Miss Sophia's Spirited Spinster's Society (The Spinster’s Society) (A Regency Romance Book)

by Charlotte Stone

  .

  .

  .

  EPILOGUE

  .

  Lorena gasped. "Those wretched men! I can't believe they would—"

  "Shh." Alice grabbed her arm. "They'll hear you," she whispered.

  Lorena silently fumed.

  "I think we should marry them," Sophia said.

  "What?" Lorena narrowed her eyes. "Never. I will never marry Emmett."

  Genie rolled her eyes. "Lorena, no one believes you anymore when you say that. I'm with Sophia. We should simply marry. Helsby is dead. It is time to settle."

  "But that doesn't mean the group must cease," Sophia said. "If the men are intent on keeping us here until we marry, then let us marry quickly and wait to consummate the marriage when we get to London and talk to the woman who gives us the smartweed before they do."

  "Wait?" Genie asked. "You mean, don't have sex with Francis for over a week?" She bit her lip. "I don't think I can do that, Sophia."

  Alice covered her cheeks. "Neither can I. Calvin is..."

  Lorena touched Alice's shoulder and grinned. "The men have... needs."

  "And so do we," Genie whispered.

  Sophia sighed, knowing they were right. Even now she craved Morris. "Then insist on sponges or get very creative but the men are right. I won't be able to run around London if I'm with child."

  They were quiet.

  Lorena nodded. "All right. Let's get married."

  And the women set their own plans with much spirit.

  * * *

  THANK YOU

  for reading my book and

  i hope you have enjoyed the story.

  If you have enjoyed reading Sophia’s Spirited Spinster’s Society, I believe you will be interested in the next book.

  I have enclosed a sneak preview of the next book.

  Check it out below . . .

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

  PROLOGUE

  June 1813

  Gretna Green

  Florence Crew averted her eyes and twisted her hands together as the argument before her grew, her own heart twisting with pain at what she was witnessing. When one set to travel to Gretna Green, it was easy to believe that happiness was in store, but that was not so in the current situation.

  “Please.”

  She dared to peek over, and tears burned her eyes.

  “Don’t do this to me.” The pitch of Elipha Thrup’s voice had fallen with her despair. She knelt on the floor, pulling on the coat of the gentleman who stood before her. Her makeup had ruined her usually pretty face an hour ago and her dress, an ivory silk number that Florence had pressed just that morning was wrinkled. Only her hair had managed to hold, its ribbons and flowers still in place, holding her extravagant curls. Everything had been done to make the best impression on her groom.

  But it appeared the wedding was off.

  Florence cringed as Elipha released a long, bone-chilling wail, the sound almost inhuman.

  “I’ll be ruined if you back out now,” she cried.

  Lord James Rakefield shifted uncomfortably, looking everywhere but at the woman he’d dragged up north to become his wife. He was dressed in a dark suit, his blond hair cleanly cut. Though he was not very handsome, he had a way of holding himself that left a pleasant impression in one’s mind. He straightened. “I’m sorry, but this is not going to work. I thought it would, but I won’t risk exile from my father. As a second son, I need his support to survive.”

  Elipha gasped, her eyes widening. “I’ll do anything.”

  He frowned, and Florence braced for the words she knew would come next. “I’m sorry.” He knelt and cradled her face. “Elipha, I can’t. You’re… I’m not even sure if the baby is mine, and if it turns out to look like anyone but you or I, my father will cut me off.”

  Her ladyship panicked, and her knuckles went white as she pulled on him. “But it could be yours. We were together around the time I conceived.”

  “But I was not the only one. We both knew this going in. I thought with your dowry, we would survive, but with your father’s threats, I cannot.” A letter from Lord Nolwell had arrived that morning as though Elipha’s every move had been followed by her father. He’d threatened that there would be no dowry if Lord Rakefield married her, preferring an heir to either a title or vast land for his daughter's hand instead. Someone with means and not a second son.

  Lord Rakefield jerked back and stepped out of her hold. “Goodbye, Elipha.” He left and closed the door just before Elipha sent an entire tea tray went sailing across the room.

  Elipha screamed and fell into a fit of sobs, her face puffy from frustration and tears. It was an ugly sight, and one Florence had seen before when a man broke Elipha’s heart. Though she wished to comfort her with a hand or hug, she knew better than to try such a thing. Instead, she went to the tray that had been prepared with wine to celebrate the union and poured Elipha a glass.

  Her lady looked up at her, and her face crumbled once more before she snatched the glass and drank heavily. When she finished, a deafening hush fell over the room. The sounds of the other boarders in the inn downstairs could be heard from the dining and sitting room. It seemed many had come to Gretna Green at this time to wed or visit family during the holiday of either Twelfth Night or Christmas.

  Florence’s heart beat erratically, a slow uneven pace as she watched Elipha’s face calm. Her pale green eyes, made harder by the red that surrounded them, stared outward, though Florence knew she was looking at nothing. Her neck was straight, and her ivory gown fanned out around her. The flames from the fireplace flickered over her still frame.

  Elipha blinked before handing Florence the empty glass. “Find a doctor, please.”

  “No.” Florence knelt and took Elipha’s hand. “You mustn't do this.”

  Elipha snatched her hand away. “You’re my lady’s maid, and you’ll do as I say.”

  That was their relationship. Usually Florence understood it and never dared cross that line, but today she dared for the sake of the baby Elipha carried. She’d had such great hope for the child when they’d been informed that Elipha was with child. After the tragedy Elipha had suffered, she’d never been the same. The baby seemed like hope to Florence even though Elipha had thought it the end of the world.

  Florence tried to take her hand again. “We can find another way.”

  “There is no other way.” Elipha glared and moved her hand away. “I cannot return to London carrying a child.”

  “Then we’ll stay here or anywhere else.” Florence pressed her hand to her chest as she pleaded. She didn’t enjoy the thought of being away from her sick mother, but she’d do it if it meant keeping a child alive. “I’ll help you raise the babe. No one need know.”

  Elipha laughed and giggled as she stared into Florence’s eyes, the repudiation obvious. “Surely, you know how silly you sound. I’m only eighteen, and I’m the daughter of a marquess. I wasn’t meant to live my life alone. I was the prettiest girl the year of my debut. If Ron hadn’t died…” She looked away into the fire again. “I spent a year in mourning after that, and it was simply one suitor after another until Rakefield asked for my hand.” She sighed and shook her head. “I’ll not return to London with a burden. Go get the doctor. My cousin’s husband has a home not far from here. We’ll take care of everything there.”

  Clearly, there would be no convincing her otherwise.

  Florence stood and grabbed her bonnet before heading to the door. “I’ll be back with word from the doctor.”

  Elipha didn’t acknowledge her as she closed the door.

  Florence’s feet were unsteady as her heart broke with the mission she’d been given. Elipha was going to rid herself of the child, and there was nothing Florence could do to change her mind. There had been a time when Florence was sure Elipha would never have gone through with such an act, but Ron’s death had changed everything. Dr. Ron Philips had come to see Elipha when she’d fallen ill and fro
m what Florence had witnessed, it had been love at first sight. Ron had been a young doctor who was training under a well-known physician in London. He’d been a man of his own means, and Elipha’s father, the Marquess of Nolwell, had not approved of the match.

  When Ron had died in a carriage accident just a month into the forbidden courtship, many had believed Nolwell had arranged it. The entire incident had made it difficult for Elipha to court in public even after a year of mourning, all fearing Nolwell’s wrath.

  So, Elipha had started taking men in secret, and Florence had helped keep her affairs private as was her duty.

  But she’d had great hope with Rakefield, who was the second son of a marquess. He’d seemed to genuinely like Elipha, and Florence had bounced with joy when he’d proposed. Tragedy had a way of finding Elipha and for the last three years, Florence had witnessed it all, experiencing a lifetime of woes.

  She made her way to the main floor and asked the innkeeper if he knew of a midwife.

  “I know every midwife there is in Gretna Green,” the large man said. “Ya wouldn’t believe the number of babes born here.” He smiled warmly.

  Florence wished she could join the man in his smile but couldn’t find the strength to do so. “I was looking for one without a faith.”

  He lifted a brow and narrowed his eyes. He looked Florence over before lowering his voice. “You don’na have to do this.”

  She blinked as emotions clogged her throat. She cleared it in an effort to speak. “But I do.” She knew better than to say she was looking for a woman for her ladyship. To most, it would make no difference if she, a servant, rid herself of a child. Some would even have encouraged her, but obviously, this man was not most. “Where can I go?”

  He stared at her as if contemplating his words before saying, “There’s a woman. Her name is Coira.”

  He gave her directions to where the woman could be found. She was not far from the inn.

  “Thank you.” Florence stared out into the beautiful spring day. She wasn’t sure if it was the historical significance of Gretna Green that made it seem magical, but Florence thought it much too beautiful a day for what Elipha had planned. Overhead, the sky was blue with clouds that seemed to have been spread out with hands, the white forming a sweeping pattern. The grass was green and went on for miles past the white buildings in the village. She watched more than a few couples cling to one another as she walked down the sidewalk, love shining in their eyes as they either headed to the inn or into carriages. Men and women from every class in Europe came to Gretna Green to wed for their own reasons under the authority of anyone they could find in the Scottish town. Usually, that person was a blacksmith.

  She almost forgot why she’d left the inn when she arrived at a small shop at the end of the road. She went inside and saw two women.

  One was behind a counter and was much shorter and older than the tall woman who stood in the middle of the room with a broom in hand.

  “How can I help ya?” the taller one said. Her expression wasn’t quite welcoming but not off-putting. It was simply guarded. Her eyes were a soft blue and her hair a dark blond. Florence guessed her to be in her early forties.

  She walked over to her, her shoes loud against the wooden floor. “I’m looking for the local midwife. Her name is Coira.”

  The woman looked her over, staring at her belly before meeting her eyes again. “When are ya due?”

  “Are you the midwife?”

  The woman made a grudging sound that matched her expression. “I asked ya when ya were due, didn’t I?”

  The shorter woman, who stood only a few feet away, was staring at them intently.

  Florence straightened her shoulders. “May I know to whom I am speaking?”

  The tall one’s eyes widened. “You’ve an uppity accent for a girl of yer station.”

  She ignored the comment but knew that her black uniform dress gave away the fact that she was neither titled nor wealthy. If it wasn’t for her brother, her accent would have been more lower-class English but the clarity in her voice had been one of the ways she’d gotten her position as an upper-class maid and she would not allow the woman to speak to her as anything less. “Are you Coira or not?”

  “I’m the midwife,” the shorter woman said. “My name is Coira.”

  Florence turned to look her over and guessed her to be about sixty or so. Her gray hair was naturally curled and seemed to fight the bun she’d pulled it back into. She had a round face with large blue eyes. She walked over to the counter and didn’t bother to lower her voice. She knew the taller one would listen in. “I need to get rid of a baby.”

  Coira frowned. “I charge extra for that service.”

  “I’ll pay you whatever that price may be.” She knew Elipha would have said the same. Money was never an issue for the girl. Her parents had increased her allowance after Ron’s death. Florence thought it might have been from guilt. She gave Coira the room number at the inn and left.

  When she returned to the inn, she saw the keeper standing next to a couple. He pointed at her as he spoke to them, and Florence froze as she was approached by the man and woman.

  The woman smiled kindly, looking her over from head to foot. “Oh, she’s a bonnie lass. You’d never know unless ya looked at her.”

  Florence felt heat crawl up her neck and sting her cheeks. She tried to walk around them, but the couple moved with her.

  “Hello, would you mind if we took ya for a minute of yer time?” The woman had dark red hair and pretty brown eyes.

  The man also offered a smile. He had darker features. They seemed older than Florence but not by much.

  She had no idea what they wanted from her but thought perhaps the innkeeper had told them about her request and perhaps they wished to talk her out of it. She didn’t have time for such nonsense, since she was not the one with child. “I’m very sorry, but I must get back to my duties.”

  “Ya speak so well,” the woman said. “Do ya eat well?”

  Florence looked away, hoping the couple would understand that she wished to be left alone. Usually, people didn’t bother to meet her eyes. She’d learned to blend in with the walls.

  “I’m Brenden Turnbull, and this is my wife Allie. We know about yer situation, and we wish to help,”

  “How?” Florence asked. It seemed like no one would help Elipha.

  “We’ll take the baby,” the man said and reached for the woman’s hand, holding it tightly. “We run an orphanage, and we take any soul who has no place to go.” He cleared his throat and went on. “The innkeeper said you were thinking of… ridding yerself of it, but we could pay you if you let us. We’ll even pay for your stay here.”

  Florence stared at them with wide eyes and shivered as her blood began to rush through her veins. This could be Elipha’s way out of the situation and the way to save the baby, but she’d have to convince Elipha of it and didn’t know if she could.

  But she’d try.

  She’d try for the sake of the baby.

  * * *

  CHAPTER ONE

  January 1814

  Seven Months Later

  “Are you sure this is the place?”

  Rollo Kerry looked out the window and listened as his friends continued to speak.

  “I’m sure,” the Earl of Jeanshire said a second time. Aaron seemed slightly annoyed, though he’d been that way for at least a week since he found out some news that was set to change his life forever. The carriage moved up the path toward the two-story white house in the distance.

  Aaron went on. “According to my cousin’s papers, this is the house.” It was surrounded by snow, which had made it almost impossible to spot. Had it not been for the black smoke that rose from the chimney, the driver might have missed it. The only color was the few dark trees that dotted the field, having lost their leaves months ago.

  Aaron made no move to look at any of it. His blue eyes remained focused on nothing in particular. Aaron’s cousin, the Baron of Helsby
, had died a few weeks ago, killing himself and leaving behind two young girls after realizing that the woman he loved would never be his.

  The entire Helsby incident had left Rollo and all his friends feeling low, for it had been them, the brotherhood called the Men of Nashwood, that had gone after Helsby after he’d kidnapped their friend Sophia Taylor. When they finally reached the pair, Sophia had just escaped and nearly died in the snow. After a tussle, Helsby had broken loose from his restraints and ended his own life.

  It left blood on the brothers’ hands, but it wasn’t the first time that had happened to the ten men who were closer than most.

  Sophia Taylor was now engaged to one of their members, Morris, who was the Duke of Cort, and Aaron had inherited another title. Since it was a lesser title, he would still be referred to as the Earl of Jeanshire. But even more than land and title, Aaron had most likely inherited Helsby’s daughters, since the girls had no other close relatives. Aaron was to meet his cousin’s solicitor to find out the details. The man would be bringing the girls up with him.

  Calvin Lockwood joined Rollo at the window and narrowed his hazel eyes at the building. “There’s smoke coming from the house.”

  Aaron crossed his arms. “It could mean there are servants there, which would be good.”

  “But why would your cousin have kept servants at a house he barely used?” Calvin asked. “And this property is much nicer than the farm he stayed at. Why not come here?”

  “This property is farther from the village. As to why there are servants here, who is to know how Helsby’s mind worked?” Aaron asked with a low murmur.

  “I don’t,” Rollo murmured. Knowing Helsby had abandoned his children didn’t sit well with Rollo, though he had to take his own personal experiences into account. He had no idea where his own parents were. Most assumed them dead, while Rollo counted himself abandoned. It was an easier reality to deal with.