Love For The Spinster (Women 0f Worth Book 2)

by Kasey Stockton

  We separated to change for dinner, and when we came together again it was with Daniel in the dining room. I was quiet throughout dinner as I contemplated the recent change of events. It was a blessing, perhaps, that Daniel and I had experienced the row in the garden the day before, for my quietness was not out of character and thus he had no suspicions.

  When dinner was complete, I begged them both a good evening, retrieved my letter from where I had stashed it in my knitting basket, and retreated to my room to read it.

  The last time Rosalynn had written was to inform me about Sophie and send me the newspaper article depicting the resurfacing of my illegitimacy scandal, so it was not unreasonable for me to worry about what she could possibly have said in this letter. I had put it off for the better part of the day, however, so it was time to take a deep breath and dive in.

  I sat on the edge of my bed near the lamp, unfolded the parchment, and read.

  Dearest Freya,

  I hope this letter finds you in good health. I am happy to report that I have given birth to a large, healthy baby boy. Once again, I have a boy! One would think I was positively heartbroken, for indeed, I did pray for a little girl. But I simply had to take one look at my sweet little David Alexander and I was completely smitten. Jack does not believe me capable of having a girl. He has told me I am receiving retribution for all of those years I refused to marry him.

  I believe (just between you and me) I am being blessed with boys because I might raise them right, to treat women with the respect and dignity they deserve.

  But I digress. I would love to come and visit you. I should be right as rain within a week and plan to arrive on Friday next. If that does not suit, then you need only to write and I’ll change my plans. But I have tired of London and home is calling once again. The boys need room to run and I miss my damp and dreary castle.

  On another note—Sophie Hurst has become engaged. She will become the Countess of Melbourne very soon and your father seems happy with the arrangement. I will not bore you with details, but I wanted to keep you informed. Much of the gossip regarding your birth has diminished. There are still the odd comments here and there, but they are from the old snobs, and we don’t care much for their opinions anyway.

  I hope this letter finds you well. I am sad I could not make it for your ball, and I cannot wait to hear every detail the moment I descend upon you with my horde of children.

  I know you love them; you may not deny it.

  All the best,

  Rosalynn

  I lowered the letter in my lap and lost my gaze on the wallpaper opposite. The idea of Rosalynn visiting was as tiresome as it was exciting. I did love her family, and I adored her boys. But Rosalynn had the skill to look at my face and read my thoughts and I was not in a position where I particularly wished for her to know my mind.

  I sighed, lying back on the bed. There was nothing for it. I simply had to sort out my own mind and come to amicable terms with what I discovered so that when she arrived, there would be nothing left for her to puzzle out.

  Chapter 23

  Breakfast Wednesday morning was quiet. Mrs. Overton was sleeping late, as she did most days now, and Daniel was enthralled by the newspaper he’d borrowed from Major Heybourne. I was anxious, due to the newspaper, and was hoping I’d be able to read it when he finished. I needed to check for any mention of me or my family in the gossip articles.

  I now understood how Elsie felt all those years ago. To be discussed so brazenly was not amusing.

  “You have your ride with Mrs. Wheeler today, yes?” Daniel asked, startling me. I dropped my fork on my plate and the noise clanged through the room.

  “Yes, we are riding later this morning.”

  He looked amused, an expression I had not seen on him in some days.

  “What is it?”

  His smile grew. “You’ve got a bit of jam on your chin.”

  I hurriedly wiped it away, my cheeks growing hot under Daniel’s unrelenting gaze.

  “You know,” he said, his tone playful, “your hair becomes brighter when you blush.”

  “Not possible,” I argued, tucking a loose lock behind my ear.

  “I think it is. It must be the rosy hue to your cheeks, but every time you blush your hair undoubtedly becomes brighter as well.”

  A smile formed on my lips, regardless of how hard I fought it. “Daniel, you are being ridiculous.”

  “I will be ridiculous all the time if it results in that smile, Freya.” His tone was soft and firm, and I stilled at once, unsure of what he was implying. His gaze became fervent and I could not tell for sure, but it felt like he leaned closer. “I have not been satisfied these last few days. No, if I am being completely honest, it has even been a few weeks.”

  I swallowed, afraid to speak up. He continued. “I have felt, recently, that a wall has been erected between us. I appreciated our easy discourse before you arrived at Corden Hall, and your frank honesty. I felt, then, we had a bond, and it only strengthened upon our meeting. But in recent weeks, I have watched you pull further and further away and it saddens me. What’s worse, I cannot do anything about it for I do not know the cause. I do not know what I’ve done to offend you.”

  “You’ve done nothing to offend me, Daniel.”

  “Then what is it?”

  I shrugged. “Nothing, I suppose. My own troubles have taken over every spare space in my mind and left me no room for anything else.”

  “That is not good enough for me, Freya. Where is the woman that wrote me detailed stories about her cats?”

  I laughed despite myself. “You would like me to tell you about the cats? You see them as often as I do. You probably see Coco even more. I’ve noticed that she’s been missing from her room the last few nights.”

  “She won’t leave me be,” he said, though his facetious smile gave him away.

  I grinned. “And you enjoy it, don’t you?”

  “I certainly enjoy this.”

  My smile faltered, my eyebrows knit together. “Daniel, what could you possibly mean by that? What are you implying?”

  I’d caught him off guard, that was clear. He reared back slightly, his face a mixture of uncertainty and disgust.

  I stood. “If we cannot speak plainly, then there is no sense in speaking at all.”

  His eyes bore into me as I walked from the room, but I did not regret my words.

  * * *

  I met Mrs. Wheeler outside. She looked brilliant in a plum riding habit, her hair in a sleek knot and a black hat set secured to her head. Sitting atop a speckled gray mare, she was positively stunning.

  “Where shall we go?” she asked as I led my borrowed mare into the yard. I had yet to purchase a horse of my own, but Daniel was kind enough to lend me his.

  “I have wanted to look in on some of the northern tenant farms. Shall we go that way?” I was sure Daisy was well in Mr. Tomlinson’s yard, but it couldn’t hurt to check on the goat again.

  “Splendid.”

  We rode through the wheat fields and past the wood. “I am told there is a lovely creek within those woods,” I said.

  “Shall we venture to find it on our way back?”

  I agreed, and we continued toward the northern section of my land. I had not been that far from the house since my first tour with Daniel. Even with Elsie and Lord Cameron, we did not venture to the very edges. Mrs. Wheeler was a fine horsewoman. Secure in the saddle and in her composure, I envied her slightly.

  Shaking my head, I pulled around. We’d passed Daisy earlier chewing lazily in her own yard. Mrs. Tomlinson hadn’t been outside, but the goat appeared well enough to me. “To the creek?”

  “Perfect.”

  We didn’t have much room for conversation with our speed and distance, but as we came upon the wood, we slowed the horses, moving to single file on the thin path through the trees. We found the creek and dismounted, tying our horses to a tree.

  “I have wanted to discuss something of importance,” she be
gan, leaning down to pick up a small stone. She watched the stone rather than my face, turning it in her fingers, a small crease appearing between her eyebrows.

  Concerned, I stepped closer and laid a hand on her arm. “You may confide in me.”

  She looked up, a pained expression taking root. “I know we haven’t known each other long, but I have always valued my own ability to discern true character, and I find you trustworthy.”

  I nodded, unsure of her intent. Dread gripped me and I sucked in a breath. “Are you in danger?”

  She smiled softly, relieving me of my fear. “No, nothing like that. I am simply in an uncomfortable position. My brother, you see, is unable to care for us. And my sister is in need of a Season if she is going to have any luck at a match. I’ve received an offer from a man I knew before I married Mr. Wheeler. I have written, agreeing to consider the marriage, but his mother would like us to have a more recent acquaintance before final decisions are made. I find that I need some support. I must marry, as I have no other options available to me, but…”

  “I see.” I searched her face but found it void of guile. From the beginning, I felt that Mrs. Wheeler was of good character. My jealousy could only be attributed to my own poor sense. It did not reflect on Mrs. Wheeler in any light. “Have you considered asking Mr. Bryce?”

  “I would not do that to him. I am grateful for his friendship, but that is all there is between us.”

  A swoop of relief fell over me and I smiled despite my attempt to remain neutral.

  “I wonder,” she continued, “if perhaps there is another woman he has his eye on.”

  “Who?”

  She looked away, laughing softly and shaking her head. “You are either humble or blind, Miss Hurst.”

  What did she mean by that? Obviously, I could deduce the general idea of her words, but I did not want to give myself false hope. I said, “I am neither. But I can honestly say there is not anything of that nature developing between Mr. Bryce and myself. He has been too hot and cold by half.”

  “Take it from me. Most men do not even know what they want. If you have strong feelings, then make them clear to him. Playing games will only lengthen—and potentially ruin—any chance of happiness you might have.”

  “I have never considered marriage to be my chance for happiness.” I likely sounded more affronted than I meant to, but this mattered to me greatly.

  She tossed her stone into the creek and bent to pick up another. “That is good. Even in a love match, marriage is not always happy. If you choose to make that choice, you must be positive you love him for that is what you may fall back on when the seas turn stormy. And trust me, at some point they are bound to.”

  Mrs. Wheeler just delivered the most concise description of marriage I had ever before heard. I looked at her closely. “Does this apply to your friend in London?”

  She cast her eyes down. “I have agreed to come and meet his family at a house party next month. I was hoping my sister might be able to come and stay with you for the duration. It is meant to last three weeks.”

  Surprised, my mouth fell open slightly.

  “You are not keen on the idea.”

  “No, I would love to have Miss Clarke to stay. I am merely surprised you’ve asked me.”

  “I was concerned you would be offended,” she said sheepishly.

  “Far from offended,” I explained. “I am honored.”

  The grin which stretched over her mouth was radiant. Mrs. Wheeler must have carried heavy burdens, for I hadn’t realized how tensely she held herself before.

  “You cannot imagine how relieved I am to get this sorted. I must leave in a fortnight and I have yet to tell my sister about any of it.”

  “Consider this settled. Shall we return to the house? I have it on good authority that Mrs. Covey is preparing a luncheon for us.”

  Mrs. Wheeler grinned, tossed a stone into the creek, and wiped her gloves against each other. “That sounds wonderful to me.”

  * * *

  I considered the components of Mrs. Wheeler’s story that she had not expounded upon and determined I would do my best to support her and her sister. What I could not remove from my mind, however, was her sound argument about the institution of marriage.

  I had long held the belief I was doing myself a favor in remaining unwed. The possibility that marriage was not always perfect was evident to me in not only my parents’ marriage, but in those of my dear friends. Each time I witnessed Elsie and Lord Cameron bicker, or Rosalynn and Lord McGregor disagree, I convinced myself I was better off than them because I had no one to answer to but myself.

  I had not considered the idea that I could be happy within a marriage while admitting it did not have to be perfect. I took myself to the French doors in the morning room and my hand fell from the handle, the rain streaming down the doors a barrier between my hedge-protected fortress and the house.

  There was no roof to the garden. If I ventured outside, I was sure to become soaked before I even reached the garden gate.

  I sighed, my shoulders dropping. I heard footsteps enter the morning room and knew before I turned my head they belonged to Daniel.

  “The storm appeared from nowhere,” he said, coming to stand beside me. We stood, shoulder to shoulder and watched the rain. “Did you see any signs of it on your ride earlier?”

  “No, but I was not paying much attention to the clouds when the sun shone so brightly.”

  “I find I ignore the clouds as well when the sun is bright.” His tone implied he spoke of much more than the weather.

  I turned, sighing, then repeated my earlier admonition. “Daniel, I do not appreciate innuendos. Either speak plainly to me or cease to speak at all.”

  His eyes were serious and I sucked in a breath. “I do not know how to speak plainly,” he said quietly. “I am not a man with a talent to express myself. I have never been able to clearly speak my mind. How do I tell you that I have been able to think of little else since you arrived at Corden Hall? How can I say, without fear of rejection, that yours is the face I search out in a room full of people?”

  My breathing became shallow and my heart battered against my chest. I knew precisely how he felt because my feelings walked the same path. What I had that Daniel lacked, however, was a fear so great that I refused to give credence to those feelings. It occurred to me as swiftly as I had felt the blossoming potential of love that it would never be possible. I could never marry, especially not this man for whom I cared so deeply.

  I could not shackle myself to him, tying him to all my scandals and baggage. I didn’t know all the details of his life, but I knew he’d been through enough on his own that he deserved better than what I could offer him. He deserved a wife who was not illegitimate.

  Warm tears rolled down my cheeks and I shook my head, unable to speak the words that pressed against my lips.

  His hands gripped my shoulders, his thick eyebrows pulling together in concern. “What is it, Freya?”

  I shook my head, unable to speak.

  “Freya, please. Tell me what it is.”

  I sobbed, a loud, horrid sound escaping my lips. Stepping from his grip, I continued to shake my head. “It can never be, Daniel.”

  He reached for my arm. “Do not say that—”

  I tore myself away. The tears coming so quickly that I could not see him clearly. “Hear me, for I do not want to speak about this again. Daniel, it can never be.”

  I ran from the room, escaping the fears and sorrows that surrounded him. My heart tore, and I tripped on the staircase, banging my knee against the wooden ledge. I bit my tongue to keep from crying out, and pulled myself up, climbing the stairs at a safer pace, clinging to the bannister as I walked.

  I entered my room, closing the door and locking it behind me. Climbing under the covers, I curled up, pulling my knees to my chest. There, in the safety of my room, I opened my heart and sobbed.

  Chapter 24

  After I cried every tear available to m
e, I slept through the remainder of the day. I requested a tray in my room for dinner and continued to sleep through breakfast the following morning. My head pounded from the exertion of emotion and I had Tilly create a softer knot at the base of my neck as she dressed me for the day. The looking glass revealed spotted cheeks and puffy, red eyes—I would not be able to hide my show of emotion.

  But neither did I need to. Tilly informed me upon waking that Daniel left before dinner the night before. He did not inform anyone where he was going but stated some business he needed to take care of and fled.

  He did not mention a return date, either.

  I did not cry when Tilly told me he had left. I had no tears left to give. My heart was hardened in the night, encased by a wall so thick that nothing Daniel could do would ever penetrate it again.

  I found Mrs. Overton in the morning room before lunch, her face drawn and pale, her eyes glassy.

  “How do you feel?” I asked, coming to sit on the sofa.

  “Well enough.”

  I reached for my basket of knitting supplies, but I did not feel the desire to knit. Rosalynn’s sweet baby boy already had two blankets and a pair of booties awaiting his arrival. I needed to distract myself, however, and supposed I could begin a hat to accompany the booties. I pulled yellow yarn from my basket and held it limply in my hands, looking at the wool that would cover a baby. Rosalynn’s fifth.

  I shuddered, feeling the need for fresh tears, but none came.

  Mrs. Overton spoke, causing me to jump. I had forgotten, for a moment, that she was beside me. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  I looked at her then and kind, intelligent eyes gazed back at me.

  I shrugged. “I do not know if there is anything left to say.”

  “There may be nothing new to say, perhaps, but unburdening your troubles always helps you stand easier.”

  I gathered a deep breath before blowing it slowly through my lips. “What do you know already?”