Christin's Splendid Spinster's Society (The Spinster’s Society) (A Regency Romance Book)

by Charlotte Stone

  "Me?"

  "Yes. About his sister in the country who looked up to him. When we were on better terms, he spoke of how bright you were, and how very vulnerable you were as well. I believed he was exaggerating when he spoke of your father's neglect, and now I can safely say that he was underplaying it. Everything he was doing in London, he spoke of doing for you and the future you could have. He was seeing to his business in order to secure your happiness in the time to come.”

  Two bright tears welled up in Lydia's eyes, and Nicholas went to her. When he tried to touch her, however, she jerked away, shaking her head.

  “That sounds exactly like Benjamin,” she whispered, “but the rest of it, I just don't understand. He went to that terrible place, and he challenged you to a duel? That can't be. Benjamin would never do that.”

  Nicholas sighed. He knew somewhere in his heart that it would always come down to this, himself telling Lydia this terrible story. It seemed foolish to think that he could put it off forever, but he had never thought himself overly wise.

  “I can assure you that it was. The man you described, the one that you worshiped, he came out when he spoke of you. He cared for you so much, and after he died, I had a decision to make. I could confess to dueling and suffer whatever the courts deemed just, or I could hide what had happened to preserve your brother's good name.”

  “I would have been ruined if it came out that my brother was dueling, especially if he was dueling over a woman like Marilee. I would never have been able to hold my head up in society again.”

  “No.”

  “Was it difficult?”

  “To cover it up? No. Your brother was not well-known, and your father was altogether too willing to accept the money I offered him. He knew the truth; at least, he knew most of it.”

  “No, that's not what I meant. I want to know, Nicholas, was it easy for you to leave my brother behind and to pay court to me, to charm me, to kiss me, and bring me into your house and dress me in beautiful clothes while knowing that you were involved in my brother's death?”

  Nicholas reeled back as if she had struck him. For a moment, he could barely breathe. Lydia's eyes were as bright as a gorgon's, demanding his truth before she passed judgment.

  “I cannot answer that for you. All I can say is that I wanted you so much. I still do. Lydia, I love you. I want you to marry me.”

  The last came out more as a plea than anything else.

  Lydia shook her head.

  “No. No, I will not. I cannot.”

  * * *

  .

  .

  .

  * * *

  * * *

  .

  .

  .

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  .

  The London streets were already lively when Lydia arrived at the Royal Mail station. She had spent a sleepless night in bed, and just as the first streaks of dawn came across the sky, she got up, dressed in the most modest gown she could find in the wardrobe, and crept into the street. The dress was far finer than the black she had brought with her, but there was no helping it. Perhaps she could send it back to London when she returned home.

  Home.

  Lydia could not understand how Carmody looked so dismal now. Before, it was home. Now it was just a place that seemed empty and dull, rendered colorless without Nicholas and Eunice.

  She wanted to say goodbye to Eunice, but there was simply too great a chance that Eunice would find a way to stop her. It was cowardly in the extreme, but she decided to let Nicholas handle telling Eunice that she had returned home to the country.

  Even thinking of Nicholas made Lydia ache. The more she dwelt on the memories she had of him, the worse it got. He had known about her brother from the beginning, and he had kept it from her. Somehow, somehow, that was the greater crime than being present at her brother's death.

  Lydia had decided that she did not blame Nicholas for her brother's death. She had wrestled with it into the wee hours of the morning, but she found that she didn't. It all sounded too plausible. Even she knew how woefully treacherous guns could be, and her brother was no great shot.

  More than once in the night, she had wanted to go to Nicholas, to pound on his bedroom door, and demand over and over again that he tell her why he had hid it all from her. She couldn't, instead choosing to stay in bed and stare at the ceiling until she got up and began to pack.

  It was a curiously empty coach that she found that morning. She supposed that the coaches to London were usually fuller than the ones leaving. It meant she had the box to herself, at least. The driver and guard seemed courteous, and she braced herself as the coach swung into motion. After a few moments, she drew the shade to shut out the sight of London. She’d had her greatest heartbreak here, and she didn't know when she would ever want to see it again.

  Somehow, Lydia fell asleep. Despite the guard and the driver calling back and forth to each other, despite the rough rocking of the coach, and the clatter of the horses' hooves, she fell into a doze born more of heartache than exhaustion.

  Lydia dreamed she was sitting across from her brother, and in her dream, Benjamin was so hale and hearty, she couldn't imagine that she had believed he was dead.

  “Oh, Benjamin, I've been having a terrible time.”

  “I know you have, Lydia, but look, I need to tell you; you are making a terrible mistake.”

  Before he could tell her what that mistake was, however, the coach lurched, jolting Lydia awake. There was shouting from outside, the guard and the driver and a third voice as well, and then the coach juddered to a stop.

  Oh, my goodness, can it be another bandit? This close to London?

  She didn't have any perfume on her this time, and she looked around frantically for something else she could use as a weapon. All that came to hand was her reticule, which she supposed she could swing at someone's face if worse came to worst. She sat in the dimness of the coach as the men outside conversed, their angry voices slowly quieting down, and then the door was pulled open.

  Lydia shouted as loudly as she could, flailing the reticule by its drawstrings. She had the satisfaction of landing a solid blow on the man's face, and then she froze when she heard his voice.

  “Dear God in Heaven, Lydia, why don't people disarm you?”

  “Nicholas?”

  He looked at her wryly. He looked as bad as she probably did, his eyes red and his clothes rumpled as if he had put them on in a hurry.

  “Yes. You could have said goodbye, you know.”

  “Nicholas, we have nothing to say to each other.”

  “That's not true. Move over.”

  “What?”

  “I bought late passage, move over.”

  “Nicholas, you can't!”

  “I can. I'm riding all the way to Carmody with you if need be, though hopefully, I can talk some sense into you before that.”

  “Nicholas, I have made up my mind. I am not returning to London.”

  “You're not angry at me. You're angry at yourself.”

  “No, I believe I am quite angry at you, as a matter of fact,” Lydia said indignantly.

  “All right. You are angry at me, but I think you would have gotten over that. I might have had to beg and grovel and abase myself, but you would have. No, you're leaving because you are angry that you are forgetting your brother.”

  “What are you talking about?” Lydia demanded, but she had a sinking feeling that he was right.

  “You kept saying it, and I suppose I never listened. Every moment of happiness I have seen you have, every bit of pleasure, is followed by a panic that you are forgetting your brother. Lydia, it's all right. We are not meant to grieve forever.”

  “I loved my brother!”

  “I know you did. And he would not want you to grieve forever either. Everything you've done, it's for honor, but it is also to keep him close. Lydia, I promise you, you will always remember him. Some days, you will do nothing but. But do not let it blot out the rest of yo
ur life. Do not stop it from letting you be happy.”

  Lydia started to reply, but to her shock, she sobbed instead. This time, she did not stop Nicholas from putting his arms around her. He felt so good, so warm and safe. She loved him so much.

  “I am so sorry for what I did,” he said quietly. “I should have told you as soon as I knew who you were and what you were doing in London. I was a fool. At first, I was putting off the inevitable, and then, I hoped that when you did find out, you would love me as much as I loved you, care for me in the same way.”

  She felt his heart beat under her ear, fast and strong. It occurred to her that he was afraid that she would turn away from him. He must have ridden his poor horse into the ground to find her on the coach, she realized.

  “I want to do this right,” he continued. “If you want to go to Carmody, I will follow you there. If you don't want to see me, I will wait until you do. And when you want me, when you are willing to let me see you and speak with you, I will tell you how very much I love you, how I need you. I will tell you anything you want, and there will never be another lie between us. All I am asking for is a chance, Lydia.”

  She took a deep breath.

  “Tell me now.”

  “Lydia?”

  “Tell me how much you love me now.”

  She could hear the smile in his voice, the rumble in his chest as he started to speak.

  “I love you. I love you better than I love the sun at dawn or at sunset. I love you better than a horse in a full gallop or the feeling of winning a fortune at the gaming tables. I love you better than I love to eat, or to breathe, and I do believe I could live off the very sight of you alone.”

  “You love me a great deal,” Lydia said, tilting her face up to look at him.

  “I will continue if you wish.”

  “No, I want to tell you that I love you as well. I love you so very much there is no room for anything else in my heart. Not anger, not even grief. Not right now.”

  It seemed a poor confession in return for his, but Nicholas looked as if the sun had finally come out for him. He pulled her close, his lips seeking hers. His kiss was soft and gentle, and somehow, Lydia could swear she could feel his love in it as well as the future they were going to share together.

  * * *

  .

  .

  .

  * * *

  * * *

  .

  .

  .

  EPILOGUE

  .

  “River, Mama!” cried Benji, clapping his hands. “River and boats!”

  “Yes, my love, that is the river indeed! See that boat there? That one belongs to your papa, and it has brought silk all the way from China.”

  Her son shrieked with delight. Though Lydia had her doubts that he understood everything that she was saying, he was certainly enthusiastic about a day out on the water.

  There were a few other people on the steam yacht, a family out for the day, and a few courting couples under the hawk-like eyes of their chaperons. It occurred to Lydia that she had not seen Eunice in a little while, and then she saw her, bustling toward them with a few small packets in her hand.

  “Oh, it is the most clever thing in the world,” Eunice exclaimed. “There's a young boy just over there selling cake, and I thought we could all use a treat.”

  “You are quite spoiling poor Benji,” Lydia said, trying to be stern, but there was such a holiday feeling about the day that she could not stand to keep it up. Instead, she set her son down and let him toddle toward his great-great-aunt, looking for the sweets she had promised.

  The yacht was a wonderful treat in and of itself, but Lydia was looking forward to landing, when Nicholas could join them. He had to speak with the captain of his ship and had sent Lydia, Eunice, and Benji on the yacht for a short excursion while he had business.

  Even now, the yacht was drifting back toward the dock, and for one breathtaking moment, Lydia saw a familiar face in the crowd. Though Benjamin had always worn a serious expression in life, now his face was wreathed with smiles, and he waved at her briskly and joyfully before he disappeared again. Seeing him sent a pang of joy and wonder through Lydia, and tears filled her eyes.

  “Mama sad?” asked a tremulous Benji, and she leaned down to wipe the cake crumbs from his face with a smile.

  “No, sweetest. Mama just cries sometimes when she's very happy.”

  She scooped up Benji in her arms as the yacht landed on the dock. She had barely taken two steps off the gangplank when Nicholas appeared, sweeping them both into his arms.

  “There you are. I have missed you both so much.”

  “Please, Nicholas, we were only separated for a few hours.”

  “It does not change how much I missed you. Did you have a good sail?”

  Nicholas took a closer look at Lydia, and then he handed Benji to Eunice.

  “Will you take him off for a few minutes?” he asked, and then he drew Lydia to a sheltered spot away from the crowd.

  “What's the matter, love? Have you been crying?”

  “No, well, maybe just a little bit.”

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing. Let's just say that I love you so very much, and I love the life we have together. All is well with the world.”

  Uncaring of the crowd, she leaned into his embrace and planted a soft kiss on his mouth.

  Nicholas chuckled at her boldness and nodded.

  “As long as you love me, then all is indeed right with the world.”

  * * *

  THANK YOU

  for reading my book

  I hope you have enjoyed the novella special.

  Christin's Splendid Spinster's Society is Book 07 in the series.

  The next book targeted release date will be 25th April.

  In the meantime . . .

  If you have enjoyed reading Christin's Splendid Spinster's Society, I believe you will be interested in the previous book.

  I have enclosed a sneak preview of the previous book.

  Check it out below . . .

  It is currently priced at $0.99 (around 230 pages)

  CHAPTER ONE

  Hampshire, England

  Spring 1806

  Lord Hugh Vance always enjoyed coming home, but he had the feeling that this visit would change that. He stared ahead as the ferrymen sailed him and the other passengers toward the bay. Southampton surrounded the River Itchen on two sides. Hugh held onto the railing and looked at the others who traveled with him.

  A few people were obviously alone, but it was the families that caught his eye. Smaller children ran around or stood idly by their parents. A few couples spoke, standing close to one another. The sound of laughter flowed on the wind only to be carried away. Hugh wondered if that would be him soon. Would he have a happy marriage like the one his parents had shared or was his going to be the sort he’d come to understand was the fate of most lords?

  As the Marquess of Edvoy, he had a duty. He had to marry someone from a good home and secure an heir from her as soon as possible.

  But he wanted more.

  At eighteen, he thought himself much too young to marry. He’d only been at Oxford for two years and had thought he’d be closer to thirty before he made such a decision, but the death of his father had changed everything. With the old marquess’ death, Hugh was faced with the knowledge that if he died, so did his line.

  The Vance family had held the title for over six generations. His father had often reminded him that his great-great-grandfather had been against the Mayflower’s departure from their shores to the New World in 1607, and now that New World was a country of its own.

  He hoped to tell his own son that story one day, about the Vance men who’d once held the title. In order to secure that, he had to marry.

  He’d been informed that his mother had already chosen his bride from a middle-class house she claimed held three important attributes: beauty, money, and fertile loins. The Bellenger family consisted of si
x children, two of them sons.

  Hugh knew the youngest son, Orion. They both attended Oxford and lived in the same Dame’s House, which was run by a mean-spirited woman. Though they belonged to separate groups, Hugh counted him as a friend.

  The ferry docked, and Hugh allowed his footman to catch him a hack and then they were off.

  They moved through High Street toward Castle Square. During the ride, he tried to think of what he would say when he met his bride.

  Maia Bellenger.

  According to his mother, she was the eldest of the girls and the one with the most sensible name. Since Hugh knew Orion well, he knew his mother's dramatic tendencies.

  The daughters had all been named in order of the Seven Sisters, nymphs that had been turned to stars in order to protect them from the lustful gods who hunted them. He hoped the women lived up to the legend, but if they did not, it wouldn’t matter. Hugh had already decided that he’d do as his mother wished because while she might manage a smile or two, he could tell that her heart was broken. He didn’t know how long she had before she left this world to go be with his father.

  Love sometimes happened that way, Hugh knew. His father, Joseph Vance, had been his mother's other half, and she struggled to go on without him.

  The story of his parents’ love had always been a tale that Hugh enjoyed hearing. It started with a kiss on her debut to Society no less. They’d been at a party thrown by one of Hugh’s grandfather’s friends. They’d only been introduced before they’d been pulled apart to dance with others. But Joseph had watched Rose leave the ballroom and had followed her.