Still, Tony and his friend Lieutenant Henshaw were far and away better than any of the other men Aubrey could have associated with in London, if he had to be in London at all.
Aubrey covered his face with a groan as the carriage rolled to a stop. He sounded like an unsociable curmudgeon, even in his thoughts. He might have been nearing seventy years in age rather than thirty, and for all his love of the country, the seclusion there had only added to such things. Which was why he was in London.
Sort of.
He exited the carriage and made his way up the surprisingly grand stairs into the club, taking care not to touch anything gilded for fear of staining it with his country manners or clothing. Even the wood paneling seemed overly intricate, given the club was not one of the more prominent ones, but Aubrey supposed there was room for compensation in anything to be found lacking by comparison.
He nodded at the few gentlemen he recognized as he entered and made his way over to a table where Tony, Henshaw, and another gentleman sat.
Oh good. Introductions.
He forced a smile as he approached. “Sterling. Henshaw. Glad to see you both.”
Tony grinned and rose, as did Henshaw. Both reached out to shake his hand firmly in succession.
“Ingram, this is my cousin, Lord Sterling. Francis, my great friend Aubrey, Lord Ingram,” Tony introduced, gesturing to the man opposite Henshaw. “We were at school together.”
“A pleasure and my apologies, my lord,” Lord Sterling offered as he reached out a hand. “You must have suffered a great deal.”
Aubrey grinned, liking this particular Sterling cousin immensely. “Nothing that left me with lasting torment, but I managed well enough besides.”
Lord Sterling returned his grin, and the likeness between him and his cousin when he did so was striking. They resembled each other, certainly, but the smiles were identical. Even Tony’s brother didn’t look so like him as this.
“I meant to introduce the pair of you at Allandale’s some weeks back,” Tony explained as they all sat. “The evening rather got away from us, I’m afraid. Francis has only just returned to town, so I thought introductions should be made.”
Aubrey sobered and considered the man in a new light. “I hope your sister is recovering, my lord. I can assure you, I only am aware of it due to Tony’s explanation of the events. There has been no gossip, as far as I can tell, surrounding her.”
Lord Sterling gave him a thin smile. “Thank you, and please, call me Francis. Alice is doing well, and the weeks at Crestley Ridge have done wonders for her, which is why we have returned to London now. My brother, on the other hand…”
Henshaw hissed, shaking his head. “Poor lad. I may not care for him all that much, but to be in some part to blame for a sister’s injury is to suffer the torment of the damned.”
Francis nodded in agreement while Tony and Aubrey merely shared a sympathetic look. “Where is he?” Aubrey asked with all politeness.
“We’re not entirely sure,” Francis admitted, though he didn’t seem especially concerned about it. “He’s sworn off drinking, gambling, and all social activities for the time being, and we received word from a cousin in Norfolk that he had stayed there for a time.” He shrugged a shoulder and sat back. “He writes to Alice regularly, but I don’t press her about it.”
“Probably for the best,” Tony murmured with a smile for his cousin. “Alice nearly bit my head off the last time I treated her with sympathy. She’s an independent one, that is for certain.”
Francis groaned at that. “God help me…”
“That may not help,” Henshaw reminded him with a wry grin. “I’ve prayed for years and years for help with my sisters, and nothing changes but the effects of their antics.”
Aubrey raised a brow at him. “Remind me, how many sisters do you have?”
Henshaw met his gaze squarely. “Seven.”
“Good lord,” Aubrey coughed. “I’d forgotten.”
Tony chuckled. “Yes, Aubrey has no siblings whatsoever, so we all seem rather crowded to him.”
“Some of us more than others,” Henshaw claimed, toasting Aubrey with his glass.
“Trust me, I’ve had my share of family antics,” Aubrey protested, waving a finger. “My neighbors in Derbyshire had many children, and they were quite an active bunch. I used to run around with the lot of them and pretend to be one of the pack.”
Francis grinned ruefully across the table at Tony. “Sounds like our family gatherings, eh, Tony?”
Tony shook his head. “There were always too many Sterlings running around. One got quite lost amidst the rest.”
“Who were your neighbors?” Henshaw asked Aubrey. “Anyone we know?”
Aubrey smirked just a little. “I believe you would. Lord Trenwick and his family.”
Francis snorted under his breath. “I trust Lord Trenwick wasn’t the one running amok?”
The jab made Aubrey laugh out loud, drawing some attention from the more reserved club members about them. “Lord, no. He was almost never there. But I got very well acquainted with the children, and with Lady Trenwick, as well.”
“Trenwick,” Henshaw mused thoughtfully. “Isn’t that…?”
“Grace Morledge,” Tony finished with a nod. He grinned at Aubrey mischievously. “You know my wife is great friends with her, don’t you?”
Aubrey only shrugged. He knew, but he wasn’t sure why that mattered so very much.
“Georgie’s friends are all great in her mind,” Francis scoffed, though he smiled with genuine warmth. “Everyone that falls into that category could be her best friend.”
“Why do you say that as though it were a bad thing?” Tony asked. “Are you upset Georgie treats Janet as a sister?”
Francis glared at him. “Of course not. I object that it brings you into my life more often than is convenient.”
Henshaw let out a guffaw and cuffed Tony on the shoulder. “Are you going to take that?”
“Why not?” Tony replied easily. “He’s been trying to get rid of me our entire lives. But back to Grace Morledge…” He eyed Aubrey with some speculation.
Aubrey returned his look. “What about her?” he eventually asked.
“Ignore him,” Francis muttered, leaning over to Aubrey. “Ever since he married Georgie, he’s been obsessed with pairing off everyone else.”
“So, telling him I’m not looking for a wife would be…?”
“Pointless,” Francis finished with a nod.
Aubrey returned his nod, then looked Tony in the eye. “I am not looking for a wife.”
Tony only smirked. “Pointless.”
“I often tend to do pointless things.”
The others laughed, but Tony focused on Aubrey. “Trying for Grace wouldn’t be pointless.”
Henshaw sputtered a cough. “Sterling, leave the poor man alone. All he said was that he knows Grace, not that he was in love with her.”
“But he could be in love with her if he tried.” Tony leaned forward. “I adore Grace, and I think she deserves to be happy.”
Aubrey stared at his friend without expression for a long moment. “Forgive me, but did you somehow infer from anything that I have said that I feel opposite to that sentiment? Or that I have a particular interest in her? For God’s sake, Tony, I haven’t spoken more than a dozen words to her at any time since she was ten years old.” He narrowed his eyes. “Is this Georgie talking? Is she trying to marry off her friends?”
“No…” Tony protested without any conviction at all.
Francis barked a laugh. “Georgie is marrying off the Spinsters? Don’t tell Janet, she’d jump into the fray with her. So would Miranda. They’d plot for the whole lot of them.”
Henshaw crossed himself and bowed his head. “Lord, let me be left alone in the forthcoming madness. Spare me from any feminine machinations that I may not be bound against my will…”
Aubrey grinned at that. “Pray for me, too, Henshaw.”
Henshaw cracked op
en an eye. “Every man for himself, Ingram.”
“Rude.”
“Georgie is not marrying off the Spinsters,” Tony insisted. “Not officially, at any rate. Izzy and Prue are married, it’s true, but can you see her having any success with Charlotte or Elinor?”
Henshaw and Francis winced, shaking their heads.
Aubrey, living in his ignorance, had no such reaction. “I’m sorry, who are we talking about?”
The others looked at him in utter bewilderment. “Have you been living under a hedge?” Henshaw asked with real concern.
“Not lately.”
“You sure?” Francis inquired as he aimlessly spun his glass against the wood of the table. “You’ve never heard of the Spinster Chronicles?”
Now it was Aubrey who scoffed aloud. “Of course, I have. And I’ve read them, too. Surprisingly witty and astute for a column allegedly written by spinsters. If they included anything regarding Parliament or world affairs, there would be no need for any other newssheets.”
Tony glanced at the others with a surprisingly smug expression, then sat back in his chair. “You don’t know, do you?”
The question was likely not meant to be rhetorical, but Aubrey took it as such and only met Tony’s gaze in the same polite manner as before. Then he gestured with one hand that he should get on with it, which was undoubtedly less polite.
Francis and Henshaw chuckled to themselves, but Tony maintained his previous façade. “Georgie’s one of the writers of the Spinster Chronicles.”
Aubrey didn’t bother hiding his surprise. “Are you serious?”
“Believe me,” Francis said with a laugh, “Tony is quite proud of it. He was nearly adopted by the Spinsters. That’s their name, you know. Spinsters, with a capital S.”
“Duly noted,” Aubrey murmured, now considering Tony’s wife from an entirely different angle. “So, she’s… a writer?”
Tony nodded proudly. “And a matchmaker, a defender, a fashion expert, and whatever else the situation calls for. Everybody knows this. I’m surprised you don’t.”
“Why should I know it?” Aubrey asked. “I don’t gossip, don’t listen to gossip, and I’m never in London, if I can help it. How would I know it?”
“Have you a working set of ears?” Henshaw inquired mildly, seeming particularly amused by something.
Aubrey quelled him with a look, then returned to Tony. “That’s impressive, I must say.”
“That’s not all,” Francis mused in a voice laced with humor. “Tell him the rest, Tony. Don’t hold it back.”
Tony’s dark eyes flicked to his cousin, then returned to Aubrey. “Grace Morledge is a Spinster too. With a capital S.”
Aubrey blinked once, then blinked again. “She can’t be.”
“I think you’ll find that she can,” Henshaw assured him, still finding the whole thing hilarious.
Aubrey looked over at him in derision. “I know her family well, Henshaw. There is no way on earth her father would ever let her subject herself to the category of spinster, let alone wear it so proudly, and certainly would not let her write something so public under such a title.”
“Who can confirm it?” Tony shot back with a defensive edge. “There are no names to the Chronicles. No authors. Only suspicions.”
“He would still object.”
Francis grunted and looked over at him. “Then perhaps he doesn’t know.”
Aubrey turned to look at him as the idea settled rather coolly over him. “You think she would do this without consulting him?”
Francis shrugged. “Trenwick is never in England, from what I know of him, and takes no pains to observe his children himself. Lady Trenwick is amenable and indulgent without being careless. Perhaps it was she who gave consent, and Trenwick himself is ignorant.”
There was a thought. He’d always been quite fond of Lady Trenwick and her generosity, and she was certainly giving, as Francis had said, without being in any way flippant or ridiculous. She would be considerate of the effect such an association would have upon her daughter, and yet be open to Grace’s opinions on the subject.
The question was what would happen if Trenwick were to find out.
And what fresh hell that would unleash.
“Or perhaps a woman of twenty-six does not need her parents’ permission to do such a thing,” Henshaw suggested.
That made Aubrey smile. Clearly Henshaw had never met Lord Trenwick.
Grace Morledge was not only a spinster, but unofficially proclaiming that status, and writing for one of the most popular columns in London. Making herself a Spinster, with a capital S.
How peculiar.
He couldn’t dwell on that for the moment, not in the company of these men, one of whom wanted to make a match for him, so he forced any thoughts of Grace, Trenwick, or spinsters out of his mind, and turned to Tony.
“Did you bring me here to make a case for a wife, or…?” he asked.
Tony laughed and shook his head. “No, not at all. My wife is growing closer to her confinement, and as you have no friends, I wanted to give you some before I left with her.”
“Marvelous,” Henshaw said, clapping his hands and rubbing them together. “Forced friendships are my very favorite kind.”
“Huzzah,” Aubrey replied in the most lackluster tone he knew, smiling blandly for effect.
Francis raised a brow. “Is it too early for a real drink, gentlemen?”
“No,” the others responded as one.
Chapter Three
Timing is everything in this life. In fact, it could be all that we have.
-The Spinster Chronicles, 17 April 1817
Grace couldn’t wait to tell her mother about the meeting the Spinsters had just had.
She tended to enjoy hearing about the antics of each girl, the topics of conversation, and what they had planned for the next issue of the Chronicles. It was fortunate indeed that Grace had been blessed with a mother who indulged her, no matter how her father disparaged. He didn’t know about the Spinsters, which meant she and her mother could take pleasure in its developments at their leisure. After nearly every meeting, her mother would set out tea and cakes, eager for her report on the proceedings.
Today’s meeting had provided no shortage of entertainment. Charlotte was determined to keep up her popular Best Bachelors segment in the Society Dabbler, and she had Elinor running ragged to compile all the best and most current information about each of the candidates. Prue had decided to take up a controversial Fashion Forum topic in the form of stockings, apparently with some encouragement from her husband, which had delighted the entire room. Edith was writing the main article about running a house, which was destined to amuse them all, as she had the smallest household of any of them, and the others divided up the remainder of the articles eagerly, trying desperately to keep up with the rest.
Grace had opted to tackle the Quirks and Quotes for the next issue, and her mother would be of great help there. She tended to hear a great many things, and only repeated them to Grace if they were suitable for publication.
It was a glorious day, and the ride back to Trenwick House had proven to be just as glorious, though she had not opted to take the open carriage. The sun was shining high in the sky and the temperature was perfectly mild, ensuring that many people would venture out of doors and be walking the parks. Perhaps she could convince her mother to walk Hyde Park with her later, if for no other reason than to enjoy the day.
There had not been another letter from her father since his last and most disagreeable one, which made it all the easier to put him from her mind, and any day would seem brighter with such a pleasure in its folds. She knew the bliss could not last forever, so she would endeavor to make the most of it while she could.
Sighing to herself, she allowed the footman to help her down from the coach, then tipped her head back to feel the sun just a moment longer.
“Miss Morledge?” the footman asked with some hesitation.
“Just a mome
nt, Peter,” she replied, reveling in the warmth upon her skin. “I used to lay upon the grass of Withrow on fine days, just to feel the sun. If I focus on this feeling long enough, I might think I’m there again.”
Just then, a particularly loud phaeton rushed by, its wheels clattering against the street, and its occupants cheering loudly at the pace.
Grace sighed again, this time in disappointment, and opened her eyes, looking at the young footman. “So much for that idea.”
He fought a smile and bowed. “Yes, Miss Morledge.”
She looked up at the house, which looked nothing like Withrow, but she supposed it would have to do. She proceeded up the stairs and through the door, nodding warmly at Bennett as he greeted her.
“Miss Morledge,” Bennett murmured, his tone strained somehow.
Grace smiled at him. “Bennett, are you well?”
“Yes, Miss Morledge,” he replied, though it didn’t feel very convincing.
She was not about to pry, so she nodded again. “I presume my mother is in the parlor waiting for me?”
Bennett shuffled slightly. “Yes, Miss Morledge, but…”
Grace was already moving in that direction. “Not to worry, Bennett. Mrs. Clarke already told me there would be no cakes today. I will survive the deprivation, I assure you.”
She hurried down the corridor, already giggling in anticipation of sharing her Spinster report with her mother. She’d have to take care to get the best quotes of the meeting just right. There was no substitution for the wit and banter the girls could unleash with each other.
“Mama,” she called as she neared the parlor, “you will never guess what Charlotte said today.”
She rounded into the parlor, all smiles for her mother, then she jerked to a stop.
Her mother was in the room, though not at her usual place with a waiting tea tray. She stood by the tall window facing Grace, her fingers knitting together, the edges of them turning white. She smiled tremulously at her now, and Grace could see the apology in her eyes.
My Fair Spinster Page 3
