My Fair Spinster

by Rebecca Connolly

  Trenwick tilted his head in inquiry, saying nothing.

  Aubrey cleared his throat, adjusting his position in his seat. “I believe we had agreed, my lord, that I would express my findings to you when my examination was complete. And with the recent addition of your daughter’s reputation, I was still in process of compiling information.”

  An abrupt nod met this response. “And in the compiling of this information, Ingram, have you been informed of her association with this group known as the Spinsters? I believe with a capital S.”

  “I have, my lord.” His heart sank with lightning speed into the region of his bowels and seemed to tighten his throat in the process.

  “This group,” Trenwick went on, straightening from his position and beginning to pace behind the desk, “involving women who are supposedly of a high enough station to be better behaved, yet who are determined to flaunt their inability to find husbands as though it were a mark of some great honor.”

  Aubrey bit back a retort about a few of them having been lately married, knowing it would not do any good.

  His lack of response seemed to trigger something in Trenwick, and the man snorted softly. “Yes, I know some of them have surrendered to the pressures of Society and married against whatever edicts they had set for themselves, but the sentiment of the thing remains the same. A band of women collecting dust on the shelves of London together rather than apart, whilst also recruiting other young ladies to join in their cause.”

  Oh, this would end badly, wherever it led. He could not consider offering for Grace now, not when Trenwick was in high dudgeon, and not when the discovery of the Spinsters was upon them. The fallout would hinder everything, and he needed to tread carefully.

  Trenwick stopped and looked at Aubrey, hands sweeping behind his back. “Apologies, my personal feelings are clouding my good sense. Ingram, I must ask you now, and I beg you to be frank. Have you found significant faults in my daughter?”

  Aubrey swallowed, all hope for the day’s plans vanishing into thin air. “No, sir.”

  “As I suspected.” Trenwick lifted his chin, straightening further still. “Is it possible, my lord, that my daughter’s unmarried condition could be due to her involvement with this particular circulation and this particular group? Is she a spinster, my lord, because she is, to use the phrase, one of the Spinsters?”

  Aubrey stared at the older man, dread, horror, and every other foul emotion settling into various parts of him.

  He should lie. He should lie outright and inform Trenwick that people were mistaken. That no one could properly see Grace. That Society was full to the brim with imbeciles. That the Spinsters were some of the most fascinating, intelligent, entertaining, and remarkably good women he had ever encountered.

  He should insist on satisfaction for the woman he loved.

  He should…

  Forgive me, Grace.

  “I believe it is possible, my lord,” Aubrey admitted, the words tasting of bile. “If nothing else. The opinions of the Spinsters are varied, and… It is possible.”

  Trenwick nodded once, then again. “I suspected no less. Thank you for confirming it. Had I known about this sooner, there would have been no need to bring you in for this ridiculous farce at all. One simple explanation for the whole thing, and no one could give it to me before this. Not even my own daughter.”

  Aubrey winced. “Sir…”

  “No apology needed, Ingram,” Trenwick overrode, raising a hand. “I know you could not have known.” He turned to look towards the fire, eyeing the flames in thought, and Aubrey could see the man’s teeth grinding together. “This will be dealt with; I can assure you.”

  That was what Aubrey was afraid of. “My lord…”

  Trenwick looked at him then, seeming decided. “Come with me, Ingram. I will need your support, and my daughter will need to understand.” He moved to the door and opened it, gesturing for him to exit.

  Aubrey would have given his entire fortune to not proceed, to remain where he was, to avoid the disaster that was looming before him.

  Forgive me, Grace, he prayed again as he rose and exited, his legs somehow no longer in existence, yet carrying him anyway. Forgive me.

  Heaven did not reply, and he feared he was walking to his doom.

  “Your father wants to speak with you.”

  Grace did not bother to look up from her book. “Why should today be any different?”

  “Grace…”

  Her mother’s tone brought her head up slowly and Grace stared warily. “Mama?”

  “Now,” her mother whispered, eyes wide and worried. “Right this minute. He is most displeased.”

  Grace rose quickly, setting her book aside. “I cannot bear another routing, Mama. I haven’t done anything.”

  “I know,” her mother soothed, taking her arm and rubbing it as they made their way out of the parlor. “Just bear it as best you can. Perhaps Aubrey will soften him.”

  “Aubrey?” Grace looked at her mother, her heart somehow leaping and falling at the same time. “Aubrey is here?”

  Her mother nodded, gripping Grace’s arm tightly for a moment. “I’ve never seen either look so somber.”

  Grace bit her lip, turning her gaze to the art on the walls. Why would they look so severe? Why would her father be displeased if Aubrey was here?

  What had Aubrey said?

  After the Sterlings’ ball, she had been so certain that something significant would occur, that he would approach her father and officially court her, that he would declare himself, or that she would. Nothing had happened yet, and she had been on edge ever since. Waiting. Wanting. Hoping.

  But this…

  The drawing room had never been so silent, and the clouds outside had given way to the rain within them, yet there was no sound of the drops against the glass. Only the gloom and dreariness from such a day to add gravity to the moment.

  Grace curtseyed upon entering, and nearly whimpered as her mother’s arm slid from hers and vanished. She locked her knees and swallowed, staring at her father. “Father.”

  He kept his eyes on her, his mouth a thin line.

  Grace could see Aubrey just behind her father, but she didn’t dare look at him.

  “It has come to my attention,” her father began in cool, clipped tones, “that my daughter has been engaging with a group that has directly contributed to her failure to attain a husband.”

  Her eyes widened, and her heart skipped. No…

  “It has further come to my attention that the opinion of Society is that this is, in fact, the prime reason for her not obtaining a husband.”

  The air vanished from her lungs, and her locked knees began to shake.

  Her father’s eyes narrowed, his upper lip twitching in a hint of a sneer. “And were it not for the studious work of individuals truly dedicated to my expectations of my family, I might never have known that my daughter takes such pleasure and pride in her shameful situation that she regularly boasts about it in a cheap gossip sheet that is circulated about London for the entertainment of the masses.” His look became one of absolute disgust. “Have you no shame, daughter?”

  Grace opened her mouth, but without air or concise thought, nothing came forth, her lips moving soundlessly.

  “After all I have done for you,” her father spat, abhorrence seeping from every line on his face, “this is how you repay me? This is how you would honor your family? By making us a laughingstock and a disgrace in Society? You were not raised to act with independent thought and a disregard for the standards set for a respectable young woman. You were not brought up to make yourself a spectacle to be mocked by every class in London, to do anything that would detract from the one task you had to accomplish in life. All you had to do was make a good match, Grace. One simple task that girls of fewer accomplishments, less education, less taste, and less breeding accomplish every single day. And you have wasted it all on some frivolous, printed rags while associating with the world’s future harlots and
shrews.”

  “Father,” Grace protested feebly, her voice squeaking in distress.

  He turned thunderous in a moment. “Not a word, daughter. You will never see those women again. You will never write another word for that drivel of a column. And you will conduct yourself as I see fit for the remainder of the Season. If you cannot act wisely without supervision, you can be certain you will submit yourself with it.” He nodded once, ending the conversation as he brushed passed her, dismissing any response she might have given.

  His footsteps echoed down the corridor, and when they had faded, she exhaled slowly.

  So, she could breathe after all.

  What a waste.

  “Grace…”

  Her eyes lifted to Aubrey with a sharpness she could only have inherited from her father, and whatever they held made Aubrey take a step back.

  Good.

  She said nothing, staring at him as her jaw tightened, hardened, her spine stiffening, and a wrought iron cage closing around her heart.

  He returned her look, seeming younger, weaker, and more uncertain than she would ever have thought him capable of. Which was fitting, as she suddenly felt older, harsher, and absolutely resolute.

  “You told him.”

  Aubrey shook his head once. “He knew. He found out.”

  “You confirmed it.”

  He hesitated, which was answer enough. “I had to.”

  “Did you?” she asked in the same sort of formal tone she had heard throughout her life, letting coldness enter it. “Did you really?”

  “Grace, listen to me…”

  “Why?” she interrupted, the word clipped. “Because you have a feasible explanation for informing my father that the reason for nobody wanting me is that I made friends with other women that nobody wanted, and we tried to make the best of our situation?”

  Aubrey grimaced as though she had slapped him, and she wished at that moment she had, her palm burning with the desire to.

  “That was your answer, was it?” She sniffed in derision, the gnawing sting of betrayal creeping across her skin. “That was your grand solution to my father, who only needed an excuse to prove that I was lacking? My friends, Aubrey?”

  “It’s not what you think,” he insisted.

  Grace raised a brow. “And how would you know what I think? You haven’t known that yet, or you would not have dared to suggest such a heartless thing. My friends, Aubrey? They are the reason you believe I am a spinster?”

  He shook his head. “This isn’t about me.”

  “Isn’t it, then?” she shot back. “This whole affair has been about you. Making me trust you so that you can twist me to your will, expose my inadequacies with ease and with very little inconvenience to yourself at all. Did you write the list of other candidates yourself to ensure that I would accept you? Or was that my father’s idea?”

  Aubrey’s expression darkened at once. “Surely, you don’t believe…”

  Grace nodded before he could finish. “Oh, I most certainly do believe it. I should have believed it from the start, but it seems one of my failings is that I am far more naïve and simple than I dreamed. But let me tell you one thing, Lord Ingram. I have found more strength and renewal in my friends than many individuals have found in their entire life. I have found more acceptance and loyalty in their ranks than anything I felt from my own father, let alone my siblings. I have found a voice with those women that had been stripped from me while still in my childhood, because a young woman does not possess a voice that was not put there for her. And I would rather be a spinster for the rest of my days and be a Spinster with a capital S than to be miserable, married off, and made into my father’s creation.”

  Her voice carried in the room, though she had not raged. There had been no shouting, no roaring, and nothing at all to indicate that she possessed any sort of temper, though she burned with a deep fury that would eat away at her for days.

  She was a woman of quality and class, and they did not raise their voices.

  But oh, could they inflict venom all the same.

  And the icy tone of her voice proved a most perfect pairing.

  Perfection at last.

  Oh, what irony.

  “I will not deny,” Aubrey began in his own even tone, “that I confirmed your father’s findings. I will not deny that he has acted as he has based on my answers. And I will also not deny that I stand by what I said, much as it pains you.”

  Grace lifted her chin, daring him to go on.

  Never one to back down, Aubrey did so, but without the retaliatory air she had expected. “I do believe that your association with the Spinsters contributes to your being unmarried. Participation in such a divisive group could not help but to sway public opinion, no matter how respectable those opinions might have been before.”

  Her mouth curved in a cold, satisfied smile. “So, the truth comes out. What a relief.”

  Aubrey tilted his head, expression unreadable. “If you could not see that, Grace, you are not nearly as observant as I took you for.”

  “Clearly, we were both mistaken in each other, then.”

  He stared for a long moment. “I wasn’t.”

  She folded her arms and raised a brow. “No?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “I was not mistaken in you then, and I am not now.”

  “How pleasant for you.”

  Grace waited for him to snap, to take her sneered response and toss it back at her. To stir her indignation into something louder, fiercer, and far more explosive. To drive her to tears of fury cascading with the destruction of a waterfall upon rocks.

  But he didn’t roar, he didn’t rage, and there were no tears to be found, burning, welling, or falling.

  Not a single one.

  His chest moved on an exhale, and he slid his hands into his trousers pockets in the same easy, relaxed stance that she had always loved about him.

  The sight of it tugged at her heart, slamming it against the cage now holding it, and she tightened her arms against each other. Would he not go and leave her to her impending heartbreak?

  “Strawberries,” he said at last.

  Grace blinked, certain she’d heard him wrong. “What?”

  One side of his mouth curved. “You prefer your porridge with strawberries. Fresh ones, straight from the garden, though you will accept ones from the market if they are the freshest to be had. And cinnamon with a little sugar. If you’re feeling particularly sour, you add additional milk, if not cream. On rainy days, you also take toast with jam. And God help the servant who puts a single blueberry in.”

  She stared at him in wonder, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, could not feel her fingers tucked against her body.

  How could he have known? How could he…?

  He shrugged one shoulder. “I thought you ought to know.” His hands went to his side and he bowed perfectly before her. “Good day, Miss Morledge. I apologize for disrupting your morning.”

  Then he was gone, striding out the door before she could do more than blink and watch him go.

  No vitriol. No recrimination. No heated defense of his own actions or defamation of her direct attack on him.

  No temper.

  Yet he had one. She had seen it flare at times, yet today he had not had one.

  There hadn’t even been anger.

  But there had been pain. She had seen that, had felt that, and even he would not have denied it.

  Why, at this moment, would she have preferred his anger to his pain?

  She blinked once more, and with an exhale, her knees lost their rigidity, shaking in their release. She fumbled for a chair and sank into it, her lungs working in agitation to inhale and exhale in a somewhat effective manner. Her eyes never burned, and her throat never closed.

  Yet she felt such an ache, such a cruel, twisting ache deep within her chest. As though her heart would burst with any particular twinge and send her crumbling to pieces.

  She could not crumble. She could not break.<
br />
  “He will not break me,” she hissed to herself.

  A faint hiccup followed the words, and she shook her head, swallowing hard.

  She would not be broken.

  But maybe, just maybe, she would let herself bend a little once she could lock herself in her room and hide a tear or two from any watchful eyes.

  And perhaps one tear more for the dreams now lost.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Every now and again, the heart may need a little help.

  -The Spinster Chronicles, 25 October 1816

  She could freely admit to a breaking heart now.

  Not broken, but breaking.

  Cracked, but still whole.

  Aching, but whole.

  And yet, a whole heart does not work as well with the injuries placed upon it, as her low spirits and reduced energy would attest.

  Bit of an inconvenience, that.

  Still, some time with her friends should help to dull the ache.

  It had been a week since she had seen any of the Spinsters, what with her father’s edict against seeing any of them. Even the prospect of Charlotte Wright couldn’t persuade him, and she’d been forced into playing the obedient and biddable daughter for a time. It hadn’t helped that he’d been hovering over her every action since that horrible day.

  Today, there had been a reprieve, however. He had gone to see to some business out in the country, and her mother had insisted that Grace accompany her to pay calls only to then deliver her to Charlotte’s home for the regular Spinster gathering.

  Grace had never been hugged so fiercely in her entire life, and it had nearly brought the tears she cried at night to the surface.

  Now, they had settled her into a chair, plied her with cakes and tea, and finally calmed their reactions to seeing her.

  Edith held her hand on her left while Prue hovered protectively close on her right.

  Their closeness warmed her heart as much as her mother’s delivery had.

  “I am telling you the truth,” Elinor insisted to whoever had questioned her. “Mr. Andrews was seen calling upon Amelia Perry! The man has never called upon any single woman, and he just so happens to do so with the only woman in London fascinated with him?”