My Fair Spinster

by Rebecca Connolly

  Andrews was a genius and agreed wholeheartedly, citing several examples of the game being played by fine women in various settings.

  Seeing he was clearly mistaken, Trenwick voiced no further comment, and watched the game in silence, venturing away when there was nothing of real interest to see or critique. Miranda winked at Aubrey when Trenwick disappeared, and Aubrey did not bother hiding his gratitude before returning his whole attention to the game.

  Or, more truthfully, to the pressure of a certain ankle against his.

  Which moved slightly, tilting away and sliding up. The arch of a slippered foot now pressed just at his ankle, the toes moving gently against the back of his foot.

  His throat dried at once, parched in an instant. He glanced up to find Grace perusing the board before her, one hand at her jaw, impervious to all else in the room.

  The little minx…

  Aubrey adjusted his position in his seat, dislodging her foot from his, and slid his foot forward against the floor until it came beneath her skirts to touch hers. Frowning over his next move, he dipped his foot beneath hers and arched his toes up until they dug into the sole of her foot, biting the inside of his lip when her foot tensed at it.

  He took a kingside pawn of hers. She pressed her foot down hard against his.

  She captured his queenside castle. He ran the tip of his toe along the inside of her foot.

  He checked her king. She rubbed her toes beneath the bone of his ankle.

  She took his aggressing pawn. He turned his foot to press against the full length of hers.

  He moved to take her queenside knight when she slid her foot back just far enough for her toes to dip against his, and his hand faltered in his motion.

  “Who’s winning?” Francis asked, suddenly appearing beside their game.

  Aubrey cleared his throat, blinking his hazy vision. “It’s difficult to say,” he managed, his voice tight.

  Grace smirked up at Francis proudly. “He’s not having his own way, unfortunately.”

  Aubrey swallowed, fighting a smile as he pointedly ran the tip of his foot along the entire length of the sole of her foot. “No, sadly, I am not.”

  Grace’s left hand splayed spasmodically on the table, her attention returning to the game, eyes wide. He caught one faint, rough pant, and dragged his foot gently across hers again.

  “I see you truly have found a worthy opponent, Ingram,” Francis praised as he eyed the board, nodding as though impressed.

  Aubrey stared at Grace, stroking her foot over and over until she met his eyes, cheeks flushed, eyes dark. “Oh, yes,” Aubrey murmured, his lips curving. “It seems that I have.”

  Chapter Twenty

  One should always take great care when choosing a partner for the waltz. A dance of such intimacy, once regarded as wholly scandalous, should only be engaged in with a partner with whom one can truly dance. To say nothing of those who can turn the waltz into something intimate while not offending those still clinging to the opinions of the past. A true waltz, dear friends, may be something of a confession.

  -The Spinster Chronicles, 3 September 1818

  The night was already magical, and she hadn’t danced a single step yet.

  She couldn’t have said why; it was not as though there was anything particularly special about the evening. The ballroom of Sterling House had been elegantly lit and filled with tasteful decor that enhanced its beauty, but it could have been any other lovely ballroom in London. Her gown was the pale pink one Aubrey had kissed her in, which made her blush when she put it on, but it was not her most flattering gown, nor her finest. Her father hadn’t been any more approving or warmer than he had at any other time in her life and had actually decided on accepting the invitation this evening.

  That had not pleased her, but her mother had vowed to do her best to keep him occupied. Charlotte had instructed her father to accommodate him in all social matters as well, so his interference in her evening should have been kept to a minimum, which was all she could have hoped for.

  Her hair had been perfectly plaited and curled, pale pink ribbon and small, white flowers interwoven in the locks, and her mother had loaned her a string of pearls and matching earbobs. Her gloves were pristine, her complexion fresh, and her smile fixed.

  All was as it should have been, and as it always was for any ball she had ever attended.

  But tonight, she could not breathe. Her heart raced in her chest, and her palms felt clammy against the fabric of her gloves. Her knees shook and her feet felt markedly unsteady, and all she had done so far was to greet the host and hostess, accept their charming compliments, and proceed towards her friends while her mother and father made the rounds of the room to let her father feel himself mingling with advantageous connections.

  She was utterly terrified, and every swallow burned in her throat.

  “Grace, you are shaking like a leaf, whatever is the matter?”

  Grace looked over at Lady Hetty, sitting in her usual chair, giving her a more sympathetic look than Grace could ever remember seeing. She tried for a smile. “I’m only excitable, my lady.”

  “At your age?” Lady Hetty gave her a doubting look. “Not likely.”

  “Lady Hetty,” Izzy protested kindly, looking between the older woman and Grace hesitantly.

  “I mean no offense to the girl,” Lady Hetty insisted with a wave of her hand. “She is as petrified as Miss Morton was at her first ball, if not dear Prudence, yet she has been to many a soirée with nary a tremor.”

  “This is true,” Elinor mused as she eyed Grace almost critically. “What’s there to fear? Is it your father?”

  “Don’t talk about that man,” Charlotte spat as she drew close, shaking her head firmly. “I refuse to spend my evening worrying about Grace worrying about him. He will be sufficiently distracted, and all will be well.” Charlotte gave Grace a scolding look. “You aren’t thinking about him, are you?”

  Grace shook her head at once, because she truly was not thinking of him.

  She was thinking of someone else entirely.

  “I’m fine,” she assured her friends. “I mean, I am of course concerned that my father should hear about the Chronicles, but I trust Mama and Mr. Wright to keep him sufficiently occupied.” She sighed and looked around the ballroom, fidgeting with her gloves. “I cannot deny that having him here makes me self-conscious, as though I must be on my very best behavior.”

  “When are you not?” Prue asked as she approached on Cam’s arm. “I’ve never seen you make a false step.”

  Grace smiled weakly at her shy friend. “Would you have told me if I had?”

  “I would have,” Charlotte pointed out. “And so would Elinor.”

  Elinor nodded fervently, eyes wide. “I would. I never fail to point out missteps.”

  “You do seem to have your favorite subjects for such things,” Izzy pointed out with a laugh.

  “Can I help it if Hugh Sterling and the like do nothing but take missteps?” Elinor asked. “Someone has to notice these things.”

  “Just as someone must notice the good,” Cam reminded her. “One should not be so distracted by faults that they are blinded to all else.”

  “Hear, hear,” Lady Hetty said with an approving thump of her walking stick against the floor.

  Charlotte looked at Cam in speculation. “That was a rather sweet sentiment from a man like you. Clearly, your wife is a reforming influence.”

  Cam looked down at Prue in such adoration that Grace felt her own cheeks heat. “Well, that’s no surprise, is it?”

  Prue returned his look with one of her own, and this time Grace had to look away. She had seen so much change in both Cam and Prue since their marriage, and even the more recent marriage of Izzy and Sebastian had provided change to their natures. Not in extremes, but there was such happiness to be found in each couple. Georgie and Tony were practically blissful, and their impending parenthood was only further proof of that.

  She was not naïve enough
to think that marriage had done that for them, for she had seen far too many marriages that had not improved either party. But she also knew enough to know that the love of another person, deep, abiding, true love, could move one’s soul, could transform a heart, could draw two separate individuals together until they became one.

  How did anyone seeing such a glorious thing, such a wondrous transformation, find contentment in a life without it?

  Grace Morledge had not given much thought to things of an especially romantic nature since childhood, but ever since Aubrey had reappeared in her life and flipped it on its end, she found she could think of very little else.

  And at this moment, she only wanted to be with him, whether in this very ballroom or somewhere in the countryside wandering aimlessly. Or sitting in a quiet room playing chess.

  A slow burn of heat began at the back of her neck and began to work its way up into her hair, behind her ears, across her shoulders, and cascading down her front until it disappeared into the neckline of her gown. Her skin tingled with it, and a slow, warm shiver coursed across her frame.

  Lord, but she wanted to have this with Aubrey. Moments and heartbeats and endless days of laughing until she cried. Kisses to weaken knees and arms to hold her close. Games to play and looks to give, banter to toss out and teasing to receive, anything and everything, more of the same and the discovery of new…

  He was the one she would always yearn for, the man whose heart she would crave, and she could fairly burst with so much emotion if given but half a chance.

  “Now that was a beautiful sight,” a low voice murmured behind her. “Like the glory of sunrise without a single cloud to diminish such beauty.”

  An almost guttural sound started in her throat, but she swallowed it back as she turned to face Aubrey, eyes burning with the promise of tears, her lips wavering as she smiled with too much emotion. “Aubrey…”

  His eyes were dark and full of appreciation, and she had the sense that he saw everything she felt, everything she couldn’t say, and every ounce of love her heart beat with. Those eyes raked over her quickly, and she bit back a gasp as though they touched each part they saw. He smiled more deeply when he met her gaze once more.

  “Such a lovely gown,” he praised, his tone saying so much more. “It suits you well.”

  “Doesn’t it, though?” Elinor agreed, completely missing the private conversation occurring. “I was only saying to Mama when we arrived that no one else could have made it look so exquisite.”

  Aubrey shook his head, somehow listening even though his eyes never left Grace’s. “No, indeed. I quite agree.”

  Grace widened her eyes at him, mouthed the word ‘stop’, but Aubrey only grinned further still.

  She would burst into flames where she stood if he did not look somewhere else soon.

  Mercifully, he seemed to know that, and turned to very warmly greet the rest gathered about them, leaving Grace to discreetly gulp in as much air as she could while appearing composed.

  One did not pant in ballrooms.

  She wasn’t sure who created that rule, but she was quite sure it was listed somewhere.

  “Has anyone heard from Tony or Georgie of late?” he asked the group without any hint of distress himself. “I wonder how the rustication in preparation for the next Sterling offspring commences.”

  There was a round of general good-natured chuckling and Izzy grinned. “Georgie sends her love to us all, reminded me to be sure Edith gets out, insists that Elinor send her the latest gossip, and advised that you, sir, remember to whom you owe your current situation.”

  Aubrey scowled, though Grace could see the faintest hint of color appear in his own face. “I’m not likely to forget who twisted my own words against me, am I? I think we ought to have tested Georgie out on the battlefield and see if she might not have been a better soldier than her husband.”

  “Oh, she’d be a far cry better,” Henshaw boasted as he approached with Sebastian. “Though she’d have been better suited to covert operations, wouldn’t you say, Morton?”

  Sebastian only shuddered, which brought more laughter from the group.

  “Mind yourselves,” Lady Hetty muttered, thumping her stick once. “Trenwick spies us, and he seems particularly watchful.”

  Grace peered over her shoulder, saw his calculating look, then turned back to the group with a wince. “Blast!” she hissed, her voice catching.

  “Not to worry,” Charlotte said at once, tossing her hair. “I’ll have this sorted in no time. Married couples must dance together for the first, then rearranged for the second. Grace, you come with me and dance with my brother. For our sins, we are a family of your father’s approval, and I will scrub my tongue with soap this evening for admitting such. Henshaw, dance with Elinor first, then either Kitty or Amelia, and Andrews will take Elinor for the second. After which, you will claim a dance from Grace, who, I hope, will have managed a dance with Lord Elsmere, as he is rather keen to do as I request.” She turned to Cam with an authoritative look. “See if Francis can be spared for the third, and you dance with Janet, while he may have his pick of the lot. He must dance with Grace for the fourth. That is imperative. By that point, Trenwick should get over himself and allow himself to be carried off to the card room by my father for talk of business or some such. You’re on your own after that.”

  She turned to Aubrey then, looking quite severe. “You may not dance with her while her father is present. He knows you well, and it will not have any effect at all if you do. I will partner you first, then go with Henshaw and take whichever girl he does not for the second. Mingle for the third, do not dance, and then the fourth go back for either Kitty or Amelia, whichever you did not dance with before. Better yet, Alice Sterling, she has better connections. Understood?”

  Aubrey stared at Charlotte with wide eyes, stunned and entirely adrift.

  “Where did I lose you?” she asked with some impatience.

  “Nowhere,” he said at once. “I follow. I’m just wondering where in the world you came from.”

  Charlotte grinned outright. “From the cradle of London Society, my dear Lord Ingram. No one navigates her as I do, and if this does not work, I will come to the next assembly dressed as a court jester and sing a bawdy tavern song of your choosing for the gathering.”

  Aubrey looked at Cam hopefully. “Can we see that it fails on that promise alone?”

  Cam shrugged, nodding his agreement.

  Charlotte whacked Cam across the chest, giving Aubrey the sort of look an overbearing sister would. “If you follow instructions, Ingram, I will prove to be a very, very capable ally.” She raised a daring brow, waiting.

  Aubrey straightened, sobering at once. “Aye, aye, ma’am. Right you are.”

  “As I thought,” she muttered. She cleared her throat and looked around. “Everyone ready?”

  They all murmured their assent, some of them sounding as surprised as Aubrey.

  The Spinsters, however, had no such emotion.

  This was Charlotte Wright in her element, and they knew their orders.

  Charlotte nodded, and moved to Grace, looping her arm through hers. “We’ll go to Charles and see that he takes Grace for the first. Ingram, wait five minutes, then come to me. Part the group, for they will gather. Be charming, please, I do have a reputation to uphold.”

  Without waiting for a response, she turned and led Grace away. “Charlotte,” Grace hissed, “there is no need for all this. I am not…”

  “Of course, there is,” Charlotte overrode briskly. “It will satisfy your father, which should make him leave, and make Aubrey have to wait for any dance with you, which will drive him mad. I approve of both things, so why not be efficient in the task?”

  “Why would you want to drive Aubrey mad?” Grace asked with a laugh.

  Charlotte smiled up at her slyly. “Why would you not want to?”

  Grace blanched, then peered back at Aubrey, who had clearly watched her every step, his stance still rel
axed, though his eyes were hooded, and his fists clenched.

  There was no mistaking where his attention lay, if anyone had cared to notice.

  “Oh lord,” she breathed, the words catching in her throat, returning her attention forward.

  Charlotte hummed a delighted laugh to herself. “You should hear what Miranda has planned. It will be utterly delicious.”

  “You’re all quite mad,” Grace giggled, tossing the tendrils of hair from her shoulder.

  “Not as mad as he will be!” Charlotte crowed. “Now, do smile, dear. My brother is quite sensitive about that sort of thing.”

  Whatever he had thought about Charlotte Wright before, he could have worshipped her now. Her scheming navigation of the situation with Trenwick had worked out flawlessly, and he hadn’t been in the ballroom for over an hour. Grace had been relaxed and radiant once they had become aware of their success, and he was not the only one to have noticed it.

  Which is where the end of worship and the beginning of cursing began.

  Once they had secured victory, a new game had commenced. One that Aubrey had not been aware of, and one in which he was clearly the loser.

  They were intentionally keeping Grace from him.

  Worse than that, they were laughing at him.

  They, of course, being the Spinsters, their husbands, their hosts for the evening, and the maddening duo of Henshaw and Miranda, all of whom were now very much in danger of his wrath.

  Politely, of course.

  This was a Society gathering, after all.

  But for the love of everything sacred, holy, and pure, would he never have half a moment with her?

  He’d looked for her the moment he’d entered Sterling House, before he’d ever reached the ballroom. Despite his affection and respect for Francis and Janet, he had no purpose in coming here tonight but Grace. Seeing her again, though they had just been at Miranda’s three nights ago. Admiring her in the splendor of a grand room in all her finery, though nothing could ever be lovelier than the sight of her racing across a garden behind the heels of a blundering bloodhound, hair falling recklessly from its hold.