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

by Rebecca Connolly

  He nodded, smiling in thought. He didn’t speak of it much, but he had great respect and affection for his brother-in-law, though they could not have been more different in personality. “He’s a scholar from Oxford. Getting to be quite an important figure, as I understand it, and will undoubtedly uncover the next great truth in this world. And he loves my sister with a single-mindedness that baffles the mind.”

  “As it should,” Prue murmured fondly.

  He glanced down at her curiously. “Don’t tell me you’re a romantic, Prue.”

  She shrugged with a helpless air that was quite charming. “What woman isn’t in some way? I am a realistic woman, and I have no romantic notions for myself, but I have always thought it would be lovely to have that.” Her expression darkened momentarily. “My parents never did, and it was miserable to witness.”

  “What happened there?” Camden asked with as gentle a tone as he could manage. “Marriage for fortune?”

  Prue shook her head. “Convenience and connection. Papa was older and needed a wife for respectability and to manage the household and the like. Mother had no fortune to speak of, but it was not a bad match, and she has a decent enough pedigree, so it was favorable.” She sighed slowly, the tone one of the saddest sounds he had ever heard. “They could not have been more wrong for each other. Papa was kind and gentle, patient with everyone and everything, laughed in the sort of way you feel as much as you hear…” Her eyes misted over, and she smiled tenderly. “He never thought I was simple. Whenever I had one of my attacks, after helping me breathe through it until I was calm, he would pull me onto his lap and hold me until I was better. He knew there was a difference.”

  Camden squeezed Prue’s hand gently, finding his chest aching uncomfortably at the image she had painted. The indignity of it all was not lost on him. She had lost the one parent that had understood her and cared for her, the one who knew how to set her to rights, and instead had to endure the daily intolerance of the other parent who could not be bothered to see her own daughter clearly.

  Prue deserved to have her father be tasked with managing this time in her life, not her poor excuse for a mother. She deserved that warmth and gentleness, not criticism and temper.

  Camden wanted to meet Prue’s father and shake the man’s hand rather warmly, and the intensity of that wish surprised him immensely.

  And he wanted to shower Prue with all of the warmth that she ought to have had and once knew.

  Which may have surprised him more.

  Suddenly, he was concocting a plan, and a strategy to implement it.

  “Brace yourself, sweetheart,” Camden told Prue with a teasing smile, “we are about to come back into your mother’s view. Look pleasant, but not too delighted. No reason to make her think this is all going splendidly.”

  Prue giggled and adopted a pleasantly dour expression and did her best to avoid laughing while Camden told her stories of his misspent youth, and all the while, his idea swirled and formed in his mind. He would make this courtship something for both of them to enjoy, though it was only for show.

  Acting a scene did not mean there was not some truth in it.

  How much truth was another matter entirely.

  Prue groaned as she looked down at the note in her hand for the forty-seventh time in two days.

  The instructions had not changed, and neither had her panic.

  Change in plans. Politeness is tedious. Tomorrow, we go to the opera again, L’inganno felice this time. I have secured a box, and my sister has already agreed to chaperone. Wear your most elaborate gown.

  She screeched and covered her face for the forty-eighth time.

  His sister? She wasn’t ready to meet his sister, let alone spend an entire opera in her company!

  She hadn’t seen L’inganno felice yet, but she’d heard it was quite lovely, and any chance to attend the opera was welcome, to be sure.

  But this?

  She looked at the note again. Elaborate gown. She didn’t have elaborate gowns! She had fine gowns, expensive gowns, over-trimmed gowns, unflattering gowns, and old gowns, and that was all. Nothing was truly elaborate in a way that she would feel comfortable displaying.

  Bessie had said she would see to it, and she had chosen a pale red, silk gown with a high waistline, low neckline, and short, gathered sleeves that she claimed would show off Prue’s slender arms to delightful effect. Matching red ribbons and small rosebud garlands were embroidered along the bodice and at the hem of the skirt, and thin, gold trim accented absolutely everything that could possibly be accented.

  It was a piece of art, not a gown, and Prue balked at seeming so on display in such a thing.

  Bessie had assured her that this was not exorbitant, nor was it overly elaborate, but it conformed nicely with the style of gowns other ladies of Prue’s status would wear to such an occasion.

  That wasn’t much of a comfort.

  Yet here she was, standing atop the stairs in said gown, hair perfectly adorned with plaits, pearls, ribbons, and curls, long, white gloves in place, clutching the note and her reticule with trembling fingers.

  “I hate you, Cam,” she hissed to herself as she shoved the note into the matching beaded reticule, then exhaled slowly.

  She could do this. She could accompany him and his sister to the theater and wear an elaborate gown and not have one of her attacks.

  Her mother was staying behind. Eliza would not be with them. The Spinsters might even be there in some number.

  She would be fine.

  Slowly, carefully, she descended the stairs where her mother and Cam, and undoubtedly his sister, waited. There was a moment of stunned silence from everyone when she appeared, and Prue held her breath, unable to meet the gaze of any of them.

  “Prudence,” her mother scolded in a huff, “go and change at once, that is entirely…”

  She broke off as Camden approached the stairs, his eyes scanning Prue’s form with too much intensity.

  “Miss Westfall, you are perfection,” he informed her, his voice smoother than the silk she wore. “I have no words, only praise and overwhelming feelings.” He shook his head and stepped forward, extending his hand. “It would be my honor to have you on my arm.”

  “Th-thank you,” she murmured, blushing as he took her hand and squeezed it.

  “Don’t stammer!” her mother scolded.

  Camden glowered at her. “Do not scold her. Do not correct her. I find no fault in her, and that is enough for you, madam.” He pulled Prue along, pausing only long enough to have her cloak secured, and then they left the house.

  “W-where is your sister?” Prue asked him, her voice much smaller than it should be.

  “In the coach,” he told her brusquely, his brow still furrowed. He shook his head and looked at Prue incredulously. “You must have the patience of a saint. How do you stand her?” he asked, indicating back towards the house.

  “I don’t,” she said with a shrug, “but I have no choice.”

  He paused outside the carriage and gave her a look, again taking in her figure. “I told you to wear something elaborate.”

  Realizing his earlier behavior to be an act for her mother, Prue frowned, trying to ignore the rising hurt within her. “I don’t own anything elaborate,” she snapped. “This is the best, or worst, I could do. And it was more than enough for my mother.”

  He snorted as if that were answer enough.

  “Cam! For heaven’s sake, don’t keep the poor girl standing outside! Get in here!”

  He scowled at the feminine voice from within the carriage. “Chadwick, shut her up!”

  “No!”

  Camden groaned and put a hand to his brow, muttering under his breath.

  Prue folded her arms, looked down at her toes, and muttered, “I thought I looked quite well, but trust you to find fault.”

  He looked up sharply. “I didn’t find fault.”

  She gave him a hard look.

  “I didn’t,” he said again. “I said it
wasn’t elaborate. And it isn’t. But that doesn’t mean there is anything wrong with it. I only wanted to draw attention to you tonight, but not because you’re with me. I wanted people to look at you, but differently, and I only know how to do that by standing out.” He shrugged, smiling a little. “You are different from any other woman I’ve ever associated with, and I am a bit at ends about it. But I don’t find fault in it.”

  “Cam!” called his sister again.

  “All right!” he retorted, yanking on the carriage door and helping Prue in. “For the love of…”

  “Better say it in German,” the dark-haired woman inside the carriage quipped as she moved over for Prue. “It’s less offensive in a foreign tongue.” She grinned at Prue and held out a hand. “How do you do? Lydia Chadwick.”

  Prue stared at her in wonder. “Prudence Westfall.”

  Lydia dipped her chin quickly then gestured to the almost gangly fellow across from her, who watched his wife in bemused adoration. “That’s Mr. Chadwick, he’s mine.”

  “Too right,” he replied with a wink. He touched the brim of his hat and nodded at Prue. “Miss Westfall, a pleasure.”

  She nodded in return, her eyes flicking to Cam in apprehension. He still seemed perturbed, and she was still unsettled by his words. He claimed he didn’t find fault, but there was no mistaking the critical eye. She ought to have known she would ruin everything.

  Camden tapped on the roof of the coach, and they took off for the theater, his focus now on adjusting his gloves.

  “Did I hear you finding fault with Miss Westfall’s gown?” Lydia demanded as she stared at her brother in disbelief. “That’s preposterous, she looks better than I do.”

  “Not possible,” Chadwick interjected matter-of-factly. “No offense to Miss Westfall.”

  “None taken,” Prue murmured, amused in spite of herself.

  “Not helping, Chadwick,” Camden grunted.

  “I adore you,” Lydia sighed with a look at her husband.

  “I am going to be ill,” Camden announced, not looking at any of them.

  “Out the window, if you please,” Lydia told him without sympathy. “Miss Westfall and I do not deserve the indignity of sick on our gowns, in which there is no fault.”

  Prue clamped down on her lips hard, watching the exchange with interest.

  “I did not find fault!” Camden protested, spearing his sister with a dark look. He turned to look at Prue, his gaze softening. “I didn’t find fault.”

  Prue sighed to herself, then nodded in acceptance.

  “I couldn’t find fault with you if I tried,” he muttered under his breath.

  Prue heard him, and snorted, shaking her head as she turned her gaze out the window.

  All was silent in the carriage for a moment. “Prue,” he said in the gentlest tone she’d ever heard.

  She slowly turned back to look at him and found him watching her closely. “What?” she managed, uncomfortable with such direct attention and the effect it was having on her.

  He smiled a little; and really, it was a lovely smile. “You are beautiful. In the rarest of ways.”

  She stared at him in shock. No one ever said things like that, not to her, and especially not people who knew her. She had received flattery and ridiculous compliments with flowery fluff from fools who soon flee, but nothing like this. He was not teasing or flattering, and she had never known any man to say something so sincere, so simple, and so touching. That he was saying such to her was discomfiting, and she was confused by it.

  Her face flushed and she looked down. “Th-thank y-you.”

  “Does that make you nervous?” he asked with concern, again sounding sincere.

  She nodded, clearing her throat. “S-say something else, please.”

  He shifted and drew one knee up. “Did you see your mother’s face when you appeared?”

  Prue grinned, and he responded in kind.

  “Tell me! Tell me, I must know!” Lydia demanded, chiming in excitedly.

  Camden looked at her. “If you promise that you and Chadwick heard nothing that I just said to Prue, since it was not for your ears, I will tell you exactly what the bird’s face looked like.”

  Prue covered her mouth as a soft snort escaped.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Lydia said obediently, her dark eyes flashing. “I’ve forgotten everything until this very moment.”

  Camden grinned. “Good girl,” he praised before launching into an excellent description of the events.

  They all laughed the rest of the way to the theater.

  Prue studied Lydia carefully as they arrived at the theater and proceeded to their box, and even into the first few songs. She was very similar in coloring to her brother, but her temperament was very different. The same sort of wit, but she was all good humor and politeness. Her husband was more reserved, but he had no qualms about speaking up with her or with Camden as he saw fit.

  And Lydia put Camden quite in his place without a second thought. It was amusing to hear her scold him, always calling him Cam, and always with a mix of exasperation and admiration. It was evident that he adored his sister just as much as she’d suspected he did.

  What would it have been like to be part of a loving family such as theirs? It was hardly the time for sad thoughts, but they were there all the same.

  The opera itself was a decent enough affair, though not quite to Prue’s taste. But there seemed to be much conversation around them, and she thought it quite possible that their box just might be the subject of the discussion. If the number of eyes on them were any indication, they certainly were.

  Camden was affectionate and very protective, charming and almost perfectly behaved. Almost, because the wicked gleam in his eyes never faded, and he enjoyed letting people think they ought to be shocked. Once or twice, he leaned over to whisper in Prue’s ear, only to tell her to linger, smile, and push him away playfully.

  And that somehow took away Prue’s fears of the attention, as she enjoyed every moment of it.

  A woman enjoying herself must be a topic of discussion.

  During the interval, Camden and the Chadwicks took her to walk a little, and Prue felt the stares and attention more than ever.

  Camden must have felt her nerves, given the increase in people milling about, for he kept her close to his side and covered her hand, stroking it in soothing circles. He did not make much conversation that required a response from her, which was appreciated, but he tried to put her at ease by amusing her with a sort of commentary on the public.

  They paused a step when Tony Sterling suddenly approached them, his eyes flicking between Camden and Prue repeatedly.

  “T-tony,” Prue whispered, pleading with him not to make a scene.

  He smiled a little at her. “It’s all right, lamb. This won’t take long.” He looked at Camden with a far more severe look.

  Camden didn’t like that at all. “Yes, Sterling?”

  “I have some concerns, Vale, about the attention you are paying Miss Westfall,” Tony told him without any sort of preamble.

  Camden raised a brow. “Why should that give you cause for concern?”

  “Because I care for Miss Westfall,” Tony snapped, “and I do not want to see her hurt.”

  “And you think I am going to hurt her?” Camden replied, sounding offended. “Ridiculous.”

  “Right,” Tony muttered. “I know your reputation, sir. You can have no honorable motives.”

  “And what are yours, may I ask?” Camden asked, starting to hide Prue behind him a little. “She hasn’t asked you to step in, has she?”

  Tony looked at Prue, at how she clung to Camden’s arm, but no doubt saw her concern, and he relaxed a little. “No, and she appears not to need me to. I mean no offense, Prue.” He returned his gaze to Camden, no longer seeming severe, only somber. “I think the world of Prue. I feel very protective of her, rather as though she were a sister.” He looked past the pair of them to the obviously cur
ious Chadwicks and smiled a little. “A sentiment I believe you may comprehend, Vale.”

  “I’ll not harm her,” Camden told him in a much softer voice, nodding in agreement. “I have her best interests at heart, and I see you do as well. We are on the same side, Sterling, despite what you may have heard.”

  The two stared at each other for a long moment, and then Tony looked back at Prue. “Do you trust him?”

  Prue looked up at Camden, and it seemed he was holding his breath. “Yes,” she said simply, with no stutter at all.

  The smile she received from Camden could have set the whole room aflame, and she was quite sure she would have stammered incessantly had anyone tried to converse with her.

  Tony chuckled and put a hand on her arm. “Very well, I’ll stand aside.” He winked at Prue, smiling. “And you look very pretty, Prue. No doubt Vale has already informed you of that.”

  “I have, and she did not like it.” Camden rolled his eyes and groaned in exasperation. Then something drew his attention, and he grunted to himself. “Oh good, your toad of a cousin is here, Prue. What a surprise. Time to go back to the box.”

  Tony looked where he had and muttered to himself incoherently.

  Camden chuckled. “Yes, I have that exact sentiment with her, as well.”

  “As you should. I detest her.” Tony gave him a tight smile and started off in the opposite direction. “Pleasant evening, friends.”

  Friends? Truly? Could it be, then, that there would be no further objections from him or the Spinsters?

  It hardly seemed possible, but she would hope with all her might.

  “Well,” Camden sighed as they turned back for the box, “I can’t say that I’m finding this opera to be a favorite, but it may be the best night at the opera I’ve ever had.” He tilted his head a little as he looked at Prue. “And I think I would endure it again… if you were with me.”

  Prue’s breath caught, and she wished her flush would recede, so she could smile properly.

  Camden seemed to shake himself and released her hand, his raffish grin returning. “Now, I will call on you tomorrow, and every day after, and I promise to get you away from your mother as often as I can.”