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

by Rebecca Connolly

  “Vale, did I hear correctly that you exchanged fists with Phillip Turner some months past?” Charles Davies asked from the other end of the table where he smoked a cheroot.

  Camden raised a brow at him, trying not to be put off by the puff of smoke that had blown in his direction. He wasn’t opposed to men smoking in general, despite having an aversion to the stuff, but that by no means indicated that he wished to take on the scent himself.

  “It is true,” he allowed, wishing he didn’t have to discuss it. Most of the time he did not mind recounting his fights for the ears of others, but he wasn’t particularly proud of this one.

  Phillip had been a friend of his, but after that fight…

  “What was it?” Applegate demanded, leaning forward with a new energy in his eyes. “His wife?”

  Camden almost laughed at that. Mariah Turner was a lovely, vibrant woman, and he would undoubtedly have fought over her if she had been free for the taking, but there was a strong bond in the Turner marriage, and Camden was not foolish enough to consider interfering.

  Plus, Mariah would have had his head and beaten him senseless.

  She was small but mighty, and he happened to know her left hook was perfect.

  His jaw gave a faint twinge in reminder.

  Camden smiled easily for the benefit of the others, drumming his fingers on the table next to his barely touched glass of port. “Not at all. He accused me of cheating, and I took exception to the accusation.”

  Mr. Gardiner puffed a particularly billowing cloud of smoke. “And was he right to accuse you? Were you cheating?”

  Two of the other gentlemen looked at Gardiner as though he had lost his senses, apparently knowing Camden’s proclivity for fighting without much provocation.

  Camden stared at him for a long moment, letting the cool confidence of the man ebb back into wary hesitation as he drummed his fingers much more slowly.

  Then his lips curved slightly. “Not that game. I never cheat with friends, which he ought to have known. Well,” he amended, smiling more smugly, “not when there is money involved. I always cheat with friends when playing for sport and glory.”

  That earned him a round of chuckles, but Gardiner did not seem particularly satisfied. “Then why the fight? If he knew you cheated normally, and you did not this time…”

  Camden shrugged with nonchalance. “I’d cheated the game before, and he knew that. And I’d had too much to drink, so my good sense was rather absent. It was a rousing fight, you should have seen it.”

  Gardiner finally accepted that and chuckled. “Remind me not to fight you, Vale.”

  “If you suggest it, Gardiner,” Camden answered, spinning his glass of port a little, “I will happily oblige. Just see that your affairs are in order before doing so.”

  Again, there was a round of laughter, and then Davies rose from the head of the table while Gardiner looked slightly taken aback.

  “Should we join the ladies? And then we will proceed into the ballroom for our final dance of the party.”

  The words shook Camden a little. He’d forgotten that it was the last evening. Everyone would be leaving tomorrow, and then what? What would become of his little friend when she was surrounded by many others who might not be as polite about their pursuit of her?

  He nearly shoved his hands into his hair at the sudden catch of panic in his chest. What was happening to him? He barely knew the girl, and he was not solely responsible for her care. Here he was irritated about not talking to her, worrying about what would happen to her when he was not there, and yet he had done so very little. He was no hero, especially not for someone he had no particular interest in.

  But she trusted him, however foolish that was. She felt safe with him. That was a weighty thing, and he felt the burden of it.

  And Prue was a lovely girl. Precisely the sort that deserved all the good in the world, despite having little of it. Surely any man would exert himself to assist someone like that.

  If they could see her.

  “Vale?”

  Camden looked up to see the rest had filed out while he had sat in his odd stupor. He shook himself and rose with a smile.

  “Apologies, Davies. Just ruminating on the return to London and the Season.”

  Davies chuckled and clapped him on the back as they left the room. “It will be nice to have more variety, eh?”

  Variety? Camden rolled his eyes at that. With the sort of creatures they’d invited here, they had the silly, the spoiled, the sweet, and the spinster. What more could he want?

  He mentally winced. Spinster. That title only went to Prue Westfall.

  And he wondered if she was even deserving of that label.

  How much evidence did a man need in order to properly save a damsel in distress?

  Prue made her way to the ballroom on the arm of Mr. Frist, who talked so much of himself it was a wonder he did not court himself. The small mercy in this was that he did not require her to answer, so she only had to walk and endure listening.

  She’d managed that for all twenty-five years of her life, she could surely manage another minute of it.

  But once inside the ballroom, there was no telling what could occur.

  Camden hadn’t said a word to her in over twenty-four hours, and she was beginning to wonder if his words about not being a hero mightn’t be too true. There had been ample opportunity, both the night before and today, if he would have only paid attention.

  Today had been difficult, and she was already blushing over what the ballroom would bring. Still blushing might be a better turn of phrase, as she had been this same shade most of the day.

  All of that should have been painfully obvious to Camden, though he had hung back for the whole of it. It would have been so easy for him to come in and ask for a moment with her, or to turn the conversation away from her, or anything to alleviate her anxiety. Even his presence would have done the trick, but he hadn’t even done that. Not a single thing to help her, despite being so kind to her the first few days.

  Perhaps he had tired of his efforts. Perhaps the reminder of his cousin was too painful, and he had opted to remove himself from the situation. Perhaps he had heard stories from the others about her or the Spinsters…

  Perhaps…

  “Dance the first with me, Miss Westfall,” Mr. Frist suddenly said, his certainty of her answer clear.

  She had to. She had to dance with anyone who asked, or her mother would have a great deal to say on the subject.

  She swallowed with some difficulty, her throat choosing that moment to close itself off. Rather than attempt a stammering answer, Prue nodded once.

  He smiled at her and praised her ceaselessly, which only made everything worse. He swept her into the formation of the dance, taking up the lead position.

  Lead.

  She had to lead.

  Her face flamed worse than before, and she lowered her eyes, her breathing turning unsteady.

  The jaunty music began, and she moved before she knew what she was doing. Her motions were not at all fluid, and she was astounded that she recalled the steps at all. She did not have to think about it, did not engage with a single person near her, and let her body move as its instincts allowed.

  It seemed all those years of observation and painful dances with uncomfortable partners had been useful after all. If she could not speak or smile or breathe, at least she could dance.

  “Come, Miss Westfall,” Mr. Frist called out too loudly, drawing attention to her inattention. “Smile! It is a dance, not a lecture! Smile for us all!”

  Out of habit, Prue looked to her mother, who had obviously heard, and the severe widening of her eyes and tightening of her mouth told Prue everything.

  Swallowing a weak sob without any accompanying tears, Prue forced her lips to curve into a smile that physically pained her.

  It would convince no one that she was happy, but it counted as a smile.

  Hopefully, that would be enough.

  Her feet
still moved with the dance, her arms tingled with anxious sensation, and the only part of her face she could feel was that agonizing smile. Her chest ached with every breath, and her throat seemed to constrict in time with her pulse, which was rapidly accelerating.

  Breathe in, breathe out. Fear…

  So much fear. So many people. So many eyes on her, so many faces, words, things…

  Somehow, she managed to finish the dance, and the music and applause were faint in her ears over the buzzing that had begun.

  She needed a chair, a reprieve, and no approaching would-be suitors.

  “Please dance the next with me, Miss Westfall,” someone asked.

  “No, me!”

  “Miss Westfall is so light on her feet, she must dance the next two with me.”

  Her hand was placed in another, and she was pulled into another line, seeing everything and yet seeing nothing at the same time.

  The music struck up once more, and again, she was familiar enough to dance without thinking.

  At least this time they were squarely in the middle and no one would mind her.

  “Miss Westfall, you are lovely as the sunrise and twice as splendid,” her partner gushed.

  She dipped her chin in response, which only closed off her breathing more.

  “What has been your favorite moment of the house party?” he continued. “What has struck your fancy? Do tell me, and I shall ensure you have such entertainment every week this Season.”

  Prue parted from him in the dance, frantically trying to remember how to formulate words, let alone anything that would be considered a response.

  “W-w-w…” she tried, stammering so severely she shook with the effort. Her mother’s glowering face rose in her mind with a vengeance.

  Stop stammering, Prudence!

  “W-w-walk,” she coughed as tears formed in the corners of her eyes.

  Her partner could not keep the strain of his effort at patience and tolerance from his expression, and it rendered the tightness in Prue’s chest further still.

  “Oh, yes, country walks are a most lovely excursion,” he prattled on, his voice not as enthusiastic as his words. “Do you walk much in London? Hyde Park, perhaps?”

  Lord, he wanted her to speak more? She could barely hear his question over her own panic, her face flaming in indignation, the tingling of her arms spreading into the pit of her stomach and down her legs…

  “Y-y-yes,” she hissed through clenched teeth.

  “And Regent’s, too, I’d wager. Tell me, do you approve of the new flowers there? I find them a bit distracting. Which flowers would you have planted there?”

  The tears in her eyes were going to leak out, would become obvious, would draw more attention…

  Attention. Sympathy. Horror.

  Shame.

  She tried to form an ‘L’ for lilies, got so far as her tongue pressing against the roof of her mouth, when she stumbled suddenly, crumbling to the ground.

  “Oh! Miss Westfall!”

  “Miss Westfall!”

  “Dear lady!”

  And somehow, over the distressed exclamations… “Well, that figures.”

  Her breath hitched in her chest loudly, and she moved to cover her mouth.

  Only her hand would not obey her.

  “Clumsy dolt, Alderton! If you cannot dance with someone as light as Miss Westfall, stand over in the corner and be useful!”

  Camden’s voice cut through the haze, and a pair of hands gripped Prue’s arms and practically hoisted her from the floor. “Come, you will dance the next with me, Miss Westfall. And the rest of this one, if you are not injured, and if the musicians would carry on!”

  They did so immediately at his loud suggestion, but Prue could not hope to dance, not when she could no longer feel her feet or take in a single breath or see straight.

  “I c-c-can’t… I-I-I c-c-can…” She shook her head frantically, her breathing rolling into an equally frantic realm. “C-C-Cam…”

  “I know, I know,” he assured her gently, rubbing her arms. “Outside we go. We’re on our way.”

  The fresh night air hit her then, and she inhaled sharply, nearly collapsing with the sensation.

  “No, no, come on, over here…” Camden urged, half carrying her to the right.

  She was seated then and hunched over, covering her face with her gloves, which were damp from the perspiration of her palms. Her sobbing, gasping breaths reached a peak then, a hard edge wracking each against her chest…

  Breathe in, breathe out. Fear in, fear out.

  Breathe in, breathe out. Fear in, fear out.

  “What was that, love? What did you say?”

  Prue shook her head, hiccupping on tears and words and breath.

  Breathe in, breathe out. Fear in, fear out.

  She moved her hands to the sides of her face, seizing upon the image of her father, graying and wrinkled as he had been, his eyes crinkling but steady. Fixed on her. Holding her gaze.

  Breathe in, breathe out. Fear in, fear out.

  “Yes, exactly,” Camden soothed. “Yes, Prue. Breathe…”

  Had she said the words aloud? She must have done; how else would he know? Had she stammered? Had she been coherent enough?

  Breathe…

  “Yes,” Camden said again, and it occurred to her that he was rubbing soothing circles on her back. “Very good, again.”

  She did so instinctively and found her lungs filling with the cool night air and not her panic. Her face burned, but that began to fade, and her eyes cleared. She still tingled all over, but at least she was calming.

  “I’m s-sorry,” she whispered, her hands sliding down to her throat. “I’m s-so s-sorry.”

  “For what?” Camden asked, taking one of her hands in his and squeezing. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Miss Fairbanks tripped you, and I would have called her out if she had been a man. That wasn’t your fault. And anyone could see how overwhelmed you were, and with Alderton egging you on.”

  “S-stop,” Prue hissed painfully. “I d-don’t want to rel-live it.”

  He rubbed her back again. “Shh, it’s all right. What was it you said? Breathe in, breathe out…?”

  “F-fear in, fear out,” she finished, nodding slowly. “My father used to say that to me when I g-got too overcome. He would take my face in his hands, just as I was doing, and make me look at him. Tell me to breathe, and he’d breathe with me. It’s the only thing that has ever fully calmed me.”

  “It sounds as though he was an excellent father,” Camden murmured, smoothing his hand over her dampened hair.

  Prue nodded and swallowed, then exhaled heavily. “He was.” She slowly turned to look into the ballroom. “W-what will they think?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” he quipped. “Not even a little. And don’t worry about your mother, I sent Miss Perry to distract her for a time out of the ballroom once I saw your state. The others won’t pay any attention, I promise.”

  “They will,” Prue whispered, her ears beginning to burn again. “They will. They always do.”

  “Not if I took you outside while they all finished the dance and told Davies to dance like a clodpole to distract everybody else.”

  Prue looked up at him, curious in spite of her sudden exhaustion. “And is he?”

  Camden looked over her head, smiling in satisfaction. “Brilliantly so. He looks like a right idiot.”

  She exhaled roughly and dropped her head into her hands again, shuddering with relief. “Thank you.”

  “It’s my pleasure. Truly.”

  “Saving me is your pleasure?”

  “Truly is.”

  She shook her head against her hands. “Not possible. Nothing about me is a pleasure, let alone saving me in my distress.” Another shudder rolled over her, and Camden’s hand followed gently to soothe it.

  “I don’t know about that.”

  “No, it’s true. I’m a trial to everyone, especially my mother and m-my friends, and I don’t know why anyo
ne bothers!” She whimpered a weak sob.

  “Prue, don’t. There is so much to praise,” he insisted, surprising himself with his fervor.

  She shook her head insistently. He was too kind, too blind, too ignorant of the way of things. “Didn’t you hear how they flattered me? You said yourself, men lie through their teeth.”

  He hissed, and she looked over at him only to see him shaking his head. “Prue, I didn’t mean… Sometimes we are sincere. Sometimes we do mean everything we say. And you should like it and take it as a compliment.”

  Prue smiled a very tight, thin smile. “They never have before, so I have no taste for it.” She exhaled and looked back into the ballroom, clasping her hands before her. “I just wish to be left alone.”

  “Well,” he sighed, “then we have another problem.”

  She looked up at him wryly. “And that is?”

  He shrugged, something new in his dark eyes. “I don’t think I can leave you alone.” He stared at her for a long moment, his hand stilled on her back, and added, “I know I can’t.”

  Her head tilted in a question. “Why not?”

  “Because I see you,” he admitted with a rawness she did not anticipate. “And I like what I see.”

  Prue’s lips parted in surprise, and a swallow caught in her throat that had nothing to do with panic. She forced herself to swallow and licked her lips quickly. “I… don’t know how to respond to that,” she breathed, her cheeks coloring faintly.

  Camden smiled gently and patted her back. “That’s all right. Speaking is a bit of a problem for you when overcome. I have that effect on all women, so you are quite normal in that regard.”

  His teasing was missing the necessary air, but it made her smile and roll her eyes all the same, and the tension within her faded away completely. “I really must hear that reputation of yours in its fullness. I have no idea what to believe.”

  “Only the good is true,” he assured her, rising from the bench.

  The cold night air rushed in on her with his vacancy, and she shivered. “And the bad?”

  He shrugged again. “Probably true.”

  She coughed a laugh and shook her head. “I will keep that in mind.”

  “Can you dance now, Prudence Westfall?” Camden asked, holding out a hand. “It may be our last night of dancing. London approaches, and our ties will break.”