Prue swallowed and glanced at her.
Izzy smiled gently, her blue-green eyes searching. “Do you want to write anything at all this time?”
“Don’t ask her that!” Charlotte protested hotly. “Of course she doesn’t want to write anything this time, but we need her to!”
“Charlotte,” Grace sighed, “do please pretend to have a heart, and kindly remember there are other people worth thinking about.”
Charlotte squawked in dismay, but Prue couldn’t bring herself to laugh at the obvious jab.
She couldn’t laugh at anything.
“Everyone!” Elinor gasped as she ran into the room. “You’ll never guess!”
“Undoubtedly,” Charlotte replied, recovered already from her offended airs. “I never guess anything where you are concerned.”
Elinor didn’t react to Charlotte’s comment, continuing further into the room, her eyes wide. “I was on Bond Street just now…”
“Just now?” Charlotte echoed. “You must have had a long run.”
Now Elinor glared at her, albeit briefly. “I saw Eliza Howard procuring her wedding trousseau! She’s going to be married next week, and she was just telling everybody with ears how fortunate she was, how blessed and delighted, and she smiled at me. It was awful, and then...”
Prue’s head dropped, her eyes burned, she tried to block out everything else Elinor was going to say. She didn’t need to hear it. She didn’t want to hear it.
Her mother hadn’t spoken to her again since that day she struck her unless it was to remind her of what she’d lost or to inform her of the details of Eliza’s upcoming nuptials. Her mother had completely given up on her, giving her the neglect Prue had always wanted, but with a coldness that took away any relief from it. Prue was less than nothing to her now.
Eliza should have been her daughter. Everything would have been better if she were.
Everyone would have been happier.
Prue suddenly felt her hand being taken from Izzy’s and tugged, and she looked up to see Georgie standing before her.
“Come on,” Georgie murmured, smiling with an understanding Prue didn’t comprehend. “We’re going for a walk.”
Prue let Georgie pull her from the sofa and lead her out of the room, the rest of the Spinsters surprisingly quiet as they left.
They collected their bonnets and gloves, and Tony, who had been taking his leisure in a nearby room, joined them as they departed the house. He smiled warmly at Prue, but said nothing, clearly letting his wife do as she pleased here.
Silently, they walked on, Georgie keeping her arm linked through Prue’s, Tony walking a few paces behind.
Prue let Georgie lead, unsure where they were going and not particularly caring. There was too much to feel, too much to think, too much to consume her for such cares. It was so much easier to not think or feel anything at all rather than live in the despair that had been her constant companion for two weeks.
Two weeks.
Ever since that night at Miranda Sterling’s ball when she had shown her bruises to Camden, when he had been so exquisitely tender with her, torn by what she had suffered, things had been different. He’d kept his promise to her of dancing with her, and had done so time and time again, making her smile and laugh, but there had been something else there. A hard edge. A false energy.
He had been pretending the entire night.
Pretending at what, she couldn’t say. The look in his eyes had been enough to soothe her, to drive away her anxieties…
To make her hope…
He had worshipped her with gentle kisses in the study, and when he had taken her home, at Miranda’s insistence, he had kissed her once more.
Just once.
That kiss had terrified her. The same hard edge he’d been trying to hide that night was alive and well in that kiss, though the aching sweetness of it had not been lessened. Prue thought at the time that she had imagined it, but it had felt very much as though he were bidding her farewell in the only manner he could have borne.
Now she knew better.
He had been.
She had not seen Camden for two weeks. He had not been at any of the events she had gone to. He had not responded to the messages she sent, though none of them had been returned. No morning walks, no unbearable interviews with her mother as chaperone, no flirtatious looks across rooms.
Nothing.
And people were beginning to talk.
Eliza was getting married next week, and she took every opportunity to lord over Prue with that fact.
“I told you, lamb,” she’d sneered only the other night. “I told you Vale was nothing but trouble and nothing serious. You should have minded your surroundings and situation. Now, I have the perfect match, and you can go back to sitting in corners. Waiting.”
She’d bleated mockingly before sweeping away to talk to her intended once more, who had been very kind to Prue since the engagement, treating her as if she were a younger sister, though still believing that Prue was suffering some great affliction and needed special care.
He deserved more pity than she did. He would be married to Eliza and have to endure her for the rest of his life. He would have to give her children and raise them with her as their mother. He would realize only too quickly what a gross error of judgment he had made, and how Eliza had manipulated him. Bitterness would rise, and they would be miserable for the rest of their natural existences.
Meanwhile, Prue would have her estate and her fortune, free to do as she pleased at any given time.
Alone.
Her mother was now speaking of leaving Prue without chaperone or guidance and moving in with her sister, leaving London with them at the end of the Season. She would close up the London house, and Prue would have to take herself off to the Hertfordshire estate and manage on her own, “as she is apparently so capable of doing”.
Hertfordshire would be a blessed reprieve from London.
Lonely, but better.
“Lord bless you, Prudence Westfall,” Georgie sighed from beside her. “I don’t know how you’re managing any of this.”
Prue forced a small smile. “Same as you would have done, I expect. One f-foot in front of the other.”
Georgie rubbed her arm. “Yes, but I would have made a lot more noise about it.”
Tony snorted softly behind them in agreement.
“I’m not particularly noisy,” Prue reminded her. “Nothing I do is loud.”
Georgie pulled her across the street and into Hyde Park, and it seemed that all of the people walking by stared at the three of them, and at Prue in particular.
“I can’t bear this,” Prue hissed, her voice catching. “They all s-stare, they all kn-know…”
“Hush,” Georgie murmured rubbing her arm again. “It’ll pass.”
It wouldn’t pass. It would always hang around her neck, become part of who she was, draw attention and comment…
“I miss Cam,” Prue found herself gasping, a hand going to her suddenly throbbing chest.
Georgie made a pained noise beside her and pulled Prue closer to her. “Oh, lamb, I know. I know you do.”
Prue’s lip quivered dangerously. “Why has he left me? Why won’t he see me? Have I… have I been mistaken in him?”
“No,” Georgie told her firmly. “No. Absolutely not. Camden Vale is a good man, and he cares for you very much. Anybody could see that.”
“But he’s not here.” Prue shook her head, exhaling roughly. “He’s not here. He said he would be here to s-save me, and yet…”
“Then you might need to save yourself, love. And you might need to save him.”
Prue paused a step, looking over at her friend. “Save him? From what?”
Georgie looked over her shoulder at her husband. “Tony, come and help me.”
Obediently, he came to Georgie’s side and took her hand, starting them all walking again. “A man like Vale has likely never known anyone like you,” Tony told Prue with a kind smile.
“He’s so used to going through his life without reference to anyone, and his temper, nature, and emotions were his own to contend with.”
Prue nodded slowly, considering his words. “Distance,” she murmured.
“What was that?” Georgie asked, her brow knitting.
“Distance,” Prue said again with a clearing of her throat. “Mariah Turner, she told me that when Cam gets too overcome, too extended beyond his comforts, he opts for distance. Safety in distance until he is settled.”
Tony reared back a little, surprised. “Does he?” He inclined his head in thought. “I can see the benefit in that. Wreaks havoc on those in his life, but in reality, it’s a healthy act of self-preservation.” He glanced at Prue again with a sheepish smile. “Men are more complicated than we should be, and not always the most logical of creatures.”
Georgie scoffed a little but leaned into her husband all the same.
“I wonder,” Prue said softly, looking out over the park, “if it was all too much. My mother, my cousin, my situation… me… Was it all too much to endure?”
“No,” Georgie and Tony said together.
Prue smiled at them. “You are very kind friends, but you’ll forgive me if I doubt you.”
“Then listen to this, Prue,” Tony responded, rather fervent in his expression. “With the right woman, any man worth his salt would jump at a chance with her, no matter what unpleasant complications would come with it. You might not have seen it, but everyone else could see the difference in Vale when he was with you, and after spending time with you. You changed him, and very much for the better. If he is choosing distance now, then he may be overwhelmed with whatever it is that you make him feel. In that way, perhaps, he is not so unlike you.”
“Me?” Prue shook her head, bewildered and lost. “How?”
Georgie was nodding to herself, smiling a little. “When you feel too much, you panic. You cannot manage your anxieties and emotions and everything pressing in on you. Perhaps Camden has the same difficulty, but his distance is the way he recovers. The way he gathers himself. The way he finds his way out.”
Prue blinked unsteadily, wondering at this revelation. Could it be possible that the problem was not that Camden did not care, but that he cared too much?
Could his distance be a sign of this?
He was finding his own way through the haze and mist of his own demons and emotions, and she knew only too well how difficult it was to endure such chaos without assistance. Without someone who knew the way and could guide them.
Without someone who loved them enough to wade into it together.
“I love him,” Prue breathed as a wave of warmth washed over her, sending ripples of pleasure and pain across her skin. “I… I love him.”
Georgie smiled at her, and Tony chuckled. “I already knew that, Prue,” Georgie told her, tugging on her arm a little. “I was just waiting for you to realize it.”
Prue laughed in breathless disbelief as wonder filled her. Then it all plummeted again as agony clutched at her heart. “Oh, Lord, I miss him so much,” she whispered. “How can I bear it?”
Tony stepped back again, letting Georgie have this moment with Prue.
Georgie sighed and moved her arm to encircle Prue’s shoulders. “You bear it the same way you bear everything else, Prue. One foot in front of the other. One day at a time. I don’t know how you’ll manage everything, but I do know that you will. Do you have any idea how strong you are? How brave?”
Prue shook her head. It was impossible, she wasn’t any of those things.
“Oh, that’s just not going to do at all,” Georgie groaned. “I can see you’re going to need to spend more time with me until you do. Things will be hell for you until Eliza leaves. Why don’t you come stay with us? Your mother shouldn’t mind, I’m a respectable and married woman now.”
“I would love to,” Prue murmured as tears welled up.
Georgie nodded, smiling. “Excellent. Because if you said no, I was going to have to resort to sending Miranda to fetch you, and that might have gotten out of hand.”
Prue laughed, the tightness in her chest easing slightly. “Oh, Georgie… what would I do without you?”
“Haven’t the faintest,” Georgie quipped lightly. “After all, it was me who told you to kiss Camden properly, and I daresay he was worth that effort.”
“You did what?” Tony cried from behind them.
Prue and Georgie giggled and walked on, Tony shaking his head as he followed.
She loved Camden Vale.
The fact didn’t solve anything, didn’t take away the ache of his absence or the pain of her family’s contempt, but it did make the day a little brighter.
And for now, that was enough.
“I hope you know what you’re doing.”
Camden looked up from his fourth reading of the latest issue of The Spinster Chronicles to find his sister in the doorway. “How did you get in here?”
Lydia gave him an utterly derisive look, which was probably where he had learned to do it. “I knocked. Butler answered. I walked in.”
He glowered at her. “I don’t recall inviting you.”
“I don’t recall needing an invitation.”
He scowled and returned his attention to the paper. “Did you bring Chadwick?”
“Not this time. He’s busy with Mr. Andrews and some others at the Foreign Office.” Lydia swept into the room and sat herself down in the armchair near him.
Camden looked up at her again. “Foreign Office? Why do they want Chadwick?”
Lydia raised a brow. “I don’t know if you know this, darling, but my husband is brilliant. Quite remarkable. Many people seek him out. And you know he doesn’t have the body of a scholar, so…”
“And now you should go,” Camden interrupted, widening his eyes as he stared back down at the newssheet.
His sister scoffed loudly. “Oh, really, as if I would go so quickly when I have so much to say.”
“Oh, good.”
“Are you going to listen?”
“Probably not.”
“Very well. I’ll wait.”
An uneasy silence stretched on, the only sound the ticking of the clock on the mantle. Camden tried to read the Fashion Forum, though he did not care about its contents at all. He only wanted to figure out, if he could, which segment Prue had written. There was never any regularity with authors and particular segments, as far as he knew, and she rarely told him which one hers was. But this was all he had of her now, and he was desperate for any glimpse into her state.
It was the most horrendous, poignant, unbearable torment he could ever have devised for himself, keeping himself away from her. He had attended very few events in the last two weeks, preferring to either go to his club or remain at home instead. He’d declined to attend a dinner party at the Sterlings, which could have been disastrous, as he genuinely liked both of them, and were it not for seeing Henshaw at the club two days after, he would never have known that Prue had declined as well, thereby negating his lack of attendance somewhat.
Henshaw hadn’t told him anything else, but he was not particularly close with Prue any more than he was any of the Spinsters, apart from Georgie.
No one could tell him anything.
Dart and Phillip told him their wives had seen Prue at various functions and spoken to her, and that Prue had not looked well at all. She had stammered a little, but they had learned not to mind that.
Camden minded. He should have been there to help her, to see that she was comfortable and safe, to diffuse that anxiety that made her stammer. He didn’t mind the stammer; he minded what it meant.
Prue was unwell. And he had done that.
“Cam, you look like death.”
He looked at Lydia, having momentarily forgotten that she was there. She looked at him with some concern, yet her expression held a good deal of scolding.
“Do I?” he asked, also forgetting to be indignant.
She gestured at his face.
“You have not one, but two black eyes. Yes, you look like death.”
He touched the still-sensitive skin and winced. “Yes, well, I wasn’t entirely prepared for Mr. Gallagher’s blows. But I thrashed him well and won the bout.”
Lydia rolled her eyes. “You always win.”
“True.”
“Were you fighting with more than just your pride to motivate you?”
He did not feel the need to reply, though the memory of the fight still played in his mind. Yes, he had been fighting harder than usual, nearly outside of his head with rage and guilt, fury and anguish, everything he had pent up and left unsaid. Gallagher hadn’t entirely deserved the brutality of the fight, but there was nothing for it.
Lydia didn’t need to know that.
She made a loud tsking sound and turned in her chair, curling her legs under her as she had done when they were children. “What are you doing, Camelot?”
The sound of her pet name for him almost undid him, made him confess everything, but he bit back the impulse and bit his tongue as well. “Reading.”
Lydia’s mouth drew up on one side. “No, you’re not. Your eyes weren’t moving at all.” She cocked her head and propped it on a hand, resting her elbow on the armrest. “Tell me, Cam.”
“Tell you what?” he inquired blandly.
“Tell me why you are letting everyone in London believe that you have tossed Prue over,” Lydia snapped. She quirked her brows in suggestion. “Her vile cousin is getting married soon, and everybody is talking about how Davies was supposed to marry Prue, but you were too distracting, and now you’ve done with her. She’s been left for the vultures of Society, and she’ll be picked over by anybody in search of a fortune.”
Camden’s jaw tightened, and the paper crinkled in his hands. “I didn’t throw her over.”
“No?” Lydia seemed to doubt that very much, and she drummed her fingers against her cheek. “Because I haven’t seen the pair of you together in almost three weeks, and neither has anybody else.”
Camden swallowed, wishing he didn’t feel a surge of guilt. “I’m only maintaining distance. Until the fuss over her cousin is over.”
“Does Prue know that?”
He shook his head, looking back at the paper, pretending to read again. “I thought it best to let it proceed naturally.”
The Spinster and I (The Spinster Chronicles, Book 2) Page 25
