The Spinster and I (The Spinster Chronicles, Book 2)

by Rebecca Connolly

For some reason he refused to identify, that bothered him.

  Prue wasn’t like Molly, she was not like Miss Perry, and she was not like any of the others. In truth, she wasn’t like anybody he had ever met before, and she deserved to be an individual, distinct from all the others.

  Unfortunately, that was the one thing that did set her apart. While she deserved to stand out from the rest, doing so would terrify her into a stuttering storm of flushed frenzy from which she would never recover. She wanted to blend in, to hide, to be neglected and ignored.

  And yet, she wanted to be seen.

  To be found.

  It was a paradox of contradictions that he found himself caught up in, wondering which side of her would win out, and how she would find the balance. And, it seemed, he would be invested in her and her concerns for the duration of this house party, come what may.

  Standing against this decorative and useless pillar, surveying the room, he could only hope that Prue was not going to be forced into participating this evening, as he was reasonably certain she would have expired on the spot. She seemed more at ease as no one paid attention to her, her flush fading to just the tips of her ears.

  But with her mother stuck as a fixture on one side of her, he doubted she would truly be at ease the entire evening.

  He should go over to her. Sit beside her. Say relatively inappropriate things to keep her entertained throughout. Ward off unwanted suitors.

  He should.

  Yet here he stood.

  “Vale, what are you doing all the way back here?” Charles Davies asked as he came over to him, looking somehow too resplendent for a musical evening.

  Camden raised a brow at him and settled more fully into his leaning. “Surveying, Davies. Taking stock of the room. Waiting for enlightenment.”

  His answer seemed to amuse Davies, and he sipped on the beverage he held. “Well, come on. Don’t seclude yourself back here all evening. There are several young ladies who would undoubtedly enjoy spending a quantity of time with a man of your humor and caliber.”

  “I find myself quite comfortable here, thank you.”

  Davies looked back at him, puzzled and uncertain if he should be amused or not. “But Vale… You will not have any conversation or entertainment back here.”

  “On the contrary,” Camden protested with an easy smile, “I shall have the best company and the best entertainment.”

  Davies frowned at that. “How so?”

  Camden shrugged a shoulder. “My own thoughts, and my own insights. I shall not shock anybody, nor shall I find anybody particularly tiresome. Truly the best of both worlds.”

  “But… you will be alone.”

  “Ideally, yes.”

  Davies chuckled uneasily and shook his head. “You are such a puzzle, Vale. I’ve not seen you speak more than five words to any young woman aside from Miss Westfall, and yet you clearly have no interest in her.”

  Camden shrugged again, unwilling to rise to the contradiction he probably should have offered there. Why should anybody suspect anything? He did not need ties binding him to Prue, and she most certainly would find no benefit in having ties to him. He had somehow managed to save her without bringing any sort of rumors to either of them.

  What a marvelous, miraculous wonder that was.

  What a dense group of fools they were surrounded by here.

  “Your point being?” Camden pressed, not bothering to hide his boredom.

  Davies huffed a little, still smiling good-naturedly. “What in the world are you even doing here, Vale, if you have no interest in any of the women? Why waste your Season on such efforts?”

  His Season? It was a five-day outing in the countryside in close proximity to London, not a five-month endeavor in the wilds of Africa. He had sacrificed nothing more than nights at his club and random engagements that would have bored him.

  “Why did I come?” he repeated, eyeing his companion blandly. “Because you invited me, Davies.”

  That didn’t seem to settle with him. “That cannot be true. Surely you are invited to many places, and you choose not to attend. So why this one? Why here?”

  “Why so inquisitive?” Camden asked. He offered a wry, derisive smile. “It is really not overly complicated. I had nothing better to do, and I felt sure some entertainment would be at hand. Boredom, Davies. Sheer and utter boredom brought me here.”

  Davies looked a trifle bothered by that idea, but he managed a smile all the same. “Well, I am grateful we could appease whatever tedium is currently filling your life, Vale. And for the sake of my mother’s reputation as a hostess, try to look a little more enthusiastic about your presence here and the entertainment at hand.”

  On cue, Camden forced his countenance to brighten and smiled so forcibly that his cheeks ached with the strain.

  “Oh, heavens,” Davies murmured, eyes wide. “Don’t do that. Never mind. As you were, Vale.” He nodded to himself and moved on, glancing over his shoulder as though Camden were some sort of perplexing spectre.

  Camden bit back a chuckle as he let his features relax into their usual state. Davies wasn’t a bad sort, nor even one of the more ridiculous gentlemen of Camden’s acquaintance, he simply lacked in the areas of sense and stamina. And possibly substance, but that remained to be seen.

  This whole venture of a house party with heiresses seemed a bit of a stretch for Davies, and for his mother. As far as Camden knew, they were decently set up, and quite respectable as far as fortune and station went. The house was well-designed and not in apparent want of repairs or upkeep. Unless the family was better at hiding their needs than Camden suspected, there was no hint of anything to suggest a fortune was needed.

  He suspected the ambitious Mrs. Davies was to blame for this, no doubt trying to get her not-so-dainty toes into the realm of the upper crust.

  His eyes moved across the room to the seated guests, all settling in for the forthcoming music, and he found Prue again. Head up, eyes forward, ears red, mouth set. She might have been a statue for all the life in her, and the only thing that moved was her chest when she breathed and her eyes when she blinked.

  No sign of enjoyment, anticipation, anxiety, or sorrow.

  Nothing.

  He wanted to make her smile. He wanted to see her vibrant. He wanted…

  Her mother leaned over to her suddenly, and Prue somehow straightened further, her mouth curved just a touch at the edge, and her cheeks pinkened at an alarming pace.

  What in the world…?

  The music started, and Miss Fairbanks commenced with her aria, but Camden didn’t care about that, nor did he listen.

  He watched as Prue’s slender throat worked on a swallow, a slight tremor coursing through her. Despite her hint of a smile, she looked more miserable now than she had before. Whatever drama was attempting to be portrayed in the song, it only gave voice to the turmoil that young woman endured at this very moment.

  Someone needed to save her.

  She deserved saving.

  “Walk with me.”

  Prue rose without having to think about it, clasped her hands before her, and followed her mother along the row of emptying seats.

  The second interval of the evening could not have come at a worse time, but there was nothing for it. Prue had sat as still as a statue, properly poised, perfectly attired, and, after correction, wearing a vaguely attentive expression. A pleasant one, at least.

  If a grimace could be considered pleasant.

  She had only just become comfortable again after her last reprimand and could have enjoyed several more minutes of music without the embarrassment of new flaws. She desperately needed something to intervene now before she had to endure another attempt at polite conversation.

  The day had become unbearable after her ride with Camden that morning. She’d endured flattering for her artwork, which had been perfectly average even for her. The compliments hadn’t been too incessant, as the other girls had received the same, but it had been uncomfortable. Her
mother, on the other hand, had thought it all very agreeable and found fault with Prue’s lack of gratitude for them. Had she been sitting closer, she would have jabbed Prue in the ribs for each and every apparent slight. Blessedly, she had not been that close, and Prue’s ribs thanked her immensely at the moment.

  But she greatly feared that gratitude would be short-lived. During the first interval, her mother had taken her around the room, parading her like a prized stallion before buyers on display. Then she’d dragged her over to a group of four men, all standing about and conversing together with no other ladies in their midst.

  “Good evening, gentlemen,” she’d greeted with a lofty tone. “You all know my daughter, Prudence?”

  And then, to the horror of all, she had backed away and quite literally shoved Prue forward.

  If they hadn’t been taking notice of her before, they did at that moment.

  Haltingly, she’d done her best to speak with them, though their questions tended to require only the shortest of answers from her. It had been a mercy for her nerves but had wreaked havoc upon her later when her mother protested at the lack of real conversation.

  Prue had tried to explain that she could hardly be blamed for lack of conversation when their questions had not allowed for elaboration, but she’d been shushed at the first stammering syllable. There were no excuses, it seemed, and all evidence of her speech difficulties had to be concealed.

  At least Amelia was sitting beside her this evening, which had spared her some difficulty. Her mother would take great care not to announce her flaws and failings in a way that might give Miss Perry any cause to think badly of either of them. Not when Prue’s gown was nearly identical to hers, her hair of a similar style, and her comportment only a shade behind.

  Prue had never been so properly behaved in her entire life.

  It was mortifying.

  The idea of having to endure her mother’s torment yet again was more than she could bear, and she was fairly shaking with every step.

  “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Westfall, Miss Westfall,” Amelia said suddenly, breaking into Prue’s apprehensive thoughts as she hurried over to her.

  Mrs. Westfall beamed at her. “Miss Perry, you move with such grace and such poise!”

  Amelia dimpled a lovely smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Westfall. I wondered if I might borrow Miss Westfall for a time. Several of the ladies are quite fond of her gown and how it flatters, and they begged me to fetch her, so they might inquire about it and make her better acquaintance.”

  She indicated the group in the corner, mixed with ladies and gentlemen, none of whom were looking in their direction.

  “And some of the gentlemen,” Amelia continued, lowering her tone conspiratorially, “have expressed interest in knowing Miss Westfall better, as well. I thought I might come and smooth the way.”

  She could not have said anything more perfect to convince Prue’s mother, who gestured for Prue to take Amelia’s arm eagerly.

  “Yes, yes,” Mrs. Westfall urged, widening her eyes meaningfully at Prue. “Of course, Miss Perry, you are too kind to my poor, shy girl.”

  Amelia inclined her head with the sort of regal air that Prue could never achieve. “Thank you. I shall return her at the end of the interval.”

  Without waiting for a response, she steered Prue away, their pace perhaps a trifle hasty for finely-dressed ladies.

  “I had to get you away,” Amelia hissed as she rubbed Prue’s arm gently. “I promise, this is a gentler group than what you had before, and no one will press you.”

  “Th-thank you,” Prue murmured, feeling a trifle lost amidst her overwhelming relief.

  Amelia smiled at her, the dimple in her right cheek appearing. “You are quite welcome, Miss Westfall. Please call me Amelia, and let’s be friends.”

  Friends? With her?

  Prue could hardly believe it, and she nodded, managing a smile. “I’d b-be delighted. And you m-may call me Prue.”

  “That would be delightful.” Amelia grinned at her, then cast a teasing eye at the group. “Mind you pay close attention to Mr. Andrews there. He’s been known to mutter the most extraordinary things to whoever stands near him. Quite amusing, as I understand it.”

  Prue nodded, looking at the tall, handsome man they approached. “Is he as s-severe as he l-looks?”

  Amelia shook her head rather slowly, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “I have it on excellent authority, my dear Prue, that he is all reserve, no severity, and smiles so rarely that one might wish upon it. Shall we try to get a good wish out of him?”

  It was the silliest notion Prue had ever heard, and yet she found herself filling with a rare sense of fun. “Y-yes,” she said with as much firmness as a stammer allowed. “Let’s.”

  Chapter Seven

  It is often in extremity that one finds one’s better nature. And undoubtedly one’s worst nature. Which begs the question: what are we at all other times?

  -The Spinster Chronicles, 9 September 1816

  Irritation was becoming a closer associate than was undoubtedly good for Camden, but he didn’t suppose there was any help for it.

  Not while he was here, at any rate.

  He’d not had a single moment with Prue all day long, and after enduring the same odd affliction yesterday, he’d grown rather irascible about the whole thing. If he had not known better, he’d have thought that she was intentionally avoiding him. Except she had not avoided anything.

  She had been there all the time, but somehow out of his reach.

  He’d watched her quite steadily all throughout the musicale last evening, and it had to have been some comfort to her to be seated next to Miss Perry. But every time her mother leaned over to say something, Prue’s flush increased, and just when it would fade, a new comment brought it back.

  Miss Perry was oblivious to that particular aspect, but she did seem to help Prue relax, and he would swear that he saw Prue smile once or twice.

  He’d moved in her direction during various intervals intending to get her away, but her mother forced her to walk the room, taking her directly to some of the gentlemen nearby. They’d all turned on Prue at the same time, seemingly fascinated by her and everything she had to say.

  Camden could not bring himself to save her from that, not with her mother at her side, and considering what Prue herself had said… She still hoped for a good match and wanted to find it.

  What if one of those poor sots were genuinely interested in her?

  He doubted it, but there was no certainty in these things.

  Miss Perry saved Prue at one point, steering her away during an interval before her mother could do so, and taking her over to some of the other ladies and gentlemen who seemed far more comfortable.

  It was not until he’d laid in bed last night that he realized that he had spent the entire night doing nothing more than watching Prue. Oh, he’d listened to the music, certainly, and he’d applauded as he’d felt so inclined, but his attention and focus had been on the small, shy, uncomfortable, blushing girl trapped in a situation with no escape.

  The irony struck him with such amusement he’d nearly laughed himself to sleep. He, who had grown so used to not caring about anyone or anything, had forgotten to think of himself and his own concerns in the face of a greater cause. The rescue of Prudence Westfall was suddenly paramount in his mind, and essential to his personal satisfaction with this event they endured together.

  He’d chalked it up to their bizarre introduction a few nights ago and how it had thrown them together in such a peculiar way, and her outburst that morning. Surely he would not feel so concerned and protective after he’d had a decent night’s sleep.

  Now, however, sitting in the dining room with the other men after the ladies retired to the drawing room, he was convinced otherwise.

  He was more concerned, more protective, and far more irritable. He’d not even greeted her today, nor she him. There hadn’t been an opportunity.

  That mother of hers was
going to be the death of Prue, and he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. The ladies had begged for carriage rides today, as the weather had been fine enough to do so, and Charles Davies had arranged to satisfy them. Or, more likely, his mother had. Parties of six or seven had piled into each of the two barouches, which Camden happened to know they had rented from the local inn, and around the grounds they had gone.

  Once he’d seen that Prue was settled in between two chatty girls and three other men had clambered into their carriage, he’d begged off of the whole excursion. He refused to subject himself to the torture of their company just to save her.

  Besides, her mother had gone along in that one as well, and he thought it best that he not make her better acquaintance.

  The trouble was that the carriage rides had turned into the teams for lawn games, and Prue was expected to participate.

  There was no way to save her from that.

  He’d volunteered to participate in any capacity but had been informed that having excluded himself from carriages, he forfeited his right to lawn games.

  That was the most idiotic thing he had ever heard, but he could not argue the point.

  At least it had been croquet and not bowls, and Prue had been decently capable enough. Not incompetent enough to draw sympathy, not skilled enough to earn overt praise. Not that it stopped some from giving it to her, but there was nothing to cause her to stammer nervously. She had been flushed most of the time, and he noticed she seemed to take her shots when a majority of the others were distracted, which made him smile.

  Probably more than it should have.

  But even her mother had been pleased with her if her gushing to the other chaperones had been any indication. It was odd, but there did not seem to be any correlation between Prue’s being pleased and her mother being pleased. It appeared more the opposite, in fact.

  Camden’s mother had been gone for some years, but he was fairly sure that it was supposed to run along the same lines.

  He’d have to ask Lydia about that one the next time he saw her.