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

by Rebecca Connolly

  She matched his pace and looked up at him. “About?”

  “You,” he said simply, his tone light. “I don’t see any need for you to marry.”

  Prue bit the inside of her lip as her heart skipped a beat. “No?”

  Camden shook his head. “Truly, there is no need. You have a fortune regardless of your marital state, and it is entirely probable that with your marriage, your husband would gain that fortune himself. The property would be yours, but what is the property without the funds to manage it? Unmarried, you are independent and free, able to retain control of your assets.”

  She listened carefully, trying not to let the words feel like a lash upon her soul. It was all so business-like, so cold and impersonal. As if the only reason anyone should marry was for security or convenience. As if matters of the heart had little significance. As if he had no personal interest in any of it.

  He was advising her rather like a solicitor would.

  “It’s all so much work,” Camden went on. “This courting business, I mean. Too many suitors who just want that fortune and have little respect for you. And if we found you decent suitors, you would still lose the fortune to them, and what if their affections changed? Not a fair prospect for a sweet girl like you.”

  Why was he doing this? Why was he talking to her in this distant, formal tone? It was nothing like the gentle, caring man who had held her in his arms after an attack until she was better. Her Camden was not here, and a stranger was in his place.

  And yet, she felt the warmth of him, the vibrancy in his step, the heady pull of his essence beside her.

  Her throat burned with unspoken emotion.

  “But I want to be married,” she heard herself whisper.

  Camden’s step stuttered, shuffling a bit. “Do you?”

  Prue nodded, her cheeks flushing. “Not for security, or for any sort of status, but because I would love to run my own household. I would love to have children and take tea with the other married ladies. And how much better would it be to marry a man I was fond of, someone who wouldn’t find my difficulties so trying, someone to grow old with, raise our children together…” Her voice faded out, and she swallowed twice. “I don’t imagine finding love, but a lifetime of companionship in that way would be… most pleasant, I think.”

  Camden said nothing as he walked beside her, his brow slightly furrowed.

  She had said too much; she had gone too far. He didn’t want to hear about her fancies, he was only trying to do right by her for the sake of duty and honor. There was nothing…

  “You should have that.”

  Now, it was Prue whose steps stuttered, and she looked at him in surprise. “What?”

  He nodded to himself. “You should have it. Everything you just said, it’s the perfect ideal. And you should have it.” He suddenly shook his head, stopping. “I can’t do this.”

  Prue’s heart slammed against several ribs, and her breath caught. “What?”

  His eyes met hers, and she saw a strange sort of turmoil in them. “I can’t do this. Any of it.”

  Her bruised heart threatened to crumble into pieces, and she prayed she could remain composed somehow.

  “Prue, I want to court you for real. Not for show.”

  She blinked slowly, unaware of any heart or thought at all. “Why?” she breathed, unsure if she meant why or what or how. He couldn’t be serious, he couldn’t mean…

  He reached out and stroked her cheek gently, his eyes dark and intense and filled with emotion. “Because this isn’t something I can pretend any longer. Not when it’s real.”

  Prue looked around quickly, stunned that they seemed to have walked out of the room and into a quiet corridor. She looked back up at Camden, her breath hitching as his thumb stroked her jaw. “W-when what’s real?”

  “My feelings,” he murmured, seeming unaware of the effect his fingers had against her skin. “For you.”

  Her knees started to quiver as his touch created a heat that began to spread across the terrain of her body. “Oh…”

  “May I court you, Prudence Westfall?” he asked as his hand cradled her face. “Just to see what happens when it’s real?”

  She nodded the most pathetic, jerky sort of nod. “N-no promises, th-though.”

  He chuckled softly, the sound sending more ripples across her skin. “What am I going to do with you, Prue?” he murmured, his fingers wandering to her ear, her jaw, very gentle and light, and stoking a fire within her.

  “I… I… I d-don’t kn-know w-what you m-mean,” she managed, the stammer worse than it had ever been with him as her breath and sense struggled to keep up.

  He noticed and cupped her face gently with both hands. “Nervous, sweetheart? Why?”

  Prue tried to think of a reason, but all she could say was, “Y-you.”

  Camden smiled a warm and tender smile. “That’s more like it.”

  He bent his head and pressed his lips to hers, slow and lingering and tender, caressing her untutored lips until they relaxed against his. Prue’s fingers wandered to his coat, flailing weakly for balance, and then grasping the fabric as she felt herself responding, somehow finding her way amidst the deluge of sensation.

  Camden nibbled at her lips with steady patience, drawing her closer and closer, sending her senses reeling as they swirled under his influence. She could only hold onto him, trembling in a sea she did not understand, wishing for more yet fearing the same. But he was there, steadying her, guiding her, kissing her with reverence, her own lips eager but untrained.

  There was so much… so much…

  She sighed weakly against him, and he pulled back with one final, grazing kiss.

  Dreamily, Prue opened her eyes and stared into his dark ones, wondering that she could breathe at all after that.

  Camden smiled, seeming a bit breathless himself. “What shy creature?” he whispered.

  Prue laughed once, and, finding that impish side, tugged on his coat once more.

  And Camden kissed her again.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Truth will out, they say. Well, out with the truth, I say, and let the gossip commence!

  -The Spinster Chronicles, 2 January 1818

  The true courtship of one Prudence Westfall by one Camden Vale was far more enjoyable than the pretend one had been, which surprised Camden to no end.

  Who would have thought that he would have enjoyed courting in earnest?

  It didn’t occur to him tell anyone that their courtship was not for show any longer, for the people that knew of that arrangement would find out for themselves soon enough, given the familiarity they now embraced with each other. The public had never known about the pretend nature of the first, so they would not know any differently.

  Only he and Prue knew that there was no game any longer.

  This was real.

  Terrifying, nerve-wracking, and delightfully real.

  They’d only been at it for a week, and already he was feeling far and away lighter, happier, more fulfilled. It was impossible for him to do anything but smile when he was around Prue, to look anywhere else, to think of anything else…

  And she was somehow more remarkable than he’d ever imagined.

  She was playful, even flirtatious with him at times, and he felt more knocked about by it each and every time. She looked at him from across the room, her eyes a mixture of amusement and understanding, which mystified him, as he wasn’t quite sure what they were understanding. They both felt it, whatever it was, but its definition was lost amidst the melee of everything else.

  It didn’t matter; not now.

  He was just going to enjoy this time with her, this shockingly alive sensation he felt all the time, and ride it out for as long as he could.

  And tonight, he was going to introduce her to his friends. Properly.

  Oh, she’d met them, certainly, but in company. Other people had taken away from the time they could have spent getting to know each other well, and he wanted something more i
ntimate and enjoyable for all of them.

  Another night at the theater.

  Prue adored the theater, for whatever reason, and it was easy enough to arrange a box. He’d invited the Turners, the Dartmouths, and Lady Edith as a comfort measure for Prue, but Lady Edith had declined with all politeness.

  He’d gotten to know the rest of the Spinsters remarkably well for such a short period of time, but Lady Edith was another matter. She was almost never seen in Society, and so Camden never saw her unless she had chosen to attend a small event. She was the same spirited woman he’d met that day at Prue’s home, which did not account for her lack of presence elsewhere.

  He’d have asked Prue about it, but he tended to forget a great deal when he was with her.

  At the moment, she was on her way to the theater in the company of his sister and Chadwick. He’d have gone to get her himself, but Lydia had assured him that it was absolutely improper for him to do so, and she, as chaperone, would see to it.

  Camden wasn’t entirely sure how effective his sister would be as a chaperone on any given day, but there was no arguing with her.

  He only wanted to be the one to greet Prue, to see her face, to catch the telltale glimpses that all was not well. She might be too collected to give those away when she arrived, and he would never know.

  Mrs. Westfall was growing more and more anxious about Prue’s chances with Mr. Davies and had sent her to the modiste this week for more gowns, more finery, more anything that she could get. Prue had dutifully gone, taking Amelia Perry with her, and Camden had happened upon them both there. It was a painstaking process, and one that he would undoubtedly avoid in the future, but he and Amelia had managed to turn it into a more comedic opportunity for Prue. He had no idea what she had actually come away with, nor did it actually matter.

  What mattered was Prue’s state of mind and state of being.

  Eliza Howard had been remarkably reserved of late, and they all wondered at it. There were no indications that she was in any way acting against Prue, and she certainly did not consider Camden a viable suitor, which was undoubtedly why she had never tried to turn him against her.

  She would have had a devil of a time managing that.

  Prue was an angel, and no one would ever be able to convince him otherwise.

  And she kissed with an enthusiasm that weakened him.

  He’d never kissed anyone as innocent as Prue before, but it seemed the greatest misfortune of his life now. Not that any woman would have managed it with the same sweetness that she had, and it would have made him the cad that everybody presumed he was, but it was a very revealing experience. He’d taken great care not to overwhelm her, knowing how new this all would be for her, but the truth of the matter was that this was all very new for him, as well.

  No kiss had ever tasted that way. No woman had ever distracted him this much. No dreams had ever been so poignant as the dreams he had of Prue.

  He’d wanted to kiss her every minute of every day since that night at his sister’s, but he’d only managed two since then.

  Patience was a virtue, but it was also a torment.

  If kisses had been food, he would be starving by now.

  He paced in the theater now, his mouth dry, his head throbbing. He’d seen Prue this morning, for heaven’s sake, as they had taken a morning walk together, and yet he felt as though it had been a lifetime.

  “Is he creating a furrow for planting?” the bemused, lilting voice of Mariah Turner asked. “I don’t know what would grow in carpets.”

  “Cornflowers?” Julia Dartmouth suggested.

  A tsking sound answered her. “Those are hardy plants, to be sure, but I doubt they could grow in the London climate.” Phillip’s voice chuckled a little. “Any more and he’ll have dug himself under the Thames.”

  “I’ll sink you in it in a moment,” Camden growled, turning to face the elegant ensemble behind him.

  The ladies both wore shades of blue, Mariah’s vibrant and bold, Julia’s muted and elegant. Their husbands were perfect counterparts in their eveningwear, but no one would pay attention to them when the ladies provided such a picture.

  Camden bowed to the group. “Glad you could make it. Thank you for coming.”

  Dart and Phillip exchanged stunned looks. “He just thanked us,” Phillip pointed out.

  “And was polite,” Dart added.

  “He’s ill.”

  “Dying, probably.”

  “Oh, stop,” Julia chided, rapping her husband in the chest. “He’s fine.”

  Mariah scoffed softly, smirking at Camden. “Not at all. He’s nervous.”

  Everyone looked at him, and he scowled at her. “Must you be so perceptive, Mariah?”

  “I say that all the time,” Phillip sighed.

  “Don’t be nervous,” Julia soothed with a kind smile. “Miss Westfall will be charming, no need to fear for her anxieties.”

  “I don’t think it’s her anxieties he’s concerned about,” Dart murmured in a tone Camden barely caught.

  Camden clasped his hands behind his back, exhaling slowly. “Breathe in, breathe out…” he sighed.

  Phillip cocked his head. “What was that?”

  “Nothing.” Camden shook his head and started to pace again.

  “…and then he decided it was an opportune moment to tell Molly he could out-climb her in the trees behind the house. I’ve never seen him fall so hard in my life, and he used to fall quite a lot.”

  Camden turned to face the traitorous sound of his sister’s voice, eyes wide.

  Lydia had Prue by the arm and was waving with great enthusiasm as she told the story that would have her killed shortly. Pity, his sister looked rather well in her new, green silk.

  Chadwick followed the ladies, trying very hard not to smile, and failing. He might have to die, too, as he would try to avenge Lydia once Camden had wrung her neck.

  Camden looked at Prue then, and the beating of his heart faded into a faint cadence in his head.

  He’d said she was an angel; now she was dressed as one. A muslin of pure white, flowing like the clouds on a breeze, and the barest hint of gold detailing enhanced everything that ought to have been enhanced, taking her appearance from ethereal to absolutely celestial. She wore a simple gold chain around her slender throat. White and gold ribbons in her hair completed the look, elegant adornments an angel might have borne on earth. And the smile on her lips…

  Well, it would have given unholy temptation to any saint, before or after sainthood.

  “Breathe, Vale,” Dart muttered as he came to one side. “She’d not enjoy being courted by a corpse.”

  Camden released an embarrassingly loud gust of air, but no one paid any attention to him.

  How could they? There was an angel among them.

  Prue looked up at him then, and the twinkle in her eyes dissolved whatever remained of his knees. Her smile spread, and she dipped her chin at him.

  He swallowed and did the same.

  “Here we are at last,” Lydia said on a heavy sigh. “So sorry for the tardiness. Miranda Sterling’s carriage took up half the way, and then she just had to flutter all over Prue.”

  Camden and Prue both smiled. “She does that,” they said together, then laughed at their unison.

  “Well, that was adorable,” Chadwick said with a look at both of them.

  Lydia elbowed him sharply, but he didn’t seem to feel it.

  Odd. Camden seemed to recall Lydia being in possession of some very sharp elbows.

  “Do you know everyone, Prue?” Lydia asked, her attack on her husband forgotten.

  Prue shook her head, revealing her shyness at last.

  “I know you know the Dartmouths,” Lydia said, waving her fan at them. They bowed and curtseyed accordingly. “This is Mr. Phillip Turner and his wife, Mariah. Very old friends, though not as old as Dart.”

  “I’m not that old,” Dart protested plaintively, earning himself a sharp look from his wife.

  L
ydia rolled her eyes dramatically. “You don’t have to be acquainted with Dart, my dear. His wife is much better. Mr. Turner, on the other hand, you should know.”

  Phillip bowed with a broad smile. “I’m flattered, Lydia.”

  Mariah scoffed again. “I’d say she should know you to be forewarned, not for any sort of privilege.”

  Camden eyed Prue as she watched the couples interact, and her smile seemed to be quivering at the edges, as though she wanted to laugh but did not.

  That was a good sign.

  “It’s a p-pleasure to meet you,” she told the Turners, curtseying. She turned to Dart and Julia. “And very n-nice to see you again.”

  Her stammer had been there, but it was hardly noticeable. A surge of pride swelled within Camden, and he tried to tamp it down with as much cynicism as he could muster.

  Today, that was not much.

  “Shall we go up?” Chadwick asked the group. “At this rate, they’ll start without us, and Lydia cannot bear missing anything.”

  They all laughed, even Lydia, and proceeded towards the seats, Lydia taking her husband’s arm at last.

  Prue waited for them to pass, and Camden came to her, his eyes raking over her.

  “Good evening,” he managed, his voice rough.

  She blushed, and it made him smile. “Good evening.”

  He offered her his arm, and she took it, her eyes lowering to his cravat.

  His shy little thing. It was adorable and sweet, and it tickled somewhere in the center of his chest every time it was brought out.

  “How are you?” he asked, grateful to be alone with her for a few moments.

  Prue exhaled slowly. “Exceedingly glad to be away from home.”

  He winced a little. “Your mother?”

  She nodded once. “It’s getting worse. There are rumors that Charles Davies is courting Hope Charteress.”

  “That wouldn’t be wise,” Camden commented as they walked on. “She can’t recite the alphabet without help.”

  Prue snickered into her gloved hand, her eyes squeezing shut.

  “They’d have children who would have to be taught how to sneeze,” he went on as if it were a great concern, “and might not be able to walk in a straight line without direction, guidance, and someone to follow.”