What a Spinster Wants

by Rebecca Connolly

  How was she to feel about that?

  “Are your husbands invited?” Edith asked softly, needing to say something, anything.

  Grace nodded with a smile. “Of course. Ingram and Lord Sterling will be delayed for a time, as they are fighting the law for you. It is quite tricky.”

  “They are?” Edith cried, feeling her blush fade into paleness.

  Grace winced. “Yes, and I was not supposed to say that. They are in Kent at present, dealing with the lawyers and folk who set up Sir Reginald’s ridiculous scheme. Apparently, there is an associate of theirs and Henshaw’s who is doing some other things.” She waved her hand, dismissively. “I don’t know all of the particulars, but there it is. They shall all meet us at Merrifield.”

  It was too much, all too much, and Edith could barely comprehend all the moving pieces involved in her situation now. So many people working for her and on her behalf, stepping away from their own concerns and lives, purely with aims to improve hers.

  “Stop frowning, Edith!” Georgie scolded. “We would all do more than this if we could.”

  Edith barely managed to nod, feeling grateful and humbled to have such friends. “Is there anything else I should know about Merrifield before we go?” she asked, forcing a smile.

  Grace gave a rather devious grin. “Just one thing. Sir Reginald is not invited, and he is not to come within fifty miles of the house. You can be worry-free, Edith. No need for heroes at Merrifield.”

  The thought of three weeks without Sir Reginald nearby sounded like the very image of heaven.

  Edith grinned at her friends and said, “When do we leave?”

  “Yes, I received your note, Graham, but I was sure you could not be serious.”

  “Unfortunately, I was and am serious.” Graham winced, shaking his head, and looked over at the pale, fair-haired woman sitting in the parlor. “Is all prepared?”

  Eloise laughed once and leaned her elbow on the armrest of her chair. “Of course, it is, darling. It took some work, as we haven’t hosted anything here in an age, but it is done. When do you anticipate your friends?”

  Graham grunted and turned to the fireplace, resting his arm against the mantle. “They aren’t my friends, Aunt.”

  “Whose fault is that?” she demanded without any venom.

  He glanced over his shoulder at his aunt, really more of an age to be a much older sister than the sister of his father. “What exactly are you implying, Eloise?”

  She met his look with frank eyes. “I know you, Gray. You could walk into a room with twenty people holding out their hands to you, and you will only see a roomful of people.”

  “That’s hardly fair,” he protested, slightly stung by the accusation. “I have Tyrone, and I am not… unfriendly with others.” Even to him, the words sounded weak.

  Eloise shook her head slowly. “My dear boy, it is time to come out of the shadows in which you have hidden yourself.”

  Graham returned his attention to the fire. “I have not been hiding. I am simply more reserved than perhaps I should be.”

  “Gray, the wallpaper says more than you do.”

  “Then we need less complicated wallpaper.”

  Eloise laughed her warm, engaging laugh, reminding him of Penelope, his mother, and oddly, Edith.

  He had to laugh at himself, feeling his tension easing away every moment he spent here at Merrifield. This was home, and it was the only place that would feel like home. He was never more himself than when he was here. It was easier to breathe, easier to laugh, easier to be.

  Easier to admit he had only one friend he could name.

  “Fine,” he grumbled with a wry smile, pushing away from the fire and moving closer to her. “Those that are coming are… potential friends. Well, there are some among them that I could count as friends. Is that better?”

  Eloise lifted a brow in amusement. “Marginally.”

  She suddenly began to cough, and the rasping, deep, resounding sound of it chilled Graham and sent him to the seat beside her.

  “Eloise…” he said, eyes wide, taking in her body as though it would tell him what he wished to know.

  She held up a hand, turning her face away into a handkerchief and coughing further. “Wait,” she managed to choke out before coughing again.

  Graham scooted his chair closer, resting a hand on her back, familiar feelings of helplessness pouring in.

  At last, she began to breathe more freely, though she was pale and glistening with a sheen of perspiration.

  “Apologies, Graham. How mortifying!”

  “How long has it been like this?” Graham asked, keeping his voice low. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  Eloise favored him with a dark scowl.

  “It has been damp, Graham, and I’ve never quite felt myself after the winter. Don’t fuss yourself over a little cough.”

  “Little cough?” he repeated. He shook his head at her. “Eloise, I think you just coughed with the entire capacity of both lungs, and it sounded painful in the extreme. Are you feverish?” He laid a hand on her brow only to have it swatted away.

  “Stop that,” she insisted. “No, I am not feverish. If I were feverish, I would be in bed requesting a dish of soup. As it is, I am perfectly capable of walking here and there, sitting where I like, and behaving as I bloody well please.”

  Graham sat back, his brows rising. “Well, then. Pardon me.”

  Eloise rolled her eyes with a heavy sigh. “Don’t take that tone, Gray. I’ve grown tired of being pitied and treated like an invalid. Just because I haven’t been well the last few weeks…”

  “You haven’t?” he interrupted sharply. “Why didn’t you write to me? I was wasting my time out in London when I could have been here to take care of you and Molly. You have been wearing yourself out taking care of her, which I should never have allowed. It’s too much effort for you, and you are in no state to do so. She is too much work, has too much energy, and you should never have been put in this position. I’ll cancel the house party, tell everyone it is no longer happening, and I’ll give all this up so you might recover, and…”

  Eloise pushed up to her feet, a tower of indignation, despite her slight frame and paleness, a muscle at her jaw ticking as she glared at Graham, silencing him without a word.

  “What?” he asked with some hesitation.

  “I am not sickly!” Eloise insisted, a fist clenching her side while the other clutched at her shawl. “I’m simply not well.”

  Graham sat back roughly, giving his sweet aunt a sympathetic smile. “I know.”

  Her look turned scolding. “Then stop treating me like I’m a fragile thing that will break if I fall! I love being here with Molly, and you need a life away from us, or nothing will get anywhere.”

  “But…”

  “No!” She softened her interjection by returning his smile. “I’ve never been the picture of health, Gray. You know this.”

  He nodded, not seeing a need to elaborate on it. She had always been what they called ‘delicate’, even in her youth, which was likely what had made her his favorite aunt. She had always been able and willing to read to him as a child, and she’d watch him engage in whatever activities he wished to display. She had talked with Graham as an equal and for such a length of time when every other adult in his life had dismissed him, albeit kindly.

  “But,” Eloise went on, tucking her shawl around her and brushing back a long, wispy tendril of hair, “I have learned how to live my life fully despite that. I do not stop my life, or pause it, to indulge in my moments of feeling indisposed, as so many other fine women likely do.”

  “Oh, they do,” Graham assured her with a quick grin. “Quite dramatically.”

  Eloise nodded in acknowledgement. “I am not going to stop minding Molly in favor of being unwell. And I forbid you to give up your life thinking you must be here to mind us both.” Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him. “Or use us as an excuse to avoid the world.”

  Graham winced a
nd wrenched his gaze away. He knew that was a particularly accurate barb but hearing it out loud made him feel more ashamed of it.

  “It’s the comparison,” he admitted to her, sliding his hands along the armrests of the chairs.

  “Between you and Matthew?”

  He nodded and waited for Eloise to situate herself back in her seat.

  She sighed once settled and offered a kind smile. “Comparisons are natural. You mustn’t blame people.”

  “I don’t.” He shrugged. “It’s only that every single one of those comparisons would find me lacking. I am not as engaging as Matthew; I have not his easy temperament or his favorable looks. I’ll never be Matthew, and it’s clear to everyone, including myself, that he should be here instead of me.”

  “You might feel that way, and there might be a handful of idiots in Society who would agree.” Eloise made a face that indicated clearly just what she thought about that. “But I believe you will find that the majority of people are quite used to the changing of a title from one holder to the next and anticipate an adjustment in the manners and personality of the title bearers.”

  Graham had to smile. “I suppose you are right.”

  She dipped her chin in acknowledgment. “Don’t live your life wondering what Matthew would have done, or thinking you are unsuited to your tasks. Own your place and make it what you wish. That is what is required of you, not fulfilling your brother’s plans.”

  There was no sound then but the crackling of the fire, and there was something impossibly comforting in it. Something that burned the truth of the matter into his heart.

  “If you feel you must invite guests to Merrifield to live up to something,” Eloise added softly, “then you are mistaken. If you regret doing so, revoke the invitations, by all means. There is no expectation in the minds of others that should matter to you.”

  Graham smiled to himself and shook his head before Eloise had finished. “No… No, that had nothing to do with the invitations.”

  “It didn’t?” Eloise sat forward, her brow furrowing as she stared at Graham. “Then what in the world were you thinking? This is not like you. I felt sure you were being pressured into doing this because of Matthew and Penelope, I didn’t…” She laughed to herself and clapped once. “Oh, this is divine. I’ve never been more surprised by anything in my life.”

  “Are you going to let me explain myself?” Graham asked, his tone mild, but amused. “Or should I wait for your declarations to reach their full potential?”

  Eloise glowered playfully. “Take care, nephew. I am still your aunt and ought to command some degree of respect.”

  Graham chuckled and nodded with all due deference. “Very well, then. Respectfully, aunt, I invited these people because of two women.”

  His aunt coughed again, this time without the same severity and purely out of shock. “Two?”

  “One,” he went on without pausing, “because I have found myself at her service time and again when she required assistance during some particular difficulty. Her situation grows more and more dire, so much so that a few of us have decided that London ought not to be her location at present. In order to get her away without raising suspicions, a house party was the only legitimate option. I had the nearest estate, so this is where they are coming.”

  “Oh, Gray,” Eloise murmured, reaching out a hand to him, which he instantly took. “That is so lovely. You are giving her a refuge from the trials of her life. Of course, she should come here. What better place? Who is she? Do I know her?”

  He shook his head, smiling fondly. “I doubt it. Lady Edith Leveson. You’ll like her. She’s Scottish, and she speaks her mind in such a way…”

  “She’s pretty, isn’t she?”

  “She is, yes.”

  Eloise laughed at once, her clasped hands going to her lips. “Not a moment’s hesitation. This is too marvelous. And who is the second woman?”

  Graham’s smile turned rueful. “Miranda Sterling.”

  “No!” Eloise gasped, breaking out into a wide smile. “Miranda is coming?”

  “She is, indeed,” Graham confirmed. “She invited herself before I had settled on anyone coming at all. I had, of course, been considering the idea for Edith’s sake, but Miranda’s opinion certainly gave me some confirmation of the thing.”

  Eloise leaned her head back against the chair, shaking it back and forth slowly. “It must be a significant thing indeed, Gray, for you to call Lady Leveson by her Christian name. But I can easily see how Miranda would be useful in deciding on a particular course.”

  Graham chose to ignore his aunt’s assertion of significance on his forgetting Edith’s title, or dwelling on the fact that he had not used it in some time in his mind. Had he made such a mistake publicly? He couldn’t recall, but as he hadn’t been corrected or called out yet, he could not bring himself to worry.

  Besides, he rather liked removing formality where Edith was concerned.

  He groaned and covered his eyes with one hand.

  “Miranda,” he growled to himself.

  “Yes, Miranda, indeed,” Eloise quipped on a giggle. “You’ve done it now, Graham. When do they arrive?”

  “Three days,” he murmured as he dropped his hand, giving her a tired smile. “I’m going to need your help in this, Aunt.”

  Eloise dipped her chin. “You have it. But I think you will surprise yourself, Gray. In the meantime, I will do what I can to entertain the likes of Miranda Sterling during this house party. Heaven knows, that will take some effort.”

  Graham could only groan again in response.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The country is far and away better than Town, and I defy any who would argue otherwise. London may have more events and people, but the country has more freedom, beauty, and life than any city or town could ever boast. One must occasionally, if not frequently, take time in the country. It will do a person good.

  -The Spinster Chronicles, 8 November 1816

  Edith could not say that she had seen much of England, her exposure limited to the travels from Scotland to York and from York to London, and only the trip to Withrow, the Ingrams’ country estate, beyond that.

  Taking all of that into account, she would have to admit that Berkshire might have been the most beautiful county in England. So green and lush, with rolling hills and grand expanses of nature at almost every turn. It reminded her of the lowlands of Scotland, and despite being a Highland lass, she had felt those faint pangs of longing for her home, though she had not been back for several years.

  Her awe and appreciation only increased when she caught sight of Merrifield Terrace. The house itself surpassed what Georgie and Grace had described it to be. A massive expanse of Tudor architecture and style, the stone an idyllic golden color that made the contrast against the green of its countryside all the more lovely. Decorative battlements lined the façade, drawing one’s eyes up without any hesitation, and the enormous windows cradled between stone glistened in the morning light. Ivy crept up the lower levels of the place, but instead of looking wild and unkempt, it added an air of romance to the building.

  Never had she seen a place situated so perfectly, with elegant design and arrangement of every detail of the exterior, with its gardens and lake and unassuming elegance.

  Edith could have stared at the house for hours and never gotten tired of what she saw. She could scarcely draw breath for looking at it, and Amelia had been much the same. Grace and Georgie laughed at their expressions, but they could not contain their excitement, either.

  All were greeted by Lord Radcliffe, who was as reserved as ever, though he was polite and accommodating, as a host ought to be. He looked Edith over carefully as if checking for new injuries or distress, but he seemed perfectly satisfied by her appearance. The housekeeper, Mrs. Bates, was pleasant and cheerful, showing them all to their rooms and making sure everyone was comfortable. She even provided Amelia and Edith with their own ladies’ maids, since Edith had left Simms in London and
Amelia did not have one.

  Amelia was given the bedchamber next to Edith with an adjoining sitting room, which they would be sure to enjoy.

  The formality of their greeting and the arrangements were strange to Edith, though understandable. There were several other guests due to arrive, including the rest of the Spinsters and Miranda, and there likely wasn’t time or need for a more personal greeting or treatment.

  But why should Lord Radcliffe treat her differently than any other guest here? Who was she to be deserving of anything out of the ordinary?

  Sitting in her bedchamber, which was certainly lovely and perfectly elegant and comfortable, Edith could only feel restless. In this beautiful house, this lovely escape from her struggles in London, she wished to be free. Pushing up from her bed, Edith moved into the sitting room.

  “Amelia? I am going to walk about the house. Would you like to join me?”

  “No, thank you,” came the cheery, if tired reply. “I will rest a while, I think.”

  For a moment, Edith tensed at her words. Could she go alone? Would she be safe without someone else? Would Amelia be safe by herself here?

  Then she recollected her location and the seclusion that being here provided. Merrifield Terrace was far from the reaches of Sir Reginald, or anyone else who might cooperate with him. The only person in London who knew she was here already, apart from her own household and Prue, who couldn’t travel in her condition, was her brother, and even that admission had made her uneasy.

  If Lachlan wished for her trust, this would be the time to prove his loyalty.

  Eventually, word would get out of the house party and its attendees, but for now, all would be well.

  She had no idea what measures the men had put in place to keep Sir Reginald from coming to Merrifield, but she would trust that they were enough.

  Inhaling slowly, then exhaling the same, Edith left the sitting room and ventured into the corridor, her steps timid. She could hear the others unpacking, laughing, and talking, but didn’t stop to converse. Georgie and Grace would no doubt be anticipating the arrival of their husbands, who hadn’t travelled with them, and Edith, for one, didn’t care to see the reunions.