His smile was warm and tender. “I know. I know you do. I can see it.” Emotion clogged his throat, and he worked to swallow around it. “She told me what you call her. And what she calls you. When she talks about you, Edith, she lights up. Molly lost her parents, and I have fought for years to find ways to fill her life so she wants for nothing. Now I know what she needs, what she wants, and how to make up for her loss. It’s you.”
“Graham…” she whispered, getting to her feet shakily.
“You love her as much as I do,” Graham went on, “and probably better. How could I not love you for loving her like that? I love you, Edith. I would fight anyone or anything in heaven, earth, or hell to have you as my wife.”
Edith was crying now, the tears giving him as much pain as they did encouragement. “Oh, Graham… my reputation, the rumors…”
He laughed once. “You think, after all we have been through, that I care about anyone or anything else? The truth, or parts of it, will make its way out eventually, and a long line of people with apologies will be at our door, and perhaps we won’t even answer it.”
She barked a laugh at that, which made him smile.
“But I don’t care, Edith. I’ve never cared what anybody said or thought about you, because I knew you. I could see you. When you marry me, we’ll live at Merrifield anyway.” He paused, then tilted his head as he added, “Except for when we live at the Scotland estate, which is sadly in need of a visit.”
“Scotland?” she gasped.
He grinned, loving that he could give her this revelation now. “Did I neglect to mention I have a house there? Shameful. It was my responsibility when Matthew held the title. Estate management at the Scotland estate. I was happier there than I had been anywhere else up to that point. I grew to love Scotland.” He hesitated before finishing, “I learned a fair share of the native language, as well.”
Edith’s already wide eyes went rounder still, and one hand flew to her mouth. “You… Did you…?”
“Edith,” Graham murmured with all the love in the world, slowly coming closer, “did you think I didn’t know? That you called me your heart? That I’d have felt it without knowing the language? Did you think I would not feel the same way? I did, and I do, mo gràidh.”
She gasped and reached for the chair nearest her for balance.
“You are my heart as well, Edith,” he assured her, nearly to her now. “If you still love me, as I believe you once did, will you marry me?” Fairly certain of her answer, he let himself offer her a teasing smile. “And could you bear returning to Scotland for some months while I see to my duties there?”
Edith burst into tears, covering her face for just a moment before flinging herself into his arms. “Yes, Graham,” she sobbed against him. “Oh, please, yes. Yes, I will marry you. Yes, I will go to Scotland with you. And yes, above all else, I love you.”
He chuckled, kissing her hair. “I thought you might. Hoped you might. But you are constantly taking me by surprise, so I thought it best to be sure.”
She pulled back with a broad smile and took his face in her hands. “Then let me make this perfectly clear.” She arched up and touched her brow to his. “I love you,” she whispered before kissing him with the softness of a breeze. “I will always love you.”
Graham pressed his lips to hers, sealing that vow with one of his own. Her hands linked behind his neck, pulling him to her, anchoring them together without question.
“Tha gaol agam oirbh, agus bithidh gu bràth,” he told her as he took her lips again and again.
I love you, I always will.
Edith clamped both hands hard against his head, her kiss turning positively scorching, dismantling every thought and barrier he’d ever had. This was the end of life as he’d known it, and the beginning of a glorious unknown.
“Yer accent needs work,” Edith breathed as she finally released him, her lips grazing his jaw.
Graham chuckled, nuzzling her gently. “All the more reason to marry me. I am sadly losing my Gaelic. And I strongly suspect you are agreeing to marry me just to go back to Scotland.”
Edith dusted her lips just below his ear, and his breath caught at the touch. “Well, there is a particular advantage in going to Scotland that tempts me to accept your hand beyond all reason.”
“And that is?” he asked, curious, his voice more than a bit rough.
He felt her smile against his skin before she went up on her toes to whisper in his ear, “I am wild to see how you look in a kilt.”
He growled a laugh and kissed her, effectively drowning her own laughter.
And there was nothing else to say for quite some time.
Epilogue
One should never make decisions when bored and alone. They will inevitably lead to regret. Especially if they are made with others who are also bored and equally alone.
-The Spinster Chronicles, 25 February 1819
“This meeting of the Spinsters, with a capital S, will now come to order. Is there any business to discuss?”
Charlotte looked around the room but saw no hands go up.
Likely because none of the other Spinsters were in the room.
“Did you expect me to answer? Because I’m not a Spinster, no matter the case of the S, and I don’t have any business.”
Charlotte glared at her lone companion, who stared back at her without shame. “Shut up, Hensh.”
Henshaw chortled a laugh and shook his head, sipping his Madeira. “This is what I get for calling upon you? Abuse?”
“You’ve had worse,” Charlotte muttered, looking away.
The truth of the matter was that she wished Henshaw hadn’t called upon her. He was a good sort, in truth, and she was fonder of him than she was of her own brother, but having him here was simply a reminder of her situation.
She was alone. All alone.
“Have you heard from Edith?” Henshaw asked innocently, unaware of her turmoil as he propped his booted feet upon a low stool.
Charlotte nodded once, sitting forward to make herself a cup of tea. “Yes. She and Radcliffe made it to Gretna Green well and whole, as expected, and they married in a church there. Which, in my eyes, defeats the purpose of going to Gretna Green in the first place. Molly is very much enjoying the prospect of Scotland and is apparently being quite entertaining.” She shrugged, adding milk and sugar to the tea.
“Well, good for them. And the other Spinsters?”
She heaved a sigh and gave her impertinent friend a look. “Married, Hensh. All married. Prue is entering her confinement, but everyone else is quite simply married.”
Henshaw stared at her, eyes wide in surprise. “Heaven help us all.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes and sat back, nursing her fresh cup of tea. “I am so bored, Hensh.”
“I gathered that.”
“I have never been bored during the Season in my entire life,” she went on, ignoring his comment. “I don’t… I don’t know what to do.”
His look was clearly an attempt at sympathy, but it failed. “Where is Sandford? He’s always been very good at cheering you up, or entertaining you, or whatever you need.”
Charlotte sighed at the mention of Michael. “He’s away for a few weeks with his family. Besides, I cannot continue to rely upon him as though he were a performing monkey.”
“Suppose not.”
That made her blink in response, and she glanced over at Henshaw. Was that really all he was going to say? No suggestions, no advice, no offers to help?
Ridiculous. Completely and utterly ridiculous.
Charlotte scowled and brought her tea to her lips. “You need a wife, Hensh.”
“Do I?” he replied without concern.
She nodded once as she swallowed. “You’re no good to anyone as a bachelor.”
Now, he frowned and looked over at her. “Have you been speaking with my mother?”
“God forbid, I would have so many apologies to offer her for doing so.” Charlotte rolled her eyes again
, the cynicism not sitting well for perhaps the first time ever. “We’re so boring.”
“Apologies.”
Charlotte shook her head and sipped more tea. “Take a wife, Hensh.”
“I intend to,” he assured her, making her jerk to look at him in surprise.
“Not me,” Charlotte told him firmly.
Henshaw laughed once and grinned at her. “Wasn’t asking.”
She wasn’t sure if that was supposed to make her feel better or worse. She could say, without conceit, that nearly every man in London wanted to marry her. And Henshaw wasn’t asking.
But, of course, she knew that.
“People might expect it,” Charlotte pointed out. “We do banter like a married couple.”
Now, he laughed in earnest. “People might expect it?” he repeated. “When have you ever cared about that?”
She shrugged. “You might.”
“I don’t,” he replied shaking his head. “Besides, I have someone in mind.”
Charlotte sat up, smiling with newfound eagerness. “I thought you might.”
“If she’ll have me,” Henshaw added, looking rather uncertain for a man so strong and imposing as he.
There was nothing to do but scoff at that. “She ought to.”
He glanced over again. “Why?”
“If I were not me, and you were not you, I’d marry you myself.”
Henshaw blinked, then shook his head slowly. “I wish I could make sense of that.”
Charlotte waved a hand at him, an idea coming to mind with interesting clarity. “Hush.” She wet her lips, then slowly sipped her tea before saying, “Perhaps I will marry, too.”
The stool beneath his feet skidded as he sat up in shock. “Will you?”
She nodded, liking the thought more and more the longer it lingered. “I think so. I refuse to be lonely. Besides, being left out has never appealed to me.”
Henshaw was silent for a telling heartbeat before asking, “Whom will you wed?”
She grinned at him. “I haven’t the faintest idea.”
He quirked his brows, returning the smile. “Shall we wager on it?”
“Can we?” she asked with some doubt. “Hardly seems fair. You already have your intended miss; I have no candidate.”
“You have a collection,” he reminded her. “Surely, one of them will do.”
That was certainly not likely, but she nodded all the same. “I suppose so. Very well, a wager. First one to wed wins?”
Henshaw nodded his acceptance. “I can agree to that. The prize?”
Charlotte considered for just a moment. “A hundred pounds. Or the name of our firstborn child.”
“Both?” he suggested on a laugh.
Oh, why not?
“Both,” she agreed.
They clinked their drinkware in a solemn vow, and each took a long sip.
Charlotte wasn’t particularly settled with it, but she would certainly have much to consider now. She was tired of being alone. She was tired of being entertaining and charming, having a mass of men pretending to care what she said or thought when not a jack of them really knew her.
But she was the only one now, and she had never done all that well standing alone.
Perhaps she would marry, if she could find love as her friends had done.
But she would set aside a hundred pounds for Henshaw on the off chance she failed.
Which she truly might.
About the Author
Rebecca Connolly has been creating stories since she was young, and there are home videos to prove it. She started writing them down in elementary school and has never looked back. She lives in Ohio, spends every spare moment away from her day job absorbed in her writing, and is a hot cocoa junkie.
COMING SOON
The Spinster Chronicles
Book Seven
“Spinster knows best.”
by
REBECCA CONNOLLY
What a Spinster Wants Page 26