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

by Rebecca Connolly

  “Stop,” Prue wheezed, laughing harder. “Oh, Cam, stop…”

  He grinned down at her. “Too far?”

  She clamped down on her lips. “Probably,” she eventually managed. “I should feel guilty.”

  “But you don’t.”

  She gave him a sly look. “But I don’t.”

  Lord, the things she could do to him with a look. He suddenly felt as though he were the one who stammered, and she the one to steady him.

  “Four things, Cam,” Prue murmured, still smiling in that way that drove him mad.

  “Four things?” he repeated. “Are you nervous?”

  She shook her head. “Curious.”

  Curious, was she? Well then…

  Four things. Four things… At the moment, it would be four things about her, and that wouldn’t have done at all.

  He cleared his throat and looked around quickly, taking in the tapestry covered alcove they walked past on their path to the boxes. “You see those alcoves?”

  She looked, and nodded, her brow knitting in confusion.

  “Some people,” he murmured, lowering his voice, “find ways to sneak into one. Usually intrepid couples, mind you. If I were so inclined, I might venture there with you. Then I would kiss those sweet lips of yours over and over and over. And then I’d kiss your cheeks, your eyes, and your throat… All while the opera played on, and no one would know. Four things to kiss, and such a length of time to do so.”

  Prue’s cheeks were scarlet now, and her breathing was as ragged as if she had run a great distance. She swallowed hard, her eyes going wide, and she put her hand to her throat, looking away.

  “That was simply four things I thought you ought to know,” he said, feeling a trifle ashamed of himself for making her embarrassed. It had been a stupid idea, telling her exactly what he’d been thinking, what he was imagining… She didn’t need any further reason to believe he was not right for her, but he’d just given her several.

  Prue swallowed again, her hand still at her throat.

  Camden scrambled for anything to say, any thought to put her at ease, any new topic. He couldn’t take it back. That would be a great perjury, and he refused to let her believe he didn’t feel that drawn to her. But what to say…?

  “It’s for the best that we’re in company,” he settled on, his pulse racing anxiously.

  She looked over at him, her eyes not quite reaching his. “Oh?”

  He nodded sagely, relieved that she was at least speaking to him. “It’s not wise to be alone with me. I’ve been told I’m no gentleman.”

  “Nobody told me that,” she told him, her color beginning to recede.

  He snorted. “They should have.”

  Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Prue smile a little. “That would require them to tell me anything.”

  He chuckled at that, and then the realization struck him that Prue hadn’t stammered after his outrageous comments.

  Not once.

  “Now I wish we were alone,” Prue whispered beside him, sighing softly.

  Camden lifted his eyes to the painted ceiling and prayed for the strength to endure.

  Prue couldn’t believe what she had said, now that she was seated in their box and waiting for the opera to start.

  Of course, she couldn’t believe what Camden had said either, but the picture he had painted in her mind was now permanently etched there.

  And she wanted it.

  Her cheeks flushed with heat at her admission. It was not proper, and it was not right, and it was not something one admitted out loud. She ought to have kept her mouth shut. She couldn’t encourage him, or this, or her own wild imaginations.

  Still, if he wanted to sneak her away to kiss in an alcove…

  She shook her head firmly. No, that was enough. She was a spinster, she reminded herself, and men like him did not actually want to take spinsters into alcoves, particularly if they were shy and stammering and didn’t even know how to kiss properly.

  Camden did not seem the sort of man who said things he did not mean, but she didn’t know for sure. He had been truthful with her from the start, she thought, and he’d given her no reason to suspect anything otherwise.

  The fact that she was living in a sort of dream world these days, with his attentions and looks and kisses, muddled all of that.

  Who was Camden Vale really?

  Who had he been?

  Would he actually want her?

  Could he?

  “May I sit beside you, Miss Westfall?” Mrs. Turner asked gently, coming around to the front of Prue’s seat.

  Prue smiled weakly and nodded. “Please.”

  She sat and smiled at the stage. “I’ve always loved the theater. I can’t even say why, as I’ve only lived in London as a married woman. But I imagined great theatricals at home, and I would be a grand star of the stage.”

  Prue smiled at the thought. “Where are you from?”

  “Sussex,” came the soft reply. She turned to glance at Prue ruefully. “My father was a ship captain. I was raised by him and my four brothers, so you can only imagine how ladylike I was.”

  “I’ve never been to Sussex,” Prue murmured aloud, her gaze turning distant.

  Mrs. Turner covered her hand gently, and Prue brought her attention back to her. Mrs. Turner smiled warmly. “We’ll go for a visit.” She winked and sat back. “You can see my very first stage.”

  “I never had a stage,” Prue admitted, looking at the one before them. “I would be terrified to even pretend at anything like that.”

  Mrs. Turner chuckled, and it was a warm, gentle sound. “Oh, I pretended all sorts of things. I would have been dreadful, though. I cannot bear criticism. Which is why I clashed with my husband so furiously when we first met.”

  Prue looked at her in surprise. Mrs. Turner caught it and laughed again. “I was a right ruffian, make no mistake,” she told her. “Not as far gone as I could have been, thank goodness, but certainly not the proper woman I am now.”

  A soft snort behind them made them both turn, and Mr. Turner was staring at his wife with a sardonic look, smirking to himself.

  She narrowed her eyes at him, then blew him a kiss, which made him smile. Then she turned back to Prue. “It was all very serendipitous, and I won’t get into details, but we came to London with my brothers, and I went to my very first real theatrical…” She sighed fondly, meeting Prue’s eyes. “That’s how I met Camden, actually.”

  Now Prue’s interest was piqued. “Indeed?”

  Mrs. Turner nodded quickly, her smile turning wry. “We met all of Phillip’s friends. All three of them.”

  “I beg your pardon?” her husband protested.

  “Beg away,” she quipped, keeping her eyes on Prue.

  Prue smiled at the easy banter, finding she ached for such ease, warmth, and fun herself.

  “Camden is a rascal,” Mrs. Turner said bluntly, keeping her voice down, “but the sort of rascal one loves rather than abhors. He’s not nearly as wicked as anybody says, you know.”

  Prue glanced over at Camden, who was conversing with Mr. Dartmouth and Mr. Chadwick. “I wondered about that.”

  “Oh, no one would be friends with him if he was that bad,” Mrs. Turner scoffed, waving a hand. “He’s difficult, to be sure, but only because he is a complicated man. I had a trying time of it with him once.”

  “Mariah,” her husband warned softly.

  She turned a little and smiled at him. “It’s all right. I’ve asked Camden, and he said I could share this.”

  Mr. Turner nodded and sat back, folding his arms.

  Prue looked at Mrs. Turner with interest, wondering what she could possibly have to share.

  “I had made a friend in my short time in London,” Mrs. Turner told Prue in a low tone. “Anne Bennett. Charming girl, very pretty and quite accomplished, but without any of the airs one like her usually had. After Phillip and I married and returned from our wedding trip, I returned to London to hear that she h
ad been compromised by Camden Vale, ruined beyond any hope of repair, and that he would not marry her.”

  Prue’s eyes went wide. Such a rumor, even if it were not true, could easily ruin anyone. It was astonishing that Camden had not been forced to marry her.

  Mrs. Turner smiled a little. “I was irate, as you can probably imagine. I didn’t know Camden well at all, and I knew Anne would never have done something so foolish without certain promises. So, I marched myself down to Camden’s house, where Phillip already was, and I punched Camden right across the face.” She grinned briefly. “My brothers taught me well.”

  Prue returned her smile, but hesitantly.

  “Phillip was aghast,” Mrs. Turner added with a laugh. “He said, ‘Mariah! We’d already settled things!’ And I replied, ‘I hadn’t.’ And Camden looked up at me from the ground, not even put out, and said, ‘Are you settled now?’” Mrs. Turner laughed to herself now, shaking her head. “I told him ‘Only a little’.” She sobered and gave Prue a very earnest look. “He had nothing to do with Anne’s situation. He wasn’t involved in any way. Not even close. But revealing the truth of the situation was not going to help anything, and Camden knew that. So, he let the rumors press on, knowing that he was not at fault, and that Anne was being taken care of as best as she could be, under the circumstances. It was better, in his mind, that he be painted as a villain than make matters worse.”

  Prue’s throat tightened, and she fought to swallow, wishing she was brave enough to ask what really happened. But it was not her place to ask, nor was it Mrs. Turner’s to tell. It was not their story.

  But Camden…

  “I’ve loved Camden dearly ever since,” Mrs. Turner finished, looking over at him with a fond smile. “He tries my patience, and everyone else’s, as evidenced by the rift between him and Phillip, and he and Dart, before this. He will always choose distance when emotions are too high for him to manage. When he fought with them, he chose distance. And when he was ready, he came back.”

  Prue watched Camden as he laughed at something Mr. Chadwick said, seeming so much more at ease than he had been when she’d first met him. He was a complicated, confusing, captivating man, and she couldn’t fathom such a man wanting to be with her in any way. There was so much to him. So much depth and feeling and heart, so much humor and wit, so much…

  So very much.

  And she wanted it. She wanted him.

  She swallowed uneasily and brought her suddenly misty eyes back to Mrs. Turner, who was smiling at her. “He’s one of the good ones, isn’t he?”

  Mr. Turner leaned forward and put a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “My dear Miss Westfall, take it from me. He is one of the best.” His smile turned crooked. “But don’t tell him I said that.”

  She shook her head quickly. “Never.”

  Mrs. Turner laughed and looked over her shoulder. “Julia, come over here and help me regale Miss Westfall with stories of our husbands and Camden and their misspent youth!”

  “Coming!” Julia laughed, moving towards them.

  “Me too!” Lydia cried. “I’ve got plenty!”

  The men groaned in chorus, and the women laughed.

  Mrs. Turner giggled and covered Prue’s hand with her own. “First things first, call me Mariah.”

  Prue nodded and glanced over at Camden, who was watching her, smiling her very favorite smile.

  Her breath caught, and then, very slowly, she returned it.

  Chapter Eighteen

  How we react to challenges and situations is indicative of our very nature. Take care, therefore, to respond in a manner befitting you. Overreaction is not wise, no reaction is not helpful, but a perfect reaction is rare, indeed.

  -The Spinster Chronicles, 27 March 1818

  Prue heard the frantic steps in the hall before she normally would have. Sprawled out as she was on her bed, reading upside down, she paused, listening closer.

  No one was supposed to be home. Her mother was on a rare outing with her sister, and Camden had walked with her already that morning.

  That was one of the main reasons she had been spending this time in her room and on her bed. He’d found a secluded spot in the garden away from her mother’s view and stolen a kiss, which Prue had been only too happy to allow. Even now, her lips tingled with the memory of his on hers, and her heart skipped in delight.

  He held her hand as they walked, entwining their fingers, sometimes taking her gloves off to hold her bare hand with his own, and the heat that swirled between them on those occasions was almost unbearable. He was adoring, sweet, kind, teasing, and encouraging, everything she had never expected to find in any man, let alone in one like him.

  And when they were with his friends, he was droll, sarcastic, engaging, and sometimes scowling, always finding a way to make the others laugh. In those times, he never forgot Prue, whether it be frequent looks and smiles, a hand at her back, holding her hand under the table, or even sending her little notes via footman, as he had done last night at his sister’s dinner.

  She’d never felt this giddy anticipation, this helpless smile that was a near-constant accessory, and this deep, strong connection to another soul. She felt confident with him, safe and strong, and was growing less and less fearful, though she still had her moments. The Spinsters had noticed Prue’s change, but they weren’t talking about it. They only smiled or giggled, which made her blush, which made them giggle more, and the cycle repeated.

  The only one not pleased with all of this was her mother, who had not barred Camden’s courtship, but her criticisms of Prue had come back in full force.

  They hadn’t seen Eliza in some time, which had been a blessed relief, but it concerned her mother a great deal. Perhaps she had been listening to the malicious lies Eliza had been spreading about Prue’s being simple and unable to properly communicate with anyone, or whatever it was that Eliza had turned it all into. Prue had lost track. With Camden courting her, the throng of potential admirers had decreased significantly, and she was ever so grateful.

  Still, the footsteps reaching her ears sounded harsh and strident, and if the sound of shaking beads were any indication, it was her mother, returned early from her errand with her sister.

  Prue sat up quickly, snapping shut her book and setting it on the nightstand. She brushed her fingers through her unbound hair and waited, hoping her mother would pass by.

  The door to her bedchamber swung open, crashing against the wall with a loud thump.

  Her mother stood in the doorway, eyes large and wild, breathing unsteady, face as colored as Prue’s had ever been. Her feathered hat was awry, the knot of the ribbons tight and decidedly askew, while strands of her graying hair dangled out of their pins. She trembled with rage, the beads around her neck and sewn into her bodice rattling anxiously.

  Her dark eyes took in Prue on her bed, her glower increasing.

  “Mother…?” Prue asked hesitantly, sliding from the bed.

  “Don’t speak,” her mother clipped, her voice thin. “Don’t.”

  Prue swallowed, nodding once.

  “Just listen,” her mother added, her tone rising in pitch as though Prue had dared to reply.

  Prue waited, her hands balling up nervously at her sides.

  Her mother inhaled briefly, but very audibly. “Do you know where I have just been?”

  Prue nodded.

  “With your aunt. In Bond Street. She said she needed a new gown.”

  Oh dear. Had Aunt Howard gone down in measurements while her mother had increased? It had happened before, and always put her in a foul temper. Nothing quite this severe, but perhaps it had been a trying day.

  Her mother’s lip curled into an almost smile, though her widened, crazed eyes negated any warmth in it. “Do you know what the gown was being commissioned for, Prudence?”

  “N-no,” Prue stammered, mentally wincing at the sound.

  As she feared, her mother inhaled sharply again. “Don’t stammer! And don’t answer!”

&
nbsp; She knew that. She knew better, but she couldn’t help it.

  “The dress my sister needed,” her mother went on, her voice growing even more reedy, “was for a wedding. Whose wedding?”

  Oh no… Oh no…

  Her mother nodded slowly, her wild eyes fixed on Prue with too much intensity. “Your cousin, Eliza.”

  As Prue only had one cousin, that was not a necessary clarification. But she was not about to do anything to further agitate her mother.

  “And to whom,” her mother went on, practically spitting her words now, “do you think that your cousin Eliza, your beautiful, kind, accomplished, perfect cousin is going to be wed?”

  Prue stood there, frozen, terrified to suggest anyone at all.

  Her mother sneered slowly, dangerously. “Mr. Charles Davies, Prudence. Mr. Charles Davies. The man who at one time was very particularly keen on marrying you.”

  Prue’s jaw dropped, and she sank onto the foot of her bed, her mind whirling.

  Eliza had taken the man who had been pursuing Prue, the only one with any potential at all, in anyone’s eyes but Prue’s, and not only twisted him against courting Prue in any way but had also managed to turn him towards herself.

  It was the perfect manipulation.

  If Prue had had any interest in Mr. Davies at all, it would have been crushing.

  “Do you know, Prudence,” her mother continued, her hands tightening, “how many people have congratulated me on the prospect of Mr. Davies for a son-in-law? How many people thought he would make you a fine husband? Do you know how many people I have discussed your attachment to him with?”

  She’d done what? There was no attachment with Prue and Mr. Davies! There had never been anything but a short acquaintance and the shared experience of Tinley House! He had never made any comments or suggestions about pursuing a courtship, and her mother had been spreading that around? Prue was courting Camden! He was her suitor!