“So…?” he prodded, and Edith shook herself from ruminating on his goodness.
“So,” she swallowed once and forced a bland smile, “Archie’s cousin, the heir, has come to London, and Sir Reginald… Well, he’s rather cut from the same cloth, ye might say.”
“How pleasant.” Henshaw shook his head, exhaling roughly. “What does he want?”
Me.
Edith bit the response back and kept her strained smile where it was. “He’s hemmed and hawed aboot, but it seems he’s no’ inclined to extend any generosity there. Which is as I expected, so I canna say I’m especially disappointed.”
Owen watched her from the doorway, raising a brow at her. It was a very simplistic view of the situation, she knew, but there was nothing to be gained by going into the details of everything with someone who was powerless to change the situation.
“Yet you have decided to enter Society,” Henshaw pointed out. “Officially. What changed? You were never so inclined before.”
No, she hadn’t been, and the truth of it was that she was not especially inclined now. She was only determined, and that changed everything.
Edith nodded once, swallowing again. “I ken that all too well,” she murmured. “But I have decided that I’ve had enough of the men of the Leveson family dictating every move I make. I aim to change my situation by my own hand now, Henshaw, and I need Society to do that.”
There. If that didn’t make her plan clear to him, nothing would. She had just enough pride left to avoid stating anything more obvious, or more desperate, though she really was not above much anymore. Her finer associates might not understand that, which was why she would keep those details to herself.
But Henshaw nodded slowly to himself, his frown fading as his understanding sank in. “Edith, I’ll say this once, and I hope you will take it as it is intended…”
She tilted her head in question.
“If it will do you any good at all, help in any way, I’ll marry you.”
The breath rushed out of her lungs at the offer, and her first thought was to adamantly insist against it, to laugh off his thoughtful nature, as she had so often done before. Henshaw had offered to marry Grace only last year, though he had been teasing, and she would not be surprised if he had offered the same to one of the other Spinsters at one time or another. He was the sort of man that knew the way of the world and the skewed nature of it. Yet, he would offer himself as a way to surmount such an obstacle, even if it were made in jest.
But there was no jest here, and it was that solemnity that kept her from reacting as that first thought called for.
Marrying Henshaw would solve everything. Absolutely everything. His offer was utterly genuine, without condescension or heroism, and made with what he thought a full understanding of her circumstances. There was no judgment, no prejudice, and no indication that he believed her anything less than capable of managing her problems on her own.
To alleviate her suffering, to give her peace of mind, this man would give up any of his own prospects for future happiness and marry her.
Her chest tightened, slowly clenching with emotion, and her eyes burned with the same. She smiled at him, beyond words for the time being, and wishing, faintly, that she could accept such an incomparable offer.
“Alas,” she managed to choke out, “I dinna think I could allow that. It would break the heart of too many lasses, and for all my fondness for you, Hensh, I will insist that ye marry where your heart dictates, and no’ your conscience.”
“Not that many lasses, Edith,” he assured her, smiling with more warmth than she deserved. “But thank you for giving me the courtesy of a moment’s consideration. The offer will always stand, should anything change.”
Edith nodded, swallowing hard. “Thank you.”
The offer was a pointless one, for all its sweetness.
No matter what else changed, her decision in this never would.
“I hear that you danced with Lord Radcliffe at the Martins’ ball last night,” Henshaw said then, his tone and expression returning to his usual one. “I’m sorry I missed that.”
“I didna mean to,” Edith murmured, her cheeks coloring.
Henshaw chuckled. “How did you manage to get a dance with a man when you didn’t mean to? I didn’t know you were acquainted.”
“We’re not,” she answered honestly, memories of the night before darting in and out of her mind at a rapid speed. “It was… a matter of chance. And he didn’t want to.”
Henshaw grunted, looking impressed. “Well, you can add your name to a very short list of women he has danced with.”
That was curious, to be sure, and despite the distress she’d felt the night before, she could honestly say she was interested now.
“How short?”
He gave her a somber look. “Two others, that I know of.”
Edith blinked at that, the answer settling on her heavily. How could a man who never danced give in to her demand for a waltz with relatively little fight? Granted, she had been quite determined, which was something that had once been a vibrant part of her nature, now long forgotten. She hadn’t exactly given the man a chance to refuse her in earnest.
“Lord, did you say?” Edith murmured, wishing with some pain that she had tea at hand.
“You really don’t know him, do you?” Henshaw chuckled and crossed one knee over the other. “Lord Radcliffe is a viscount. He inherited not long ago after a family tragedy. Everyone was devastated when we lost Lord and Lady Radcliffe like that. Merrifield will never be the same, that is certain.”
Somehow, that seemed too much to hear, too much to think about. She had her own burdens to bear. The notion that her hero of the ball was also one to whom fate had not been kind weighed heavily on her heart.
Why could her desperate dance not have been with someone with the simplest of lives? She would never wonder about the life that sort of man led or feel sympathy that her actions might have added to whatever he bore.
“I dinna mean to inquire into his life.” Edith shook her head, averting her eyes. “Poor man.”
“You didn’t. I offered it up, and it is common knowledge.” He waited a moment, and when she made no answer or response, he spoke again. “Edith…”
She dragged her reluctant gaze back to Henshaw and found him smiling at her with some sympathy. “Yes?”
Henshaw’s smile grew briefly. “Whatever you are thinking or planning, remember that you need only ask, and I will be happy to assist.”
Edith found herself smiling back at him. “If I had any idea what I was thinking or planning, Hensh, I’d be pleased to include you.”
He took her at her word, laughing again, then informed her of the food he’d had sent down to the kitchens, and invited her to accompany him to the theatre with their friends the following evening.
The theatre was not a ball, and there was no reason why Sir Reginald should attend the same night, especially with the other activities available to one during the Season.
She agreed, though her natural inclination was to remain at home and hide away from the world as she had so often done.
She could not do that now. More’s the pity.
Henshaw left shortly after, and Edith stared after his carriage, her arms folded about her midsection in an almost protective fashion.
“I dinna ken why ye dinna jus’ tell him, mistress,” Owen remarked from somewhere behind her. “He’s a right one.”
“I ken he is,” Edith murmured. “And tha’s why I canna do it.” She sniffed once and turned for the doors. “I’ll be walkin’ to Charlotte’s now.”
Owen grunted once. “I’ll be some paces behind ye, as always.”
She nodded in acknowledgement, then headed out into the damp London morning, her thoughts awhirl.
Lord Radcliffe. She hadn’t meant to dance with a peer; she’d simply snagged the closest sleeve available to her and blurted out something desperate. The only thought in her head had been getting safely
away from Sir Reginald in a manner that wouldn’t earn her his wrath or punishment. He had been pursuing her for too long that night, her polite refusals meaning nothing to him, and the influence of too much of the evening’s good wine had emboldened him. A dance with him could have ruined her before any plan had the chance to come to fruition.
Hence the desperation.
A desperation, which, unfortunately, surpassed any recollection of the actual person with whom she had danced. He was tall, he scowled, and he had dark hair. Beyond that, there was nothing in her mind to recollect Lord Radcliffe at all.
It seemed a shame to learn the name of the man from someone else, but to also doubt she would know him again should their paths cross once more. Hardly respectable, hardly polite.
So much for making a good impression with Society.
There wasn’t much she could do about that, and there wasn’t much she could say for herself. Her attendance at events would give her more opportunity to improve her abilities at names and faces when under impossible stress from Sir Reginald. However, she would seriously consider returning to Scotland if he began to appear at every event she attended.
The thought of her native land filled her with familiar pangs of longing, and she inhaled deeply, as if the stale London air could somehow match that of her beloved Highlands.
Home had ceased to be so for some time now, and her family would not welcome her back should she have appeared. Her mother alone, perhaps, and her younger sister if she were in the proper mood, but her father would turn her away at once. She had no fortune now that her husband was dead, and the family had wasted her dowry on a man who’d died before the ink dried on the contract.
Or so the latest letter from her father had said.
Her duty now was to find another husband and use whatever provisions Archie had left her to make the most of it. Edith didn’t have the heart to tell her father that Archie had left her almost nothing and that she wouldn’t be in a position to give her father the ties to Society he was seeking.
He might have told her to go along with Sir Reginald’s schemes, for all she knew. He’d had no problem with selling his daughter to her first husband; having his daughter be mistress to a baronet might have been a capital idea to him. Provided she could benefit financially from the connection, and the family could, as well.
If only she had the means to return to Scotland without returning to her family. There would be so much freedom and joy in that. But freedom and joy were not in the cards for Edith at present, and perhaps not even in the future.
She would settle for security and self-respect. Maybe even security alone.
Edith shook her head and raised her chin as she approached Charlotte’s home, knowing that her friend was rather inclined to looking out of the windows in anticipation of arrivals. She would never escape the meeting without interrogation if she were caught making anything less than a pleasant face.
She had a feeling there would be questions enough for her as it was.
Entering the grand house, Edith sighed to herself as she shrugged out of her worn cloak. The maids in the Wright household were well used to her tattered things and controlled their expressions accordingly. She never apologized for the state of her clothing, and they treated her as they did every other guest in the house.
It was a well-choreographed pantomime.
“If you’ll follow me, Lady Edith,” the friendly housekeeper said with a gesture towards the drawing rooms.
Edith refrained from reminding the woman that she knew full well where Charlotte’s favorite drawing room was, having been to the house almost weekly for a year or so. She needed to keep all the good connections she could, even if they be servants in the grand houses. If Sir Reginald got his way, or if Edith had to resort to less respectable means of securing her future, these guardians of the entrance would be key to not losing every connection Edith had in the world.
The sound of at least a dozen doors slamming shut rang in her mind in the imagined scenario, and she shuddered at hearing it.
“Lady Edith Leveson, Miss Wright.”
Edith blinked hard and forced a smile as the drawing room was suddenly before her.
“Thank you, Mrs. Evans,” Charlotte chimed, rising from her seat within the drawing room and turning to face them with her usual grin, a dimple appearing in her left cheek. “Edie, I was worried you weren’t coming.”
“Edie?” Grace cried from her spot in a chair. “Wherever did that name come from?”
Edith snickered as she entered the room, watching as Charlotte rounded on Grace with an exasperated expression that spoke of a very entertaining conversation prior to her arrival.
“I was simply trying it out, Grace!” Charlotte insisted. “It could be an adorable shortening of her name that we use, as her friends.”
Grace looked utterly bewildered and turned her attention to Edith. “Has anyone, in the whole course of your life, called you Edie?”
“Not since I was a wee thing,” Edith said simply as she sat in the vacant seat on the sofa next to Prudence Vale, taking a cup of tea from her. “Thank you, lass. This is much needed.”
“Of course,” Prue murmured. She leaned closer and whispered, “They’ve been arguing the virtues of familiarity for a quarter of an hour. Heaven alone knows why.”
Edith nodded as she blew softly on her steaming tea. “One can only hope Charlotte finds a point to come to very shortly.”
Prue snickered a soft laugh, then groaned a little, one arm wrapping around her visibly swollen abdomen. “Merciful days…”
“The bairn?” Edith smiled gently, eyeing her friend’s wince.
Prue nodded, biting her lip briefly. “I know I still have some time before my confinement, but this little one isn’t behaving very well.”
“That’s because the child is Camden Vale’s,” Charlotte announced, interjecting herself into their conversation, as per usual. “You cannot expect an easy time of it.”
Georgie Sterling snorted softly, bouncing her infant son on her lap. “That’s so comforting, Charlotte. Really. Prue feels much better now.”
“Well, it’s her own fault,” Charlotte insisted as she flopped herself inelegantly down in a chair. “Having your child in the middle of the Season. Really, Prue, you’ll be off to your country estate in a matter of weeks, and then that will be it. Why could you not have arranged your confinement for the winter?”
“Arranged?” Izzy Morton laughed, setting her tea down to avoid disrupting it. “Charlotte, there is no scheduling something like this.”
Charlotte huffed and shook her head. “I refuse to believe that. As adorable as the young Miss Vale will undoubtedly be, I shall take some time to forgive her for taking my friend away during the Season.”
“Miss Vale?” Prue repeated with a small smile. “Cam would be delighted if that came to be.”
“So would I,” Georgie announced. She bounced her giggling son again, quirking her brows. “She has a suitor waiting.”
Edith pursed her lips playfully. “The lass might have two Sterling suitors vying for her. Didna Janet and Lord Sterling have a strapping lad, as well?”
That earned her a scowl from Georgie. “How dare you! Thomas is far and away the better candidate for Miss Vale. Henry may be my son’s cousin, but he is not suited for the match. Ask Elinor when she arrives next week, she will agree with me.”
“Don’t talk about that girl,” Charlotte insisted, raising a hand. “I do not have it in me to call her Mrs. Sterling, and I may never accept her husband as I have the others. It is too monstrous.”
Prue sighed heavily, rubbing at her belly. “Charlotte… Hugh Sterling has s-sent us all some very f-fine letters of apology, and he apologized again at the wedding breakfast. You’ve s-seen him yourself, and he was most p-pleasant.”
Charlotte shook her head, her lips pulling down. “No, I cannot allow that. He has misled Elinor, and she is a fool for being so duped. The wedding was beautiful, and they were wise
to keep it small, but that is one redemption I cannot see as valid.”
“Then it is a mighty fine thing that you were not chosen to be the Almighty,” Georgie snapped, smiling to soften the blow. “None of us would make it to heaven if you were. I like Hugh as he is now, and I will even go so far as to say he is good for Elinor.”
“I am not hearing this.” Charlotte covered her ears and pointedly looked out of the window.
Grace waved a dismissive hand. “It must be exhausting to have that much indignation about so many things. Are you all going to the theatre tomorrow? Henshaw asked Aubrey if we had a box, and we do, naturally, but…”
“I would love to attend,” Kitty Morton chimed in, her soft voice ringing out clearly, surprising Edith.
A gentle beauty, Kitty was the shyest creature Edith had ever known, but in the last year, she had begun to come out of her timidity. Not entirely, but just enough that Izzy may wish to warn her husband, Kitty’s brother, about the potential for an increase in suitors this Season.
The poor man would not take that well.
“Edith? Will you go?”
Edith inhaled sharply as she looked around, belatedly realizing the room’s attention, including Charlotte’s, was on her.
Wetting her lips, she answered carefully. “I would be delighted, provided I can find something suitable to wear.”
Kitty’s brow furrowed. “Why should that be an issue? You always look lovely.”
Edith could have hugged the girl for her innocence, if not for her lack of understanding of fashion. “I took an inventory of my gowns this morning, and there isna much suitable for fine occasions. I can do well enough by visitations and outings, but for balls and parties, I should attract more attention for standing out in a poor way, no’ a good one.”
“What do you mean ‘something suitable’?” Charlotte asked suddenly, giving her a look of scrutiny. “You have plenty of lovely things, you have always looked well.”
What a Spinster Wants Page 4
