“How is all that going, Izzy?” Georgie asked as she finally settled onto the divan. “Miranda talks of nothing else.”
Izzy rolled her eyes at the mention of Georgie’s mother-in-law. “Miranda as patroness of our project is generous to a fault and takes a great interest. It’s getting to the point where Sebastian suggested we give her one of the bedchambers.”
“God forbid,” Charlotte muttered, crossing herself quickly.
“I always thought Miranda Sterling was a more polite version of you, dear,” Edith pointed out with a raised brow. “Surely you can see the similarities.”
“I can only hope to grow into such a woman,” Charlotte sighed, drumming her fingers. “And I did not say that I did not like Miranda. I adore her. I just cannot see Miranda living with Sebastian and Izzy is all. The poor man might break out into a rash of sorts, and then where would we be?”
Izzy shook her head in Charlotte’s direction. “Sebastian will be so pleased that you have such concern for his welfare.”
Charlotte cocked her head, pursing her lips. “Why don’t you sound as though you mean that, I wonder?”
The room laughed easily, then greeted Prudence Vale with warmth as she entered at last. She began to apologize for her tardiness when Charlotte interrupted her.
“Let me guess, your husband delayed you?”
Prue gave her a hard look. “No, in fact, although Cam d-did ask me to tell you that he is claiming a d-dance with you at the Pipers’ on F-Friday, as you have been too much in demand to d-dance with him of l-late.”
Grace looked at Edith and Izzy quickly before returning her focus to Prue. “Prue, are you all right?”
“Yes, why the stammer, lamb?” Charlotte asked, her tone infinitely gentler than before. “What’s happened?”
Always uncomfortable with so much attention, Prue’s cheeks flamed in a way they had not in some months. Not since her wedding, come to think.
The other Spinsters in the room glanced around at each other in concern.
Prue moved to sit beside Georgie on the divan and sighed. “My m-mother has returned to London.”
“Oh lord,” Elinor breathed, eyes going wide.
“She’s not staying with you, is she?” Charlotte asked, recoiling in alarm.
Prue shook her head and swallowed when Georgie covered her hand. “No, she n-never even asked, for which we are grateful. But she called on m-me today, and…” She exhaled roughly and raised a trembling hand to demonstrate the effect the encounter had had on her.
Grace could say what she would about her father and his domineering ways, but even he was nothing compared to Marjorie Westfall and the horrors she had subjected her daughter to. Prue’s gentle, shy nature had not been helped in any way being raised by such a woman. But Camden Vale had done a nearly heroic thing in the months since his marriage to Prue, and everyone could see the change it had brought about. No one would ever call Prue bold or independent in any way, but she’d found a new level of comfort and ease that was enviable to anyone privileged enough to witness it.
They could not let her go back to the way she had been now that her mother was back.
Cam certainly would not.
“How long is she staying?” Georgie asked.
Prue exhaled, some of the tension leaving her diminutive frame. “Not long, thank heavens. A few weeks, at most. She very much enjoys her house in Somerset. Apparently, she and my aunt are quite the s-set in their little s-society. And she was kinder today than she has been in the last five y-years.”
“Which says nothing,” Charlotte chortled with some derision. “I think she is only kind to you because she knows now what a viper Lizard Liza is and what her lies cost you. So she cannot dote on her adored niece any longer without bringing criticism upon herself.”
“Or she could be terrified of Cam,” Izzy pointed out. “She is entirely at his mercy now.”
“Oh, who could be terrified of Cam?” Charlotte smiled indulgently. “He’s so delightful, and you may tell him that I will gladly dance with him on Friday, and at any time, if he will just press past the rest. I will never be too occupied for him.”
Elinor gave Charlotte a bewildered look. “Who is terrified of him? Would you like a list?”
Charlotte shushed her quickly then returned her attention to Prue. “Marjorie didn’t find fault with you, did she, Prue? Surely, she cannot.”
“She could, and she did,” Prue told her. She smiled thinly. “Thankfully, Cam was with me and ensured it stayed civil. She only c-criticized my dress, as I surely have enough status and funds to find something flattering now instead of something the c-color of a dead c-cat’s tongue.”
Edith raised one brow with alacrity. “And how would your esteemed mother have any idea what a dead cat’s tongue looks like, eh?”
Prue shrugged and leaned forward to make herself some tea. “I d-didn’t care to ask.”
“Speaking of parents disapproving of their children…”
Grace’s cheeks flamed at Charlotte’s comment, and she met her friend’s dark eyes knowingly, but waited to respond.
“Charlotte…” Georgie warned as she removed her hand from Prue’s.
Charlotte ignored her, as usual. “Has your father given up on his ridiculous tirade? Or is Terrible Trenwick going to cause us problems?”
Grace smiled ruefully at the title her friend had bestowed. “Are you going to create unflattering entitlements for everyone of whom you do not approve?”
“Quite possibly,” came the quick reply, “and that will undoubtedly be as popular as my latest Society Dabbler about this Season’s best bachelors. But the question remains, Grace.”
There was no way to avoid it; not with Charlotte. She was like a dog with a bone when she set her mind to something. Putting it off would only make her all the more determined.
“No, he has not given up,” Grace admitted. “In fact, he’s getting worse. Since you are so skilled at finding flaws and faults, or having them appear before you, perhaps you ought to set your attention on me, so that I might have something to tell him as to why I am a complete and utter failure.”
“He said that?” Izzy gasped, covering her mouth.
Grace nodded once. “More or less. He tends to be a bit more loquacious about the whole thing, but I had the general idea two lines in.”
Edith grumbled something under her breath in what Grace suspected was Gaelic, and it sounded less than flattering, so she thought it best not to ask for a translation.
“No,” Charlotte quipped in a falsely bright tone, her eyes cold.
“No?”
Charlotte shook her head very firmly. “No. I will not try to find a fault in you. Truth be told, I did that ages ago when I wondered why you were a spinster. Couldn’t find a single reason. No one can. That’s why Lady Hetty doesn’t trust you, you know. She can’t find a reason either, and that unnerves her.”
“Yes, I’m apparently perfect,” Grace muttered, putting a hand to her brow. “Because that is so helpful.”
“I didn’t say you were perfect,” Charlotte replied easily, drumming her fingers once more.
Grace looked at her, dropping her hand. “No? What a relief.”
“Ignore your f-father, Grace,” Prue insisted with a rare intensity. “Don’t give it another thought.”
Sweet Prue, thinking Grace could actually stop thinking about her father or his letters or his statements, but she nodded all the same.
She didn’t need to know that a prickle of worry and doubt had begun to eat away at Grace in a painfully gnawing manner. None of them needed to know.
Not yet.
“In much brighter news,” Elinor chimed in, smiling without a care, “Hugh Sterling is still gone from London, and if my sources are to be believed, he will be gone the remainder of the Season!”
Georgie shook her head at the younger woman in disbelief. “Elinor, I could have told you that myself. He is my husband’s cousin. And you need not be so gleeful, I can
assure you he is still suffering for what Alice endured.”
“And why should he not? His own sister to be so besmirched by his friend…”
“She’s not besmirched!”
Grace exhaled slowly, grateful the conversation had shifted away from her. Anything was better than the discussion of her and her father, even if it was about unfortunate Alice Sterling and the absence of her more troublesome brother.
There had been no indication that Grace’s father would take any action one way or the other, but along with the prickle of worry had come a strange tingling of anticipation.
There was no telling what that could mean, but she would not feel easy until it was gone.
Chapter Two
A gentleman's club is no business of any woman, or so we are led to believe. But really, what could they have to talk about over billiards, cards, and drinks?
-The Spinster Chronicles, 9 October 1818
“A letter for you, my lord.”
“During breakfast? Can’t it wait?”
“That is not for me to say, sir.”
Aubrey Flint, Lord Ingram, sighed heavily as he set his silverware down and reached for the folded paper on a platter before him.
“Thank you, Locke.”
His butler bowed, the bald spot at the back of his head glinting briefly in the morning light, then he left the room.
Aubrey grinned to himself as he watched the retreating back of his trusted butler. Locke had known him from childhood and had served his father to perfection. With his passing and Aubrey’s ascension to the title, Locke had done the same for him. Despite Aubrey’s proper training and upbringing, he rather thought Locke would have been more equipped to take on the title and responsibilities than Aubrey.
Locke would never have said so, but surely, he must have thought it once or twice.
Over the course of any given week.
Particularly now with Aubrey being in London for longer than a few weeks.
But Locke would have to adjust his thinking, were he truly thinking such thoughts, because Aubrey had no intention of leaving London for the time being, no matter how appealing the thoughts of Breyerly and Derbyshire might be.
Considering Aubrey was currently dealing with correspondence during his breakfast after a rather poor night’s sleep, Breyerly was actually becoming quite an appealing prospect.
More’s the pity.
Derbyshire, with all its rolling hills and glorious peaks, its beauties and wonders, would not catch sight nor sound of him before autumn. There was too much to tend to before he could return to the solitude of the Peak District. He had responsibilities that required his continued presence, and his presence was requested in the House of Lords for more than just a dutiful visit or three.
Duty. Responsibility. Work.
Someone should have told him that adulthood was really quite a drudgery, and having a title made it all the more unpleasant.
He broke the seal on the letter and skimmed it, smirking to himself at the contents. Tony Sterling was as good a man as he had ever found, and though Aubrey had been in London for several weeks now, Tony was still taking pains to invite him for dinners and the club. They’d known each other for ages, since their days at Eton and Cambridge, and Tony had been just the same then, adopting Aubrey as though he were a lost and wandering puppy in need of a proper home and attention.
Of course, it was probably true, but what else did one expect to happen when Aubrey had been raised by parents who had no regard for each other and without a single sibling for company? He’d been the most lost little boy to ever set foot at Eton, and Tony Sterling had taken him under his wing.
Which was astonishing, as they were in the same year.
But that was Tony’s way, and it had seen them both through their educations. It was a pity that Aubrey hadn’t kept in contact once he’d left Cambridge, but the moment Tony had heard Aubrey was in London, the friendship had been resumed.
Now, apparently, he was requested to meet one of his very few friends at the club shortly. A rather early venture, but he suspected Tony had his reasons.
The man usually did.
All told, Aubrey hadn’t been particularly prolific with social engagements upon his return to London, which would have disappointed his father to no end. His mother had always preferred the quiet solitude of Breyerly, or so she had told him, and so she would have approved to the same extreme.
He’d always taken after her, no matter how he might look like his father.
But he had done everything as pertaining to his duties, he could say that without reservation. Parties had been attended, dinners had been eaten, balls had been danced at, and he’d even ventured to the theater twice. He had been unusually present in the House of Lords, drawing curious attention from those who expected him to be less than involved in his duties there.
Strangely enough, doing so had brought about more invitations for Aubrey, which would enable him to attend more events, and be more social, and meet more people, which would give him more amusement and less time to revel in his solitude.
He hadn’t decided what to do about that. He rather liked his solitude. But solitude wouldn’t help him if he wanted to avoid being labeled a recluse. He wasn’t; he simply did not find socialization particularly enjoyable. As a matter of fact, the only socializing he had ever been fond of had been with Tony and their other friends at school. And with the Morledges, he supposed.
He exhaled as he refolded the partially-read letter, wincing to himself.
There, he supposed, was one duty he had not fulfilled. After spending his entire childhood as neighbor to the Morledges, and spending time with the children romping through the lands on one or both estates, he surely owed the family a visit, and yet he had not done so. Lord Trenwick was abroad, as per usual, but Lady Trenwick was in London, as were two of her children, and though none of them were children now, there was that closeness in their youth that ought to be respected.
He’d seen Grace at various events, of course, and he had engaged in polite conversation with her, but only in passing. She’d grown prettier than he’d imagined she would, though she had always been a pretty girl. Certainly prettier than her sister, though Anne had been fair enough. But Grace… Grace had always been different from Anne. Calmer, sweeter, wittier, and in every respect a step above, aside from wildness, which Anne had mastered into an art form.
Which made her continued unmarried state all the more puzzling, but he could not have said that he ever knew her all that well, and certainly not as well as he had known Anne. It was entirely possible that there was a glaringly obvious reason for her spinsterhood upon closer acquaintance, but out of loyalty to the family, he would never permit himself to see whatever it was.
Her brother, James, on the other hand, had only grown more ridiculous in the intervening years, but that was a bit more expected. James had not inherited a single iota of sense from his mother, nor the judgment of his father, and as such, was destined to ruin the family in some respect once he came into the title. The younger brothers could not be vouched for, given their absence, but he suspected that they would be a credit to the rest by comparison.
Really, good manners did dictate that he should pay a call upon Lady Trenwick, if not Mr. and Miss Morledge themselves, and should have done so by now. He hadn’t seen any of them in years, now that they had all but given up Withrow Park. His mother would have been appalled that he had let the connection lapse, given her friendship with Lady Trenwick.
But he had not called upon them as yet. And he didn’t know if his manners were that good. There was no reason to avoid it, he supposed, though he was reluctant to do so. Something about the awkwardness of calling upon a family he once knew, without having anything particular to talk about, made him wish to flee to the nearest doorway, no matter his current situation.
If Anne had been present, it would have made everything a bit easier, but she and her husband remained in Shropshire with their children, and h
e did not have a high enough opinion of Mr. Taylor to permit himself to venture there for his own sake.
Aubrey blinked, collected himself, and returned his attention to his rapidly cooling breakfast. He made a quick face as he took another bite of ham, forgetting that his cook served the meats already cold at breakfast, and downed his disappointment with a bit of tea, though it did little to rid of him of the taste.
Lord above, he missed Breyerly. Mrs. Tomkins knew exactly how Aubrey liked his breakfast, and always served it the same, down to the amount of preserves for his rolls. Adams, here at his London residence, had yet to learn the way of the thing.
Then again, Aubrey hadn’t told him.
Details.
He finished his breakfast quickly, if for no other reason than to get it over with, and called for his carriage, which was shortly brought about. He glanced down at what he was wearing, shrugging mentally at his valet’s choices. Had Sundrey known that Aubrey was going out to associate with other gentlemen, he might have had more refined choices laid out for him. Not that there was anything lacking, but Sundrey tended to care a great deal more about what Aubrey wore when he would be mixing with members of Society as opposed to dealing with matters of business.
This would undoubtedly be one of many times when Aubrey would not tell Sundrey of the change in his plans, for his valet’s sake. It wasn’t as though he were going to White’s or Brooks’, for heaven’s sake. No one of any great importance would be there, and he would only be seeing his friends.
All two of them.
He had several acquaintances, but friends had ever been in short supply. There had been a pack of five of them at school, but only Tony had remained in contact. Aubrey was fairly certain one of them had died in a duel a few years ago, which spoke to the quality of his efforts in educational matters, no doubt.
Poor Simms.
At least, he thought it was Simms. He had been the least intelligent of the group, and he thought it more than likely he would have been so unfortunate. Though Brickner hadn’t been the brightest, particularly with his temper.
My Fair Spinster Page 2
