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

by Annabelle Anders

  It’s only a mine. Dirt. Rocks. A hole in the side of the earth.

  And now she wanted to go back outside but had somehow become frozen in place. An odd terror had taken hold of her limbs, rendering them useless.

  She heard the men shuffling again, and then let out a piercing scream when something black and shiny the size of a rat flew past her face.

  Released from her temporary paralysis, she clamored back out the opening and gasped for fresh air. In the distance, the creature fluttered its wings just before disappearing into a copse of trees.

  A bat. It had only been a bat. Her heart was still racing when Gabriel appeared by her side.

  “Are you hurt? You scared me half to death.” But he didn’t touch her. He searched her eyes, and she vaguely noticed he had a streak of mud along his jaw.

  “You have something—” Without thinking, she reached up to wipe at it, and he jerked back.

  He did not welcome her touch.

  “Why did you scream?” he demanded, sounding almost harsh.

  “It was nothing,” she said through this strange form of pain he’d inflicted. “A bat. It was nothing.”

  Gabriel closed his eyes in relief. He’d never moved so fast as when her scream echoed all throughout the bowels of the mine. She’d sounded as though she was inside and could have been around any corner.

  He’d never wanted her anywhere near this hellhole. He’d wash his hands of the project completely if not for the promise he’d made.

  “Will you take me home now?” She looked prim and proper standing there in her bonnet, gloved hands folded together at her waist. “I think I did not wish to see the mine after all.”

  He’d had a picnic made up by the cook at Ashton Acres and they’d barely just arrived, but something in her voice had him nodding. “Your wish is my command.” Only this time, his tone lacked all the promise it had carried earlier. He smiled grimly as she turned without him to march toward the vehicle.

  Perhaps, without even trying, he’d answered her questions after all.

  And the answer was not what either of them wanted it to be.

  Chapter 12

  A Formal Proposal

  Olivia refused to dwell on whatever it was that had happened between her and Gabriel Fellowes since Louella’s wedding. Because whatever it had been, now that it seemed to have ended, it stung.

  No gentleman of any worth will make a respectable offer to a cockeyed gel.

  She’d known all along that any interest he showed in her could never lead to anything substantial—anything real. He was an earl, and something of a rakish one at that. He’d admitted himself that he wasn’t yet prepared to settle down.

  And when he did, he would do so properly. He’d hire a valet, he’d told her, in order to keep up appearances.

  Appearances. He’d want a wife who wasn’t flawed, or cursed, or whatever it was that kept Olivia separated from Society. He’d want a wife who wouldn’t produce children who might be equally flawed.

  Not that Olivia wouldn’t love her own child with every part of her heart, but she couldn’t bear it if her husband could not love it. Or wanted to hide it.

  She should have heeded Eliza’s warning.

  Perhaps, someday, she could look back and remember without feeling so melancholy. For today, she’d not look back on it at all.

  “Good morning!” She swung open the door to the Smiths’ cottage with a forced cheerfulness, expecting to be greeted by Eliza, but instead, found herself face to face with Mr. Luke Smith himself.

  In one arm, he jostled baby Harvey in the way Olivia had done many times herself, and with his free hand, he spooned out some sort of blackened substance onto three small plates for his other children.

  She paused. “I’m sorry for interrupting. I thought Eliza would be here, or perhaps Mrs. Markham.” She went to back out the door, but he sent her a pleading look.

  “Mrs. Markham is ill,” he explained. “Miss Cline said she would return this evening.”

  He was at a total loss, the poor man. Taking a second look at the contents of the pan, Olivia decided she could not leave him to fend for himself. Ignoring her reluctance to spend time alone with the handsome widow, she stepped inside and closed the door firmly behind her.

  While doing what she could for this poor family, she’d not have any time to allow herself to wallow in self-pitying thoughts.

  “Sit down, Mr. Smith.” She shooed him from the stove. “Has Harvey drank his milk yet?”

  “His milk? Miss Crone didn’t say…”

  Olivia searched around the room until her gaze landed on the feeding apparatus. Empty. “Pat him on the back in case he has air inside.”

  “Are you here to cook for us?” One of the twins tugged at her skirt.

  The oldest, who was all of eight years old, Luke Jr, stared at her sullenly, which had been his normal expression ever since his mother died.

  “Pa already gave you something,” Luke Jr. reminded his younger brother.

  Olivia studied the pan more closely. Could this black clumpy substance have once been potatoes? She confirmed her suspicions with a sniff and then wrinkled her nose.

  This food was not fit for man nor beast.

  Over the next hour, she made herself busy, sending Luke Jr. to the pen to see if the chickens had any eggs for them, cleaning the pan, cutting new potatoes and eventually cooking up an entirely new meal.

  By the time Mr. Smith returned from the chores he’d attended to in order to sit down and eat, Harvey had long fallen asleep, the twins were reading together from a book she’d brought them—studying the pictures anyhow— and Luke Jr. had disappeared outside to do whatever it is eight-year-old boys like to do when left alone.

  “Smells like heaven,” he announced as she removed the heavy pan from the stove. “Looks a whole lot better than what I made up earlier.” The smile he sent her showed an abundance of appreciation.

  He dug into the food practically before Olivia could set it onto the table. And she found it enjoyable, she admitted to herself, to see her handiwork consumed so enthusiastically.

  “Thank you again, Miss Redfield.” Mr. Smith caught her eye as she added another helping to his plate.

  Was this what her life would be like if she married him? She’d been so busy all morning that she hadn’t had a chance to hardly think about Gabriel.

  Nor the way his black as night eyes crinkled when he smiled.

  The warm tingling sensation she felt when he laughed.

  The taste of his mouth.

  Her heart squeezed.

  One part of her wished he’d never come into her life at all and another part knew she’d treasure his kisses, smiles, and laughter well into her old age.

  It was almost as though she’d fallen in love with him.

  She jerked up at the thought, nearly losing her grip on the heavy pan.

  She was not. She could not be.

  Foolishness. And yet she had to turn away from Luke Smith in order to blink away the stinging behind her eyes.

  I cannot love him!

  Mr. Smith approached from behind and removed the pan from her grasp. “This is awfully heavy for such a little lady. You’ve already done so much.” And then he cleared his throat. “I realize none of this,” he gestured around his small home, “is your responsibility. The least I can do is help with the washing up.”

  “I’m sure you do enough, Mr. Smith. It’s not necessary…” She kept her gaze averted from him as she blinked the tears away.

  He dropped a hand on her arm. “It’s necessary that you don’t work yourself too hard. I realize you weren’t born for this sort of life.”

  Olivia froze for an instant. Despite her concerns, it seemed he was well aware that she must have once had very different expectations. The tone of his voice had been respectful, gentle, and… caring.

  “I’m sturdy enough.” But it was he who lifted the large kettle of boiling water and poured it into the basin for washing. And he did not stop
with that.

  Taking one of the clean linens, he dried dishes and placed them on the shelf after she washed and rinsed.

  “Lord Kingsley promised he’d have the mine opened up tomorrow. And he ensured we’d all be paid a full week’s wages despite the stoppage,” he volunteered.

  Olivia didn’t want to hear about the mine. She hated the mine.

  She hated it.

  “He’s a fair employer,” was all she could manage.

  “Not all bosses are the same. And I don’t mind admitting that I’m not looking forward to his departure. Stanton will be in charge then. No guarantee he won’t be the same as his father.” And then he seemed to remember her connection. “My apologies, ma’am. I forgot your sister married the marquess.”

  “If what my sister has to say on the matter carries any weight, he’ll be equally as fair as the earl.”

  “That’s good to hear,” he commented casually, and then went on to tell her about a plan he had to add another room to his small home. His gruff voice sounded matter of fact as he spoke of his livelihood, his day-to-day concerns, his plans for the future.

  The thought struck her that Mr. Smith was attempting to make conversation––showing her how things might be if she were to take him up on his offer.

  The gesture, oddly enough, was nearly as comforting as it was unsettling.

  Not once had Gabriel ever mentioned his plans for when Stanton returned. He spoke a little of his family, but the only time he’d mentioned settling down had been when she’d asked him about a valet.

  Mr. Smith wanted to show Olivia a life he could provide for her. He wanted to assure her of his intentions.

  Gabriel’s pursuit had all been defined as nothing more than friendship. He’d never once given her any indication that he wished to make her any promises for the future.

  Not that she’d expected any, but if she were to be truly honest with herself; she had hoped.

  Foolishness! Of course, he would not!

  She’d nearly given herself to him when they’d gone swimming.

  Olivia’s fingertips brushed Mr. Smith’s much larger, weather-roughened hands, as he took a plate from her. She wondered that she didn’t feel that spark of life, that breathtaking connection she felt whenever she was with Gabriel.

  Luke Smith will never break my heart.

  “You’ve been away when I returned home every day this past week. I wondered if perhaps I’d done or said something to offend you?” He’d stopped wiping at the plate in his hands and addressed her somberly.

  “Of course not, Mr. Smith.” Had she hurt him? Gabriel had said he didn’t believe Luke Smith’s heart was involved in his suit. Had he merely been applying his own feelings to poor Mr. Smith? “You’ve been nothing but kind.” Lifting her lashes, she forced herself to smile.

  He blinked. Flicked his gaze from her left eye to her right and then back to her left, then turned away as though intent upon drying the plate again.

  This wasn’t the first time somebody had averted their eyes away from her. It was a natural response for many. They didn’t know which eye to look into.

  The only person other than Louella who hadn’t shied away from looking into her eyes had been—

  Stop it, Olivia Redfield! He’s no more! He’s not for you! Friends indeed! There could be no such thing between us. Not after—

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you a question. If you’ll remember, I spoke with your father a while back.”

  She bit her lip and nodded. The moment had finally come. She could live her life pining for Gabriel Fellowes, a gentleman who would offer her charm and pleasure and steal her away from the hardships of everyday life.

  And then abandon her.

  Or she could take the step of marrying Luke Smith: a man of strong character, one who was willing to speak of the future, commit himself to her for a lifetime—a man who needed her desperately.

  Gabriel Fellowes could provide immediate pleasure, but in doing so, would leave her a lifetime of pain. Was it possible he already had?

  “Anyhow, If you’ll—“

  “Yes, I’ll marry you. That is, if you still want to.” Gabriel could berate her for being all kinds of a fool, and yet he’d failed to understand the reality of her position in life.

  Much as Louella had.

  This time, it was Mr. Smith’s turn to nearly drop a dish. “Uh. Yes. That’s exactly what I was meaning to ask you.” And then he glanced toward the opposite side of the room, toward Harvey in his handmade cradle. The other three boys had slipped outside and were likely rolling in dirt or mud or something worse that would require pulling out the laundry tub later.

  “I’m not a good bargain for you, Miss Redfield, I’m well aware. But I want you to know I’ll do all I can to take good care of you.” He stared at her intently with brilliant green eyes. “And I’d like to kiss you, but with Mavis having been buried not but a month ago, I don’t think it would be proper.”

  Olivia dropped her gaze, feeling more than a little awkward. She merely reached out and grasped the back of his hand. “I understand.”

  “May I have your permission, then, to ask Vicar Cline to announce the banns this Sunday? By the time he’s gone through all those, it ought to be fine, don’t you think?” And then he grinned at her.

  Olivia’s smile froze upon her face. “Um. Yes.”

  Dear God, what had she done?

  Eliza arrived less than an hour later, and Mr. Smith excused himself to take care of some chores outside. Although Olivia normally would have shared all her news, as well as her misgivings with her friend, she couldn’t bring herself to say the actual words out loud.

  If Olivia had shared the news of her engagement, of course, Eliza would have been proud of her, told her she was making a sensible decision. Although she’d not expressed her censure again at Olivia’s unseemly adventures with Lord Kingsley, her normally friendly companion had withheld her approval in subtle ways.

  Mrs. Markham would be thrilled to hear of Olivia’s decision to marry Mr. Smith as well.

  Olivia winced inwardly as she imagined her sister’s response.

  Louella was going to lash her up one side and down the other with blistering recriminations.

  By deciding to marry Mr. Smith, Olivia would never again be expected to attend any balls or teas, or pretend to fit in with other lofty individuals. She would spend all of her energy caring for sweet baby Harvey and perhaps learn to eventually draw a smile from Luke Junior.

  She would be appreciated. She would belong.

  She’d made the right decision. These children would have a mother. Her father would no longer be required to provide for her needs. She’d cease to be his curse.

  And Louella could go forth in her new marriage without the constraint of worrying over her older sister.

  Olivia untied her apron, hung it on the hook, and then swept her gaze around the front room of the small cottage again. This would be her home.

  She’d no longer be able to keep Mary with her and would have to help her longtime companion find employment elsewhere.

  Olivia attempted to inhale deeply but could only draw in a small amount of air.

  Her mother might be willing to move Mary back to the main residence.

  A small corner of the room sat empty. Perhaps Olivia could make room for her library there. She’d need to cull it considerably though.

  When would she read? After all the children had gone to bed? After she’d completed all the chores that would be required of her? She might be too tired by then, and her husband would expect her to fulfill other marital expectations.

  Her blood turned to ice and sweat broke out on her brow.

  She shuddered, feeling as though something heavy was now sitting upon her chest.

  She could not go back on her answer. She’d already given him her word.

  Reluctant to run into Mr. Smith—her fiancé—again, she waved a quick goodbye to Eliza and practically sprinted out the door and down the pat
h toward the main road.

  She’d made the right decision. She had!

  Then why were her hands shaking and why had her mouth gone dry? Cold feet already?

  A wave of dizziness had her stopping and leaning against the trunk of a large tree. This would pass. She hadn’t eaten anything yet today. She’d been too distraught initially, and then later too busy, and too…

  She didn’t know what she’d been.

  With her eyes closed, she leaned into the tree, undaunted by the sharp edges of bark biting into her hands.

  She could run away to London. Or farther. She could board a ship for America.

  Deep breaths. Deep breaths.

  “Olivia?”

  Please, no!

  “Go away.” She didn’t want to see him right now. She didn’t want to see him ever again. Hadn’t he done enough to upend her life already? The last person she wanted to talk to, in the world, at this moment, was the one person who would cause her to question the decision she’d made today.

  The one person who’d essentially compelled her to make it.

  Before he’d kissed her at the mine, he might have stepped closer, perhaps placed a hand upon her shoulder. He had been a friend. She practically choked on the sob that threatened to escape.

  Because they had been friends.

  Chapter 13

  Temptation

  At first, he’d thought she was ill. But her shoulders were shaking slightly. And she’d begged him to go away between a few poorly disguised sniffles.

  He’d been on his way to Luke Smith’s home—legitimate business today—but could not leave her alone like this.

  At times, he wondered if he would be able to leave her at all… when the time came. Only he hadn’t a choice.

  “Olivia.” He jammed his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

  “Don’t.” She wiped at her eyes but refused to look him in the face.

  “You are upset.” A brilliant observation on his part. “Has someone caused you offense?” And then, feeling a moment of black anger, asked, “Smith?”