Florence’s Stupendous Spinster’s Society (The Spinster’s Society) (A Regency Romance Book)

by Charlotte Stone

  Too much, her mind cautioned.

  He smelled like spices, those of his body’s own making and his cologne mixed with whatever he’d had for his meal.

  “Lord Nolwell uses tobacco as his reason for early departure from a meal. He’s never too far from his pipe. A few of his friends usually join him.”

  He smiled down at her once again, and she thought the look exactly as she’d drawn him. His eyes shined from within. He touched her cheek. “You give such great advice, Florence. Truly, it enhances our friendship.”

  She rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the stinging in her cheeks.

  “But I fear I’m not one to use my pipe in excess.”

  “That’s good. It was one of my father’s worst traits, I believe.”

  He lifted a brow. “What were his other worst traits?”

  She bit her lip. “He never stayed for long. His visits were sporadic. I never knew when I would see him again.”

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  She shook her head and smiled again. “I should probably be grateful that he came at all, shouldn’t I?” That had always been the way she’d seen things. She never asked for too much, hoped for too much. Though her dreams were sometimes extravagant, she always remembered to not expect outcomes that were too extravagant.

  Perhaps it was that thinking that Jane had been criticizing. Perhaps the other lady’s maid saw that Florence accepted very little in life and expected very little. Her mother’s strength had returned, and she was getting better. Elipha’s child was safe at an orphanage, and Florence had met the man of her dreams and found every moment with him better than she’d ever hoped for.

  Maybe she’d never ask for more or learn to let hope lead her steps, but she could take what life gave her and at the moment, it had given her a friend who made her smile.

  His expression was sober. “I’m probably the worst person to ask how you should feel about your father or his absence.”

  Those words reminded her of his own plight. Rollo had no clue where his father was.

  She touched his arm and for once didn’t feel that the gesture was out of place or forbidden. She wanted to comfort him and felt it her right to do so. “I’m so sorry, Rollo.”

  A sly grin grew on his face. “Not to worry. You’ll make it up to me.”

  She laughed. “How easily you’ve cornered me. All right. What do you want?” She knew what he didn’t want, which was her in any form other than friendship, so she wasn’t afraid to ask.

  “Come.” He took her hand again and led her farther down the hall and away from where the other groups were gathered.

  “What if Elipha calls for me?” She had to skip on her toes to keep up with him. The fluttering in her stomach grew, and she nearly laughed with excitement.

  Intent on his location, he didn’t turn around to respond. “Jane will attend her.”

  She dug her feet into the floor and brought them to the halt. “You told Jane about us?”

  “About our friendship?” He touched her nose. “Of course, I did. There’s no reason to hide it.” He placed a hand on his heart. “Unless you’re ashamed of me.”

  She laughed again and when he tugged her hand, she reluctantly let him pull her the rest of the way down the hall and down a flight of stairs into the basement. Florence thought that perhaps she should begin to worry but pushed the thought aside when she recalled who she was with. Though she hadn’t known Rollo long, she trusted him enough. He stopped before the door at the end of the hall that led into a small office. The fireplace had already been lit, making the room’s warmth feel like a thick blanket on her skin.

  The office had a small writing table pushed in the corner of the room with a single chair but besides a family portrait, there was nothing else in the room.

  Rollo walked over to the fireplace and Florence watched him touch something on the mantle before an invisible door opened in the wall. Her eyes widened.

  “Is that a hidden room?”

  “Come,” he called before slipping inside.

  Florence didn’t hesitate to follow and gasped as she found herself in a treasure room. There were paintings covering the walls, floors were made thick with rows of Persian rugs, and more rugs were rolled into a corner. Sculptures dotted the glowing room with several sets of chandeliers hanging from the walls. A few more objects and vases sat on tables and sideboards that were just as intriguing as the possessions they held. “What is this place?” she asked.

  “The Valdeston treasure room.”

  She looked at him. She’d read in the papers last Season about the Valdeston treasure being discovered. Years ago, there had been a tale about the first Duke of Valdeston’s expansive collection, but while most of the ton had thought it legend, it had been proven true. She’d read that Francis had sold many of the pieces, but as she could see, there was still quite a bit.

  Rollo sat in an antique chair and began to take his boots off. “You don’t want to ruin the rugs.”

  “No,” she readily agreed and sat on the floor by the fire as she pulled off her own shoes. She was slightly embarrassed when she stood. The stockings she wore were a pair she’d mended repeatedly, and the small stitches were painfully visible.

  Rollo’s larger stockinged feet appeared by her own, and she lifted her head to look at him. The moment she did, all breath left her lungs. The expression was intense, but she didn’t have a chance to see it for long as her vision of him was obscured when his hands went around her waist. She was pulled into a deep hug, the hold just as fierce as his eyes had been.

  She was startled but then slowly lifted her own hands and settled them on his shoulders. Then she dared to close her eyes and took a breath. His smell was accompanied by the scent of the rugs, paint, and clay artifacts. Her heart seemed to fight to get out of her chest. She could feel his own heart as it beat furiously against her. His fingers moved through the back of her hair while the other hand pressed into her back, cradling her, and she couldn’t recall the last time a man had held her this way. Not since her father died.

  The sound of the fire was hushed under the sound of his breathing. Though his pulse pumped a steady and swift tempo where her face rested against his neck, every breath it took was deep and calming.

  It was the most beautiful moment of her life.

  She didn’t know how long they stood that way, but she took in every detail of the moment so that she could store it away for her most lonely of nights. How foolish she’d been to even dream of turning him away. If she had, if she’d allowed her mind to rule over her heart, she’d have missed this moment, and she’d have regretted it for the rest of her life.

  When he pulled away, it felt like she was losing more than just the warm embrace, as though he was taking a part of her essence with him.

  He straightened and touched her nose before taking her hand. “Francis tells me that all of the art has been identified. I just thought you might like to see it.”

  Together, they walked around, and she gave him the details she knew about the art pieces. There were some that she didn’t know, but that didn’t mean she didn’t enjoy them just as much as she enjoyed a few glances of Rollo that she stole along the way. The treasure trove was like a garden blooming with prized artifacts. She was glad that he’d thought enough about her to show her the room. Though they’d not left Lorena’s house, he’d still taken the time to ensure that she didn’t miss this and the affection she’d already invested toward him grew threefold.

  She knew her heart was doomed then. She was falling in love.

  * * *

  .

  .

  .

  * * *

  * * *

  .

  .

  .

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  .

  Rollo watched as Florence gasped at one painting after another. Her eyes lit up in the same way they had over the Scottish artist, but she shared that smile with no one but him.

  “These pieces
belong in a museum,” she told him. “Not locked away in a hidden room.”

  “I was thinking the same about you.”

  She stared at him with wide eyes, her hands on a Ming dynasty bowl. “What do you mean?”

  He touched her sleeve. “I mean, you should be paraded around in fine clothes, let the world see how beautiful you are, let them hear your intelligence. You’re a gift.”

  She took a breath that caused her shoulders to rise and fall then carefully put down the bowl before tightening her fingers. He grabbed her hand and locked his fingers in hers. God, how he wanted to remove his gloves, but he didn’t, needing that barrier that stopped him from connecting with her skin.

  “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I only speak the truth.”

  She smiled at him, and he was glad she didn’t remove her hand. “I’m glad you think so highly of me.”

  He grinned and led her over to a group of tall vases. “Francis held on to the art because he needed the money at the time, but now that he’s nearly debt free, he had made mention of giving a few to the British Museum.”

  “My brother would love to see these.” She took back her hand to stroke the vase gently. “He’d even know the best customers to sell them to if Francis was interested.”

  “You should introduce us. Perhaps he can give me the answers I seek.”

  Her small smile fell. “You can simply find him yourself. His name is Newton Crew.”

  “But if you took me to him, I could probably persuade him to move my business to a position of priority.”

  Her honey-colored eyes held his. “What makes this priority?”

  He held her gaze for a moment as if battling with himself whether to tell her the truth, but at the last minute decided against it. His plight made him look weak, and he didn’t wish to look weak in her eyes, a boy craving for a love that would never be, an acceptance he’d never gain, abandoned and left with more than he knew what to do with. No, that was not the way he wanted her to see him. To the world, he was King Kerry, strong, lucky, and clever. “Our friendship makes it a priority as far as your brother is concerned.”

  She narrowed her eyes, as if she knew he was hiding the truth. He liked that she dared to look at him that way, to try and see him for who he was and not what he pretended to be, not just accepting what he gave like other women.

  “We could go together tomorrow,” he told her after a prolonged silence.

  She sighed. “No, but I have been meaning to visit my brother myself. I could take your ring with me if you want. It seems like I was in Scotland for a year.”

  Would she truly not introduce him? He changed the subject in an effort to distract his thoughts. “How long were you in Scotland?” He recalled Elipha saying they’d only been there for a week and only to enjoy the Scottish views, so surely Florence was being dramatic when she said it seemed like a year, but Florence didn’t strike him as the dramatic type.

  She stiffened, and her expression went blank. “Actually, we were not there long.” She looked around him again and then backed away from the vase. “We should return to the main floor. I’m sure the party misses you.” She went to the door.

  “Not at all.” He caught her at the entryway. He didn’t understand why the thought of her taking him to see her brother broke the spell that had been over them, nor did he like the thought that she was ashamed of him. He thought it impossible, yet she was adamant to not introduce him to this Newton Crew.

  He didn’t like the suspicious feelings inside him and decided to deal with them head-on. “Why won’t you introduce me to your brother?” He’d rather know the truth now.

  She averted her gaze. “It wouldn’t be wise to go there together.”

  Just when he’d thought he’d found someone he could trust… Never mind his thoughts. She’d always been a means to an end. Yet as quickly as the thought came, his heart called him a liar. Florence was starting to grow on him, like a vine that stretched and went where it pleased, weaving around his heart so that his every beat accompanied hers.

  It was the bond of friendship. True friendship. He felt safe with her, willing to share parts of him he shared with very few outside of the brotherhood. His heart raced and his hold on her arm tightened. “Why can’t we be seen together?”

  She licked her lips but still didn’t look at him. “Because, you and I are from different worlds.”

  “My father lived blocks from where you grew up.”

  She looked at him then. “It’s not the same. You’ve vast lands and wealth. I’m a maid.”

  “So, that means we can’t be friends.”

  She frowned. “If I showed you to my brother, he would not believe that we were only friends. He’d think we were more.”

  And what if they were? What if they spent their nights together and woke up in each other’s arms? Could he still not be her friend? The thought of being intimate with her gave him a rush like it never had with any other woman. Knowing what he knew of her seemed to make the thought of touching her… different.

  Of course, he said none of that to her. He was not allowed to suggest a romantic relationship between them. They were only friends, but to be with her he was willing to pretend that they were less than that. “Then don’t take me as your friend. Take me as a potential and wealthy client for your brother.”

  “If that is to be the case, you can go alone.”

  But if he went alone then how was he to be with her?

  He didn’t say that. Already that night he’d said more than he should.

  Perhaps it was best he distanced himself from her until he could do more than hold her in a friendly embrace. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to make love to her. He thought he’d explode at the thought of simply seeing her nude.

  He dropped his hold on her and gave her a tight smile. “Very well.”

  Florence sighed. “Thank you. My brother wouldn’t understand our friendship.”

  He didn’t give a damn what her brother thought of them. He didn’t care what the world thought of them. All he cared about was Florence.

  He was becoming obsessed and probably possessive. Sex would cure both he was sure. Then they could go back to being just friends. He led her back upstairs and then joined the party just as the men were leaving the parlor to rejoin the women.

  Aaron gave him a look and Rollo raised his hands to say he’d kept his oath. He’d not tried to lure Florence into his bed, but that time was soon to come.

  * * *

  .

  .

  .

  * * *

  * * *

  .

  .

  .

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  .

  Elipha looked outside the carriage and turned back to Florence. “Now remember, we must hurry. Lorena and the others are scheduled to arrive in an hour, which should give you plenty of time to try and find out what you can about the writer before the rest of them arrive.”

  Florence beamed at Elipha. “Thank you for helping me.”

  Elipha waved her off and then smiled. “It’s all right. I’m actually having fun. You know, there is something about those women.” Her blue eyes fluttered and she shook her head. “Never mind, it’s time for us to move.”

  The door was opened, and Florence hardly took in the exterior of the taller, but slender brick printing building before heading inside. The doors were open and the sound of the various printing presses running in the back could be heard through the walls.

  Where they stood, Florence saw rows of tables, some occupied with people steady at work with others vacant. A man sitting at the first desk looked up and came around to greet Elipha.

  “Hello, welcome to Babble. I’m Mr. Linnet. Do you have an appointment?”

  “No.” Elipha gave Mr. Linnet her most charming smile. “But I do wish to see—”

  “Lady Elipha?”

  Florence turned her head and gasped at the sight of Lord James Rakefield.

  Elipha took a
step back, her face stricken white at the sight of him.

  Florence took him in and anger swept into her at how well he looked. He couldn’t even begin to imagine the pain and suffering Elipha had faced during those trying months. The labor that had followed had left for weak for days.

  Rakefield lowered his eyes before lifting them again.

  The man who’d greeted them spoke to Rakefield. “Are you done with that article on Parliament?”

  Rakefield moved toward the man and handed him the paper that had been in his hand.

  Mr. Linnet looked it over and nodded. “Very good, Rakefield.” He looked at Elipha then. “Babble has decided to start its own paper. Rakefield is one of our first writers for it.”

  “You’re writing?” Elipha asked him.

  Rakefield swallowed and blinked. “I’ve been trying for the last few months. I’m getting better at it.”

  They stared at one another, the rest of the world seeming to fade away as their gazes held. Florence had no idea what Rakefield working for a paper could mean but didn’t have the time to stay around and figure it out. The women were coming, and she recalled reading the stories of how the brotherhood tended to follow to ensure their safety.

  Florence moved briskly down the row of tables and kept her head low. Being a servant usually made it easy for her to blend in anywhere and she was not surprised when not a single soul said a word to her. She stopped by every desk and glanced at each person’s writing style. Last night, she’d done nothing but read the Babble article over and over again, working to memorize the creator’s writing style. It was all she had to work with unless she planned to ask questions, and since the author did not use their real name, she knew they’d do well to hide their identity.

  She came across a few articles that seemed to hold that same romantic working as the one that had been about Rollo and then narrowed it down to two desks.