The musicians began to play, and dancing commenced, and Prue fled to a corner where chairs had been set up. Thankfully, there were enough guests in attendance to hide her from her mother, who seemed to be getting along splendidly with Mrs. Davies, much to Prue’s horror and chagrin.
Not that there was anything particularly wrong with Mrs. Davies or her son, Charles, but Prue had no intention of being married off for her newfound fortune, especially not to somebody who could not be bothered with her before she had it. The best thing that she could say about Charles Davies was that he had never been cruel to or about her, as far as she knew. He had been much like all the rest of London Society, forgetting that she existed and exuding only minimal patience when recollection returned.
Prue was used to it by now, and more comfortable for the neglect. People had never been comfortable creatures for her, though she had no notion as to why she was so terrified in general. She could not recall ever not being afraid of attention or conversation, and only those who took the time and the care to truly come to know her ever reached a level of comfort for her.
Even her friends in the Spinsters still managed to make her stammer from time to time, depending on what it was they had said. She was easily embarrassed, as they knew full well, and it never stopped them from uttering the extraordinary things they did, but she had learned to adjust to it.
As they had learned to adjust to her.
They took care of her far better and far more tenderly than her mother ever had, and she wished desperately that even one of them had been invited to this melee of a house party with her. Just one of them would have been enough to set her at ease.
But Izzy Lambert did not have affluence enough to be considered a candidate, nor did Grace Morledge, which was surprising as her fortune was more than respectable, and she was beautiful. Charlotte Wright certainly did, but Charlotte tended to take over a place when she was in it, and she would undoubtedly have taken attention away from the other ladies.
Clearly, Mrs. Davies did not want her son to marry someone as headstrong and independent as Charlotte Wright.
Elinor Asheley was too young and too poor, and Lady Edith Leveson… Well, Edith was a young widow with an unclear financial situation, and most of London did not know about her yet.
And then there was Georgie Allen. She had been the leader of the Spinsters, in a way, and the one who had started them all. Yet she had married some weeks ago to Captain Anthony Sterling, who was undoubtedly the only man on earth that did not make Prue exceptionally nervous. He was handsome, kind, charming, well set up, and extraordinarily patient, which he would need to be with a marriage to Georgie.
Prue had very faintly, and very secretly, hoped that she might have been able to marry Tony herself, but it was clear from the start where his interest lay, and she could not have wished for more than that.
She was happy for her friends, as she should be, but she also had been filled with a sense of despair. Who in the world would be as patient with her as Tony?
She had grown accustomed to the idea of being alone for the rest of her life, which would not have been such a trial if her mother had been a different sort. Her future as it was would bind the two of them together for the rest of their days, and Prue would always be corrected and blamed, scolded and despaired of.
That was no future she wanted. Her only escape would have been marriage, and her only dream was to have a quiet, content little house of her own.
But then everything had changed.
Word had reached her scarcely two months ago via a letter from a solicitor that her father’s sister, Harriett, who had been something of an heiress despite the lack of prosperity in Prue’s family, had died without issue, and had bestowed her entire fortune, and her estate, to Prue. She, who had only known Prue as a child and had not seen her in at least fifteen years, named her niece as beneficiary, effectively ruining the solitude for which Prue longed.
Now her mother was invested in everything Prue did and everywhere she went. Now she was concerned about suitors and status. Now she was making arrangements and alterations to their routine and way of life.
With the change in luck, and considering Prue’s age, she ought to have been independent, as she was well into her majority and the fortune was hers and not her mother’s, but nothing could have been further from the truth. She was weak and timid, and her mother knew it well. She would lord over her for the rest of time, possibly even over whatever husband Prue managed to secure, if any.
Worse, her mother had been the one to make it known that her daughter was now an heiress, seeing a great opportunity for herself in the change. She told everybody she could, including her beloved sister and niece, who held an even worse opinion of Prue than her mother did. Eliza had not wasted any time letting Prue know precisely what she had thought of that change in situation.
Prue, on the other hand, had not said a single word about it to anyone, including the Spinsters.
She couldn’t.
Her worst fears were now coming to pass. She was suddenly receiving callers and being approached by men who had skirted the edges of rooms to escape being trapped in a conversation with her. Not that there was any trap at all, she preferred not to speak to them either, but somehow the message had been confused there. She was grateful that none of her friends had witnessed such a thing, as it had only happened twice before they’d gallivanted off to this ridiculous house party.
It really was silly to have such an event in the middle of the Season, but everyone in attendance was sure to be an excellent candidate for anyone looking.
What else could eligible men and women hope for?
Prue shuddered delicately, returning her focus to the room.
And to the four men approaching her.
Oh no…
Two sat beside her, two stood in front.
She was surrounded.
“Miss Westfall,” the one to her right said, taking her hand in his. “You are a vision this evening.”
A vision? She wore an old lavender gown, as the ones her mother had commissioned on her behalf hadn’t been finished before they left. Her hair was the same sort of simple style she usually favored, which her mother had criticized harshly, and her hand was shaking in her new gloves.
She was a vision of a pathetic creature, and that was all.
And she could not remember his name.
“Th-thank…” she tried, stammering and shaking.
“Radiant,” one of the standing ones said. “Quite simply radiant.”
“Please say you’ll dance the next with me, Miss Westfall,” the man to her left gushed. “You are so light on your feet, and I so adore dancing, so I must have the chance.”
She glanced over at him, the heat from her neck rising quickly into the rest of her face. She could dance well enough, it was true, but he wouldn’t know that. More than that, he’d been trying for Emmaline Hurst two weeks ago, and she could not dance even if it only required her to step from side to side. No one who adored dancing would try for her.
“I…” she began, her throat tightening painfully.
“No, with me, Miss Westfall,” the fourth chimed in. “Allow me.”
“Might I get you some lemonade, Miss Westfall?”
“Would it be too forward if I had two dances?”
“Do you sing, Miss Westfall? I imagine you to have the voice of an angel.”
Well, if they were only going to talk at her and not to her, she would not have to respond, and all of this would require minimal effort from her. That might not be so bad, but it would hardly get them anywhere. And considering all of them were exerting themselves for her particular attention, she was inundated with flattery, praise, and pleadings, none of which ought to have been showered upon her, of all people.
The music ended, and they renewed their requests with fervor.
“Me, Miss Westfall,” the first seated man said.
“Oh, please with me, Miss Westfall,” Standing One said.
/>
“I insist upon two,” Standing Two said.
“The waltz!” Seated Two said. “Can you waltz?”
“Me!”
“Me!”
“Me!”
Blood thundered in Prue’s ears, drowning them all out, and yet the noise continued to build. Tremors raced up and down her arms, and hazy dots appeared at the edges of her vision. She needed to get away from them.
Now.
Otherwise, she would faint, and one of them would have the privilege of seeing to her care, and someone would presume an understanding between them, and she would wind up engaged before she came to.
Her breath hitched at the thought, and she practically jumped to her feet.
“Exc-cuse m-me,” she frantically stammered, sidestepping the standing pair and running as fast as she could.
Thankfully, there were enough people to hinder anyone from following easily, and she was small enough to dash between other guests, most of whom didn’t look twice at her flight. The terrace was at the far edge of the ballroom, and a door was slightly ajar.
She fixed her eyes upon that door as though it were the gates to heaven itself, despite the faint calls of “Miss Westfall!” from behind her. She would not stop for them, not even if her mother had barred the way. She had no thought but running, and running far.
She’d have run all the way back to London if she could have.
Prue shoved the terrace door open and moved instantly to the railing at the edge, praying no one would follow.
“Miss Westfall?”
Prue hiccupped and quickly moved down the small stairs beside her towards the garden, tucking in against the shadows of the terrace and the house itself rather than proceeding into the gardens. She heard footsteps approach and squeezed her eyes shut, praying her impromptu hiding place would be safe enough, and that her panicked breathing would not be as audible as it seemed to her.
“I thought you said she came out here!”
“I thought she did.”
“Well, I don’t see her, and she didn’t… Did she go into the garden?”
There was a moment of silence, then a heaving sigh. “Fine, she must be inside. Flighty little thing, nobody ever mentioned that.”
“Well, just try harder, old boy. Patience, remember?”
Their voices faded with their footsteps, and Prue allowed herself to release a very shaky sigh of relief. This was all getting to be too ridiculous, and it had only just begun. She needed the Spinsters here to help her, she needed Tony to guard her, she needed Lady Hetty to ward people off, she needed…
Breathe in, breathe out. Fear in, fear out.
She breathed for as long as she could, and only when her face was cool, and her tremors were gone did she open her eyes. She shook her head and straightened up, slowly moving back towards the stairs.
There were a great many things that she needed, starting with a backbone.
“You’d better come up here now, pet. The grass will be damp, and you won’t want to spoil those slippers.”
Prue’s heart began racing again as she fearfully lifted her eyes towards the balcony and the unknown voice.
Chapter Two
What is given in confidence ought to remain in confidence, and the one confiding ought to take much care with the nature of what they are confiding. Strangers make for very poor confidantes. And friends are even worse.
-The Spinster Chronicles, 17 July 1817
Camden Vale hadn’t meant to be disturbed out on the terrace of Tinley House, and he’d had no reason to suspect he would be. A dance after dinner on the first night of a house party? No one would be proceeding out to the terrace for some barely observed private conversations this early.
He couldn’t even have said why he’d come to this farce of a house party, as he was neither on the hunt for a wife nor a good candidate for one. But with nothing better to do and no good reason to refuse, he’d come along. Sure enough, there weren’t any men of particular sense here, and while he couldn’t say much for any of the young ladies, knowing so few of them, he hadn’t been particularly encouraged.
House parties, as a general rule, followed the same sort of procedure. He’d attended a few of them as the years had passed, being something of an entertaining figure for those wanting gossip to catch their event in its clutches. Nothing really surprised him about parties or people anymore, and he hardly ever surprised himself, either.
But when a tiny young woman in a pale dress had burst out onto the terrace without seeing him, and then dashed down the stairs and into hiding when Mr. Frist and Mr. Gardiner came in pursuit, he’d been more than surprised. And then he’d gone and shaken his head when Gardiner had asked him if she’d gone into the garden, surprising himself yet again. Why should he help her hide?
Then again, why should he let them find her if she wanted to be hidden?
He did not care very much either way, but it was clear they believed him, and he could only be grateful his expression had been blank enough to hide the truth.
He’d waited a few moments after they had retreated, listening to see what the mystery girl would do, and when it was clear she would do nothing but expel some labored breathing, he’d thought it was best if she knew she was not alone.
“You’d better come up here now, pet,” he called softly, keeping his voice as gentle as possible. “The grass will be damp, and you won’t want to spoil those slippers.”
She yelped and came into sight as she scrambled backwards, the light of the windows spilling onto her slight frame, making her dark hair glint with an almost copper shade. Her gloved hands clasped in front of her mouth, and her wide, pale eyes fixed on him in sheer terror.
And she didn’t even know his reputation yet.
Poor thing.
Camden continued leaning against the balustrade, watching her. “I should have told you I was here before this, but…” He gestured dismissively to the ballroom, keeping his eyes on her.
She said nothing in response, and a slow spread of color appeared on the exposed skin of her chest, neck, and face, rather like a sunrise.
It would have been fascinating had she not seemed so utterly paralyzed.
“Come on,” he urged, waving his hand. “Come on up here. You can sit on this bench out of the grass. It’s all right, you’re quite safe from me.”
She leaned a little away from him, and he thought she might run off into the gardens. He’d be honor bound to pursue, and that would have terrified her more. Then he’d either be a hero or a villain, if not both. He’d probably wind up having to marry her, and nobody needed that.
Least of all her.
But then she surprised him by walking forward, her eyes lowered as his servants might have done. She paused at the top stair and glanced warily towards the ballroom.
“They’re gone,” he assured her. “I can see clearly into the room, you can hide again if anyone else comes. Sit there on the bench, and no one will see you but me.”
Her eyes flicked in his direction, but never quite raised to meet his, and she dipped her chin, then sank onto the closest bench, sighing and putting a hand to her head.
“I-I’m s-sorry,” she half-whispered, stammering weakly. “Exc-cuse m-me. I didn’t m-mean to d-disturb you.”
Camden found himself smiling at the little creature, who appeared too young to be here, yet he suspected she was nothing of the sort. Her fear and stammering reminded him of his cousin, Molly, when they were children, and he’d always been able to coax Molly out of it.
Why he suddenly felt the desire to try with her, he couldn’t have said.
“You didn’t disturb me,” he assured her, shrugging a shoulder she didn’t see. “They did. You didn’t even see me.”
She shook her head. “I w-wasn’t even l-looking. I just h-had to g-get…”
“Away,” he finished with a nod. “I completely understand that, given who was chasing you. Unfortunately, I’m not sure I am a better prospect.”
Her hand d
ropped, and she looked up at him, wary once more.
“Why?” he asked, voicing the question her eyes held. “Because I’m one of those men who create gossip the way others collect horses or boots. I don’t mean to, but it tends to happen. My reputation is such that sensible women flee before me. I’ve never quite been sure why.”
She sat up slowly, her brow furrowing with disbelief.
“No, it’s true,” he told her, nodding sagely. “I’ve seen it.” He cocked his head at her a little. “But perhaps you have no sense.”
Now her thin brows snapped down in irritation, and he bit back a laugh. “I beg your p-pardon?” she retorted as she turned towards him a little further.
Really, her stammer became less noticeable when she was irritated, and he found that particularly charming. Molly’s tended to get worse with anger, or any emotion at all.
“You ran out of a ball into the dead of night without checking if your place of refuge had more dangers in store,” he reminded her. “Clearly without sense. Yet now I look at you,” he mused, pushing off the balustrade, “you cannot be without sense. So, why don’t you fear me?”
She wet her lips hesitantly. “Should I?” she asked.
“Probably,” he returned, shrugging. “Your reputation will be ruined should anyone know you spoke with me without a chaperone.”
“Are you going to tell?” she demanded. “It w-won’t work. No one would believe you’d take up w-with me.”
Camden gave the poor, deluded miss a pitying smile. “Child, I’d probably take up with a maid if it suited me.” He almost laughed at her frown, then frowned himself. “And what is so wrong with you that I wouldn’t take an interest?”
She gave him a dubious look, which he declined to respond to. “D-do you know who I am?”
“Haven’t had the pleasure,” he replied with a shake of his head. “Though I am wild with curiosity.”
Clearly, she thought him nothing of the sort, and she wrinkled up her nose a little. “Prudence Westfall,” she managed without a stammer, somehow accomplishing a curtsey from the bench.
The Spinster and I (The Spinster Chronicles, Book 2) Page 2
