, why don’t you ask for her yourself?” And at Gabriel’s silence, he added, “I thought not.”

  And damn his eyes, but the viscount was right. Gabriel had no intention of any such thing. Impossible.

  So instead, he rose from his chair and tugged at his cravat. “Thank you for your hospitality, My Lord. I’ll make just one other suggestion, before taking my leave, and it has nothing to do with your ill-treatment of your daughter.”

  The viscount narrowed his eyes. Ah, but the lines had been drawn.

  “In the future, you’ll do well to deliberate less upon curses and dreams and take more interest in the goings-on up at that mine. It is on your property, and if Crawford has his way, I’m not certain another tragedy won’t occur. And if that occurs,” Gabriel dropped his napkin onto the table, “we’ll all be cursed to hell.”

  Reaching forward, he swallowed the remainder of h
is port and then very deliberately returned the snifter to the table. Taking his time, he adjusted his jacket and gestured toward the door. “No need to have me shown out. I know the way.”

  Chapter 6

  Minding One’s Own Business

  Gabriel ambled along the by now familiar country road—on foot this time—with no particular destination. The two previous nights he’d been kept awake by worry, tossing and turning until dawn.

  That blasted mine!

  It was proving far more troublesome than he ever could have imagined. He’d chuck all of his responsibilities if only he hadn’t promised Stanton he’d stay.

  Earlier that afternoon, they’d discovered water seeping into the newly dug tunnel. Not only was it seeping, but it was eroding some of the supports. Initially, all three of Crawford’s engineers wanted to halt the project, but after speaking with the duke, two of them later denied any danger existed. Gabriel had noticed, however, that neither of them had spent much time at that particular end of the mine since then.

  The sun was shining, flowers were blooming, and the Season was in full swing in London. He could be there in less than a day.

  Damn his own conscience. How in the hell had he gotten caught up in all of this? Ah, but yes, he’d had the misfortune to stumble upon his dear friend at a tavern the night before Stanton became engaged.

  His friend had come out of it with a pounding head and Gabriel emerged with the burden of a precariously situated mine and the Duke of Crawford for the next few months.

  He rather thought Stanton had gotten the better end of the deal.

  Without any particular destination in mind, Gabriel turned up a drive and approached the quaint little cottage on the edge of a copse of trees. Smoke curled from the chimney, and the curtains had been drawn on both the front windows.