What a Spinster Wants

by Rebecca Connolly

  Joyous though they were, the evidence of such love and bliss made Edith painfully jealous. And she was no romantic.

  The corridors and rooms of the guest wing at Merrifield were no less lovely than the rest of the estate, which should not have surprised her in the least. Here were ages of family history portrayed in every stone and wall, in every portrait and carpet, every tapestry and tile. How many of the Radcliffe ancestors had put their own particular tastes on grand display in this place? What guests had stayed in these rooms, and of what station and influence did they belong?

  Moving down the grand staircase, her fingers tracing the surface of the dark wood railing, Edith took in the Great Hall with more intensity than she could have managed when she entered. The grandeur of the space was understated, which she could appreciate, and the immaculate windows stretched nearly to the height of the ceiling. Dark wood spanned the ceiling and the lower portion of the walls, with ornate carvings in the corners and along the beams above. One might have considered Merrifield a hunting lodge, if its size were condensed and antlers dotted the walls.

  As it was, the whole place felt particularly comfortable to her, as opposed to many fine houses that seemed more a display of finery.

  Tapestries hung along the southern wall, and Edith found herself admiring each. It seemed that the Radcliffe family had a taste for legends, as she could see Robin of the Hood, King Arthur, and St. George with his dragon among the stories portrayed. The work was impeccable, though there were signs of aging in each, if one looked close enough.

  This was no home on display for the fine Society of London. This was a family home in every respect.

  Which begged the question: why had it been so very popular among them?

  Edith frowned in thought as she continued to explore, moving further into the house. She passed two parlors and a breakfast room, then paused at the sight of a woman standing out on the terrace. The grand windows at the rear of the house, which belonged to no room to speak of, offered an unhindered view of the terrace, and the woods and gardens beyond.

  There hadn’t been others arriving when Edith had, apart from the rest of her party, and she wasn’t aware that anyone else had come since their arrival. There was something about this woman that made Edith curious.

  She stood at the railing, a deep blue shawl wrapped around her slender frame. Fair hair barely contained in a low chignon, stray locks dancing on the breeze, and a pale complexion provided such a contrast to Lord Radcliffe that it seemed impossible for her to be a sister of his.

  Searing pain lanced at Edith’s throat, and her hand flew there as if to soothe it. Could it be that Lord Radcliffe had a wife?

  She had never asked; he had never said. Their limited conversation hadn’t provided an opportunity to express such things, and all that her friends had told her had been related to the title, not the man. The tragedy of his brother, but not himself.

  The woman turned then, her dark eyes falling on Edith almost at once, leaving her no opportunity to flee undetected. She smiled at Edith, a warm and gentle smile, though Edith felt no comfort from it.

  “Jings crivvens, help ma boab,” Edith muttered as she forced a smile and strode forward.

  There was no help for it now.

  The fair woman was remarkably pretty, though clearly older than Edith or any of the Spinsters. She moved to a door close by, entering the house.

  “Good morning, my dear. Have you made yourself comfortable?”

  Edith smiled, the low tone of the woman’s voice settling on her rather like a sip of brandy might have done. “Aye, that I have. I canna take a rest after riding in the carriage so long, so I fancied a walk. I hope ye dinnae mind,” she said.

  “You’re Lady Edith,” came the bemused reply, the smile turning almost mischievous.

  “I am,” Edith admitted, her cheeks heating. “It isna hard to tell, in some respects.”

  That brought a light giggle from the other woman. “No, it is not.” She stepped forward and smiled further still. “I’m Lady Eloise Hastings. For better or worse, I suppose I am the mistress of Merrifield.” She shook her head on another laugh. “My nephew is Lord Radcliffe.”

  “Nephew?” Edith exclaimed before she could stop herself. “How is that…? I mean, my lady, you canna be old enough for that.”

  “Thank you very much,” Lady Eloise said with a playful curtsey. “I am his father’s much, much, much…” her eyes widened for emphasis, making Edith grin, “younger sister. Not even a dozen years in difference between my age and Graham’s. I might as well be a sister.” She turned her head to cough weakly, though it seemed to take a deal out of her to do so.

  Edith stepped forward, a hand instinctively going to Lady Eloise’s arm. “Lady Eloise, are you unwell?”

  She waved a hand. “Just Eloise, please,” she managed between a pair of weak coughs. “I have never been one for unnecessary syllables in addressing me.”

  “Eloise, then,” Edith amended. “And ye may call me Edith, ma’am, if it please ye.”

  “It would.” Eloise grinned at her, then dabbed a handkerchief at her throat. “And no, I’m not unwell… Simply not especially well.” Her smile softened, and her color heightened just a touch. “I’m afraid good health has not been my companion throughout my life. Delicate, I believe they call it, though I hardly find that flattering.”

  Edith rubbed her arm gently, attempting to soothe what she knew she could not. “Would ye like to sit for a spell? Or perhaps return to the terrace? The day is verra fine, and the fresh air may do ye good.”

  “That was my thought before,” Eloise admitted as she extended an arm to Edith. “Will you walk with me, Edith?”

  “Gladly.” Edith looped her arm through hers, and let Eloise lead her out to the terrace. “This is a beautiful estate, Eloise.”

  Eloise dipped her chin in a nod, her gaze spanning out over the gardens. “I’m afraid I cannot take credit for any of it, but I do consider it home. My nephews have been kind enough to invite me to remain as they have inherited my brother’s title, and so I have never had to look elsewhere.” She inhaled deeply, her eyes closing, then exhaled very slowly, the sound full of satisfaction. “I could not imagine anywhere so perfect. But then, I am not particularly objective on the topic.”

  Edith snickered and tried to take in the view as a whole; rolling hills, forests, and all. “I’m afraid I have examined some of the house myself, exploring this and that from my room until I met you. I was restless, and the spirit of this house is so inviting…”

  “You don’t need to explain yourself,” Eloise interrupted, turning to Edith and putting a hand over hers. “Or excuse yourself. You are an invited guest at Merrifield, and we have no secrets here. No locked rooms or forbidden halls. Walk and wander as you will; it will not upset or offend any of us. Merrifield is the most comfortable fine estate to be found, and I have several witnesses to swear to the claim.”

  “Thank you.” Edith sighed and returned her attention to the grounds. “Och, this view reminds me of Scotland. I didna think I would find anything like home in England, except perhaps in the north, and here I find loveliness to compare. I would like to walk every square inch of it, let it seep into my soul until I forget that I am far from home.”

  Eloise hummed softly and tucked one of her flying fair strands of hair behind an ear. “Well, my dear, I am not a great walker, so I cannot accompany you for every inch. But I could, perhaps, tolerate a stroll in the walled garden, if you are of a mind to see it.”

  A burst of warmth lit Edith’s chest, and she could have cried with joy. “I would enjoy that verra much, Eloise. Verra much, indeed.”

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

  “Indeed, my lord.”

  Graham glared at Morgan as the latter brushed out his coat. “That wasn’t a conversation starter.”

  Morgan did not look troubled in the least by this. “Sorry, my lord. Just adding in my opinion.”

  “Your opinion is not
necessary.” Graham huffed and fidgeted with his collar in the looking glass. “We have time before I need to look presentable again, yes?”

  There was no response from his valet.

  Graham glared at his back through the looking glass. “Morgan.”

  “My lord?” he replied, looking up innocently and meeting his gaze.

  “That was addressed to you.”

  Morgan’s brows rose in mock surprise. “Was it? Sorry, my lord, I thought I wasn’t necessary.”

  Graham grumbled incoherently under his breath before repeating the question clearly.

  “Yes, my lord,” Morgan replied. “I believe the rest of the guests will not arrive until just before dinner. Shall I have the young mistress informed that you will attend her?”

  “No,” Graham said slowly, shaking his head. “No, she will have her lessons now, and I don’t want to disrupt that. I’ll seek out my aunt, make sure she is well enough for supper and cards this evening.”

  “Was that in question?” Morgan asked as he hung Graham’s coat over his arm. “I thought Lady Eloise was always ready for supper and cards.”

  Graham glanced back at his valet, amused when he ought to have been scolding. “That’ll do, Morgan.”

  Once Graham was out of the room, he undid the top button of his shirt, sighing with relief when the choking sensation was gone. Finery might have enhanced the look of ladies, but Graham was convinced it was designed to include weapons of torture and confinement for men.

  Only here at Merrifield could he ignore the strict standards of dress, even if it were only for a few minutes. His guests, though few in number at the moment, would be taking a respite in their rooms, leaving the corridors and billiards rooms free from any who would find him improper.

  He was abysmal at billiards, but he did find them an adequate activity to quiet his mind when he had too much on it. He’d never seek to play in earnest with other men, but alone, he could easily pass the time there.

  He might do so, once he found Eloise and saw to her. She’d seemed more fatigued than he would have liked of late, and more than once, he had considered cancelling the house party. But between his determination to help Edith and his aunt’s insistence on having the event, he’d let it all continue.

  Time would only tell if it was a worthy endeavor.

  He strode down to the main level only to find that Eloise was nowhere to be found. None of the servants had seen her recently, and she was not in her rooms. Considering she was no horsewoman, and never walked to the village, there could be only one place left.

  Shaking his head, Graham left the house, wanting to laugh and growl at the same time. His aunt refused to accept that she had limitations and that she would do well to obey them. She would walk the gardens and then be nearly bedridden the day after in recovery. For all her declarations of not being sickly, her constitution was not one of strength on even the best days. More than once, he had considered bringing her to London to see better physicians than what they had in nearby Linfield.

  Eloise would not hear of it and swore by Dr. Benson and his treatments. Graham had no complaints about the man himself, but his aunt had not had improvement to her health and stamina in some time. It was entirely possible that nothing could be done by any physician, but he would have given a great deal to try.

  “Good day, milord!” one of the gardeners’ assistants called from the hedgerow with a wave.

  Graham nodded with a smile, enjoying the fact that he did not have to force it or remind himself of politeness. Here at Merrifield, Lord Radcliffe smiled at his tenants and servants, and could even be prevailed upon to speak with them.

  The same could not necessarily be said for his neighbors, but there was no sense in giving up his reserve on all fronts.

  He ducked as he entered the garden through the smaller entrance, not wishing to circle all the way around to the main gate. Scanning the paths and low bushes, he frowned, seeing nothing and no one. His aunt would not have gone through the maze, unless she had completely lost her ever-sharp faculties, so she must have been on the other side of the garden behind the roses.

  With all the meandering paths his mother had laid down during her renovation of the garden some twenty years ago, it would take him as long to reach the roses as it would have done to go around.

  Nothing for it, though.

  Graham walked quickly on the stones, hopping over the low bushes where he could, glancing up at the windows purely out of habit. Any of his guests would have thought him unhinged, and Molly would have found him laughable. He wasn’t sure which of the impressions he would prefer to have left, but it would be best for all concerned if he were not seen at all.

  Eloise would pay dearly if he were.

  Rounding the last of the bushes and lifting the low-hanging wisteria out of his way, Graham moved into the last part of the garden, only to stop in his tracks.

  Eloise sat on a bench at the end of the lane he presently stood on.

  And she was not alone.

  Striking green eyes raised from the private conversation and widened as they clashed with his gaze.

  Holy heavens.

  Graham swallowed, his fingers sliding against each other by his sides. Edith looked even lovelier than she had upon her arrival, a simple cream calico gown enhancing every aspect of her. She had forgone the deep green traveling cloak from before. The brilliance it had lent to her already magnificent eyes had left Graham unable to present the warm and welcoming greeting he had intended. All he had managed was his habitual reserve, bare politeness, and looking her over as though something might have happened to her since he’d seen her last.

  He’d meant to ask her about her state rather than look it over. He’d meant to show her how pleased he was that she had come, that she was here, and that he could spend some time getting to know her in this place. He’d managed none of those things.

  And now she was sitting in his garden with his aunt.

  And he was barely dressed. Fully clothed, but hardly respectable. Morgan would kill him. Provided Graham recovered enough to face anyone ever again.

  Seeing Edith’s reaction, Eloise turned and smiled brilliantly. “Graham! Come join us, won’t you? You see that I have met Edith, and we have been walking the gardens. She has been so generous to keep to my pace and insists we rest far too often. I’ve a mind to keep her as my nursemaid; do help me to persuade her.”

  Graham informed his feet that they ought to move, and they did so, albeit with a touch of awkwardness, and he forced his hands into his pockets, more to keep them occupied than anything else.

  “I don’t believe a woman of such a status as Edith would be acceptable as a nursemaid, Aunt, no matter how qualified she may be.”

  Edith swallowed, and her hands twitched as they lay in her lap. “Status is as status does,” she murmured, averting her gaze.

  “True enough, dear,” Eloise chimed, smiling at her new friend. “Who said that?”

  Edith’s lips pulled into a smile that tugged at something behind Graham’s navel. “Edith Leveson. Widow, Spinster, and Scot.”

  “Spinster?” Eloise replied with a laugh. “Darling Edith, you are scarcely twenty-five, if you are a day, and you are a widow. Nothing spinsterly about you.”

  Graham quite agreed, but he also knew full well to what Edith was referring. Yet it was not his secret to tell, so he merely remained silent, watching.

  “No’ that kind of spinster, Eloise,” she told his aunt. “I write for the Spinster Chronicles. A Society paper in London.”

  “Oh, I know all about the Chronicles!” Eloise retorted with a wave of her hand.

  “You do?” Edith and Graham said together, sharing a stunned look.

  Eloise looked between the two of them. “Of course! Miranda sends every edition on to me. I adore every word. Brava, my dear.”

  Edith blinked and looked back at Graham in bewilderment.

  He could only shrug. “They are quite clever. I cannot claim to have read e
very word, but what I have read, I enjoy.”

  “I’ll be sure to pass that along,” Edith said with a small smile, her eyes nearly dancing. She looked at Eloise again. “And I am twenty-seven.”

  “Pah!” Eloise shook her head, making a face. “Still a child, I’d say.”

  “Because you are so aged,” Graham pointed out, giving his aunt a severe look. “I have no idea what makes you a capable judge of age.”

  Edith snickered behind a hand, and his eyes flicked to hers as he smiled. The sound of her laughter could have danced on the breeze, and he felt like a fool for thinking so.

  A charmed fool, but a fool all the same.

  “I am older than my age,” Eloise insisted, narrowing her eyes at him, though her lips still quirked in a smile. “And I am still your aunt. I am entitled to the wisdom of my generation.”

  “Your generation.” Graham pretended to consider that, looking up at the sky. “Your generation. Wouldn’t that practically be the same generation to which Edith and I belong, hmm? You are closer in age to us than to your closest sibling, after all.”

  Eloise exhaled a short breath through her nose, though he could see her fighting laughter. “You see what I must put up with, Edith? The impudence! What shall I do with him?”

  “I canna say,” Edith told her, once more looking at Graham, almost shyly this time. “A bit of impudence has always endeared a body to me, personally. Shows a canny mind, does it not?”

  Graham smiled at her, a slow curling of his lips that seemed to cause the same sensation in the soles of his feet. A compliment from Edith was worth any teasing that would be forthcoming from his aunt, and any awkwardness on his part.

  The playful streak in the woman was damned attractive.

  “I suppose it does,” Eloise admitted reluctantly. She slowly rose, her breathing shifting as she did so in a way Graham did not care for. “Stay right there,” she ordered, pointing a finger at him. “I am only stiff. Edith, will you see me back into the house, love? I believe I have walked enough for the day.”