Gentlemen Prefer Spinsters (Spinsters Club Book 1)

by Samantha Holt

  “I never took you for a coward, Merry,” Bella teased.

  “I fear I shall lose my toes to the cold should I venture further.”

  Bella glanced around to check they were still alone and hitched her skirts up, taking a quick run into the sea until it was covering her ankles. Merry heard a muttered curse float in on the wind.

  Behind her, Arabella giggled. Merry smiled to herself. Arabella’s situation reminded her of how important their friendship and their newly created Spinsters Club was. Merry had been lucky to suffer little heartbreak in her life, and while her father had not been the best of men, Daniel had shown her what a good man could be.

  Not that Merry wanted a good man of her own, of course. But her other friends all knew well of the foolishness and cruelty of men. Bella still suffered at the hands of her vile father and brothers—not that she ever, ever revealed the pain it caused—and Sophia still suffered from the memory of her marriage, Merry was certain of that.

  They all waded in up to where Bella was. Cold bit at Merry’s toes and she grimaced. “Why did we let you talk us into this?” she demanded of Bella.

  “Because you know I have the best ideas,” Bella declared proudly.

  “Oh really? So that time when you stole our father’s brandy and we drank it all until we were sick and could not move was one of your best ideas was it?” challenged Sophia.

  Arabella clapped hands to her cheeks. “Oh yes, my head was sore for days.”

  Bella lifted her chin. “We had fun doing it, did we not?”

  Merry chuckled. They had indeed had some fun times, especially when Bella decided to lead the way. She usually came up with the most scandalous and silly things for them to do and they never failed to have a good time together.

  “I cannot feel my toes.” Sophia waded back toward the beach. “I think that’s enough sea for me.”

  “Me too,” agreed Arabella.

  Merry followed them both, leaving Bella in the sea.

  “You are all spoilsports,” Bella shouted to them.

  Merry slipped on her shoes and folded her arms. “If you lose your toes to the cold, do not expect me to come and rescue you.”

  “Some friend you are.” Bella stuck out her tongue and traipsed back to the sand.

  Making their way back over to the spot by the rocks, the four of them sat. Merry plucked up a seashell and admired it. “Of course, now that I am in the dower house, I probably have hundreds of seashells just like this.”

  “What will you do with all the things your ancestors collected?” asked Arabella as she plucked off her bonnet and tidied her hair.

  Merry lifted a shoulder. “I have no idea. It seems a shame to dispose of these collections that someone worked so hard on, but some of the things are utterly valueless and pointless. I mean, they did not even collect the best or the prettiest seashells.”

  “Perhaps you can find a few worth keeping then get rid of the rest,” Sophia suggested.

  Merry nodded. “I think I might have to. Harry suggested as much.”

  “I imagine it helps that you have Harcourt to help you.” Bella’s eyes twinkled. “I must say you two looked quite cozy, drinking lemonade in the drawing room like an old, married couple.”

  Instant heat filled Merry’s cheeks. She glanced at Sophia and Arabella. Why did Bella have to bring up Harry now? The last thing Arabella needed was to think there was some romantic attachment between them. Which there was not. And there never would be.

  “We were taking a quick rest.” Merry jutted her nose up. “He had been helping me move things all day.”

  “He wasn’t wearing his cravat or his jacket. I do not think I’ve ever seen him cravatless. He really is quite handsome.”

  Merry peered out over the sea. “Is he? I never noticed.”

  “She said that the other day.” Bella rolled her eyes. “I do not believe her.”

  “You must be blind, Merry,” Sophia said. “He is one of the most handsome men around here.”

  Merry looked at Sophia. “He has been friends with Daniel for a long time. It is hard to think of him as anything other than...a...a brother.”

  Bella giggled. “A handsome brother. A handsome, gentlemanly brother. How lucky you are to have him help you. I swear he is a much better man than most.”

  “He is a rake,” pointed out Merry.

  “He was a rake,” Arabella corrected. Everyone peered at her. “What? I do listen to gossip occasionally. Mama says he is practically reformed, and that he has not taken any...lovers for some time.”

  Sophia nodded. “It’s true, and you know Mama is never wrong in her gossip.”

  Merry drew in a breath. She preferred not to think of Harry’s lovers. She’d known for some time—since she’d been old enough to understand really—that women adored Harry and he liked them too. But he never liked the same one more than once. His string of liaisons was as long as her bonnet ribbon. simply because Sophia and Arabella’s mother said he was changed, did not mean anything.

  Did it?

  “Once a rake, always a rake,” Merry declared, unsure if she was announcing it to her friends or herself. “We must guard ourselves, ladies. Despite all we know to be true about men, we are still too trusting. Remember our vows.”

  And she would remember them too. Especially next time she was around Harry.

  Chapter Eleven

  Harcourt smiled to himself. He’d know those wild black curls anywhere, even when tucked under a bonnet that was trying to escape in the breeze that whipped through the village today. Being on the coast of England was pleasant most of the time but it did mean being exposed to the wrath of the weather sometimes. He imagined Merry did not much appreciate it at present.

  “That’s the one with the dower house, is it not?” asked Griff.

  “It is indeed.”

  “Too pretty to turn into a spinster already.”

  Harcourt clenched his jaw. “Stay away from her, Griff, she’s far too good for you.”

  His friend lifted a brow. “I shouldn’t worry. Your mother shall have me married and siring an heir within the month.”

  Chuckling, Harcourt paused by the old fountain. “That would make both of us.”

  “But you’re not interested in being attached to just any woman, are you, Easton?” Harcourt swung a look at his friend who laughed. “I am not blind. Your preference for the spinster girl is obvious.”

  Harcourt watched Merry turn to speak to someone in the shop—the carpenter he assumed, given she had stepped out of his workshop—then made her way down the slope of the road in his direction. The wind lifted her bonnet and she was too late to grab it. He heard a soft curse come from her that made his grin expand. The errant headwear flew from her head, straight toward him. Harcourt made a grab for it and snatched it by its flailing ribbons.

  She hastened over, and he handed it to her.

  “Thank you,” she said breathlessly, crushing it on top of those crazed curls. She tied the ribbon beneath her chin. “I wish this wind would leave us be. It has been like this for days.”

  He rather liked the wind—or at least the effect it had on Merry. It put color in her cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes, not to mention it sent strands of hair shimmering down her neck, touching it softly like a lover would. His fingers tingled at the very idea. Instead, he reached out and tightened the ribbon beneath her chin. Her pupils dilated. A tiny flourish of triumph lit inside him. He was a patient man and was willing to be endlessly patient when it came to Merry, but these tiny moments served to seal his determination. Whatever it was preventing Merry from seeing how amazing they could be together, he’d defeat it.

  “Are you enjoying your stay here, my lord?” she asked Griff.

  “I am indeed. It is quite refreshing to be away from London, and there is a lot more to entertain than I realized.” Griff’s gaze lit upon something behind Merry and he tipped his hat. “If you will excuse me, I see someone I must speak with.”

  Merry’s gaze trac
ked Griff as he went over to speak to a group of ladies. Her expression soured. “He shall end up scandalizing one of them.”

  “Griff is a handful, but my mother is doing a marvelous job of keeping him occupied. Seems she thinks a bride from Lulworth would be perfect for him.”

  “I doubt a man like that has any desire to marry.”

  “You would be surprised. We men have been known to change our minds when the right woman comes along.”

  “I haven’t seen you for a few days,” she said, the color in her cheeks deepening.

  “Did you miss me?”

  “No!” Her eyes widened. “I mean...” She frowned and twirled a finger in the bonnet ribbon.

  He chuckled. “So you did?”

  “I was just wondering what you had been doing, that is all.”

  “My mother has kept my occupied.”

  “I’m surprised she has returned at the height of summer.”

  “She seems to think I need her.”

  “It must be nice to have her home, but I am certain she knows you can look after yourself.”

  “One would think so, yes, but I think she has another purpose for coming home. It is not just Griff she is determined to see wed.”

  “Oh.”

  There. He’d seen it even as she’d tried to disguise it. That little flash of hurt.

  “Do you not think I should wed, Merry? After all, I am getting on.”

  “You are hardly ancient.” Her throat bobbed. “But I suppose it is your duty, after all.”

  Though tempted to tease her further, Harcourt could not bring himself to. “What were you doing at the carpenters?”

  “The rear door of the house is broken. I cannot fathom how. It seemed quite secure yesterday.”

  He scowled and straightened. The footprints he’d seen the other day and how it looked as though one of the windows had been tampered with combined with a broken door had him on alert. Something strange was afoot.

  “Are you going back to the house now?” he asked.

  Merry nodded. “I’m trying to clear the kitchen now.”

  “And you’ll be there alone? Your friends are not helping?”

  “They have done quite enough already. I only intend to do some light work for now.”

  “I shall come with you,” he insisted.

  “Really, there is no need. If I need your assistance, I will ask, I promise.”

  He lifted a brow. “Really?”

  “I will,” she vowed.

  He rather doubted it. The stubborn woman had let him help once but he was certain she’d keep on trying to do it alone until she broke another piece of furniture and did some harm to herself. He could not let that happen and an uneasy sensation had settled into his gut about her being at the house alone. It was probably one of the few moments in her life she was alone. At Whitely she was surrounded by servants and if she was not accompanied by her friends, she was usually with her lady’s maid.

  “I’ll come and help anyway. I have little else to do.”

  She narrowed her gaze at him. “I do not believe that. You must have estate business to see to.”

  He did, but it could wait a few more hours. If he had to work into the evening, so be it. More time with Merry and ensuring she was protected made a late night completely worth it.

  “You underestimate me, Merry. I am supremely efficient.”

  She rolled her eyes. “And supremely arrogant.”

  He grinned. “Naturally.”

  “What of Lord Thornford?”

  Harcourt peered in the direction of his friend who was surrounded by a gaggle of women and enjoying himself far too much. “I think he is otherwise occupied. I doubt he shall even notice I am gone.”

  They made their way back to the house, following the road up out of the village and onto her brother’s land. Sunlight flecked between the leaves while the wind rustled the trees.

  “I am glad I caught you, Merry. I thought we might be able to continue our conversation that was interrupted the other day.” He paused. “I hope Arabella is well.”

  Merry’s smile was slightly forced. “She is well.”

  “Good. In that case, I thought I might reiterate—”

  “See?” she interrupted hastily. “The door is in dire need of replacement.”

  Harcourt inspected the door that had splintered on one edge. To him, it looked as though someone had kicked it in.

  “Is anything missing?”

  Merry shrugged. “I would say no but there is so much in the house, it is hard to say. Most of it is not valuable though, not even the paintings. I’m certain it must have been the wind.”

  He considered the exposed rear of the house. There were trees at the front, hiding it from the main house but the back of it was exposed to the weather. The recent wind could have blown it open, but he doubted it. He had no wish to scare Merry so he made a non-committal noise.

  She was here alone. While he did not mind the opportunity to be with her, he didn’t like the thought of it if it meant someone could have easy access to her. Whoever this someone was and whatever it was they wanted with her. Harcourt was going to have to spend even more time with her whether she wanted him around or not.

  “Where shall we start?” he asked, already loosening his cravat.

  Merry folded her arms across her chest. “I suppose I have no choice but to let you help.”

  “You could try to dissuade me, but you’d fail.”

  “I do not know why you call me stubborn all the time when it is clearly you who is the stubborn one.”

  “Perhaps, Merry, we simply match in stubbornness.” He grinned.

  She huffed. “A recipe for disaster.”

  “I disagree.”

  Her throat bobbed a little and she turned away to clear her throat. “Come on then. If I cannot get rid of you, I might as well put you to good use.”

  “I can think of nothing better.” He drawled the words, ensuring she heard the hidden meaning behind them.

  She ignored him and marched to the kitchen stairs. He chuckled to himself as her stomping footsteps echoed through the empty house. Merry put up a good fight but he could read her too well. She was struggling to fight this.

  He joined her down in the kitchen. Several lamps and candles were lit, suffusing the gloomy space with a warm glow. The jelly molds and bowls on the table had already been washed and set aside to dry, and some of the side tables looked clearer. Harcourt drew off his jacket and pulled the cufflinks from his sleeves and tucked them in his pocket. Rolling up his sleeves, he clapped his hands.

  “What would you have me do?”

  She glanced at his bare forearms. Many men would not have noticed but Harcourt did. He saw her tongue dart briefly over her lips and her gaze linger before she lifted her eyes.

  “Um, what if I wash and you put away?”

  “Sounds good.”

  Merry set to work scrubbing the dust and grime off the various cooking implements while he stacked them away on the shelves and in cupboards. It took a good hour to get most it done and while he was no stranger to hard labor when needs be, he was glad he did not have to do such a laborious task every day.

  “Now I know why cook complains when the kitchen is messy.”

  Merry laughed. “Me too. I shall never dismiss his words again.” She lifted a jelly mold. “Who knew one needed so many molds?”

  “I suspect one does not.” He took it from her and their fingers brushed. The instant shock of sensation should have been something he was getting used to by now, but he wasn’t. And nor was she. She tugged her hand away quickly and immersed it back in the water. “It looks as though your family liked to collect kitchen implements too.”

  “I have yet to find anything that is just a collection of one. There was even a drawer of soaps upstairs. All new and unused so I shall have to donate them somewhere.”

  “No doubt the church can find somewhere useful to send them.”

  “I can see why this house was a
ll but abandoned now. No one wanted to tackle such a mess.”

  Harcourt leaned against the counter and eyed her. “Are you regretting starting this now?”

  She shook her head vigorously, sending curls bouncing against her cheeks. “I know this is best for Daniel. And for me.”

  “I know you think balls and at homes are a waste of time, Merry, but surely you do not want to become a spinster before your time?”

  “I do not see why everyone thinks a woman alone is so strange. Why can one not be content with one’s own company?”

  “One can be utterly content with one’s own company, but not at the expense of life.”

  “I know how to live.” Creases appeared between her brows. “Life is not just about balls and at homes, you know?”

  “Believe it or not, I do.”

  She gave an unladylike snort. “Harcourt Easton giving up balls and parties...now that is stranger than me wishing to gain some peace and quiet to study.”

  “Is it really that hard to believe that I have tired of it all?”

  A pot in hand, she paused and met his gaze head on. “Truthfully. Yes. Do not forget that by the time I was fifteen, you were already well-established in Society. Stories of you and your...time in Town were infamous. I cannot see you giving up such an...adventurous life.” She lifted her chin a little. “And nor do I care if you do.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “It is,” she protested. “You are my friend, Harry, and I would no more wish a stale, staid life on you than I would wish a life of balls and celebrations on me.”

  “Perhaps, though, your friend wants other things in life. We are all capable of change. Surely even your books tell you that?”

  Merry lifted a shoulder. “I—”

  A sudden bang from upstairs sent Harcourt’s pulse racing. He grabbed Merry and shoved her up against an alcove, flattening her to the wall with his body. She made a strangled sound.

  “Shh.” He pressed a finger to his lips and listened.

  “It was probably something falling. Or the wind,” she hissed.

  He turned, aware of her heart beating a tattoo against his chest.

  Her breasts were crushed to his chest, her hips aligned almost with his. Underneath his fingertips, her arms trembled. He very much doubted it was with fear.