The Spinster & the Beast

by Caylen McQueen

  “A gruff voice would be more appropriate. Something more menacing,” Adam whispered to himself, brooding over his scars.

  Adam snuffed out the candle at Nan’s bedside before heading off to his own room, eager to return his attention to the mysterious letter. He could hardly resist the temptation to take it out and read it as he traveled down the hallway. It was pitiful, really, how such an insignificant thing could be the climax of his day.

  As soon as he was in his room, he dropped the letter on his desk and proceeded to light a candle. Until the candle was lit, he could barely see what he was doing, as it was a moonless night. He sat at his desk and grabbed a quill.

  “What am I doing… it’s madness…” he whispered to himself. In his moment of hesitation, he ran the quill along the tip of his nose. Was he really going to reply? He wasn’t sure the writer meant for her letter to be read, let alone, to be responded to. He felt like a meddler, snooping into matters that did not concern him.

  And yet, he was compelled. As soon as the quill landed on the parchment, the words poured out of him.

  Dear Miss BB,

  I hope you do not mind that I have shortened your moniker, as it is quite cumbersome to write “Miss Blue-deviled Bluestocking.” I am sorry to hear you are blue-deviled. I understand, having read about your circumstances, why you might not be having the best of days. However, I am not sorry to hear you are a bluestocking, as I have always admired intelligence and wit in a woman. Your letter has led me to believe you are no stranger to witticisms, and it is my greatest hope that you find this letter and honour me with a reply.

  It sounds as if you and Mr. R were quite close once. I, myself, am no stranger to having loved and lost. I once had an attachment to a young lady, who I will refer to as Miss P. Unfortunately, I was but one of her many suitors, as Miss P. was a diamond of the first water. She led me to believe I was the front-runner in the race to her heart, but I was let down. She engaged herself to another man, whose fortune was greater than my own.

  As it happens, I have recently inherited my father’s title and fortune. And Miss P, as far as I know, is still an unmarried woman. However, as I am right now, I know she would never have me. There is no question in my mind.

  Having been a soldier myself, it is entirely possible that your Mr. R. meant to write to you, but he could not find the time to do so. Fighting a war is difficult, to say the least, and leaves little time for personal matters. When I was abroad, I constantly received letters from my grandmother. I had only written back to a few of them because I could rarely find the time to reply. Not only that, her spelling was atrocious, and I could scarcely make out what she was trying to say.

  You are six and thirty, but you make it sound as if you are three and sixty! You are not old, Miss BB, and you should never give up on finding love until you are dead. My grandmother, as it happens, did not meet my grandfather until she was nearly your age. You are clever and young, and you have your health (or so I am led to believe). Perhaps I am overly optimistic, but I believe love can happen at any age. There should be no such thing as a spinster! If you are not meant to find love with Mr. R. you should leave your heart open to others.

  As for Mr. R, I DO believe you should look elsewhere. He has not taken your feelings into consideration; therefore, he is not worth your time. I, for one, would strongly prefer the company of a woman of your age. A girl of eighteen, in my opinion, is still a child. Unlike your Mr. R, I would have no interest in wooing a child.

  Perhaps the best thing you can do for yourself (and your niece) is to push her in the direction of other suitors. If Mr. R has already broken your heart, there is no guarantee he will not break hers as well. It would appear this man is a rake, and he is much too old for her. Do not think of it as you being bitter, but as having her best interests at heart.

  Keep your chin up, Miss BB, and I hope this letter finds you in better spirits. In most cases, a gentleman is hardly worth the time a woman will spend fretting over him. And do not think you will die alone, as you have found a friend in me.

  Sincerely,

  Mr. Nobody

  P.S. - I have no doubt your letter was meant for me, for there is no one in the world who is less significant. I am, without a doubt, your Mister Nobody.

  When he finished rereading his letter, Adam smiled.

  He hoped it was only the beginning of his strange correspondence with the mysterious Miss BB.

  Chapter Five

  Two days later, Liz was feeling like a fool. What in the world had possessed her to write down her innermost thoughts and release them to the world? She had gone mad, there was no other explanation for such behavior!

  She was foolish and mad, and she was also feeling ill, which she assumed was a result of traipsing across the countryside in the rain. Her head was light, her eyes were swimming, and her nose was clogged. It would have been in her best interest to lie down and rest; however, she needed to remove the letter from its hiding place. What if Major Rutledge, of all people, happened upon her letter? He could easily identify her as the writer, and if he did, she would never be able to show her face again. As unlikely as it was, she did not want to expose herself to any unnecessary risks. All she wanted was a quiet life, free of scandal.

  Liz donned her walking boots and prepared for another long voyage. Why had she chosen to hide the letter so far away from home? With a few unladylike curses, she quietly chided herself. She went to the window several times, checking for rain. If she was going to walk a few more miles, she needed better weather.

  “ACHOO!” When she sneezed, she swore she could feel her brain explode. There was a tremendous pressure in her head, and it was making her dizzy. She hoped she could make it to the tree and back before she swooned. Perishing in the grass at the age of six and thirty was hardly a fate she wished for herself.

  As soon as she stepped outside, Liz raised her glove to her nose and swiped a stream of snot from her dripping orifices. It was hardly the proper thing to do, but no one was around to witness it. She was safe.

  Until she saw Major Rutledge. He had already dismounted his horse and was striding toward her. Liz pulled down her bonnet and charged forward, hoping to avoid him altogether. If he did not see her, she would not have to exchange pleasantries with him.

  Unfortunately, she had no such luck. “Miss Wicklow!” he called to her. “Miss Wicklow, do you have a moment?”

  Liz looked over her shoulder, hoping to see one of her nieces. It would have been preferable if he had been referring to another Miss Wicklow. Alas, she was the only Miss Wicklow in sight. To make matters worse, her nose started leaking again, and there was nothing she could do about it. When he approached her, Liz’s nose was hopelessly moist.

  “Miss Wicklow,” he repeated, a bit breathlessly. Determined as she was to divest herself of his company, she increased her walking speed. Major Rutledge had to sprint to keep up with her. “How do you do, Miss Wicklow?”

  “Ah…”

  “Miss Wicklow?”

  “AH!” Oh dear. “AHHH!” As her sneeze approached, she prayed that nothing unbecoming would spill from her nose. “ACHOO!”

  “Are you unwell, Miss Wicklow?”

  “No,” she lied, her voice froggy. “I am quite well.”

  “Forgive me for saying so, but you do not look well,” he observed. “Do you want me to take you back inside?”

  “I am QUITE well,” she insisted, even as another sneeze took hold of her. “ACHOO!” She could feel the seepage from her nose as it dripped over her lips. Hell and damnation, her mind screamed another unladylike curse. Of all the things that could happen to her, she had to make a cake of herself in front of Major Rutledge, the man who had haunted her dreams for the last ten years.

  He whipped out a handkerchief and held it out to her. She accepted it with a smile, and patted the moisture from her nose. She assumed he did not want the handkerchief returned to him, so she stuffed it inside her reticule. “Did you need something, Major Rutledge?�
�� she asked, pleased that her voice was not as hoarse as before.

  “Nothing in particular, Miss Wicklow. I only wished to speak with you,” Major Rutledge said. “Would you like to take a turn in the garden?” He held out his arm, but she did not accept it.

  “I-I have an errand to run,” she blurted. “Perhaps some other time?”

  As he lowered his arm, his mouth dipped into a frown. “Perhaps.”

  “ACHOO!” Yet another sneeze racked her body, after which she sniffled a few times. She hoped she would not require the handkerchief yet again. “So, Major Rutledge…”

  “So…” he hesitated. “We did not have a chance to properly converse at the baroness’ ball. I regretted that. It has been many years, has it not?”

  “Indeed.” When Liz nodded, her ears popped. Her head was far more stuffy than she realized. “It has been a long, long time.”

  “It pleases me to see you have not lost the light in your eyes,” Major Rutledge said. “I always found comfort in your face, in your smile. You are just as lovely as I remember.”

  “Oh please, Major Rutledge!” Liz protested. “There is no reason for you to pour the butter boat over me. I know where your interests lie.” Liz puffed out her chest, hoping to regain the dignity she lost during her onslaught of sneezes. “You still have an interest in my niece, do you not?”

  “I do,” he admitted, completely unashamed. “In fact, she is the primary reason for my visit. Will I be allowed to call on her?”

  Liz hitched a shoulder. “I do not see why not.” Every word they exchanged was like a knife to the stomach, but she tried not to show it.

  “As her aunt, I imagine you would know her quite well,” he went on. “Can you give me some insight into her personality? What does she like? What does she dislike? If I was hoping to capture her interest, what sort of topic should I discuss?”

  “Lorna likes…” Liz’s voice trailed off as she tried to think of a topic that would interest the girl. Perhaps she did not know her nieces as well as she would have liked. Either that, or she really did not care to impart such information to Major Rutledge, the man who once held her heart in his hands. “Kittens.”

  “Kittens?!” he repeated.

  “Yes, kittens. And horses. She likes to read, and she sings beautifully,” Liz said, wondering why she chose to sing the girl’s praises. She should have quashed the Major’s interest in Lorna, not bolstered it.

  “A beautiful voice would befit such a beautiful girl,” the Major mused. “I can see that loveliness runs in the family.”

  Liz rolled her eyes. “Surely you cannot be referring to me?”

  “I do!” Major Rutledge insisted. “You have always been lovely to me, Elizabeth Wicklow. And I have never forgotten you… even after all these years.”

  For a moment, Liz felt her heart tumbling around in her chest. He never forgot her! Though she questioned the veracity of his claim, his words made her feel less hopeless. “Thank you. I feel the same way.”

  “Well, Miss Wicklow, perhaps I shouldn’t take up any more of your time. You had an errand to run, did you not?”

  “I—” Liz’s voice was caught in her throat. The conversation was going so well, she did not want it to end! “I… did. You’re right. I do have an errand to run.”

  “Then I should see to the younger Miss Wicklow.” As the Major bowed, he touched the rim of his beaver hat. “Good day.”

  “Good day.”

  Liz turned around and charged away from him as quickly as she could. Younger Miss Wicklow. Younger Miss Wicklow. If Lorna was the younger Miss Wicklow, what did that make Liz? The Impossibly Old Miss Wicklow? The Semi-Decrepit Miss Wicklow? Miss Wicklow, Certified Crone?

  Liz stomped across the ground as she made her way back to the tree, crushing the poor grass underfoot. Why did she have to run into Major Rutledge, of all people?! She even had his handkerchief in her reticule, an unwelcome reminder of their distasteful encounter.

  By the time she made it to the knotty tree, her nose was clogged, her throat was raw, and her cheeks were warm and flushed. Not many ladies would attempt such a walk with a fever, but she was more than determined to retrieve her letter. She sat beside the tree and hunted for the rock, which was half-hidden beneath a patch of overgrown grass. When she lifted the rock, her breath was caught in her throat.

  The letter under the rock was not her letter. With shaking hands, she tore open the missive. Her thoughts were racing as she read the heading:

  Dear Miss BB

  Miss Blue-deviled Bluestocking! Someone had not only read her letter, they had actually replied! She had never imagined such a thing could happen.

  Liz clutched the letter to her chest and scrambled to her feet. She needed to leave the area as quickly as possible, lest the writer of the letter find out who she was.

  * * *

  Dear Mr. Nobody,

  You will have to forgive my shock. I had not expected anyone to find my letter. Even moreso, I did not expect to receive a reply. You have my gratitude, sir, for lending an ear. (Though I suppose it is not actually your ear you are lending. Is it possible for someone to lend an eye?)

  So you would prefer the company of a bluestocking? I confess I am surprised. Most men of my acquaintance would prefer a female companion who was agreeably daft. My lovely nieces, as much as I adore them, are as pretty as they are daft. I hope you will not think me heartless for saying that, as it is only the truth. I do envy them. I would give up half of my wit for but an ounce of their youth and beauty.

  I am sorry to hear about your unrequited love for Miss P… It sounds very similar to my situation with Mr. R; however, my relationship with Mr. R. happened so long ago, it hardly seems worth mentioning. In fact, I doubt I would have given him a second thought if not for the fact that he is one of my niece’s suitors. As it happens, I had another encounter with Mr. R this morning, during which I made quite a fool of myself. I was unwell, my nose was wet, I was sneezing incessantly, and I am sure I looked frightful. If Mr. R sees my face in his nightmares tonight, I would hardly be surprised.

  Despite your claims to the contrary, six and thirty IS quite old. My age plagues me… I should not have owned to it. I should have told you I was six and twenty, at the very most. Now you know I am a desperate old maid, pining for something I have no use pining for. Love is thoroughly beyond my grasp, but I thank you for being optimistic.

  I hope I am not rude for asking, but what is your age, Mr. Nobody? Even if you are fifty and unmarried, you are not as hopeless as a woman who is thirty and unmarried. You ARE unmarried, are you not? If you are a bachelor with a title and fortune, I cannot imagine why Miss P. would not be interested in you, as you have suggested. It seems that you would be quite a catch!

  Perhaps I should not fault Mr. R. for his pursuit of my niece. She is beautiful, she has a considerable dowry, and she is very young. Why should I expect Mr. R. to prefer the company of an old (with emphasis on old) acquaintance over an incomparable like my niece? Do you not think I should set my feelings aside? I wish my nieces all the happiness in the world, even if it means sacrificing my own happiness. I agree that he is too old for her, but if there is any chance he could make her as happy as he once made me, I should wish them well. I was never as beautiful as she is, nor was I even pretty. And since Mr. R is more handsome than ever, they might actually be a decent match.

  Do you honestly think you would prefer my company over the company of a lovely girl of eighteen? If so, you are a rare breed indeed!

  Your letter not only finds me in better spirits, Mr. Nobody, it actually PUT me in better spirits. As I said before, I did not expect to receive a reply, but I am very glad I did. Nothing would make me happier than to hear from you again. If I truly have a friend in you, then you most certainly have one in me.

  You should also know there is, in fact, someone less significant than you. And her name is…

  Miss BB

  Chapter Six

  He returned to the tree two day
s later to find a response from the elusive Miss BB. Captain Calloway could scarcely believe his eyes. As much as he wanted to reply, he could not disregard his fears. What if, upon delivering his reply, he happened to run into the lady in question? Though he wore a mask on his early evening walks, he would hate to encounter her in the flesh. He hated himself—and she would surely hate him too, were she to lay eyes on his horrendous face.

  Adam laid the letter on his desk and reached into his drawer. He pulled out a silver locket, a keepsake from a bygone age. With his thumb, he flicked open the locket. Inside the locket there was a miniature portrait of his Miss P.

  She was, in fact, Miss Abigail Penworth, and her youthful beauty was forever preserved in his locket. It had been a gift from her, given to him on his birthday four years ago. It was a scandalous gesture on her part, to give a gift to a bachelor, but it was proof that she favored him. Or so he had thought. He believed she cared for him above all others, and what a fool he had been! At one time, he had almost given his heart to Miss Penworth, but she had no interest in receiving his love.

  Inside the locket was a lock of her hair, as golden as a summer sunrise. He pulled the lock of hair from the locket and held it against his cheek, tickling his nose, breathing it in. He had never been a handsome man, but she cared for him once. Surely she had!

  Adam turned around, gazing into the looking glass behind him. The sight of his massacred face reminded him of his situation, so he shoved the locket—as well as the lock of hair—back in the drawer. There was no sense in mooning over a lady when the lady would surely shudder at the sight of him. He would never know love, or know a woman’s touch. Never again.

  Adam returned his attention to Miss BB’s letter. He ran a finger across the paper, smoothing its creases, handling it with utmost care. As he reread her words, an accidental smile found its way to his lips. He fidgeted with his inkwell, wondering if he should respond. He had called himself a friend, had he not? If he was truly a friend, Miss BB deserved a reply.