THE SPINSTER & THE BEAST
By Caylen McQueen
Chapter One
Her nieces looked like angels, a devastatingly pretty pair. Rebecca wore a gown of periwinkle blue, which perfectly complemented her eyes. Lorna wore a pink frock, with lace trim that swished around her ankles as she moved. As pretty as they were, they would have no trouble turning a few heads. Or, perhaps, the head of every young gentleman in the room.
“How do I look?” chirped Lorna, the younger sister. She spun in front of the looking glass, checking herself at every angle. Her shiny black ringlets had been piled on top of her head with meticulous care. She puckered her lips, which were a deep rouge. As she stared at herself in the looking glass, she thought she resembled Snow White. Pale. Porcelain. Perfect.
“You look beautiful, Lorna,” her older sister said. “I have no doubt your come out will be a smashing success!” Rebecca nudged her sister away from the looking glass so she could have a look at herself. As she studied her reflection, Rebecca was in range of a candle’s light, which set her auburn hair ablaze.
Their aunt, Elizabeth Wicklow, sat on a settee at the furthest end of the room, where she watched the young women preen and purse their lips. Lorna smiled coquettishly, and Rebecca batted her eyelashes.
They kept exchanging obnoxious expressions until Elizabeth had to ask, “Girls, what are you doing?”
“Nothing, Aunt Liz!” Lorna exclaimed, and her older sister gave her a nudge.
“It isn’t nothing!” Rebecca protested. “I am teaching her how to flirt!”
Lorna snapped open a silk fan and started fluttering her face. “I don’t need you to teach me anything! I am quite capable of learning on my own!”
“But you want suitors, do you not? I do not mean to brag, but last year I had more suitors than I could count! You could stand to learn something from me, sister.” As she spoke, Rebecca twirled a tendril of red hair around her finger.
Her nieces had everything going for them. They were beautiful, good-hearted, young… and had impressive dowries. Whether they practiced flirting or not, they would likely be surrounded by several potential prospects. True, they could be a bit silly at times, but that was an attractive quality to many men.
“Perhaps I could teach you how to flirt, Aunt Liz!” Rebecca declared.
Liz had to chuckle at her niece’s proposition, preposterous as it was. “I doubt anyone would want me flirting with them. At my age, I would look quite ridiculous!”
“Nonsense!” Rebecca shook her pretty head. “You are not so old.”
She appreciated her niece’s attempt to make her feel better about her age, but Liz knew better. At six and thirty, she had earned her place on the shelf long ago. At her age, finding a husband would be a difficult feat—if not an impossible one. In fact, the possibility of finding a husband hadn’t crossed her mind in over a decade. She was a spinster, and she had accepted it.
At least, that’s what everyone thought. She always held her head high, as if spinsterhood was her desired state. However, in the deepest part of her heart, she was consumed by disappointment. She would never have children of her own, she would never have a treasured companion, and she would always be a burden to her brother. She was certain her brother was tired of having her under his roof, even if he would not admit it.
“Aunt Liz… I am sure you could find a husband if you wanted one!” Lorna said. “You’re still quite pretty!”
“And I am twice your age,” Liz noted. Her head sunk between her shoulders, as she was a bit ashamed to be the topic of conversation. She liked it much better when they were discussing their own romantic endeavors.
Rebecca sat on the settee beside her aunt. “But you are pretty,” she echoed her sister’s statement.
“Hardly!” Liz said with a chuckle. She had mousey brown hair, which was a bit straw-like. There were lines around her mouth, and a large mole on her chin. While she wasn’t homely, she had never been a beauty. Nevertheless, she appreciated her nieces’ attempts to bolster her confidence.
“But don’t you want a husband?” Rebecca cooed.
“We could play matchmaker!” cheered Lorna.
“Yes! We could help you, Aunt Liz! I know some man out there would be happy to have you!”
“I am your chaperone, nothing more. Please do not entertain any foolish notions about my marital state, for I am quite content.” Liz folded her hands on her lap. Even her hands left something to be desired. Her fingers were short and sausage-like. It was no wonder she had never had much success with the pianoforte.
“Oh, I can hardly wait!” Lorna squealed. “My first ball! Why are we waiting around? We must go!”
Rebecca answered Lorna’s plea with a condescending shake of her head. “Sister… you should always strive to be fashionably late. Everyone always pays more attention to the last arrivals. If we wait awhile longer, we are sure to turn more heads.”
“As precious as you are,” Liz spoke up, “you are bound to turn heads, regardless of your time of arrival.”
“Oh, I do hope you are right!” Lorna exclaimed. “I want to be admired. I want to be the center of attention!”
Liz marveled at how different she was from her nieces. She was quite the opposite. She was an accomplished wallflower, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.
Until he showed up.
* * *
The country fetes were nothing like the balls in London. Nevertheless, Lorna was thrilled to make her debut. As soon as she arrived, she could feel men’s eyes drawing to her, like a diamond in a pile of dusty rocks. She snapped open her fan and started fluttering her cheeks. Then she realized she was hiding her face, so she handed the fan to Liz.
“Here,” she said. “Take it. I do not want it.”
Liz closed the fan, clenching it in her gloved hand. “And why not?”
“People won’t be able to see me if I’m hiding behind a fan,” Lorna said. “They won’t know how pretty I am.”
“And you are very pretty,” her sister agreed. “But not quite as pretty as me… of course.”
They fell into a fit of obnoxious giggles, which Liz hoped no one would hear. She had hoped their silliness would be a secret.
“Who should I dance with?” Lorna asked.
“I’m afraid that isn’t your choice,” Rebecca replied. “You have to wait for them to ask you. And remember… you can’t decline a dance with one gentleman, only to accept a dance with another. It would be the height of rudeness!”
“But I don’t want to dance with any homely men!” Lorna said, pouting. “Do I really have to waste my time?”
“If I see anyone hideous approaching, I will steer us in the opposite direction,” said Rebecca. “Don’t worry, sister. I will save us both!”
Liz couldn’t believe her ears. The girls’ superficiality was surely the result of years of mollycoddling by their parents. Liz’s brother had spoiled them quite rotten.
“And…” Rebecca went on, “we cannot speak to any gentleman to whom we have not been properly introduced.”
Fortunately, a middle-aged baroness took them under her wing. She escorted them around the room, introducing them to one eligible bachelor after another. In no time at all, Rebecca’s and Lorna’s dance cards were filling up. Liz followed them around the room, as it was her duty to keep an eye on them. She did not want them making the acquaintance of anyone unsavory. As pretty and silly as they were, they were likely to attract the wrong sort of attention. The last thing her nieces needed was a rake following them around like a lovesick mooncalf.
Her nieces were so thrilled by the prospect of meeting gentlemen and accepting dances that Liz couldn’t help but share in their excitement. As
boring as her own life was, it gave her satisfaction to live through them.
Then the baroness said something that completely altered her mood.
“Are you acquainted with Major Rutledge?”
“M-major… Rutledge?” Liz stuttered. Was it him? The last time they met, he was Captain Rutledge. But it was very possible that he had risen a rank, and Rutledge wasn’t exactly a common surname. It had to be him!
“Major Arthur Rutledge,” the baroness said, confirming Liz’s fears. “I doubt you’ve met him, as he’s been away from Devon for quite some time. If I’m not mistaken, he’s finally decided to take a wife.”
“Oh, an officer!” Lorna exclaimed, throwing back her head in affected excitement. “I want to meet an officer!”
Rebecca clasped a hand over her heart, mimicking her sister’s enthusiasm. “It does sound exciting. Did he fight in the war? If he did, I bet he’s very brave!”
When she saw him heading in their direction, Liz’s heart skipped a beat. Time hadn’t changed him one bit. In fact, the passage of time had only enhanced his good looks. His face was a bit tan, and slightly more weathered, but in a way that was highly appealing. His sandy hair was slightly unkempt, and a little curl rested on his forehead. He was, as he had always been, a painstakingly handsome man.
Though they were the same age, Liz had not aged as gracefully, and she thought it was incredibly unfair. She had lines around her eyes, lines around her mouth, and a wrinkle for every year of her life. Liz was well beyond the first blush of youth, and it was obvious.
Captain—now Major—Rutledge had courted her over a decade ago, and she had not seen him since. In her foolish heart, she even thought to marry him once. When he went away to fight the war, she never saw him again, and he stopped writing back to her letters. After all these years, his face still had an effect on her.
But she had no hope of capturing his eye when she was flanked by youthful beauties. Would he even remember her?
“Look at his uniform!” Rebecca squeaked.
“Oh… he’s very handsome, is he not?”
Liz shook her head, a bit peeved. They were fawning over a man who was much closer to her age, and yet he was a perfectly suitable match for the younger ladies. The inequity of her sex was more apparent than ever.
“Major Rutledge!” the baroness called to him. “Major Rutledge! Over here!”
The major approached. As Liz expected, his eyes were locked on her nieces. Specifically, he seemed to have his eye on raven-haired Lorna.
“Good evening, Lady Milford,” he greeted the baroness. His gaze flickered to Liz, then he turned his attention back to Lorna. “Would you care to introduce me to your lovely young charges?”
“Of course, Major,” the lady agreed. “To my left is Rebecca Wicklow. To my right, Lorna Wicklow.”
“Wicklow,” the major repeated. Having once courted Liz, he was no stranger to the name. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Wicklow.” When he turned his attention to Lorna, there was a hint of mischief in his eyes, “And you too, Miss Wicklow.”
“It must be confusing to refer to us both as Miss Wicklow,” Lorna said. She might have suggested he call her by her Christian name, but with Lady Milford and her aunt standing by, she could not risk impropriety. “Just remember… I’m the only Miss Wicklow worth remembering.”
Rebecca answered her sister’s claim with a derisive click of the tongue. “Hardly! I’m the only Miss Wicklow you should worry about!”
The way they were acting, Liz was worried about both of them. As prone to silliness as they were, it was highly likely that one of her nieces would make a cake of herself before the end of the night.
At long last, Arthur’s gaze settled on Liz, and she bobbed a curtsy. “Major Rutledge.”
He flashed a tiny smile at Liz, then turned his attention back to Lorna. Liz couldn’t help but feel a bit wounded by his blatant disinterest in her. “Miss Wicklow.”
“Yes?” Lorna cooed.
“May I have the pleasure of a dance?”
Lorna checked her dance card, then gave a little nod. “Of course! How about the next quadrille?”
“Perfect.”
Rebecca pouted. He preferred the younger sister, and he made no attempt to hide that fact.
“Major Rutledge,” Liz uttered his name again. Considering the fact that they had a history, she refused to let him brush her aside. “Do you remember me?”
“Certainly.” Though he answered her query, he never moved his gaze from Lorna’s simpering face. He was transfixed, enchanted, bewitched.
And the girl was half his age!
“It has been awhile, has it not?” Liz asked, still hoping to capture his interest.
“Indeed, it has.” The major finally extracted his eyes from Lorna, and they settled on Liz’s face. He studied her, scrutinized her, until she had no choice but to look down at her fidgeting hands. “I can see that much has changed.”
Liz touched her cheek. What did he mean? Was he noticing her wrinkles? The lines around her eyes? He had her feeling self-conscious, even more than usual.
The major leaned toward Liz’s ear, which was at least a bit improper, and he whispered, “Your nieces are very pretty.”
“Y-yes,” she agreed. “Yes they are.”
“May I have their aunt’s permission to court them?”
“Them?!” Liz repeated. She was a bit discomfited by his closeness, as well as the topic of conversation, but she tried not to let it show.
“Actually, I am most interested in the brunette,” he specified.
Several years ago, he had kissed Liz—multiple times. Now he was asking to court her niece? Had he no regard for her feelings? Did he not think she could still hold a candle for him after all these years? The cad!
“I-I am certain you do not need my permission, Major Rutledge,” she stammered.
“You look well, by the way,” he whispered. “Not so old.”
And with those words, he drove the dagger deeper into her heart.
Chapter Two
The following day, Liz couldn’t get their encounter with Major Rutledge out of her mind. Last night she had tossed and turned, unable to rest. The image of his face was seared into her brain, branded on her soul. He was as tall, dark and handsome as she remembered, and that thought was as painful as it was pleasant. She had fallen for him once, and it would be just as easy to fall for him again.
But he didn’t want her. He wanted Lorna, her young niece. And silly Lorna was likely to fall for him too.
How could a man, at five and thirty, not feel the least bit sheepish about courting a girl who was scarcely out of the schoolroom? In Liz’s eyes, those girls were still children. It hardly seemed appropriate that a man of his age should set his cap on such a young lady. Of course, it happened all the time. All marriage-minded gentlemen wanted young wives—the younger the better.
Liz glanced over at the looking glass and rolled her eyes. Whenever she thought about Arthur Rutledge with Lorna Wicklow, she felt dangerously close to retching. It was impossible to stomach, and too absurd to fathom. What common interests could they possibly share?
Liz, who was sitting at her desk, reached for a quill and parchment. Whenever she was feeling blue-deviled, it always made her feel better to pour out her thoughts on paper. It was a trick her mama taught her a long time ago. Her mother would write about what was troubling her, seal the letter, then the burden would be gone. It was a miracle cure for peace-destroying thoughts.
Liz dipped the quill and wrote:
Dear
But to whom should she address the letter? It wasn’t as if anyone would read it; nevertheless, she felt like it needed a proper heading.
Dear Mr. Nobody,
As soon as she wrote it, she wondered if she should have addressed the letter to Miss Nobody. Men, in her experience, were not the most compassionate sorts. But it wasn’t as if anyone would actually read her letter, so she supposed it would not matter.
&nbs
p; I find myself quite out of sorts. The other day, I met a gentleman. Well, I suppose it is not entirely correct to say I met him. We were acquainted several years ago… and well, I suppose it is not correct to say we were “acquainted” either.
Liz reread her letter with a sneer, displeased by her lack of eloquence. But it wasn’t as if anyone else would have a chance to mull over her poor choice of words, since she was the only one who would ever read it.
We were more than acquaintances, or so I would like to think. His name? For the sake of this letter, we will call him Mr. R. As it happens, he was once my suitor. At the time, I was five and twenty, and my prospects were already few. Had he asked for my hand in marriage, I would have accepted without question. To this day, I can still remember the touch of his hand, the kiss of his lips. (We did not partake in anything too scandalous, I assure you!)
Alas, his obligation to King George was more important than finding a wife. That is to say, he went away to fight the war. He did not care to stay in contact with me, despite the fact that my heart was aching for him every day. But time heals all wounds, and after several years, I had all but forgotten about him.
Until yesterday, when I saw him at Lady M’s. At six and thirty, it seems I am still susceptible to a quickening pulse. My heart quaked at the sight of him, and my knees were weakened considerably. Time had been generous to Mr. R, who was more handsome than ever.
But Mr. R paid little attention to me, for he was too busy frothing at the mouth for my niece, Miss W. And I feel it is necessary to point out that Miss W is only eighteen years of age. Does he not feel the least bit sheepish for courting a woman so young? I suppose not, because I see aging bachelors chasing after schoolgirls all the time.
Am I wrong to feel bitter? I am an unlovable old maid, spinster, ape leader. And yet Mr. R, despite being roughly the same age, is considered a prime catch. Am I really not worthy of a second glance? True, I am plain, poor, and drab… but I am still a lady who once lov
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