Well, well. That was a flattering take on a strange situation if he ever heard one. Graham wasn’t entirely certain he could have said the same of Ingram purely due to his own reserve and wary nature where others were concerned. It was oddly humbling, and he dipped his chin in acknowledgment of the praise.
“He deserves to know,” Lieutenant Henshaw murmured, standing against a wall nearby, looking nearly as fatigued as Lady Edith. “As much as the rest of us.”
“If you are comfortable with that, Edith,” Vale insisted from his place behind his wife. “It is your decision.”
Impossibly, Lady Edith turned her attention to Graham, the conflict within her evident in her luminous eyes. She wasn’t an indecisive creature, he knew that much, but she seemed to be looking for instruction here, and he had none to give. Vale was right; Lady Edith ought to have the final word, though she might not have wished for this in the first place.
Graham met her eyes steadily, not daring to blink. He couldn’t think of words to say that might comfort her or encourage her. He could barely think at all under the circumstances. He hardly knew her. Knew nothing beyond what he could see. Had no authority or connection to call upon.
What could he say?
Something exchanged between them in their silent observance of each other, standing as they were on the precipice of the unknown, and Graham felt himself exhale slowly. He would swear he saw her do the same, and a thin thread of trust extended from him to her. Or from her to him. From one to the other. Thin, trembling with newness, but firmly in place.
Whatever this was, he was in. And she accepted that.
Why did he suddenly want to smile?
“I’m here! I’m here!” a new voice shouted from the corridor, accompanied by the pattering of slippered feet against the floor. “I hope you haven’t said anything important yet; I’m here!”
“You canna be serious,” Lady Edith said in alarm, breaking the connection between her and Graham as she looked to the doorway, wide-eyed.
A young woman in a plain but clean sprigged muslin gown dashed into the room, her long, dark hair loosely plaited and dancing around with the motion. Her cheeks were flushed, and she panted shamelessly for a moment or two.
“Miss Wright, my lord,” Locke intoned belatedly, his voice stiff with displeasure, his expression resigned.
“So I see,” Ingram replied with a faint smile. “You may commence with listening at the door as you were, Locke.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
Graham stared as the butler left them again, wondering if Ingram were teasing or the butler truly was prone to eavesdropping.
“Charlotte, do you have any idea what time it is?” Lady Ingram inquired with the same expression Lady Edith wore.
“Quite.” Miss Wright looked around and saw Graham, then bobbed a hasty curtesy. “Good evening, Lord Radcliffe. Or does one say ‘good night’ at this hour? I’ve always thought that a farewell or an incantation for bedtime, neither of which this is. Either way, greetings and so on.”
Graham was intrigued and amused, he would freely admit. He knew Miss Wright well enough, as anyone in Society did, but their personal interactions had been limited.
Still, he was in possession of some wit.
“The same to you, I believe,” he replied with a half bow.
Someone in the vicinity of Mr. Vale snorted, and Graham was instantly more comfortable with his surroundings.
“Ch-Charlotte,” Mrs. Vale stammered, her throat working with the effort. “Wh-wh-what… are you…?”
Graham’s attention flicked to the woman with mild concern, though no one else in the room seemed to have noticed anything out of the ordinary. The hand Mr. Vale had on his wife’s shoulder suddenly shifted higher, his fingers brushing against her cheek and neck in an almost absent manner.
“I got Aubrey’s message, of course.” Miss Wright sniffed and sat herself in an open chair as though this were nothing more than an afternoon tea with friends. “I came straight away.”
“From your bed?” Lieutenant Henshaw suggested, a rueful smile appearing.
Miss Wright speared him with the sort of look she might have given a troublesome brother. “Vulgar question, Hensh, but yes, as it happens. My servants are under strict instructions to bring me all messages forthwith upon their arrival, no matter the time. I was not asleep, and this seemed important.” She tossed her long, thick braid over a shoulder and looked around at the room, daring anyone else to have an opinion on the subject.
No one did.
“Right, then,” Ingram murmured, drawing out the words. He shifted his attention to Lady Edith, as did the rest. “Edith, whenever you’re ready.”
Lady Edith looked at Ingram for a long moment. “Tha’ would be three weeks on the long side of never. But I suppose I dinna have much of a choice.” She swallowed and looked down at her hands, exhaling slowly. “It will surprise none of ye to hear that I am almost entirely wi’out means of my own. Archie… Sir Archibald, didna make adjustments to include me in his will before he passed, and there’s no way of knowing if he would have changed it had he lived. When his will became known, it was made verra plain to me that I had no funds and no claim to my dowry, though I had been married one day.”
Graham’s brows shot up at that. One day? He’d heard stories, of course, but he’d thought every one of them an exaggeration.
“How can your dowry not be returned to your family if the will had not been adjusted?” Mr. Vale interrupted without tact. “That seems…”
“The will did not include me,” Lady Edith corrected, overriding the man. “That adjustment had not been made. But there was plenty in the document about the funds brought into a marriage despite having nothing to say on the woman to whom he entered marriage with.” She gave him a soft, bitter smile. “I was permitted to remain in the house in York until the heir to Archie’s fortune and title could be found. It was a glorious time while it lasted.”
Glorious? To be abandoned in an estate one hardly knew, away from family, and with plans all thrown into upheaval? None of it made sense to Graham, but he could not bring himself to question her, or to ask the others present if they were just as ignorant to the meaning of all this as he seemed to be.
Lady Edith cleared her throat and lifted her chin, something in her neck tightening as she did so. “I became acquainted with Sir Reginald some three months after Archie’s death. Much as I disliked my husband, Sir Reginald is far and away the worse of the two. He refused to make reparations to his cousin’s widow, or to permit a portion of my dowry to be returned to my family, given the lack of advantage that would be had from its investment now.”
Graham frowned at the use of the word investment. A dowry was designed to be an inducement to a prospective suitor, it was true, but it was intended to be used in maintaining the lifestyle worthy of a gentleman’s daughter when she left his house for that of her husband. Some fathers even put aside additional portions specifically for their daughter’s use, though it wasn’t particularly common.
It certainly wasn’t meant to be a wager or a bribe, or something used to value a woman.
“There wasn’t much to the dowry to begin with,” Lady Edith muttered then, a harsher edge coming through the words. “Nothing about my marriage to Archie ever made sense to me, and those who arranged it refused to tell me a thing.”
Those who…
He stared at Lady Edith openly, his head spinning. What the hell had happened to her prior to her marriage that had brought her into all of this, anyway? Who had sold her off to a worthless husband? What sort of deal had been struck if Sir Archibald hadn’t been a fortune hunter? Unless the man had only been looking for breeding in his bride, he could see nothing beneficial in a match that was so far from one of love.
Lady Edith stopped speaking, her gaze on the small table before her, eyes unfocused. The color had yet to return to her cheeks, though she didn’t seem to be near to swooning or ill. Simply lost.
So
very lost.
A small corner of his heart cracked at seeing it, and he shoved a bite of food into his mouth to get over the surprising pang in his chest. He was growing sentimental over a stranger’s story, and without pertinent facts to fill the tale out properly. A scheming man had taken advantage of a young woman without influence. It was the same sad story heard in ballrooms all over England.
Nothing unusual, distasteful though it was.
“Edith,” Henshaw prodded more gently than Graham would have managed. “Sir Reginald.”
She blinked and looked up, not at Henshaw, but at Graham, and he felt that pang in his chest streak down the backs of his legs, sending bolts of lightning into his heels.
“Sir Reginald has taken a personal interest in his cousin’s widow,” she told the group. “Very personal.”
The flatness of her tone left no room for misinterpretation and brought with it a severity that had Graham setting his plate aside as the fire of indignation began to curl in his fingers.
“No!” Miss Wright gasped, eyes wide.
Lady Edith gave no indication she heard her friend. “He has no interest in wedding me, only bedding me. He calls weekly to remind me of his offer and to make his point clear. Accept him, and I will be free from my poverty and the suspicion of Society. Refuse, and he will make everything far worse.”
“Vague threat,” Vale growled, something in his hand cracking as it formed a fist to one side. “Sounds ominous but has no teeth. What can he do beyond what you currently suffer?”
This brought Lady Edith’s eyes flicking to him. “I willna repeat the details he has shared with me on this topic, Cam, given there are ladies present. Think of the devil, and then do a quick jig further into hell, and ye might find a fair enough idea of the thing.”
“Let’s not,” Lady Ingram protested weakly, one hand at her stomach, her cheeks somehow paler than her friend’s. “Could he cast you out, for example?”
“He could,” Lady Edith confirmed with a nod. “And he most certainly would, without the meager pin money I am allotted. He claims to have more influence in Society than I can possibly imagine, though I have no way of confirming such a thing.” She shook her head, and her fingers began to wring together again, almost frantic in their agitation despite the apparent calm the rest of her held. “He will ruin me, of that there is no doubt. In his mind, agreeing to give myself to him is the only option.”
Mrs. Vale whimpered and turned her face into her husband’s hand, still lingering near her ear. Vale bent and kissed her head, whispering softly to her, before straightening. “So, you thought you’d take Society by storm first, eh?”
“Aye. If I could find myself protection, some kind of connection or security, I might find a way out of his clutches.” Lady Edith bit her full bottom lip, her fingers stilling. “I fear I am powerless. By law and by funds. I have no claim, no stake, and verra few options.”
“But you do have friends,” Ingram chimed in, his voice hard, his expression harder. “And I’ll be damned if anyone will treat a woman this way, closely connected with me or otherwise.”
“Amen,” Henshaw snarled. “Edith, why didn’t you tell me?”
Idiot, Graham hissed in his mind, skewering the man with a glare. Now was not the time for recriminations or guilt, especially with everything else the woman had to contend with. Surely, his pride would recover faster than her situation.
But Lady Edith was kinder than the man deserved and only smiled, though tears seemed to be hovering at the corners of her eyes. “How could I, Hensh? I can barely speak of it now. After all of this, I dinna trust easily, especially with this.”
No, she wouldn’t have. She couldn’t have. No one could.
And yet…
“Well, we can certainly do something about this,” Ingram insisted almost too strongly, thumping the couch he sat upon. “What if Edith moves into a home with someone else, eh?”
“Who do you know in the law, Hensh? We’ll need an expert.”
“We need a husband is what we need.”
“No, Charlotte,” Cam warned.
“Yes! Trust me; I know what I am saying.”
Graham watched Lady Edith for a moment while the others in the room began to throw ideas between each other as one might have done with a ball, discussing Lady Edith without involving Lady Edith or addressing her. She could be silent now, and she seemed relieved by the fact.
She settled into the couch further, peering at the tips of her fingers, though her eyes barely moved. Color slowly seeped back into her face, and her breathing grew more even. While the others talked around her, she sat quietly, taking it all in, offering nothing by way of opinion or idea.
They would all go on with their lives tonight, still trying to concoct ways to help her, while she would return to the darkness no different than when she had left it.
How did she trust anyone at all?
As if she had heard him, her eyes rose to his, a raw openness there, and he exhaled silently, meeting the surprising steadiness without looking away.
The thread between them seemed to expand, coiling around and around itself, weaving itself into a cord that tugged at his spine. He knew he could trust her, that had been a given fact almost from their first meeting, but she could trust him, which he wouldn’t have said as quickly. He was never invested enough to be particularly trusted one way or the other, not particularly caring for such a responsibility or effort. His integrity was never in question, nor would he ever be accused of not being trustworthy; he simply never took it on. But in this, with her, it was different. Everything was.
He was.
And she knew that.
Her lips curved in just a hint of a smile, and Graham felt himself nod quite decisively, if discreetly, in response. Those lips quirked further still, then the almost-smile faded altogether, the eyes lowering again.
What exactly Graham had agreed to, he couldn’t have put to words. He only knew he had.
Fully and freely.
Chapter Seven
One can always depend on the ladies to present creative solutions to problematic situations. While the gentlemen circle around blustering the point, the ladies will quietly and efficiently resolve matters in such a way that never entered into the mind of any man. Whether this solution ends for good or ill, this author will own, may not be so clearly predicted.
-The Spinster Chronicles, 24 September 1818
“You cannot be serious.”
“Of course, we’re serious. Why wouldn’t we be serious?”
“Charlotte,” Edith said, “you canna invite a young woman of high standing and good breeding to be my companion.”
Charlotte had the good sense to look a trifle startled at the accusation. “Who said she would be your companion?”
Edith raised a brow in lieu of sending steam spewing from her ears. “What else do you call a young woman who stays with an older woman purely for the sake of keeping her company?”
“A houseguest,” Elinor Sterling, formerly Elinor Asheley, answered without blinking an eyelash. “You needn’t make yourself sound so decrepit, Edith. You’re hardly headed for the grave.”
“Age is relative, and experience a better measure,” Edith shot back. “In that regard, lass, I am positively ancient by comparison to whomever you choose.”
Izzy Morton cleared her throat softly. “She would not be a paid companion, Edith. It is not that sort of arrangement. We were only thinking more of a friend to come and stay.”
“Yes!” Grace nodded vigorously at this description. “Rather the way you came to stay with Aubrey and me this winter.”
Edith did her best not to roll her eyes as she shifted her attention to Grace. “We are friends, Grace. I canna expect a young lass of Society to pretend to be so and endure such poor living as what I can offer, especially given the situation with Sir Reginald.”
“Who said anything about pretending?” Georgie inquired without the heated note someone else might have. “You do
n’t even know who we thought of.”
“Thought of?” Edith shot to her feet, looking around at them all as though they had hidden the poor girl in their midst. “You’ve already decided?”
The ladies in the room looked around at each other, their hesitation palpable.
“Yes…” Charlotte finally admitted, drawing out the word slowly.
Edith sat back down hard, stunned that not only had they decided on a course for her, but had followed through with it. All without asking her.
Her mind spun, emotions shrieking in five different directions.
These were her friends, she reminded herself. Her dearest friends. They were not like the other people who had made decisions for her without her knowledge, and their motivations were entirely different. This hadn’t been done maliciously, but with love.
And they had no idea how she felt about such things. She’d never told them. How many secrets would she keep? How long could she keep them?
She looked at her fingers, and the grit under her nails from the life she lived away from all of this. So many secrets. So much away from the finery her friends lived in. So many memories that had haunted her, had shaped her, had led her to this mess.
She had no choice. She’d never had a choice.
Her friends were not her family. Her friends were not her father or her brother. Her friends were not Archie.
She was fine. She was safe. She had a voice.
This time, she had a voice.
“Who?” Edith asked them softly, gritting her teeth against the emotions within her.
Georgie straightened in her seat, staring at Edith carefully. “Edith, we haven’t asked her to do anything yet.”
Edith blinked, her lungs releasing tension just a bit. “No?”
“No.” Georgie shook her head in confirmation, her green eyes seeming to see more than Edith wanted to reveal. “We have, however, asked her to join us today. It will be up to you what she is told and if she will suit.”
There was that, at least.
What a Spinster Wants Page 8