Secrets of a Spinster

by Rebecca Connolly

  “I will do no such thing,” he said, keeping his voice low as he smiled pleasantly at Kate from across the room. “I like Miss Arden, too, and I will converse with her as I see fit. No need to get all huffy because it means one less person is complimenting you.”

  Her mouth popped open in surprise and she sputtered. “That is not my… That is absolutely ridiculous.”

  He looked at her. “Is it? You have asked me to stop being pleasant with a young woman who you yourself decided to host an event for, because…?” He waited expectantly.

  “Because others may want to have some of her time!” she hissed.

  He shook his head with a laugh. “Absurd. They can come up and compliment her all they like no matter who she is conversing with. If they truly wished to, they would have. We were not being exclusive. And if I were to form any designs on Miss Arden, I do believe I could do so without having to confer with you.”

  She narrowed her eyes and snapped her fan closed. “Leave it alone, Geoffrey. And don’t ask Fanny Harville to sing anymore unless you are prepared to endure it with the rest of us.” She left in a swirl of skirts and huffed an impatient grunt of dissatisfaction. Impossible man.

  “I thought, perhaps, we could now have a game of riddles.”

  Geoff turned with the other gentlemen in the room, and managed to stifle his groan. With the silly idiots she had collected here tonight, she wanted a game of riddles? The only creatures of sense here besides himself were Derek and Kate, and perhaps Miss Arden, though he didn’t know enough of her to be able to determine that as yet. But none of Mary’s scholars had attended, and certainly no clever man had. With the exception of Thomas Granger, who had wisely fled the evening some time ago.

  He entered the music room with a heavy sigh knowing this was going to prove to be an exercise in restraint for him. All the rest seemed to be excited about the prospect of riddles, but he feared very much that Mary would use her now quite sharpened tongue upon those unsuspecting fools who thought her the epitome of all goodness. They had no idea how clever she was.

  Grudgingly he took up a position along one wall, near enough to Derek and Kate that he would be able to hear their mutterings, which were destined to be hilarious, and far enough away from Mary that he wouldn’t have to look at her if he chose not to. He glanced over to find that she was yet again surrounded by far too many gentlemen. And she was scolding him for monopolizing someone? He snorted silently.

  “Shall I begin?” inquired Lord Wofford.

  Geoff tried not to laugh, and saw Derek struggling as well. Wofford was notoriously stupid and the idea that he even knew a riddle was astounding.

  “Of course, my lord,” Mary said politely. “Is this for someone in particular, or for all?”

  “Oh, for all, certainly,” he puffed pompously. He cleared his throat. “What walks on four legs in the morning, two at mid-day, and three in the evening?”

  Most of the room groaned and Geoff hid a smile behind a fist. The most well-known riddle of all? It was too perfect.

  “Oh, it’s a human,” Cassandra announced with a roll of her eyes and a light laugh. “We all know that one.” The room, including Mary, laughed politely.

  The glare that the earl tossed in Cassandra’s direction wiped Geoff’s smile from his face. It was evident he knew exactly who had answered and exactly what rumors were swirling about her, and he held the same disreputable opinion of her as the rest of Society did. Mary didn’t react at all, as she was engaged in conversation with Mr. Beech beside her. Geoff’s fist clenched as he looked back at Wofford, still glowering at Cassie as if she were a viper, and he heard Derek murmur, “Steady, Geoff. Allow me.”

  He glanced down at his friend, only to find him glaring at Wofford. The earl saw it and managed to color slightly, and looked away. After all, Derek was a powerful man with a powerful glare, and anybody who wished to keep any standing at all in society would do well to avoid them.

  “Thank you,” Geoff muttered as a touch of satisfaction hit him.

  Derek nodded, barely.

  “I shall go next,” Mr. Parker said politely. “What can run, but never walks, has a mouth, but never talks, has a head, but never weeps, has a bed, but never sleeps?”

  There were mutterings and murmurings around the room, and Geoff found himself watching Mary. Her forehead was furrowed, ever so slightly, and then it cleared. She looked up and Geoff knew she had the answer.

  “A river,” she said in clear tones. Then she smiled brightly at Mr. Parker. “Isn’t it?”

  He inclined his head proudly. “It is indeed, Miss Hamilton. Bravo.”

  Applause and laughter spattered about and Geoff shifted in annoyance, his eyes threatening to roll of their own accord.

  Mary giggled, (she giggled? Since when did she giggle?) and turned to the gentleman beside her. “I have one for you, Mr. Timmons.”

  Timmons looked as though he’d just been granted a favor from the Queen. “I should be so honored, Miss Hamilton.”

  Geoff saw Cassandra bite her lip to contain her laughter and he wished he felt the urge to do the same. He only felt a crawling sensation in his stomach.

  Mary smiled fondly at Timmons. “Here it is; give me food, and I will live; give me water, and I will die. What am I?”

  Geoff stilled as he recognized that particular riddle as one from a book of riddles he and Mary had gone through one rainy day only a few years ago. It had been one of the most entertaining memories he had of them, and he’d assumed she’d forgotten. Obviously, she hadn’t, considering the way her eyes almost unconsciously flicked in his direction, but never actually at him. He frowned and looked at Timmons, who was utterly bewildered and growing redder by the minute as he fumbled for an answer.

  “Food, and I will live,” he murmured anxiously, “water and I will die…”

  “Do you need a hint?” Mary asked impatiently, her words now holding some bite to them.

  “Oh, if you please, Miss Hamilton,” he responded with immense relief.

  Idiot, Geoff thought with a snort. It was a simple riddle, it didn’t need…

  “When I touch a finger,” Mary said slowly, her eyes fixed on Timmons’s, “it grows red.”

  Really, Timmons looked as though he were going to swoon under such attention, let alone the inviting tones of Mary’s voice that made Geoff want to hit something.

  Fire, he thought hard. Fire, you fool, the answer is fire!

  “Fire!” Timmons cried, grinning wildly. “The answer is fire!”

  He earned a faint applause from some, and Mary nodded regally, her hand touching Mr. Timmons’ arm encouragingly. More than encouraging, as she rubbed it softly. She was flirting with the idiot! The man could not figure a simple riddle, and she had spoken harshly to him, and now she was flirting?

  He forced his glower to abate, and looked directly at Miss Arden, who was watching the game with amusement. “I have one for Miss Arden,” he said suddenly.

  The room quieted, though excitement was still palpable. The corner of his eye caught Mary looking directly at him, and he could only imagine the glare that he was receiving.

  Miss Arden looked at him in surprise, but nodded. “Very well, Mr. Harris. I am not particularly skilled with riddles, but I shall try.”

  He smiled at her. “I am sure you are too modest. Here it is; if you break me, I do not stop working. If you touch me, I may be snared. If you lose me, nothing will matter. What am I?”

  She frowned ever so slightly, and Geoff took the moment to glance around a bit with his eyes only. Cassie looked astonished, but she had a smile for him. Mary’s glare was indeed potent. The gentlemen in the room were thinking equally as hard. Derek and Kate on his other side were watching him carefully, a small, bemused smile on both of their faces.

  Miss Arden’s expression cleared a bit as she looked up at him. “Is it… might it be… one’s heart?”

  He smiled genuinely at her and nodded. “Indeed, Miss Arden, it is.”

  There w
as considerable applause for Miss Arden, and not a few of the young ladies now regarded Geoffrey with a bit more interest, which didn’t matter to him. Miss Arden looked very pleased and smiled at him, then at the two girls beside her, who congratulated her.

  Mary got to her feet, a little quickly, but her face was composed. “Mr. Harris, I wonder if you might oblige me with a word?” The room became utterly silent, as if they could sense the tension radiating from her.

  “Confused about the riddle, Miss Hamilton?” he asked innocently.

  Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly and her smile tightened. “Not at all, sir. I merely wish to discuss an alternative answer. Privately, if you don’t mind.”

  He shrugged and pushed off of the wall, gesturing for her to lead the way out.

  “Perhaps I should go next,” Derek said a bit loudly, bringing the attention in the room away from them. “The man who invented it does not want it…”

  Derek’s voice faded as Geoff followed Mary down the hall, far enough from the room that they could hear voices, but not quite make out what was being said.

  “What was that?” she hissed furiously, her composure gone in a blink.

  “A riddle for Miss Arden,” he said, as if that should be obvious.

  “Geoff, I told you to leave her alone!” She looked back at the room, then up at him. “A riddle about the heart? Honestly!”

  “Oh, and you are the only one allowed a little harmless flirtation?” he asked, his voice rough as his own irritation swept in.

  She opened her mouth in affront. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You were practically throwing yourself on Timmons in there,” he said as he flung a hand towards the room. “The idiot who couldn’t figure out what fire is, and you insult him, and then encourage him!”

  “Insult him?” she cried. “When have I…?”

  “A coffin!” someone shouted from the room, to the delighted cries and applause of the rest.

  “When did I ever insult him?” she asked in a quieter, more deadly voice.

  He snorted. “Your tone when you offered a hint. A man with any intelligence would know exactly what you thought of him from that.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Geoffrey.”

  “I’m not the one giving false impressions to anybody who blinks in my direction.” Her eyes were blazing now, but he wouldn’t stop this time. “And yet, you would not even acknowledge when Lord Wofford was blatantly disrespectful towards your sister.”

  Mary huffed and put her hands on her hips. “I did not…”

  “You did nothing,” he ground out harshly. “If it wasn’t for Derek, Cassie might have actually been insulted by the man in her own home. And you, too busy with your own attention, wouldn’t have noticed. Are you so heartless now that you care so little for those who care for you? Or is everything about you?”

  “Needle and thread!” a female shouted from the room to much applause and laughter.

  Mary’s eyes were ice cold and she lifted her chin. “You needn’t worry about being my escort this season any longer, Geoffrey. I have quite enough options to ensure that I have excellent company at my disposal.”

  He laughed and stepped closer. “Really? You mean those fops in there? They don’t even know you, Mary.”

  “Oh, and you do?” she asked, tilting her head up to look at him more fully. “Those fops are the first gentlemen to ever show interest in me. Why shouldn’t I receive their attentions and offers, if I find them agreeable?”

  He ground his teeth and moved closer. “Because they are interested in who they think you are, not who you really are. They want this…“ He gestured to her form, perhaps a bit recklessly, but it served his point. “The imaginary creature you have turned yourself into, the one who barely resembles the real you at all.”

  She backed away, her back now at the wall. “Did you ever think that perhaps this is who I am? Who I was meant to be?”

  “Not possible,” he said with a shake of his head, moving in on her again. He could hear her breath coming rapidly as her ire rose. Even like this, when he was so angry with her he could hardly see, some small corner of his mind registered the fact that she was beautiful. Breathtaking. Captivating.

  He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to throttle her. He wanted…

  She held up a hand to stop him coming any further, pressing against his chest. “Did you ever think that I might enjoy being this? Why should you hate that I have changed and now have suitors?”

  “Because I want you to be who you were before!” he cried, his voice becoming pleading. “I don’t want you to be this!”

  The color faded from her cheeks and her eyes widened. Her mouth worked silently, and eventually, her voice breathy and weak, she managed, “You encouraged me to do this. You told me it would be fun.”

  “And I hate myself for it,” he rasped, his eyes raking over her face. He could kiss her now. She would let him, he could see it in her eyes.

  She said nothing as they stared at each other, breath uneven, emotions high, too close and yet not close enough.

  “A turtle!” Applause.

  “Miss Hamilton!” a male voice called urgently. “Miss Hamilton, are you returning to the game? We have need of your excellent wits!”

  She cleared her throat and laughed a shadow of her merry debutante laugh. “Of course, Mr. Burlington! I shall only be a moment more! Save your cleverest for me!”

  Geoff snorted, shook his head, and stepped away from her, ignoring the sudden cold that washed between them. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said, his voice hollow. “Perhaps I don’t know you after all.” He looked her up and down with distaste, his look becoming a sneer. “Perhaps this really is all you have to offer.”

  Mary’s eyes widened, and her breathing faltered. She took in a shaky breath, then whispered, “Get out.”

  He jerked as if struck. “What?”

  “Get out,” she said again, her voice stronger, her eyes flashing as he had never seen them before. “Don’t ever set foot in this house again.”

  “What?” he cried, stepping back as she advanced. “Mary!”

  “I have nothing more to say to you, Mr. Harris. Not now, not ever.” Her hands were balled into fists at her sides, and her voice might have been filled with icicles as cold and dangerous as it was.

  “You don’t mean that,” he protested, his mind whirling, his head swimming through sand. “You… you need me!”

  She laughed, then; a cold, heartless laugh that made him numb from head to toe. “Need you?” she laughed once more. “I never needed you.” She gave him a hard look, and turned to go back into the room. “Not even once.”

  And with that, she reentered the gathering, apparently as bright and enthusiastic as she had been moments before, as if nothing had happened.

  As if she had not just left her oldest friend in an empty hallway of her home, feeling just as empty himself.

  He slowly turned away from the party and made his way down the hall, grasping onto random objects along the way to aid his progress. His chest ached as though there was a knife piercing his flesh, and he had to feel his chest just to be sure. He could barely see straight and wavered a number of times before he reached the door. A mindless footman saw him coming and opened it for him.

  The night air was cool, pleasant, one might have said, but it hit him like a bitter winter wind and he shivered. He glanced back towards the room, utterly lost. How could he be furious with her and yet ache for her at the same time?

  Laughter met his ears, and he could make out hers loudest of all. He swallowed with difficulty, and turned back to the night.

  What had he done?

  Chapter Sixteen

  The wood on the table before him was positively ancient. He had never paid much attention to tables before, but after staring at one for a few hours, he began to notice all sorts of things. No portion of the wood looked the same. No swirl looked like any other swirl, no line was perfectly straight, and each plank of wood was a slightl
y different shade from the one next to it. The age of the wood was evident by the slight fraying on the top, not immediately noticeable to the untrained eye, or even to the hand as it rested upon it. But when noticed, it was difficult to not notice it. He could keep his hand just a breath above the table and run it carefully along the direction of the grain and there would be the very faintest tickling of miniscule slivers of wood against his palm. Fuzzy, that’s what it was. There was a hint of fuzz to the table top.

  And it creaked deeply every time he shifted the weight of his body against it, whether his elbow or his arm or his head, they all had experienced the sound and the vibration. He used to think creaking was a very high sounding thing. This table had proven him wrong.

  He spun the tankard before him absently, staring at this old, creaking table. Would he become so scarred and noisy as he aged? Would he develop some almost invisible fuzz? Would ignorant eyes look at him and fail to see all that had transpired in his lifetime?

  At least a sturdy, strong table like this one would never have to reflect back on its life with horror. Or regret. Or disgust. It would only have the fond memories; its previous life as a tree giving shade and possibly being a home for animals, then becoming this table which had undoubtedly supported thousands of grieving and despondent people in its time. It had probably even seen much celebration and joy. It might not have been a bad life, being a table.

  “Oh, there he is, I see him.”

  “Holy mother of… He looks terrible.”

  “Is that a beard?”

  “Not yet. But it will be.”

  “He looks like a ruddy sailor.”

  “Good heavens. Geoff?”

  He grunted, still staring at the tankard as he spun it.

  One by one his friends began taking seats around him, leaning their arms on his new friend, the table, as he was doing. Nice of them to join him. Then he remembered it was he who had summoned them here. Right.

  “Geoff,” Derek said in a careful tone, as if speaking with infinite patience to an out of control child, “how many of these have you had today?”