The Colonel's Spinster: A Regency Romance (Tragic Characters in Classic Literature)

by Audrey Harrison

  “You aren’t used to a great deal of exercise, so it will be hard at the beginning. What you need is someone as understanding as Mr. Huxley to stand up with. And then if you should tire, he could take you out of the dance without a fuss being made,” Prudence coaxed.

  “Mother would never agree to my dancing, but especially not with Mr. Huxley,” Anne said, aghast at the thought.

  “That’s a shame. You should be able to dance with whomever you wish.”

  “I envy you. You seem to do whatever you want,” Anne said.

  “Not at all. I have constraints just as everyone else does. It is just that I’ve been brought up to think most things are achievable, and I haven’t got a mother with such steadfast opinions. I have run wild since my own mother died,” Prudence admitted.

  “You managed to persuade Mother to take us to an assembly. That is an achievement indeed.”

  “I think that had to do more with our cousin’s words than mine,” Prudence acknowledged.

  “He’s very good.”

  “Yes, he is a good sort,” Prudence said. The new cousin was becoming far more important to her than she could have supposed at the start of her introduction into her mother’s family.

  “And single,” Anne said with a sly look.

  “Just you watch what you are suggesting, Miss De Bourgh,” Prudence said primly. “Our cousin is as likely to fix his interest on me as you are to stand up with Mr. Huxley.”

  “Maybe a dance with Mr. Huxley is not so unachievable after all,” Anne said with a smile.

  “Pfft. You have claws, Cousin, and are a minx to boot. This meek and mild exterior is just to fool us all.”

  “I have no idea what you mean,” Anne replied.

  Chapter 4

  Walking downstairs, Fitzwilliam noticed the door to the study was ajar, and catching a glimpse of a muslin skirt, he changed direction and entered the room.

  Prudence was standing, looking at the portrait hanging over the fireplace. She had a wistful air about her but smiled in welcome at Fitzwilliam.

  “Ah, you are looking at the three sisters,” Fitzwilliam said. The portrait was done when the sisters were all under twenty years of age. They were gathered together, the painting just showing their shoulders and heads, and although they were not smiling, there was a twinkle in one of the sister’s eyes.

  “Did you know that my mother was in this portrait when it was first painted?” Prudence asked.

  “Really? No. I have never heard that before,” Fitzwilliam admitted.

  “Anne said Aunt Catherine admitted to the fact when Anne asked if there were any portraits of my mother. Our grandfather had this painting altered after Mama married Papa and destroyed any paintings of just Mama.”

  “I realise you must remember your mother clearly,” Fitzwilliam said. “Have you any likenesses of her?”

  “Oh, yes. Father was besotted with her, and Mama’s picture is in all forms at home. There are a few of us together, which I now treasure even more.”

  Fitzwilliam frowned as he considered the painting. Portraits cost money. Lots of it, depending on the painter. He was surprised a cotton worker could afford more than one portrait. It niggled at him, along with other inconsistencies about Prudence. He was distracted from his ponderings by a sigh from her.

  “What is it?” he asked gently.

  “I would have liked to have seen them together,” Prudence admitted. “I do not resemble Mama ― or Papa for that matter. I have always wondered where I fitted in, if that makes sense? I obviously know where I belong, and I am happy with my life. Don’t misunderstand me. But there was always a part missing. A part I was curious about.”

  “I suppose there would be. Your father clearly understood, hence his wishing for you to get to know us.”

  “Yes. He is an astute man and a considerate one. I would have understood if he’d never wished me to be in contact with mother’s family, but he was always aware that there were questions bubbling inside me.”

  “You are very like Darcy’s mother,” Fitzwilliam said. “I actually thought that from the moment I saw you.”

  It was Prudence’s turn to frown at the painting. “Do you think so? To me, she is the prettiest of the sisters, which is utterly appalling of me to say as one of those is your own mother!”

  Laughing, Fitzwilliam folded his arms in mock anger. “I am disgusted at your insult. Be gone! Back to the north, wench!”

  “Buffoon!”

  “My mother would love to have met you before now,” Fitzwilliam said. “I think our grandfather was of similar characteristics as Aunt Catherine. What he said was never challenged by his daughters. I wish she were close by so I could ask ― so you could ask ― all the questions Aunt Catherine would never answer. One day I am sure you will meet.”

  “Yes. I foolishly tried to ask question after question when I first arrived, expecting that Aunt Catherine would fill all the gaps for me. Unfortunately, whenever I brought up the subject of my mother, all I received was either a scolding or a lecture about my mother’s actions in eloping.” Prudence grimaced. “It is a shame that she is only remembered for one tiny moment in her life.”

  “That happens very often, I think. Particularly where characters like Aunt Catherine are concerned. Cousin Elizabeth will always be too lowly birthed for Darcy, no matter how well she is at being mistress of Pemberley, which is larger than Rosings. Anne will always be a fragile little thing because she was sickly as a child. Aunt Catherine seizes on the thing that she can repine over again and again and use to her advantage. It isn’t a becoming trait,” Fitzwilliam said.

  “No.”

  “But you are like Darcy’s mother. And yes, that means I consider you very pretty.”

  Prudence flushed a little, but laughed it off. “As I have said before, I know exactly where I stand with regard to looks. I am all angles and sharpness.”

  Fitzwilliam swung around and caught hold of Prudence’s hands. When she was facing him, warily regarding him, he released her. Using his fingertips, he traced the contours of her face. “You have laughing eyes that sparkle beautifully. Your cheekbones are high and accentuate your slim features. Your lips are always ready to smile; their curve upwards is testament to that. Yes, you are very pretty.”

  Having stilled at the most intimate exploration of her face, Prudence’s eyes had widened as she watched Fitzwilliam’s serious expression as he described her. Swallowing at their closeness and the feelings the experience caused, she tried to think of a retort that would turn the situation into a funny one. Unfortunately, her brain stopped working, and she was finding it difficult to speak.

  Fitzwilliam seemed to gather himself when his fingers reached the curve of her chin. Tenderly smiling at her, he reached over and kissed her nose. “You are beautiful. Never forget that.”

  Turning, he walked out of the room, silently cursing the fact that he had not grabbed her and kissed her fully and wondering how the devil he was going to figure out a way to avoid contact with her. He was being affected like he had never been affected by anyone before. It was extremely worrying and irresistible at the same time.

  *

  The following morning Prudence settled into the wing-backed chair, a cushion tucked under her arm, propping up the book she was reading. Her feet were curled underneath her, her satin slippers on the carpet.

  She looked up quickly as the door opened, ready to alter her stance if needed, but relaxed when she saw Fitzwilliam enter the room.

  “Am I disturbing you?” Fitzwilliam asked as he closed the door behind him.

  “Not at all. I should say I am reading something educational, but I am not. Anne told me that I must read this novel. Miss Goode recommended it to her, and she contrived to have it delivered to the house without Aunt Catherine finding out,” she explained.

  Fitzwilliam laughed. “I’m still surprised that I am seeing a whole other side to Anne than what I have been used to. She is becoming quite rebellious.”

  “
In her own quiet way. I think it’s since she no longer has the threat of marrying Cousin Darcy.”

  “I think it is more to do with a certain rebel from Manchester.” Fitzwilliam flicked out the tails of his frock coat and sat on the chair opposite Prudence.

  “I’m not in the slightest bit rebellious,” Prudence laughed.

  “I’m afraid I cannot believe such an outrageous lie.”

  “You do me a great disservice,” Prudence scolded. “I shall have you know that I was brought up every bit the polite miss.”

  “Of course you were. A pity your teacher did not realise there was a streak of mischief underneath that polite façade.”

  “Yes. Papa always hoped it would be something my governess could overcome, but I was a lost cause.”

  Fitzwilliam frowned slightly. She’d had a governess. That was something he hadn’t expected to hear, and he wished to question her further. Only his reluctance to begin to sound like his aunt prevented him from asking other questions.

  He saw Prudence watching him and suspected she was aware of his inner thoughts. He flushed a little but smiled at her. “I’m interested to hear about Manchester and where you live.”

  “I would imagine Manchester is like no place you have visited.”

  “I spend the season in London, which is a larger city,” Fitzwilliam pointed out.

  “But do you spend your time in the gardens and refined houses, or do you explore the areas where the business is carried out? Where the real work takes place?” The questions were asked with a laugh, for she was fully aware of what his answer would be.

  “I have not had a completely privileged lifestyle,” Fitzwilliam answered. His tone was defensive.

  “I know,” Prudence said, immediately contrite. “We had some soldiers returning to our area. Their injuries are terrible, and some are reduced to begging because they cannot work. It is pitiful to see.”

  “They should be helped. They gave up their livelihoods to protect this country, and we repay them by forcing them to beg and be out of work? It’s a disgrace!” Fitzwilliam looked angry, standing and walking to the decanter. His shoulders stiff, he poured himself a large brandy and took a swig. “No one who willingly went onto those battlefields should have to work another day, let alone beg for their existence. No one in these fine houses understands what it was like. What it was really like.”

  He had not turned back to Prudence, but she moved over to him, placing her arm gently on his. He tensed under her touch but didn’t pull away.

  “I agree completely. We have organisations that try to help. I’m involved with some of them. We do what we can, but I know it is not enough.”

  “You are very good to give up your time.”

  “It is the least I can do. I’m sorry to have upset you. I go blundering in without thinking. Now you can see why I am such a lost cause in my father’s eyes,” Prudence said with a slight smile, but she rubbed her hand gently along his arm.

  Fitzwilliam looked down at her. She was smaller than he, but only just. She had struck him from the first moment he had met her as a capable woman. To see compassion and understanding in her eyes was even more compelling. He rarely spoke to anyone about his experiences.

  “I sent so many to their deaths,” he said quietly.

  “No. Napoleon did that. You sent men to defend our country, and the other countries of Europe, from a tyrant.”

  “It didn’t feel like that then, or now. I know the names of every single man who was injured in my regiment or who didn’t come back.”

  Prudence rested her head on Fitzwilliam’s shoulder in an act of empathy. “It is to your credit that you do so,” she said.

  “I sometimes feel guilty that I survived. I mean who would miss me if I had not returned? A handful of people perhaps, but there were men with children and wives who were lost on the battlefield. That does not seem fair.”

  Feeling a chill at his words, Prudence kept her voice calm. “Everyone is important. It is wrong to put one person above another.”

  “Perhaps. It is just that when I look back ― oh you’ve caught me in a maudlin mood!” Fitzwilliam laughed. He bent down slightly and kissed the top of Prudence’s head affectionately before moving away from her.

  Prudence moved back to her seat, accepting his change of tone, not interpreting the kiss as anything other than a show of part affection, part apology for his more serious mood. She felt sorry that he was the one always seen as the jovial one when it was clear to her that he suffered, and his words had confirmed that.

  “Were you looking to read? Or were you just seeking an escape?” Prudence asked, changing the subject.

  Fitzwilliam grinned. “An escape. Could you not see the hunted expression I wore when I entered?”

  “Aunt Catherine could have followed you in here, and we both would have been caught.”

  “Better to have a partner in crime than to face her wrath alone.”

  “Coward.”

  “Completely, when my aunt is involved. Shall we take a turn around the gardens?”

  “We risk being caught if we enter the hallway,” Prudence pointed out.

  “But not if we escape through the window,” Fitzwilliam said, moving over to one of the three full-length windows in the library. Unhooking the catch, he swung the door open. “Ready for a real escape, Cousin?”

  “You are incorrigible,” Prudence said, but the book was forgotten as she walked towards Fitzwilliam.

  Offering his hand, he held tight until she’d stepped into the open. “Are you warm enough?” he asked. “I should have contrived a way of obtaining at least a shawl for you.”

  Prudence shook her head in the negative. “No. You forget I live in the north. It is positively balmy here.”

  “I think you fun with us much of the time,” Fitzwilliam said. “I hardly know when to take you seriously about your life back home. My instinct is to think most of the time you are bamboozling us.”

  “I do not! I have every respect for all my new relations and would not tease you so.” Prudence defended herself, but her smile was mischievous.

  “And that comment is a prime example of what I mean! You are a minx, but beware! For I am on to you.”

  Prudence laughed. “You, sir, are a rogue.”

  “And you, dear Cousin, are quite possibly the most intriguing woman I have ever met.”

  Fitzwilliam’s words increased Prudence’s guilt, but she tried to push it aside. She would tell him of her situation soon. She wanted to be honest with him more than anything, but she was becoming more worried about the reaction her words would cause. There should have been truthfulness from the start. He was suspicious of her. She could see that, and needing to be frank with him was becoming more and more important to her.

  They strolled about the gardens, thoroughly enjoying each other’s company, until Fitzwilliam caught Prudence shivering.

  “Oh, blast it! You are cold! Why didn’t you say?” he asked in some consternation, immediately shrugging himself out of his frock coat.

  “Do not concern yourself. It is only now that I’ve started to feel a chill. I have been enjoying myself too much to return to the house before.”

  Fitzwilliam wrapped his frock coat around Prudence’s shoulders. “Here. Take this. I too have been enjoying myself, but I insist we return. I’d be mortified if you caught a chill.”

  Prudence relished the feel of the still warm coat. It felt delightful to be encompassed within the fine material. She wondered if it was the quality of the coat or the fact that it was his that made her feel quite heated as they returned to the house.

  Entering the hallway, both let out a silent groan when they were faced with Lady Catherine, coming down the stairs.

  Their aunt paused mid-step. “What is this?” she demanded staring at Prudence wrapped in Fitzwilliam’s clothing.

  “We have been for a walk and realised belatedly it was becoming cold,” Fitzwilliam explained, accepting his frock coat from Prudence, who h
ad immediately relinquished it on seeing Lady Catherine.

  “You have been outside without bonnet, gloves, or spencer?” Lady Catherine asked Prudence.

  “It was a spur of the moment decision,” Prudence admitted.

  “It was my fault, Aunt. I persuaded my cousin to leave what she was doing and go into the garden through one of the windows. I did not give her the opportunity to retrieve her outerwear. I should have done so, and I apologise for it,” Fitzwilliam said, with a slight bow of his head towards Prudence.

  “I enjoyed the excursion,” Prudence admitted with a smile.

  Lady Catherine narrowed her eyes at her niece. “That is conduct that is not becoming of a relative of mine.”

  “I am sorry, Aunt,” Prudence said demurely.

  “It was my doing entirely,” Fitzwilliam interjected.

  “It is Prudence’s responsibility to know what she should and should not do. How can she hope to improve herself if she continues to behave like a hoyden?”

  “Aunt! For goodness sake! We went into the garden!” Fitzwilliam snapped, probably for the first time, at his aunt.

  “It is easy for you to say that, but she must remember her place. It is far too easy to be condemned for one’s actions. My connections to her won’t always protect her,” Lady Catherine said.

  “Oh, dear Lord!” Fitzwilliam said.

  “It does not matter, Cousin,” Prudence said quietly. “Aunt, please forgive my lapse of judgement. It will not happen again.”

  “I am glad to hear it. Now I suggest you go into the library and spend a half hour on reading a sermon. I can choose one for you if you like.”

  “No. Thank you. I can choose a suitable sermon myself,” Prudence said quickly. “And remove the evidence of my novel,” she whispered to Fitzwilliam as she passed him on the way to the library.

  Hearing a choke caused by her words, Prudence tried to suppress the smile on her lips, but by the glare she received from her aunt, she wasn’t convinced she’d achieved it.

  Chapter 5