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

by Rebecca Connolly

  She glanced behind her at Chadwick, who seemed amused by the whole spectacle. “Oh, yes. Chadwick, darling, this is Trevor Dartmouth and his wife.”

  “So I gathered,” Chadwick mused, bowing to them both. “I’d apologize for my wife, but I don’t find that particularly necessary.”

  “I do,” Camden told them all.

  “Nobody cares,” Lydia retorted. “You and Dart go away. I want Mrs. Dart all to myself. Clearly, she is the best of you.”

  Julia smirked, her full lips spreading just a touch. “I like you, Mrs. Chadwick.”

  “Lydia,” his sister insisted. “Formality shouldn’t exist amongst friends.”

  Camden rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “I can’t go away, Lydia. You asked me to wait here for Prue. And you can’t leave, you’re the hostess.”

  Lydia scowled. “I’m so sorry, Julia, but my infernal and younger brother is insisting on politeness for the first time in his life.”

  “That’s all right,” Julia replied, tossing her head a little. “I’ll go on in and make the rounds. Come and find me when you’ve been polite enough.”

  Camden looked at Dart in disbelief. “What in the world have you done?”

  Dart shrugged, heaving a dramatic sigh. “I wonder that all the time, but every time I second guess, I find myself smitten all over again.”

  “Sounds painful.”

  Dart raised a dark brow at him. “It is. I wonder you don’t know that by now yourself.”

  “As do I!” Lydia mused loudly, rounding on Camden.

  “It does seem curious,” Julia added as she eyed Camden in assessment.

  Camden looked at his brother-in-law, apparently the only sensible being in this room besides him.

  Chadwick twisted his mouth in thought, then winced sympathetically. “He does make an excellent point.”

  Camden glowered.

  Never mind, he thought. No one sensible here but me.

  Dart chuckled and clapped him on the back, then swept away with his elegant and impudent wife.

  “I like them together,” Lydia sighed, watching them retreat.

  “You would,” Camden grunted as he returned his attention to the door.

  Prue should have been here by now. Everyone else that Lydia had invited was here, though she only seemed to care about Prue.

  It was odd, but he felt exactly the same way.

  Ever since her attack the other night, he found himself thinking of Prue constantly. Wondering if she was well, wondering what had set her off, wondering if it was normal to think of one woman so frequently…

  He’d stayed by her the rest of the evening after settling her on the terrace, and while she hadn’t been entirely herself, she’d improved significantly as time went on. She’d smiled and laughed a little, but her cheeks never fully lost their blush, and she seemed to look at Camden almost nervously for the rest of the time.

  He’d assumed it was her anxious state after panicking so much, seeking him as a sort of security measure. It would make sense to look at him that way, particularly when they’d shared such a vulnerable moment for her. And her inclination towards reserve there could have been an embarrassment. He had seen her in a most distressed state, after all.

  He wasn’t embarrassed. He was glad of it. Not glad she had suffered so, of course, but glad he had been able to get to her. Glad he knew just how to calm her, to find her when she was so lost, to guide her back out of it. He’d felt as though he had formed a deeper bond with her because of it.

  A connection. Something not entirely defined by words but framed by emotions not easily identified. They were forging their own path, it seemed, and the direction in which they were heading seemed rather unclear at present.

  Her friends no longer had any reservations about him as far as he could tell. In fact, Charlotte had accepted him so completely that she began pestering him for information on Mariah Turner, whom he had yet to introduce her to, despite his promise. That was an act of self-preservation, and the only noble thing he’d ever done for the good of England and Society. According to Prue, Izzy, and Georgie, he was wise to wait until it was absolutely necessary to make those introductions.

  He admired how the Spinsters looked after one another, how they loved one another, despite being so very different in situation and temper. They managed their own lives with dignity and strength, offering insight, wisdom, and wit with their Chronicles, and, aside from young Elinor Asheley, seemed to have no inclination towards bitterness or anger at their state.

  Rare women, the lot of them, and though he would probably never admit it, he felt strangely flattered by being included in their circles. But, according to Charlotte and Elinor, he was still not an approved candidate for matrimony, only for their friendship.

  Apparently, the clarification was important.

  He didn’t care. He only wanted Prue.

  He frowned at that. Wanted? What did he want? What did that even mean? Prue was his friend, growing dearer to him than anyone he’d ever known. His feelings for her were not anything remotely resembling a brotherly affection or defensiveness, nor were they restricted to simple friendship and protection.

  She was a beautiful woman, anyone should have noticed that, and he certainly had. Her beauty was not the obvious sort that engendered flourished admiration, but a rarer type; a natural beauty that took time and exploration to properly appreciate. Yet once it was brought to light, it was impossible to forget or ignore.

  And somehow, her beauty improved with every exposure to it.

  Camden swallowed now as he imagined it, imagined how she might look coming in tonight, imagined those blue eyes meeting his and seeing the sweet innocence and insecurities swirling there, though she had nothing to fear. Seeking approval and permission, though she held all the power. Daring to reveal that impish, mischievous side of her that so few knew about.

  Her lips growing into a smile, parting slightly when she listened, tugging at each other when she was lost in thought…

  Saints above, he was standing here in his sister’s house dwelling on the suddenly tempting lips of Prudence Westfall.

  Madness. Absolute madness.

  “She’s here!” Lydia cried, nearly dancing in her place.

  Chadwick put a hand to his wife’s back. “Gently, love. Miss Westfall will likely be anxious. Mustn’t overwhelm her.”

  Camden shot him a grateful look, loving his sister’s enthusiasm, but having the exact fears that Chadwick described.

  Lydia nodded rapidly, folding her fingers together. “Right. Of course, you’re right.” She exhaled slowly, closing her eyes, and a wave of serenity seemed to fall over her. “Poise, calm, gentleness…”

  Camden watched her, bemused. “Does that work?”

  Lydia cracked an eye open and speared him with a look. “If it doesn’t, I’ll beat you over the head with a vase. That will help immeasurably.”

  He grinned at her and nodded, turning his attention to the door where Prue was now entering.

  “Not one of the expensive vases, please,” Chadwick murmured. “I’m quite fond of those.”

  Lydia snorted a surprised burst of giggles, and Camden swallowed the laughter rising in him with an awkward cough. Chadwick only smiled very politely.

  “I’m s-so sorry,” Prue told them all as she approached, her expression worried. “My mother would not s-stop talking, and I couldn’t get away.”

  “It’s all right,” Camden replied with a smile, still coughing a little from his laughter. “Really, it’s fine.”

  “Yes,” Lydia giggled, “it is. We’re just so glad you’re here.” She squeezed her eyes shut and clamped her lips together as she laughed further.

  Prue’s brow furrowed, a curious smile forming, and she looked at Chadwick, who sighed heavily. “I can’t explain them, Miss Westfall. I can only apologize.”

  “No n-need,” she assured him, looking at Camden once more.

  He was still smiling at her, and it had nothing to do with laug
hing at Lydia or Chadwick.

  Prue just made him smile.

  “Shall we go in?” Lydia asked, looking between Camden and Prue with too much interest.

  Camden offered Prue his arm, and she took it at once. “What was your mother blabbering on about?” he whispered, leaning close.

  Prue smiled a little, though her neck and arms suddenly were riddled with gooseflesh. “Mr. Davies,” she whispered back. “Apparently, I am not paying him enough attention.”

  Davies? Camden could have groaned but settled for shaking his head. Davies would never have done for Prue at all, and if her mother had any sense, she would have seen that straight away. If there was a desperation to have Prue married off, which he did not understand, surely there were better options.

  “We’re to have dinner with Mr. Davies and his mother next week,” Prue went on, “and I already have my instructions for what I am to wear.”

  “Oh?” he asked, only feeling a cursory interest. If her mother wanted her to look her best, she could have done no better than what Prue was wearing this evening. Had a white and blue sprigged muslin ever looked so perfect on anyone? It complimented her eyes and complexion so attractively, and her hair was so elegantly plaited and pinned…

  Get it together, his more sensible side scolded.

  Prue huffed a little and looked up at him with a smile. “I cannot tell you how pleased I am to be here.”

  Never mind.

  He returned her smile. “Me, too.” He stared a little too long, then cleared his throat. “Right, well, we can certainly do better than Mr. Davies. Lieutenant Henshaw is here, you know him. He’d suit you well. And Mr. Andrews, as well. I wasn’t aware, but he knows Chadwick, so he is here tonight. That’s two potential suitors already better than anyone who has tried for you, and you are already comfortable with them. What luck! We’ll find you more suitable suitors in no time.”

  “What luck,” Prue echoed faintly, averting her eyes, but smiling still.

  She sounded as enthusiastic about them as he felt.

  But she was nervous with suitors, so that was to be expected.

  “Prue, darling,” Lydia suddenly said, turning to them, “would you mind very much if I introduce you to a few people? If it’s too much to ask, just say so. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

  Camden felt Prue stiffen, but then she smiled and seemed to relax. “Of c-course,” she replied.

  Without thinking, Camden covered Prue’s hand and rubbed it gently.

  Lydia wouldn’t know how Prue’s stammer indicated her nerves, but he did. The fact that Prue was willing to do this even with her nerves was something significant indeed.

  Prue left Camden’s side and went with Lydia, not even looking back at him once.

  He watched her go, brow furrowed, mind jumbled. Away from him, she was vulnerable. Anything could happen. There was no telling what might make her panic, and if he wasn’t there…

  He cleared his throat and moved off, heading straight for the beverages, grateful his sister and Chadwick had not scrimped on the food for this soirée of theirs.

  He was going to need it.

  Taking up position on that side of the room, he watched as Lydia introduced Prue to some of her friends, including Julia and Dart whom she already knew, and then let Prue wander away from her. Prue situated herself in a chair near the window, not looking in any way flustered, and smiled up at Lieutenant Henshaw as he came over.

  Henshaw was a fine fellow, Camden actually rather enjoyed his company, but when Prue laughed, and Camden could hear the musical sound dancing across the room, he thought the man’s face would have been an excellent target for punching.

  As unreasonable as it was, he hoped Prue stammered in Henshaw’s presence. He hoped it was a trial for him to endure her conversation. He hoped…

  “I know that look. Who are we killing, and where are we hiding the body?”

  Camden took a long drink of claret to avoid revealing anything to Dart as he came up next to him.

  Dart looked where Camden’s attention was focused and grunted softly. “Ah ha. The lieutenant would make a fine opponent for you. Excellent height, proper physique… You would have your work cut out for you.”

  “Shove off,” Camden told him, now eyeing Andrews as he also went to Prue.

  “Now, Andrews presents a different problem,” Dart continued, settling in against the wall. “He doesn’t have Henshaw’s stature, but I’d wager he has speed.”

  Camden’s hold on his drink tightened, seeing how Prue sat there between two viable candidates for her hand with only the faintest blush on her cheeks. “I’m fast, too,” he muttered to his friend.

  Dart chuckled. “You are, yes. But you rely on your instincts more than skill. It serves you well, but I have no problem imagining Andrews as being particularly well-trained. Works for the Foreign Office, you know. Mysterious sort.”

  “Good for him.”

  “Care to tell me why we are now killing both of them?” Dart asked, not particularly sounding like he cared about it. “Or must I speculate?”

  “Please don’t.”

  “Because it would appear that you have a vested interest in Miss Westfall,” he continued ignoring Camden. “But that couldn’t be, as you’ve told me you’re courting her for show and to stave off fortune hunters. You’d never be concerned about two men so perfectly suited for her actually showing a genuine interest. After all, that’s why you’re doing this, isn’t it?”

  Camden had no argument for him. That was what he was doing. That was the whole point of saving her, protecting her, watching her. That was the end goal.

  And yet…

  “Get them away,” Camden instructed Dart, sipping the rest of his beverage. “Or I will.”

  It was astounding that Prue had spoken so long without stammering more than a handful of times. She was so nervous, so anxious about being here at the Chadwicks’, seeing Camden interact with his sister, meeting their friends, and now being engaged in conversation with Mr. Andrews and Lieutenant Henshaw. They were friends of her friends, it was true, but she had never quite considered them as her own friends.

  Yet today, conversing with them was comfortable, and not at all taxing.

  She was far too nervous about another matter entirely to worry about their conversations.

  If I were you, Prudence Westfall, I would kiss that man properly before too much time has passed…

  She swallowed harshly, heat racing into her cheeks.

  It was all she could think about, all that had occupied her mind since the ball. Had she ever thought about kissing Camden before that? She couldn’t have, if the thought gave her so much anxiety now. She’d have ended their association sooner for fear of dwelling on it overly much in his presence.

  Now it was too late. Now she didn’t want to be out of his presence, and she was dwelling on it in his presence.

  He was watching her, had been watching her all afternoon. He’d not come over since his sister had taken her around to make some introductions, almost none of which Prue would actually remember after this. Her head was too full of Camden, of his laughter, his teasing, his smile, his lips…

  Quite frankly, at this very moment, Prue wished she was Charlotte, who had kissed at least three men in her life. She would know how to go about it and would have no such anxiety about this.

  How was she supposed to do this? Walk up to him and politely ask for one? She’d be laughed at, and while that would certainly resolve her desire to kiss him, it would also destroy her in unspeakable ways.

  “Pardon me, Miss Westfall,” Mr. Dartmouth broke in, interrupting whatever Mr. Andrews had been saying. “I don’t mean to deprive you of your friends, but Mr. Chadwick asked me to fetch them both.” He smiled apologetically, and she found herself smiling back at him.

  “That’s quite all right,” she replied. “Mr. Chadwick’s needs are no doubt greater than my own.”

  Mr. Dartmouth’s smile spread. “Well, I don’t know
about that, I think he rather needs polite men to bore with his latest scholarly pursuits. No one else will listen.”

  Mr. Andrews chuckled and rose fluidly. “I happen to find them enlightening. I’ll go straightaway.” He bowed to Prue, nodded at Dartmouth, and together he and Lieutenant Henshaw left her.

  Prue sighed a little and looked up at Mr. Dartmouth, who was still watching her. “I like your wife, Mr. Dartmouth,” she told him easily. “And it is d-difficult for me to say anything of the sort after so short an acquaintance.”

  “Yes, most people do like my wife,” he responded, his expression softening completely. “Lord knows how I convinced her to bind herself to me, but there is nothing to be done about it now.”

  “I trust she had her reasons.”

  Prue found herself looking over at Julia Dartmouth, whose deep auburn hair seemed to glisten in the light of the room as she spoke with animation to those around her. She was filled with confidence and energy, someone who attracted people to her with minimal effort. Her smile was warm and infectious, and it enabled anyone to feel as though they had known her for a lifetime.

  What would it be like to have such power?

  “Miss Westfall.”

  She looked up at Mr. Dartmouth, arranging her smile into something more believable.

  “Yes?”

  Mr. Dartmouth returned her smile with a gentle one of his own. “I’ll have you know my wife likes you immensely, as well. And that was before Vale told us anything about you.”

  “What did he s-say?” she whispered, swallowing hard as her eyes went wide.

  Mr. Dartmouth opened his mouth, then paused as his eyes rose a little. He smiled curiously, then gestured. “I think he’s about to tell you.”

  Prue looked behind her to see Camden there, looking at her with an inscrutable expression.

  “Take a turn with me?” he suggested, his voice low.

  She nodded quickly and rose, turning to excuse herself, but Mr. Dartmouth had already left. She frowned after him, then turned back to Camden.

  He smiled a little, then gestured the way, strolling in the opposite direction from where the others had gone. “I’ve been thinking, Prue,” he mused.