Gentlemen Prefer Spinsters (Spinsters Club Book 1)

by Samantha Holt

  She nodded again.

  He seemed to hesitate then change his mind. “Never change, Merry, you are perfect the way you are.”

  When the door thudded shut behind him, it seemed to snap her back. She stared down at the handkerchief and rubbed her fingers across the initials stitched carefully into it. Drawing in a breath, she sat up. Harry was right—but she would never admit as much. There was no changing the past and at the age of twenty, there was no changing her. If her father could not love her, that was not her fault. Now she needed to focus on the future.

  And not on that kiss.

  Fingers to her lips, she frowned. She had known Harcourt for most of her life, and they had been friends since she came out into Society. He’d taken her hand and even danced with her on occasion, but he’d never kissed her. She supposed she had never been grieving before either. Perhaps it was his way of comforting her. After all, he was such a rake, kissing women for any reason whatsoever was probably quite normal to him.

  Not to her, however. That could safely be considered her first kiss, and she had certainly never expected it to come from Harry. No matter how handsome and wonderful she thought him, soon-to-be spinsters did not expect kisses from veritable rakes.

  She sighed and smoothed her hands down her skirts. Better not to tell the Spinster Club about it, though. They would never understand why a male friend had kissed her.

  Chapter Three

  When Harcourt threw down his cards, Griff shot him a look.

  Harcourt glowered at him. “What is it?”

  “You’re not even trying.” Griff gathered up the cards and his winnings and slid them back into his pocket.

  “I am having a run of bad luck.”

  Griff shook his head and signaled to the waiter with an empty glass. Two fresh brandies arrived promptly. Harcourt eyed the liquid then the now empty table. Griff was right of course. He had little interest in cards. He’d come to Boodles out of habit and what a pointless habit it was. If Merry were here she’d tell him to do something constructive like write a letter or read a new book. As far as he was concerned, he’d leave the books to her, but spending night after night in gentlemen’s clubs was growing thin.

  Smoke clouded the air of the grand building, mingling with the scent of leather and whisky. Once upon a time, he’d loved nothing more than sitting in these clubs with his friends, drinking the night away and besting them all at poker or whist.

  “I am merely contemplating my return to Dorset,” he explained. “My business here is settled.”

  Griff made a dismissive noise. “What the devil will you do in Dorset for the summer? You cannot beat London for fine clubs and even finer women.” He leaned in. “Do not tell me a woman has turned you down and you are running away with your tail between your legs?”

  Harcourt gave him a look. Everyone knew he had no problems with women, and he’d enjoyed the company of many a fine lady these past years. But, again, the endless stream of women in his bed had grown tiresome. They were strong, independent women who needed nothing more from him than a quick tumble, but since he had turned thirty, his desire for such dalliances had declined. He’d rather argue with a woman under a tree than bed a practical stranger again.

  Michael Griffin, heir to the Dukedom of Harington, wouldn’t understand one jot. If Harcourt was considered a rake, who knew what Griff was? But with his father alive and kicking, Griff hardly felt the need to settle down any time soon, and Harcourt could not see him ever being tamed, even once marriage was needed.

  “You need a new conquest,” Griff declared. He drained his drink and slammed the glass down. “Come on, Easton, there’s a party at Lady Seville’s. Let us go there and find you some company. That shall stir you out of...” He waved a hand. “Whatever this is.”

  Harcourt threw back his brandy and pictured the party. There would be dancing and drink. Lots of young ladies vying for a husband, and a few widows or older women looking for an experienced lover who could fulfill the needs that their husbands neglected.

  He shook his head. “I think I shall head home.”

  “Lady Bambridge will be there.”

  Harcourt scowled, trying to recall the lady. Glossy black hair and voluptuous figure came to mind.

  “She has implied she wishes to spend time in your company again,” Griff confided, his brows wagging.

  Shaking his head, Harcourt stood. “I think my bed is calling.”

  His friend blinked at him. “Do I need to call a doctor?”

  Harcourt chuckled. “Because I have turned down one ball?”

  “Because you have not been the same roguish Harcourt I know for some time now. But this...this is even worse. Going to bed alone? You must be ill indeed.” Griff paused and frowned. “You’re not dying, are you?”

  Harcourt chuckled. “No, I am not dying. I simply wish for my bed. But you enjoy the rest of your night. If Lady Bambridge is that keen for a lover, I’m sure you will do admirably.” He grinned. “Though she may find you a little disappointing compared to me.”

  Griff snorted. “Unlikely.”

  “Enjoy your evening.”

  Harcourt collected his hat and gloves and left the smoke and whisky fumes behind. Not that the streets of London smelled much better. It used to be that he could not wait to draw in the smoky smell of Town as opposed to the clear air of Lulworth. After his education at Oxford, he’d spent as much time in London as possible, taking every advantage afforded to him. For almost a decade, he’d gambled, drank, danced, and bedded his way through Town.

  He approached a hansom cab and instructed the driver to take him home. Once he climbed into the carriage, he tugged out his pocket watch. Ten o’clock. Early indeed for a gentleman about town. He didn’t regret calling it an early night, though. The sooner he went to bed, the sooner he could rise and quit London. The thought of fresh smelling air and grass beneath his feet appealed far more than sweaty bodies in a ballroom and warm punch.

  He snapped the watch shut and shoved it back into his pocket. Of course, it was Merry that was the real appeal. He shouldn’t have left her. He’d thought perhaps giving her space would help and he did need to meet with his accountant—though of course the accountant was paid quite enough to come to him. Leaving her had been a mistake, he realized that now.

  Just as he had realized many other things recently. Namely that he was getting too old to be a rake. His mother had been pestering him to settle down ever since he’d inherited his earldom eight years ago, but he’d had little interest in doing so. He had now come to understand it was because he had not found the right woman yet. Or to be more accurate, he had not appreciated that the right woman was there—right in front of him. The girl he’d come to consider a fine friend had become a remarkable young woman—and he was no longer interested in being a rake.

  The carriage rolled to a halt and he pressed a hand to the door to steady himself. After paying the driver, he raced up the steps to the townhouse and barged inside. His valet attended to him quickly with a raise of a brow.

  “You’re early, my lord.”

  “Yes.” Harcourt glanced round the quiet entranceway as he shrugged off his jacket. “Are any of the maids still around?”

  Harlow nodded. “If you are hungry—-”

  He shook his head. “No, I need my belongings packed at once. We are leaving. Tonight.”

  A crease marred Harlow’s forehead. “Tonight, my lord? But it is far too late to travel.”

  “I wasn’t making a suggestion.”

  A knock at the door preventing the valet from protesting further. Harcourt yanked open the door to find Griff on the doorstep.

  “What the devil are you doing here?” asked Harcourt.

  Griff grinned. “Coming to see what all the fuss is about?”

  “Fuss?” Harcourt scowled and stepped back to allow his friend to enter. “Harlow, rouse the maids. I wish to leave now.”

  Harlow stomped off upstairs, muttering about how the maids would have his b
alls for this. Harcourt turned his attention back to Griff.

  “Did you not have a party to attend to?”

  Griff gave a shrug. “I could do with a change of scenery. And I have a hankering to see what it is that draws you home with such haste. Especially when it has been occupying your attention for quite some time of late.”

  “Dorset will bore you to tears.”

  Griff leaned against the doorframe with practiced insouciance. With black hair and a profile ruined—or perhaps not in the eyes of many women—by a broken nose from his early years, Griff’s every move was practiced, carefully honed to ensure he had full impact. Why the devil the man felt the need to use it on him, Harcourt did not know. He’d known Griff almost as long as he’d known Merry’s brother, and he was no simpering virgin just begging to be seduced by the infamous Lord Michael Griffin.

  “I have nothing to do so why not take the country air?”

  “Griff.” Harcourt pinched the bridge of his nose. “I have enough to do on the estate without worrying about entertaining you.”

  Griff’s smile widened, a flash of white in the darkened corridor of the house. “I can entertain myself, I am sure. A bonny country lass would make a pleasant change.”

  Curling a hand at his side, Harcourt forced himself to take a breath. Griff would not go near Merry if he told his friend of how he felt, but he’d be damned if he was willing to admit as much yet. The man would revel in it and most certainly get in the way. If he was to win Merry, he’d have to do it alone.

  And after that kiss, he had no doubt she felt the same. Whether the stubborn Merry would be willing to admit as much, he did not know. But he’d felt it down to his soul and seen it in her eyes.

  Perhaps now was not the best time, and he’d intended to give her more space to grieve—really he had—but staying away from her was eating away inside of him. He felt empty and hollow.

  Footsteps and a few muttered curse words echoed around upstairs. With any luck, Harlow would have him packed and ready to leave within the hour. He could reach Dorset by dawn and see how Merry was after breakfast.

  He glanced at Griff who remained against the doorframe with clearly little intention to move. Harcourt sighed.

  “Fine, but if you cause any scandal, I shall disavow all knowledge of our friendship.”

  Griff straightened. “Excellent. You need someone to keep you on the right path. Something odd is going on with you, Easton. I just know it.”

  “If the right path means following in your footsteps, I am not at all sure I want to remain on it.”

  Griff shook his head sadly. “See? This is what I mean? Once upon a time, you’d have been next to me on that path. Hell, sometimes you were ahead of me. Whatever has caused this change has something to do with that little village of yours and I intend to find out what it is.”

  “Nothing has caused this change, Griff. It’s simply called growing up. You might like to try it some time.”

  “Pfft. Never. I shall remain the same always.”

  Harcourt chuckled. “We shall see.”

  Chapter Four

  Merry tilted her head and eyed the spines of the books in front of her. An array of red, green, and blue leather, each lettered with gold spanned the entire wall in front of her. She sighed and turned to Mr. Jameson. “No new titles then?”

  The shopkeeper shook his head. “You know I would tell you if there were, Lady Merry. Every time I visit London, I inquire for you.”

  “I know.” She tried not to sigh again but she had been hoping that there was at least one book on Greek myths she had not read yet. Almost monthly, she visited the book shop in the center of the village in the hopes there might be something.

  “You should read slower, my lady,” Mr. Jameson teased, his eyes creasing in the corners. “Or find another topic you feel so passionately about.”

  “I know,” she repeated.

  Her obsession with all things Greek had started as a child when she had run away from her governess and picked up a book on Greek myths. The adventure, the romance, the magic...it had all swept her away. It was not that she never read anything else, but nothing quite took her away from the world like those myths did.

  “I shall be in London again soon, so I shall make some further inquiries,” he informed her. “We shall find you something new to read, don’t you worry.”

  She smiled at the old man who had been selling her books since she was a little girl. “Thank you, Mr. Jameson. You are too good to me.”

  “I cannot have my favorite customer disappointed now, can I, my lady?”

  Before she could reply, the bell above the door rang and Arabella, Sophia, and Bella barreled into the shop.

  “Not more books!” Bella rolled her eyes. “You have enough.” She reached for her hand. “Good day, Mr. Jameson,” she trilled before dragging her out of the shop. “Books are not what you need right now.”

  Merry tugged her hand from Bella’s and folded her arms. “What do you mean by that?”

  “I mean, you do not need to be tucking yourself away and reading. You need to be spending time with friends—”

  “Is that not precisely what I am doing now?” Merry motioned to her three friends who had gathered in a circle around her.

  “What Sophia is trying to say”—Arabella cut in—“is that we want to make sure you are well, and that perhaps some fresh air might do you some good.”

  Merry uncrossed her arms and glanced around at the concerned faces. It had been a week since she’d buried her father and she had to admit she had not exactly been sociable. There had been a lot for her to mull over. But the strange empty feeling had already begun to ease. She was sorry he was dead and sorry they never had the relationship she had hoped for, but she had hers and Daniel’s future to think of now.

  “You do not need to worry for me, I promise,” she assured them all. “I am a little numb to it perhaps, but I am well. I am not brooding, I promise.”

  Arabella hooked her arm through Merry’s and they started down the main road of the village. Set back from the cliff edges and tucked between two hills, Lulworth consisted of mostly thatched cottages. Several of them were home to shops and at the end of the long road that dissected the village was a sizeable inn. For those who like London or Bath, it had little to offer, but for Merry, it was perfect. Her friends thought so too. Here they could avoid worrying about whether they would run into anyone important and what they would do if they did. None of them enjoyed those sorts of interactions.

  “I am determined to be moved into the dower house before Daniel returns,” Merry explained as they strolled down the road in a row. “If he is to be taking on the title, he will have a lot to deal with and he does not need to be worrying about me or whether the dower house is ready.”

  Arabella frowned. “There’s so much work to be done, though. Surely you would be better off waiting until he returns? Have you even looked inside the house recently? What if there are...I don’t know...holes in the roof?”

  Chuckling, Merry shook her head. “I think it is quite sound, just a little dirty and unloved.”

  “That sounds like Bella after she’s been tending to the pigs!” Sophia said.

  Bella thrust out her tongue. “I shall have you know the pigs love me very much.”

  “They’re the only ones who will,” Sophia teased.

  “I did not come out here to be insulted. I thought we were here to support Merry.” Bella gave Sophia a gentle shove, sending her a few steps sideways.

  Sophia nudged her back, knocking her into Arabella and then into Merry.

  “Careful!!” Arabella exclaimed as she steadied herself.

  “Do not forget that we have vowed to go without men,” Merry reminded them.

  “Yes, we vowed not to marry them, but that does not mean we cannot ask them for help,” pointed out Arabella.

  “Oh look, new bonnets!” Bella pointed toward the drapers.

  They headed over and peered into the shop window. A
n array of new bonnets were indeed displayed. Feathered monstrosities and large brimmed hats filled the display, all in bright gaudy colors. Merry grimaced. “It looks as though Mrs. Bryce has been shopping again.”

  Sophia nodded. “She always thinks she has the best taste in fashion.”

  “Let us go try some on.” Bella darted into the shop before any of them could protest. Rolls of fabric were laid out on the center table and lined the shelves. Ribbons hung from above. Bella snatched up the biggest, ugliest bonnet she could find and plopped it on her head before posing. “What do you think?”

  “Hideous,” Sophia said. “What was Mrs. Bryce thinking?” she murmured. “These are her worst yet.”

  Bella picked up a wide-brimmed froth of lace and straw and dunked it on Merry’s head. “This looks like it was made for you.”

  Merry almost staggered under the weight of the thing. She blew away a piece of lace that hung in front of her eye and tried to adjust it. She crossed her eyes. “I can hardly see out from underneath it!”

  “Oh, but it does suit you so well.” Arabella giggled.

  “It really does, my lady.” Mrs. Bryce stepped out from the rear room and Merry winced at her beatific expression. Round and short, Mrs. Bryce always dressed in what she considered to be the most fashionable clothes. Her color choices were never quite right, however, and always clashed with the perpetual ruddiness in her face.

  Mrs. Bryce flicked her gaze over Merry. “It does not go so well with your mourning wear, but you should purchase it nonetheless. It will be something to look forward to wearing.”

  “Oh, I do not think—” Merry paused, not quite willing to crush the woman’s hopeful expression. “Well, I suppose it would not hurt to own another bonnet. But I do think Bella should purchase hers as well, do you not think, Mrs. Bryce?”

  A slight gasp emanated from Bella. Merry gave her a smug look.

  The woman’s smile broadened. “I do indeed. You look quite well in that, Miss Bella.” Mrs. Bryce tilted her head “Almost...pretty.”