My Fair Spinster

by Rebecca Connolly

  She nodded, momentarily without words. Then she swallowed. “Sometimes, Aubrey Flint, you really do say delightful things.”

  “I know,” he replied with a wink. “I practice daily. Sundrey is quite tired of giving critiques.”

  “Poor Sundrey.”

  Aubrey snorted once. “Don’t say that too loudly, he’ll hear you. The man has the ears of a bloodhound.”

  “Fairly certain bloodhounds are known for their noses, not their ears,” Edith announced from her side of the room, her tone that of one musing aloud.

  Aubrey scowled, but did not turn. “Thank you for not listening as promised, Edith,” he called.

  Grace looked beyond him and saw Edith grinning as she sipped her tea. “It’s your own fault,” she hissed as she returned her attention to him. “Edith and I were having a lovely tea up until you interrupted us.”

  “You didn’t seem to mind,” he hissed back, quirking a brow.

  “I don’t,” she insisted, smiling with the truth of things. “But you cannot blame Edith for being here when you were not expected to be. I refuse to send her home simply because you’re here now.”

  Aubrey’s smile turned particularly devilish. “I’d wager I could persuade her to go of her own accord, if you’d let me.”

  Oh… Lord… Grace’s eyes widened, and she swallowed hard. “Did you have a flaw to explore today?” she said a little too loudly. “Or exploit, as the case may be?”

  Aubrey muffled a laugh, then played along. “As a matter of fact, I did.”

  He did? She rather thought she’d take him by surprise with that one, but if he’d had a plan… “Oh, really?”

  He nodded, sweeping his hands behind his back. “I believe in order to get the full scope of things, I really must examine your penmanship.”

  The room stilled, which was particularly impressive as neither Edith nor Grace had been making any particular sounds. Yet it went more silent at his ridiculous statement.

  “My penmanship,” she repeated slowly.

  Again, he nodded. “I’ve found that a great many letters are examined not just for the content but for an appreciation of the hand in which they were written. Or a criticism of said hand, if the form is not quite the thing.”

  “You saw a letter I wrote,” Grace pointed out, folding her arms. “I’ve even sent you notes. You know what my penmanship looks like.”

  “Might not want to spread that one around,” he quipped, leaning closer. “Especially in this company. Edith might suspect something.”

  “Yes, I tend to suspect quite a lot,” Edith chimed in dryly around a bite of crumpet. “Quite nosy in that regard.”

  Aubrey gestured as if to emphasize the point.

  The pair of them were really quite terrible, but Grace wouldn’t be put off. “You think I could be a spinster because of my penmanship?”

  “It’s not about why I think you could be a spinster,” Aubrey explained, only slightly more serious. “It’s about exploring every possible avenue, angle, and facet of you to find what doesn’t fit.”

  Grace blinked once. “My penmanship, Aubrey?”

  “Truth be told,” he said sheepishly, “I couldn’t think of anything else.”

  Strangely, that delighted Grace to no end, and she fought the desire to laugh. Instead, she nodded primly and moved to a writing desk in a corner of the room, sitting as perfectly as she could and pulling out a sheet of paper from a drawer.

  Aubrey came to stand beside her, perhaps a bit too close for politeness, though for all appearances, he was being quite studious in his observations.

  Grace carefully dipped the pen into the ink, wiped the excess off the nib, then put the pen to paper. In her best hand, without a single hint of hesitation, and at a slower, more sedate pace than usual to emphasize her skills, she wrote the thought chiefest in her mind.

  Aubrey is an idiot.

  She laid the pen down and turned the paper for his better examination.

  He snorted and looked at her, smiling crookedly. “Very true, Miss Morledge. And very well done.”

  “Thank you,” she acknowledged with a modest dip of her chin.

  Aubrey glanced at Edith, then bent and kissed Grace quickly, almost silently, his lips teasing and pulling just enough to make her follow as he broke off.

  “But he’s a very charming idiot,” he whispered, laughing at her faint moan. “Charming and rather charmed, as well.”

  “How fortunate for him,” Grace replied.

  “Quite.” Aubrey straightened and turned towards Edith now. “Edith, how are you at drawing? I haven’t evaluated Grace’s abilities there as yet, and I really think she would be more comfortable and natural with someone else also participating.”

  As it turned out, Grace was a talented artist.

  No surprise there.

  Thankfully, she was not exceptional, and the only reason he could tell that was because Edith was exceptional. There was no flaw or fault to be found in Grace’s drawing, even the stodgiest of art masters would have agreed. But Edith’s…

  There was something breathtaking about what she could put to paper.

  Still, the three of them had a merry time in their drawing session, not that Aubrey had participated in anything actually resembling art. The ladies had tried to convince him, but he had withstood every one of their pleadings, jabs, and arguments. He was not artistic, and he was not about to start pretending otherwise now.

  He much preferred watching.

  It was strange, but he’d spent almost the whole of the afternoon at Trenwick House in a drawing room with two spinsters, and he was convinced he had never spent a better afternoon in his entire life. He’d laughed, he’d teased, he’d been impressed, and he’d seen real beauty. He had felt his breath stolen, and he had rendered the breath of someone else more difficult.

  And he had smiled.

  Lord, how he’d smiled. He was more jubilant than a clergyman with a full congregation on Christmas morning, and twice as prone to sing praises. He barely recognized himself, except he was positive that he had never felt more himself. This fervency, this depth of feeling, this unending need to see her, to smile at her, to let himself feel anything and everything he felt in her very presence… This was everything he had ever wanted, and all he had hoped to experience.

  He hadn’t known that before, of course, or he would have fled in several other directions to avoid the sheer madness of such sensations, but that was neither here nor there. He was stuck in the middle of it now, and he was far too pleasantly engrossed to wish anything different. It was rather enjoyable being tossed about and giddy, particularly when he knew how easy it was to have secluded moments with the object of his giddy madness.

  Granted, today Edith had given him a spot of trouble, but she was such an agreeable obstacle that it made the whole thing more entertaining. He could adapt his plans easily enough to accommodate her, as the case need be, and it would not always be so restricted. And yet the restriction made moments between Grace and him more exhilarating for being stolen. The risk of being observed and found out made the rewards all the sweeter.

  And oh, how sweet they were.

  He’d thought admiring Grace without emotion a pleasing enough experience, as any healthy male in possession of his senses and eyesight would have done. But to look upon her with his heart burning against the bones of his chest, to feel the blood pumping through him as though by thunderstorm, to regard her with a tenderness that shook him… There was no description for the beauty in each glimpse of her when feeling what he did in those moments, nor for the delight they gave.

  A sharp jolt raced across his chest as Camden Vale’s words flashed in his mind.

  You’re in love with Grace Morledge.

  He gasped and swayed a bit, just as he had then, but without the same panic. He knew he was in love with her. He had known it then, which is why he had drunk himself into oblivion and spent two days sick over it. He’d known it and denied it despite knowing it.

/>   Refused it, if for no other reason than because loving Grace was a terrifying prospect.

  It was no less terrifying now, but he was through denying it. Refusing it. Fighting it.

  Yes, he was ready to accept the truth. Yes, he was surrendering. Yes, he was well-aware that he would receive teasing, superiority, and outright ridicule from several people of his acquaintance for the rest of his days.

  Because undeniably yes, he was in love with Grace Morledge, and he was quite pleased with that.

  Now all he needed was for her to come back into this room so he could kiss the blazes out of her with this thrilling new vigor in him.

  His mouth spread in frank anticipation of the scene that would unfold then.

  “Ingram.”

  Had he been a man of less control, Aubrey would have yelped with all the guilt of a naughty schoolboy. But he was a man of great control, so he only turned sharply, feeling as though he had swallowed his insides after they’d been tied in knots. All of which were now attempting to strangle him.

  How very disconcerting.

  “Lord Trenwick,” Aubrey greeted with all the mildness of winter in Inverness.

  The man in question stood in the second door to this room, smiling with the same sort of thin smile he usually did, which gave no indication as to pleasure or displeasure. “Have you been assessing my daughter today?”

  Why, yes, he had, but perhaps not in the way Trenwick would have expected.

  “I have, my lord,” Aubrey replied, somehow keeping his cheek in check. “We have met several times, as I am sure you have been aware.”

  Trenwick nodded with the same indeterminate expression. “Yes, I have. And what was the topic today, if I may ask?”

  Well, Aubrey had spent a very long time assessing the merits of the turn of Grace’s throat, but he doubted that was what her father had in mind.

  “She was taking tea with Lady Edith, sir,” Aubrey said truthfully. “I called unexpectedly today rather than schedule a meeting.”

  “Ah,” Trenwick unexpectedly replied, nodding as though he understood. “To give my daughter less time to prepare for your arrival. Very strategic, Ingram. I approve.”

  Aubrey thought it best to ignore that. Grace would never forgive him if she knew her father approved of his surprising her. “Indeed. But due to Lady Edith’s presence, sir, my plan for the day had to alter. I could not expect Lady Edith to adjust her plans without seeming rude, and as you are wishing to keep this matter private, I thought it best to continue on as though it were merely a social call.”

  Trenwick continued to nod, which was strangely unnerving without real expression. Then, he stopped, the stillness twice as unsettling. “And how did my daughter behave with a woman so far below her when in your company?”

  So far… Lady Edith was the widow of a knight and daughter of an earl, and that put her squarely in respectable circles. Her husband had been a blackguard, it was true, but that did not negate her position.

  Still, now was not the time to argue that particular point of taste. “She behaved with all the manners one could have hoped, sir,” he told Trenwick, a hard edge seeping into his tone. “Far better than any other I have seen. She is poised and respectful, and remarkably kind. Lady Edith is good for her, I think. I was impressed, my lord, and I will not deny it.”

  “Excellent,” Trenwick replied, returning to the absent nodding. “Most excellent. A father is always pleased to hear his children behave as he would wish.”

  At that moment, it was clear that Trenwick heard nothing about James’ behavior at any given time, but no matter.

  “But it tells me nothing about my daughter’s faults,” Trenwick went on, his voice rising suddenly. “Come with me, Ingram. We have much to discuss.” He turned back out of the doorway, and Aubrey looked longingly towards the other door, but followed nonetheless.

  They had reached the study, and Aubrey moved to follow Trenwick when a flash of blue caught his eye and he paused. Grace stood just down the corridor, her eyes wide. He stared, pouring every ounce of longing and regret he could into his expression. He watched her elegant throat move on a swallow, then saw her chin dip in a half nod.

  How had they forgotten, in the midst of everything, that her father was controlling this entire spectacle?

  He wrenched his gaze away and entered the study, closing the door behind him.

  Trenwick situated himself behind his desk and gestured for Aubrey to take the chair opposite. “Do sit, Ingram.”

  Aubrey sat, feeling rather like a child again.

  He stared at the desk before him, waiting for something to begin. A speech, a tirade, a rant… Something to get this whole bloody business over with so he could get back to the more pleasant aspect of the madness.

  “Ingram, I know you are uncomfortable with the circumstance in which I have placed you,” Trenwick began in a much more temperate tone than Aubrey had expected. “I recall that you objected most strenuously when the idea was first put forth.”

  “I did, my lord,” Aubrey said with a nod, though he said nothing else. He was not about to volunteer information about his dealings with Grace, and he wouldn’t have done so before he’d fallen in love with her.

  Trenwick did not continue, drawing Aubrey’s attention to him. The man stared at him, waiting.

  Aubrey exhaled and shifted uncomfortably. “My lord, I apologize if you’re expecting me to give you a report on my progress with assessing your daughter for faults or misdeeds. I fear I would disappoint you in that regard.”

  “Would you?” Trenwick asked mildly, not seeming particularly concerned, though he did not look pleased.

  Strange for a man so involved to be so unaffected.

  Aubrey had the sudden feeling that he was being toyed with, and he did not care for it one bit. He was no man’s pawn, and he refused to be treated as such. “It would be impolite to your daughter to reveal to you all that goes on in our meetings. She is feeling vulnerable enough as it is, knowing she’s being evaluated, and I have pledged to make this as painless as possible for her. It’s the least I can do out of respect for her with regards to her position and her person. I will not give you notes on our progress, sir, as I have not done thus far. I have promised to report what I find when I have completed my study, as Miss Morledge knows well. If you wish me to accomplish the task you’ve set before me, you must trust me to do so in the manner I best see fit. And that includes respecting the privacy of myself, your daughter, and our meetings.”

  There was no sound in the room, and while Aubrey was prepared for a booming rant of outrage at such a speech, he was pleased that one had not occurred.

  In fact, Trenwick did not look in the least perturbed.

  “Good,” the man said, upending everything Aubrey had expected. “I was hoping you were truly as trustworthy and discreet about the whole affair as you had claimed you would be. I am pleased to have you be so involved and invested. You see now how important it is for us to protect Grace and see to it that she comes to no harm in all this.”

  Of course Aubrey saw that. He had always seen that, which was why he had even agreed in the first place. It was Trenwick who had not understood that previously, or so he had thought. Why was he now so very concerned for his daughter’s feelings?

  “Indeed,” Aubrey responded without much conviction, suspicions rising.

  “I may now put another task to you,” Trenwick said, leaning forward on his desk and looking far more earnest than he had been in some time. “One that I was hesitant to apply before, but you have proven yourself worthy of it.”

  Blast, this was how Aubrey proved worthy of his trust? He should have kissed Grace passionately in full view of Almack’s and the king’s privy council, if not directly before her father’s face.

  “I must ask you,” Trenwick went on, unaware he had effectively ruined Aubrey’s appetite for an entire month with his statement, “to also evaluate my daughter’s reputation.”

  Her what?

&nbs
p; Aubrey blinked. “Her reputation, sir? Is it in question?” He nearly snarled the question, his fingers digging into the wood of the chair in which he sat.

  “No, of course not,” Trenwick snapped. “I have not raised a hoyden of questionable morality. I only need to know what it is. One can never trust what one says to a parent of a young lady of Society. I need to know what is truly being said about her, for good or for ill. I trust London gossip to carry the truth of Grace’s impediment, and I need you to uncover it. Why my daughter is unmarried. Why her education and upbringing have failed her. Why a young woman of station, breeding, fortune, and beauty is spurned by all respectable options. Why she is failing us all. Why she is a disgrace. You must find out, Ingram. You must listen to every word of it.”

  “Sir…” Aubrey protested weakly, feeling more and more ill the longer he sat here.

  “I do consider this part of our contract,” Trenwick overrode, his eyes fully blazing now. “The most important part, if not the whole reason for it. And you gave your word, sir. As a gentleman.”

  Aubrey stared at the man, the bland image of Trenwick from his youth shattering in his mind. This was the man who would find fault in a faultless daughter, who would have her evaluated for imperfections, and then burn those imperfections into dust in his own cruel refiner’s fire, if only he had bellows enough to heat it.

  The blinders of childhood were gone. The reality of disdain sprang free.

  “Indeed, sir,” Aubrey replied in the same tone one might have damned another to hell. “My word.” A vile taste rose in his throat, and he nodded. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting with my solicitor. Breyerly needs my attention.”

  Trenwick blustered some response to that, something simpering, pompous, and ridiculous, but Aubrey could only hear the buzzing of an irritating insect. He pried himself free from the handshake and left the room, his hand cramping in objection at his side.

  Reputation. Imperfection. Failing. Disgrace. He burned with indignation at every slanderous word, his head swimming among it all. How was a man so deluded in his own importance as to only see his offspring for their ability to advance his influence?