Secrets of a Spinster

by Rebecca Connolly

  He lifted a brow at her. “So I may praise you freely without punishment?”

  “Oh, why not?” she replied with a laugh. “You will be the prelude for what is to come once we set foot in there.”

  They were almost inside already, and he sighed heavily. “Alas, that is not enough time to pay proper tribute to even your littlest finger.”

  Again she laughed, and it was music to his ears and soul. He could have ridden to Africa on horseback without food or water with only the promise of that laugh as his reward.

  “Is that your favorite part of me, Geoffrey?” she asked as they entered the house.

  He quirked his brows rather wickedly. “I’ll never tell.”

  She rolled her eyes and handed her wrap to the servants, then led the way into the ballroom, as Geoff obediently trailed behind. They greeted the host and his lady, conversed only briefly, and then made their way around the room. It didn’t take long for gentlemen to begin appearing to request a dance.

  Mary looked at Geoff, who only grinned. “Behave yourself, Miss Hamilton. The viscount is watching.”

  She fluttered her eyelashes, and allowed Mr. Timmons to lead her to the dance floor, where the other couples were already lining up.

  Assured that she would be occupied for quite some time, given the line of gentlemen that had assembled, Geoffrey began his search for Derek, his true reason for coming this evening. It didn’t take long, as Derek was quite the popular gentleman, and if he had any more personality, he would have rivaled Colin in attracting listeners. The world did not need two versions of Colin Gerrard, which Derek knew full well.

  Derek saw Geoff coming and excused himself from the group and came to him. “Are you ready?” Derek asked in a low voice, smiling for the benefit of others.

  Geoff nodded, feeling the weight of what he was about to do. He glanced around. “No Kate?”

  Derek shook his head. “She’s unwell this evening, and has elected to remain at home, given her condition.” He snorted and rolled his eyes.

  “Is she not so very unwell?” Geoff asked, starting to smile a bit at Derek’s reaction.

  Derek grinned. “She is becoming self-conscious about how visible she is. I find it breathtaking, she finds it inconvenient.” He shrugged. “Her gown didn’t fit properly, so she is at home being unwell.”

  “She turned down the Rivertons?” Geoff laughed, keeping his voice low. Really, that was something to talk about. He hadn’t thought Kate had grown that shocking in her opinions.

  “The Rivertons are no match for my wife in a highly emotional state,” Derek muttered, his eyes dancing with amusement. “I am to return to her side the moment our business is completed.”

  “I’m surprised she let you come at all.”

  Derek’s amusement faded and he gave Geoff a serious look. “When I told her what we were doing, she turned me from the room and literally forced me out and into the carriage. She is in full support of this, and I have no doubt that she will be just as invested in it as the rest of us.”

  Geoff nodded without speaking, touched beyond words. When he had approached his friends only two days ago with his thoughts, they had latched onto it. They scoured their acquaintances for any that might be of use and were willing to throw their individual or combined influences behind whatever came of it. He was grateful for such friends and allies.

  Tonight was the first opportunity they would have to begin.

  Derek led him around and through the many guests in the ballroom, somehow managing to avoid becoming trapped in conversation with any of them.

  Geoff was grateful. He had no wish to delay any further than they already had, and he had appearances to keep up, so he must dance and converse and dine as he usually would. There was little time, but they would make use of it.

  “Now, we will be speaking, as I have told you, with Captain Riverton, late of His Majesty’s Navy.”

  “Riverton?” Geoff interrupted, coming close to Derek’s side. “As in…?”

  “The second son of the earl,” Derek replied with a nod. “The title and family name are the same. He is an old companion of David’s and a very discreet gentleman. He has made his fortune and is preparing to resign his commission. I, however, have convinced him to wait for the time being.”

  They were nearing the man in question, Geoff could see from the uniform, and he turned to Derek quickly. “Does he know what we are going to request?”

  Derek shook his head. “I didn’t give him any particulars, merely that it involved his profession.”

  “And his reputation in the Navy?”

  “Very well respected,” Derek assured him. “He knows absolutely everybody.”

  Geoffrey nodded firmly and allowed Derek to lead the rest of the way.

  Captain Riverton was a rather tall man, and had the same strong features as his father and brother, but with the fair coloring of his mother. He seemed a somber man, by appearances, which would have made him an odd companion for the wild and reckless Lord David Chambers. He was standing apart from all the rest, and seemed content to be ignored. Would a man such as he be willing to do so much for a man he didn’t know purely on the word of one he did? He hoped so, as no other alternatives had presented themselves as yet and there was not time for reconsideration.

  He saw them approach and turned at once, bowing smartly to Derek. “Whitlock,” he greeted in a voice lower than Geoff had expected. “You haven’t changed much.”

  Derek grinned and clamped a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Only in wisdom and vigor, my dear chap. But look at you! So tall and tanned, you look like a foreigner rather than a specimen of His Majesty’s Navy.”

  The captain smiled and inclined his head in acknowledgement. “There is no substitute for sea air, Whitlock. I’ll outlive you and your brother by a full decade because of it.”

  Derek laughed out loud. “I have no doubt of it.” He turned to Geoff. “Geoffrey Harris, may I present Captain William Riverton, of the Royal Navy. Will, this is one of my closest friends, Mr. Harris. It is he who has need of you.”

  Captain Riverton bowed again, then extended a hand. “A pleasure, Mr. Harris.”

  “For me as well, Captain.”

  “Whitlock said you have need of my connections,” the captain said, taking no time for pleasantries. “How can I be of assistance?”

  Geoff looked around, then back up at the young captain. “Might there be somewhere private we could converse? The situation is delicate.”

  He nodded. “Of course. Follow me, please.” He turned and exited the ballroom, and they followed.

  Not a word was said between the men as they passed servants bustling with food for the dinner and footmen standing silently in their livery, and it wasn’t until they had entered what was undoubtedly Lord Riverton’s study that the captain even faced them once more. He gestured that they sit, as did he.

  “How can I be of assistance, Mr. Harris?” Captain Riverton asked once more.

  Geoffrey looked at Derek, who nodded in encouragement, then returned his gaze to the captain. “What do you know of Lieutenant Simon Wyndham?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  What in the world had he been thinking?

  It had seemed like a good idea, paying penance for his many sins where Mary was concerned. He had been abominable to her, and he ought to have to work to get back into her good graces. She would never have insisted on it herself, which was why he had suggested it. He thought she would be pleased to see that he was taking the mending of their friendship so seriously.

  How bad could it be, he had thought. Groveling, heavy lifting, spending more money than he was comfortable with, he was prepared for all of that. She suggested he be her escort for the rest of the season. He could definitely do that. He had begged her to stay in London a bit longer, and he had been relieved beyond measure when she agreed. She had suggested he help her pack up the house in preparation for their removal. He was pleased to be able to help her. He had even envisioned
moments of them laughing over old drawings and letters from him to her that had been long forgotten, perhaps even the box of costumes they had used during their many plays as children.

  Documenting books for her to consider taking in the library by himself was not something he had expected.

  He had already been at it for two hours and he was rather wishing the cord for the curtains had been a bit longer so he might more easily hang himself. He had made a proper list for her, he thought, and had even gone so far as to pile the books he was certain she would take in one corner. But not seeing her for two hours, knowing they were in the same place, not knowing what she was doing, made for a wandering mind and an overactive imagination.

  She could be working with the kitchen staff on remaining menus or which members of the staff would be coming with them. She would be sitting at the table, poring over options and discussing merits of each. That unruly strand of hair would fall into her eyes, and she would push it behind her ear without even thinking about it.

  He smiled. He loved when she did that. He wanted to do it himself.

  She could be going through her wardrobe, wondering which gowns she should take and which she could do without. She would never take them all, she was far too sensible and practical. But she would have to try each on to see how they flattered her, which was most comfortable, which she could walk about the countryside in. He had his favorites of her dresses, but she was so self-conscious that he would never tell her. He would just smile and nod and tell her to choose the ones she liked best.

  And enjoy the view.

  She could always have come in here and helped him with his task. He wouldn’t have gotten half of the things done he needed to if she had. He would have watched her move, watched her think, possibly caught her biting her lip in indecision. She may have met his eyes once or twice, and he would have let her see him looking. She might have blushed and continued her work, or she might have looked straight back at him. Daring him to do exactly what he wanted to do. He could have snuck up behind her and nuzzled the nape of her long, graceful neck. He could have bracketed her between his arms and the shelf. Would she have laughed as if it were a joke? Or would she have felt the simmering heat that he had come to accept as his eternal reaction to her? As if it had actually happened, he felt that same jolt of intense heat somewhere behind his navel.

  He took a deep breath and released it quickly, shaking his head. He would get nowhere imagining things that weren’t happening and may never. It would take time for him to convince her that he was in love with her, not for the changes that she had undergone, but for who she was and who she had always been. He was aware of it now, and that, at least, would never change.

  He reached for another book he thought she would enjoy and tucked it into his arm. He reached up to straighten a fallen book when his hand felt something different. A strange, almost leather like texture; soft and worn, but bound like a book. He felt for the edge and pulled it down.

  It was small, no larger than an average sized book, though a good deal thinner. He thumbed it open, and grinned at the handwriting. It was one of Mary’s diaries, and from the date in the corner, from when she was sixteen. She had been an irregular author, going through spurts of time when she was dedicated, and then there would be months of famine. He had seen her scribbling away in one of these every now and then, but it had been years since he’d even thought about it.

  Mary would laugh madly when she saw these.

  He reached up to see if there were more of them on the shelf with this one. A wild grin crossed his face when he felt not one, but several more. He shifted the books in front of them out of the way, and then pulled all of the journals down. There were seven in all, now in his grasp, and who knew how many more there might have been lurking around the house.

  A page fluttered to the ground, having fallen out of the oldest and most worn journal of the lot, whose pages all seemed loose. He adjusted his grip and turned that one so that no more pages were in danger of becoming lost. That done, he reached down to pick up the page and put it back where it had come from.

  The date in the corner put it right around Mary’s thirteenth birthday.

  Her penmanship had improved a good deal since then, but he could see how carefully each word was written. The only perfection she had cared about back in those days was her penmanship, and he had teased her endlessly for it.

  His name caught his eye as he perused the page and he grinned. He remembered specifically asking her once upon a time if he had ever made it into one of her journals. Young Mary had turned up her nose at him and insisted that only important people made it into the diary of a young lady.

  He looked more closely, wondering what he had possibly done to warrant an entry.

  Geoffrey came today with his family. I thought I might expire on the spot! His smile makes me feel warm and tingly, like I have been wrapped in a warm blanket and set before the hottest fire. I love him so much, but…

  He stopped, his eyes transfixed by that one word.

  Love.

  She loved him.

  Well, thirteen-year-old Mary loved him. The description of her feelings was a little juvenile, but at thirteen, he would not have done much better.

  He read on.

  I love him so much, but he will never see me as anything more than a friend. My love for him will forever be in vain. I shall become one of those pathetic women one reads about in novels that pines for her lost love, only mine shall never come to me. I shall let him tease me and tug at my hair and call me Goose for as long as he likes. So long as he is near me at all, my heart will want nothing else.

  He stared at the page, his heart thudding against his chest with such force that he was light headed. He couldn’t believe it. At one time, Mary had been in love with him. She had pined for him. His smile had made her feel something. He smiled now as he thought of it.

  Mary at thirteen had been much the same as Mary now, only less graceful, less coordinated, and less witty. She had been a slender reed of a thing, but she was always amusing and had always made him feel as though he was someone special, which was a rare thing for a fourth son.

  Now he understood why.

  Had she ever tried to tell him? Had there been signs that he had missed? It wasn’t possible, he would have known if she were really in love with him, wouldn’t he? She must have kept that secret from him. With good reason, he was sure, for at thirteen he only thought of riding horses and joining the Army. He would never have taken her seriously, and it would have been difficult to be friends with a girl who let it be known that she was in love with him. Or would it have been different? He had always liked Mary, but had he ever thought of her beyond that?

  She loved him.

  She once had loved him.

  When had that ceased?

  Or had it ceased?

  He looked down at the diaries in his hand, chewing his lip. No gentleman would intentionally venture into the secret diaries of a young woman. It was an invasion of privacy and could be perceived as disrespectful and disloyal. He could ruin everything he was trying to build by such a betrayal. Mary would be mortified by the knowledge that he had read what her younger self had written about him, particularly when such devout feelings were expressed.

  Perhaps it was just the one page. Perhaps she had been in love with him for the span of a week. He remembered when his sister had been a young girl, and she had been in love with a new young man every other day, it seemed. If Mary were the same way, it would only be natural for her to think herself in love with him. He was the only young man she had any semi-regular interaction with outside of her brothers. He was the obvious choice. He supposed he should be grateful she had not mentioned his brothers.

  He frowned and looked down at the diary from which the particular page had fallen. Perhaps she had gone through all of the Harris brothers at some point. That would take some of the weight away, and if that had been the case, she would be much more apt to laugh about the discovery tha
n if it had been just him alone.

  It would be best to check. He would need to know how to approach her about this and the proper context would be required if he didn’t want to make an absolute fool of himself, not to mention what it could do to her.

  He set the other diaries down on the nearest table and opened the oldest one. He found the place where the fallen page belonged, and then flipped to a few pages after that. Two months later. That should be plenty of time. He checked the door to make sure it was clear, and then read.

  I went on a walk today and thought about Geoffrey. Of course I did, that is what one does when they are in love.

  Geoff swallowed, and flipped a few more pages. Six months after her first entry.

  The sky was a brilliant blue today. It looked like precisely the same shade that is in Geoffrey’s eyes. I love his eyes. They are beautiful. I hope that our children will have his eyes.

  His mouth gaped open as he finished. She imagined herself having children with him?

  His stomach fluttered at the thought.

  Geoff set the diary down and sank into the chair nearest him, rubbing his face repeatedly. This was a lot to take in. His best friend, the woman he loved, had spent at least six months at thirteen being so in love with him that she thought about him on walks and imagined herself having his children and comparing his smile to blankets and his eyes to the sky.

  Six months at that age felt like an eternity.

  He looked at the table, where the other diaries were neatly stacked.

  He shouldn’t even consider it. Why, this diary was written fourteen years ago, more time had passed since she had written the entry than the age she had been when she wrote it. It was incomprehensible that she would have felt this way forever, let alone if she would feel that way now. Her emotions were sure to have changed from year to year. Nothing should be taken seriously at thirteen.

  The other diaries would prove that.

  He ran his hands through his hair, staring at the floor. He was a gentleman. He would not peruse the private writings of a young woman for his own amusement or to fulfill his apparent need to have his own feelings reciprocated. He was delighted beyond words that one version of Mary had been in love with him. It meant there may be some thread of hope for him after all. That knowledge alone should have satisfied him.