“Naturally?” Lydia cried. “Breaking a girl’s heart is somehow natural to you?”
“I did not break her heart!” he exclaimed as he tossed the paper aside. He ran his fingers through his hair and rose, pacing the room. “I couldn’t do that, not to Prue.”
Lydia watched him pace incredulously. “What do you think happens when a girl forms an attachment, and the man in question abandons her?”
He glared at her quickly. “I have not abandoned her.”
His sister barked a callous laugh. “You are more naïve than I ever, ever thought you would be. You have abandoned her, Cam. She is dealing with the fallout of her cousin’s choices without you. She is bearing the brunt of Society’s pity for not only not securing a husband, but losing a prime suitor as well, again without you. She is managing to put on a brave face, knowing she is being gossiped about like never before. Without you. Because you left her there. In her hour of need, you left her.”
Camden snarled at his sister. “I should call you out.”
Lydia’s lip curled as she snarled back. “Do it. I’ll win.”
Unfortunately, that might have been true.
Camden stopped his pacing and drove the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I’m not abandoning her, Lydia. I’m trying to save her.”
“You’re trying to… what?” She shook her head and straightened up. “Explain that to me, if you please.”
He exhaled slowly and folded his arms. “Did you know her mother struck her?”
Lydia’s eyes widened, and her lips parted. “What?”
Camden nodded. “Because her cousin secured Davies and not Prue. She struck her across the face. Repeatedly. Prue had bruises from it. She was told that she was worthless, a disgrace to the family, and that no one would want her after this.”
Lydia didn’t move for a moment, then shot to her feet with a snarl and marched towards the door.
“Where are you going?” he demanded.
“To beat the tar out of that good-for-nothing, worthless excuse of a woman,” she snapped. “You can’t thrash her, it’s not proper, but I certainly can, and when I’m through…”
Camden grabbed Lydia by the arms and pulled her back. “No,” he told her in a surprisingly calm voice. “No.”
She paused, then nodded once. “You’re right. Mariah, then. She would do a much better job.”
With a laugh, Camden hugged his sister. “No, not Mariah, either. We’re not thrashing Mrs. Westfall, though it makes me glad you want to.”
Lydia reluctantly hugged him back, then moved to the chair once more. “Fine,” she grumbled, “but I don’t like it.” She shook her head, snorting rather like a horse, and looked up at him. “What does Prue’s mistreatment have to do with you?”
That brought a wince to Camden’s face. “It’s my fault,” he admitted, stunned at the swift vulnerability he felt lancing through him.
“How, pray tell?” his sister asked dubiously.
He shook his head. “If I hadn’t gotten in the way, she might have secured Davies. Then her mother wouldn’t have lashed out at her, and there might be some peace and contentment in her life.”
Lydia stared him as though he had quacked like a duck. “You cannot be serious. Why in the world would she want Charles Davies?”
Camden scowled, rubbing at his aching chest. “You don’t understand.”
“Don’t I?” she retorted. “Of the two of us, which one has had the experience of being a woman in search of a husband? Oh, that would be me.” She raised her hand as if he needed further indication. “I am well aware of the intricacies of that matter, I can assure you, though I did not have Prue’s fortune, nor her timidity. And even with that timidity, I can promise you that if she had wanted Mr. Davies, she would have secured Mr. Davies.”
“But I was in the way!” he protested, ignoring the sense in her words. “I was a distraction!”
“You are not that distracting, love,” she assured him sympathetically. “Andrews is a more attractive man, and more interesting. And what exactly were you in the way of? Did Prue have a man in mind for herself?”
Camden scowled. “No.”
“Ah ha.”
“But with me always being around,” he added, waving a finger at her, “I kept her from meeting other suitable candidates.”
“I’m assuming you’re not counting yourself as a suitable candidate,” Lydia said with another raised brow.
Again, he glared at her. “Obviously.”
She nodded. “Right. Continue with your rant.”
“Because of me, because of my reputation,” he went on, turning towards the window, “she didn’t have the chance to enjoy the prospect of any others. I pushed myself into her view, into her life, and when I should have been helping her find worthy men to have her, I spent the time indulging myself in flirtation. I was selfish. I didn’t think about Prue and how it would affect her. And now she has to cope with Eliza’s betrayal, and the speculation over her ties with me, given who I am and who I am rumored to be.” He shook his head, his throat constricting. “It’s so much worse for her because of me than it would have been otherwise.”
“Cam…”
“No,” he said quickly, cutting her off. “I am keeping my distance. I am forcing myself to stay away for her own good. For her sake. The sooner she can be rid of my influence, the sooner someone else can have a chance. Someone she deserves. Someone that will not give her the grief that I have given her. Distance, Lydia, to sever the ties between us without doing something unforgivable.”
Lydia said nothing behind him, and when he turned to see why, he saw her smiling rather peculiarly at him. A small, bemused, almost sad smile.
“What?” he prodded, no force at all behind the word.
Lydia shook her head slowly. “You’re in love. You love Prudence Westfall.”
He opened his mouth to deny it but found no desire to. He exhaled slowly through his nose and nodded once.
His sister’s smile grew, and she tilted her head at him. “Don’t you think that is what she deserves?”
She pushed up out of her chair and came to him, still shaking her head, and laid a hand alongside his cheek, looking deeply into his eyes.
“Look at that,” she murmured.
“What?” he asked after too much difficulty.
Lydia patted his cheek. “I’ve found a suitable candidate.” She dropped her hand and kissed his cheek, then left the room without another word.
Camden stared after his sister, more confused than ever.
She was wrong. He wasn’t suitable for Prue at all, and they would all see it soon. Once enough time had passed, it would be quite clear.
She was wrong.
She had to be.
Chapter Twenty
A woman in love is capable of remarkable things. Having never been such a woman, this writer isn’t quite sure what things, but it seems a fair thing to say.
-The Spinster Chronicles, 11 March 1816
“I can’t thank you enough for coming. It means a very great deal.”
“Well, I can’t sit at home all the time and be antisocial. Besides, keeping you company is no hardship.”
Prue smiled at Edith, delighted that she had accepted Georgie’s invitation to accompany them to the theater. It was the first time she could recall Edith doing anything so public, and while the woman did not look exactly at ease, her discomfort was not obvious.
She was a beautiful woman, and her reserved gown did nothing to hide that fact. Dark hair and green eyes, a full smile, and a figure beyond reproach… Lady Edith Leveson would make many heads turn if she decided to take on Society in her own right.
But for now, she was Prue’s comfort, and that seemed to be enough for her.
“So sorry to be late,” Amelia gushed as she hurried into the box. “Such a crush! It was amazing that Frederick and I managed to get in. If not for Mr. Morton, we would have been lost, I swear!”
“Not so lost, Amelia,” her b
rother replied in a droll tone. “I am fully aware of the location of the boxes.”
She waved that off and sat down next to Prue excitedly. “You’ll never guess what I heard about Mr. Andrews.”
Prue smiled a little. “What did you hear?”
Amelia’s eyes danced. “I’ve heard that he is musical.”
“No,” Prue said, trying to match the enthusiasm and dramatics that engulfed her friend.
Edith snickered behind her.
Apparently, she was not acting very well.
“Yes!” Amelia squealed, missing Prue’s horrendous acting attempts. “He plays the violin!”
“Better than playing the villain,” Edith muttered with a wry grin.
“And do you like the violin, Amelia?” Prue asked patiently.
“I don’t know,” Amelia admitted, eyes wide. Her smile spread. “But I think I could.” She sobered a little. “But it is Mr. Andrews, and Lord knows what that means.”
“Indeed.” Prue quickly made the introductions for Amelia and Edith, and they chatted together for a bit, waiting for the opera to commence.
Being surrounded by friends did wonders for her, as had living with Georgie and Tony for the last two weeks. She was not whole, nor was she particularly happy, but she was healing. Camden had still not seen her, but she hadn’t tried to get him to. She always looked for him everywhere she went, but she was not brave enough to call upon him. She wished she was that brave, that bold, that sure of herself, but she was not. She still wanted him to save her.
But not because she was a damsel in distress, as all the fairytales said. She wanted him to save her because there was such great delight in being saved. In knowing she was not alone. In having someone else to rely on.
She’d never had that before him, except for her father.
He’d given her hope and strength, and now that was gone.
And yet somehow, it wasn’t. She felt changed from the woman she was before he entered her life. She felt a certain sense of awareness that she’d never had, a clarity of thought and of self. She still stammered, of course, but her occasion for nerves had lessened somewhat. She felt a comfort in being herself, in not worrying so much about what her mother or anyone else thought.
It was easier to do so when her mother was not about.
After Eliza’s wedding, her mother had asked if Georgie and Tony would mind hosting Prue a little longer, as it would ‘undoubtedly do her good’ to spend some time with a proper couple of such estimation.
Georgie had shrieked for a good twenty minutes on the indignity of having gained approval from Mrs. Westfall, but there was nothing to be done about it now.
Prue was better and getting better, but in one regard, she was as weak as ever.
She missed Camden.
Every night, without fail, she dreamed of him. Last night they had walked the grounds of her estate, though she had never seen it, and both of them were easy and carefree, warm and affectionate. The night before that had been a grand masquerade ball in London where he had taken her to a secluded garden and kissed her until they were both breathless and dizzy. The night before that…
More and more of the same. Sometimes romantic, sometimes friendly, sometimes a painful illustration of their current distance.
But always Camden.
Always.
Had he loved her? Could he have come to love her? Would this imposed distance ever end, or would her heart forever cry out for him to an emptiness with no response?
It was a disheartening thought, but at some point, she had to stop wanting him.
Didn’t she?
Georgie didn’t talk about it unless Prue did, preferring to let Prue do whatever she wished. The Spinsters hadn’t spoken of Camden or Eliza or anything else that might affect Prue, but she knew they were curious. More than that, she knew they missed Camden. He might not have been in their association for long, but he had made an impact.
Even Elinor had made a comment about wishing Camden had been around, according to Georgie.
Thankfully, the friends she had made through Camden had not neglected her for his distance. Mariah and Julia greeted her as warmly as ever when they saw her, and Lydia refused to be satisfied with anything less than a tight hug when she saw Prue. None of them ever spoke of Camden unless he was brought up, and Prue was grateful for that.
She did not need any further reminders that he was absent, and no reason to hurt more than she already did.
She sent him notes from time to time, which went unanswered. Nothing of significance, just details of her day, along with a brief admission of her missing him. Letters to Cam were becoming almost an entry in her diary with her thoughts, feelings, and impressions…
She didn’t know if he wanted to hear any of it. But she wanted to tell him.
After Eliza’s wedding, which he had not attended despite being invited, she had written him a three-page letter with all the details. Everything from her mother’s attempt at tears outstripping Aunt Howard’s real ones, down to the lace-choked gown Eliza had worn, which was so overdone it was unflattering. She told him about Eliza’s superior looks at Prue, her sheep impersonation every time she passed her, and the way Mrs. Davies looked at Prue as though she had committed a gross sin.
But that was all over now, and she was only grateful that Eliza and Mr. Davies had retreated to Tinley House for a time.
Prue could breathe in London whenever Eliza was removed from it.
“Prue?”
She turned in her seat quickly to see Georgie standing at the box entrance, looking a trifle bemused. “Would you come here, please?” Georgie asked, waving at her.
Prue smiled at Amelia and Edith, rising and moving to the back of the box. “What is it?” she asked when she reached Georgie.
Georgie tilted her head to indicate outside the box, and Prue turned, at a loss as to what was happening.
Lydia Chadwick stood just outside the box, wringing her hands a little.
“Lydia?” Prue shook her head, worry knitting at her chest. “What’s wrong? Are you well?”
Lydia smiled quickly. “Oh, very well, dear. Only a trifle anxious.” She giggled at that. “I supposed you of all people would understand that sensation. It is rather overpowering.”
That was an understatement, but Prue smiled all the same.
“I’ve done something rather unforgivable,” Lydia confessed, biting her lip. “I should probably be ashamed of myself, but I can’t quite manage it.”
“What have you done?” Prue asked, her curiosity unwittingly piqued.
Lydia twisted her lips, then reached into her reticule. “I called upon my brother several days ago, and during a flight of fancy, I picked up something of his and took it home with me. It wasn’t until some time later I managed to open it and examine its contents, as a studious and caring elder sister would.” She pulled out a small, black, leather-bound book and looked at it for a moment. She exhaled quickly and held it out to Prue, meeting her eyes. “You need to see it.”
Prue looked at the outstretched book, hesitation raging within her. “Wh-what is it?” she managed to ask.
Lydia smiled at her. “Take it, Prue. Open it. You’ll understand.”
She reached out with shaking fingers and took the book from Lydia, tracing the rough edges of the book lovingly.
“Is this…?” Prue began, unsure if she could get the words out.
“Open it,” Lydia murmured gently.
Prue pried open a few pages, then gaped.
Her likeness was on the page.
A very good likeness.
An impossibly skilled likeness.
“Go back two pages,” Lydia suggested, putting a hand on Prue’s arm.
Prue did so and found a rough sketch of a woman at an easel, a small plant before her.
“But it’s… it’s…” She shook her head and looked up at Lydia. “It’s that day in the orangery. At Tinley. He… he said he drew on occasion and he would do so while I sketched.�
��
“On occasion?” Lydia echoed. She laughed to herself. “Dear girl, drawing happens to be one of Camden’s greatest skills. He was always sketching things as a boy. People and plants and buildings… Whatever captured his attention.”
She reached out and flipped a few pages slowly, showing the contents to Prue.
Every page had an image of Prue on it. A somber expression, a secretly pleased one, laughing, contemplative, even one of her scowling. There was a sketch of her coming down the stairs that first night they went to the theater together, the style of her dress captured in near-perfect detail.
“You captured his attention, Prue,” Lydia told her in a very gentle tone. “For quite some time.”
She turned to a page towards the end, though not the last one.
“This is the last drawing before I took it. Look, he dated it.”
The date was a full two weeks after Miranda’s ball and would have been done without much reference, as they had not seen each other since that night.
It was the most detailed sketch in the book.
Prue couldn’t breathe for a moment, though it had nothing to do with panic or anxiety. She stared at her own likeness, at the smooth lines drawn to capture her, wondering at the undertaking such a meticulous sketch would have been. How long it must have taken. How patient the artist must have been. How invested.
Lydia squeezed her arm again. “You needed to know, Prue.”
Prue looked up at her, searching her eyes for a long moment. “Thank you,” she replied softly, somehow managing to avoid stammering.
Lydia winked at her and turned away, the tall form of Mr. Chadwick appearing beside her only a few paces down.
Prue watched them go, belatedly realizing that she still held the book in her hands.
She turned back into the box, trembling and unsettled, reeling with the revelations. Camden hadn’t forgotten her. Hadn’t been bored by her. Hadn’t strung her along, as Eliza had accused. Prue had never believed her, but the proof was here in her hands. He would not have planted this for his sister to find, this was something personal.
The Spinster and I (The Spinster Chronicles, Book 2) Page 26
