Natalia’s Secret Spinster’s Society (The Spinster’s Society) (A Regency Romance Book)

by Charlotte Stone

  She released a shaky sigh at the thought and prepared herself to tell him no.

  But then his eyes darkened, and she knew she couldn’t resist.

  “There you two are.” Julius moved through the crowd with determination, cutting a path straight toward them. “I wanted to catch you before you disappeared.” Stopping before them, he sighed and straightened. “I have a gift for you both.”

  Natalia’s eyes widened. “Haven’t you already given enough?” Lorenzo’s inheritance had been just as large as Julius had promised and her dowry beyond everything she’d ever expected. William had only accepted it because he’d known what it had meant to Lorenzo, but surely, William would not accept anything else.

  William proved that Natalia was learning the ways of her husband quite well when he said, “No more gifts, Julius, or I’ll begin to wonder if you think I can’t support my own wife.”

  Julius smiled at his friend. “You and I both know you very well can, but let me spoil the cousin I’ve not seen for so long. Besides, this gift is necessary. Please.” He looked at Natalia then, those pansy eyes pleading with hers.

  She looked at her husband.

  William’s jaw tightened and then he nodded.

  Julius smiled. “This way.” He led them through the labyrinth until they reached an empty yellow drawing room in the back of the house.

  The room was a rectangle with rounded corners. The outer wall had windows on each end, curving with the wall and lined with gold. It was stunning.

  A noise caught her attention and Natalia noticed a basket sitting on a tea table in the center of the room. When the noise came again, there was no mistaking the tiny meow and the sound of nails scratching for escape. She mindlessly broke from William and went over to the basket. Her heart was racing, and her stomach was in knots. Tears began to burn her eyes, and she lifted the lid from the basket without any prompting.

  The smallest kitten she’d ever seen emerged, with patterned black and brown fur that was quite similar to Starlight’s. Though this creature was whole in every way. Its ears twitched and its unscarred hazel eyes looked up at her. “Oh, Julius.” Natalia plucked the tiny kitten from the basket. “Oh.” She didn’t know what to say but was sure the efforts her lady’s maid had made on her face would be quite ruined.

  She turned and found two men she very much loved standing only a few feet away from her. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  William turned to Julius and glared. “I had planned to be the one to replace Starlight.”

  Julius didn’t meet anyone’s eyes and instead, closed his hands behind his back. “I figured you would, but Starlight was not yours to replace.”

  “Of course, he was,” William hissed. “I killed him in the first place.”

  Julius looked at William then and his color rose. “No. You didn’t. I did.”

  The room went silent.

  “What?” Natalia stood with the kitten in her hands. “What do you mean you killed him? I remember William holding him.”

  “Yes.” William frowned. “I remember Starlight wouldn’t stay still and so I tightened my hold—”

  “I may have given the cat coffee that morning while you and Natalia were playing in the field,” Julius said and looked at the ground. Then he took a step away. “It had been Uncle Ganville’s cup and I thought it humorous if he were to drink after the hideous creature. Starlight became quite jittery after, so fearing for his life, I went to Cook. She told me there was nothing she could do and warned me that the coffee would kill him, but I remained silent and prayed he’d survive.”

  “And then he didn’t,” William finished with a grunt. “And you let me go on thinking I killed the cat all this time.”

  Julius dug his foot into the carpet, becoming like a child again. “Well, I knew Natalia would forgive you, since she liked you better than me.” Then he smiled at William. “And I was right. No harm came from it.”

  William advanced.

  Julius retreated to the other side of the couch. His hands shot out. “Now, see here.”

  “I’m going to kill you,” William growled.

  “You’re married. Happy, even,” Julius tried to reason. “Really, I say all should be forgiven.”

  William didn’t look interested in forgiveness as he circled the chair and shot toward his friend. “You made me feel guilt over a thing I didn’t even do!”

  Julius jumped the couch and sprinted toward the door. “William, remember our friendship!” He slipped from the room.

  William was on his heels. “I’ll carve your gravestone myself!”

  Natalia stood there petting her new kitten and grinning and thought it very good to be herself again.

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  While you are waiting for the next book …

  Flip this page to read another one of my books. Included here is a novella special which is not available elsewhere.

  It is serve as a special treat just for you …

  NOVELLA SPECIAL

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  CHAPTER

  ONE

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  London

  March 1814

  “My goodness, Emily, are you quite sure you don’t want to borrow my fichu? That dress is... well, when I begged Almack’s vouchers off of Lady Castlereagh, I’m sure she did not imagine you wearing something quite like that.”

  “It’s quite in fashion, Aunt Winnie. The modiste said that all the smart young women were wearing green this year.”

  “Well, the green is lovely, no one is going to disagree with you there, but it was not the green I was referring to! Are you not cold?”

  “They say you must suffer to be beautiful, Aunt Winnie, and frankly, I need all the help I can get.”

  Emily’s aunt pursed her lips, peering at her through her own decidedly unfashionable monocle.

  “You’re more than passable, my love. You would do well even if you were not so stylish.”

  Emily, who had never cared a whit for dresses before this past December, shrugged.

  “Passable doesn’t get husbands, Aunt Winnie, and time is rather of the essence.”

  Winnie sighed and nodded reluctantly.

  “You are right. Come. Shall we enter the fray?”

  Emily took a deep breath. The wall behind her had provided a safe haven when they entered Almack’s assembly hall. The events at Almack’s were commonly called crushes, and even this early in the evening, it was easy to see why. The place was already filled up, and there were more arriving at the door with every moment that passed. The majordomo barely got to take a moment’s break before he was announcing Marquess That or Earl This, and somehow, they were still coming. The whole thing made Emily want to curl into a little ball and roll all the way back to Swandon and her own snug rooms at Everly, but she was here for a reason, and she straightened her shoulders and tilted her chin up.

  “All right, Aunt Winnie, I believe I am ready.”

  As they started forward arm in arm to make a circuit of the room, Emily couldn’t help but compare herself to the other girls in the room. Not so long ago, she would have pronounced them all swans and run away, but now she forced herself to look at them with a critical eye.

  She’s wearing a similar dress, but the color on mine is better. She’s smaller than me. Oh, goodness, that’s a duke’s daughter, and they all seem so very young...

  Emily was twenty-four, old for her first season. She knew that some of the girls were eyeing her in turn and dismissing her as a country spinster, and they would not be far wrong. Her dress was fashionable, but the rest of her was of old-fashioned English country stock. When her father, the Marquess of Ellsford, was still alive, he fondly called her his little Saxon girl. Emily was tall and blond with round pale shoulders and a shape that curved like the Ell River itself. Her hair did all right, she supposed, especially after Aunt Winnie’s French maid had curled it up prettily for the e
vening, but she towered over most of the girls and even some of the gentlemen.

  It doesn’t matter. It cannot matter. I am an Allensby, and we do not give up or fail our families. We simply do not. I will find a husband.

  Fortunately, Winnie was taking this as seriously as she was. She tugged Emily around the room, introducing her to this earl or that baron, and then whisking her away before Emily could grow too awkward or tongue-tied.

  “Best to keep them wanting more,” Winnie whispered. “Keep a list in your head of the likely ones. Then when the dancing starts, we shall thin it out and permit the approach of those favored.”

  “You would put the Duke of Wellington to shame,” Emily said with a smile. “He should have had you at Vitoria.”

  “Hmph. He may be a war hero, but the Duke of Wellington never had to navigate a crowded ballroom in shoes that were too small and tight stays. Of course, I would. Now look sharp, my dear, here is the Marquess of Westwick. Old title, old money, a little fond of the drink, but not so bad overall...”

  Then it was more smiling, more stiff-backed curtsies, more keeping her voice soft while still trying to be heard over the din, and they hadn’t even gotten to the dancing yet. Emily’s feet were already aching in her new stiff shoes, and she was afraid that if she smiled any wider, her lips were going to crack.

  “Aunt Winnie, I think I need to stop for a bit.”

  “Already? Well, I suppose it is better you do it now than during the dance. There’s a table around back with some pitchers of lemon water. I see Lady Swifte over there, and I shall go and inquire whether her daughter-in-law was in fact carried off by the dropsy. As I recall, her son was a rather likely lad.”

  “Aunt Winnie, that’s horrid!”

  “That is the game, my dear, and if the Duke of Wellington did not apologize for Vitoria, then I will not apologize either. Here, take your dance card, and if you are sitting still, make sure you know the dances that are being played tonight.“

  Emily couldn’t repress a small smile at her aunt’s spirit. Winnie Caverly had always been a part of her life, and after her parents’ death, she had practically adopted Emily, coming to stay in Swandon with her and never quite returning to London until... well, now.

  My goodness, I wish I were at home.

  But she wasn’t, and she refused to return until she could return home in triumph.

  A footman dressed in pale velvet poured her a small paper cup of lemon water. Drinking it did make her feel better. When she felt as if she could take a breath without wanting to faint, she glanced down at her dance card.

  It was a plain little cardboard booklet printed with the date and Almack’s Assembly. Inside was a list of dances and a space after for a partner to sign his or her name, and hanging from a piece of colorful thread was a pencil stub.

  Oh, that is quite clever. Let’s see, they are starting with a waltz, I believe I shall stay out of that, but right after is Jenny Pluck Pears, and then Black Alman, and I can do those well enough...

  She was interrupted from her brief reverie by a pair of young women bumping into her from behind. Emily yelped in a most unbecoming fashion, they cried out, and after everyone was set right again, Emily had had enough. If she had to spend one more moment in the crowded assembly hall, she was going to lose her mind. Her first disastrous impulse was to dash into the street, but she remembered the small alcoves in the wall underneath the musicians’ balcony.

  I can just get a breath there. Get out of the crowd, take a few breaths, try not to cry, and jump back into it.

  She knew she was being ridiculous. She had come here with a purpose. She had a plan. The problem was that all her careful planning had not reckoned on a quiet life of twenty-three years crashing willy-nilly into the height of London’s Beau Monde.

  Emily made her way to the alcoves, so relieved to be out of the crush that she could have wept. One was half-sheltered from the room by a long silk curtain, and she darted in, looking behind her to make sure that no one was regarding her untoward escape.

  “Oof!”

  “Have a care, damn it!’

  It felt like walking into a stone wall dressed in a deep navy-blue jacket. Emily almost bounced off the gentleman who was standing in the alcove already, and she might have fallen if he hadn’t roughly grabbed her arms and set her on her feet again.

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Emily gaped at the man, staring up at him in shock. She was in the heart of London, and this man had spoken to her as if she were a junior maid running wild in the streets. He glared down at her as if she owed him an explanation. His blond hair was a shade or so darker than hers, but his eyes were black, almost hellishly so, and the scar that arched down the side of his face, from temple to jaw, gave him a diabolical look.

  When she met his eyes, Emily felt a peculiar shiver run through her body, from the crown of her head to the soles of her feet. For a brief moment, everyone around them seemed to fall away, leaving them alone in an echoing silence. She wondered wildly whether that scar pained him, what it would be like to touch it. She found herself wondering what it would be like to kiss him, and she shook herself hard to break herself out of this strange spell.

  Whatever had happened to her, he was obviously unaffected by it, as he was still glaring at her quite fiercely.

  “Did your friends put you up to this?” he demanded when she continued to stare at him.

  At the same time, they realized that she was holding her dance card up like it was a shield. With a snorting sound, the man took it from her.

  “Here,” he snapped, writing something with a flourish before snapping it shut and returning it to her. “Consider your curiosity satisfied.”

  He strode off as she stared after him, still reeling from what had happened. Everyone said that London moved fast, but this was ridiculous. At least he had left her the alcove, and Emily could relax for a few minutes.

  It seemed to take Winnie no time at all to find her, however, and she burbled over with news.

  “Now, step lively, my pet, I believe that Arthur Witting, Baron Sunderland, may be interested in dancing with you this evening, as is Whitney Faber, Count Netherville...”

  Emily was just opening her dance card for the first time after her encounter with the strange man. When she saw the scrawl inside it, she made a face.

  “Well, so long as it is not the waltz. It looks like I’m doing that with Sommerset, whoever that is.”

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  CHAPTER TWO

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  Victor Sommerset, decorated colonel, reluctant duke, and frankly damned irritated, looked around at the assembly hall with distaste.

  “Come now, old friend, you are going to scare off the young ladies and their mothers.”

  “If scaring them off will give me some space, I certainly will not mind it.”

  Charles Hartley, Earl of Wendington laughed as if Victor had made some kind of clever joke rather than simply behaving like an uncouth churl.

  “Get used to it, Wellford, you are back in the smoke now. And who knows, the pearl who will grace your household and bear your sons might be right here at Almack’s tonight.”

  “If she is, she ought to make herself known so we can get it over with.”

  “My dear Victor, you are not on the battlefield now, and though London debutantes are famous for a certain amount of sharp dealing, they can hardly be more vicious than the French. I took some trouble to get us into Almack’s so soon after you were invested with your title. The least you could do is look a little eager.”

  Charles sighed as Victor gave him a flat and unimpressed look.

  “Well, if you’re going to stand there and look dour, I’ll take myself off to fill my dance card. All of your money woes might have disappeared, but I need a girl with an inheritance.”

  “I
never had any money woes before,” Victor growled, but Charles was gone, off charming a dark-haired miss in blue.

  I feel like a damned monkey in a suit. How the hell do London men tolerate this?

  Charles was meant to be making introductions for him, but Victor was fairly relieved with his friend gone. He knew he had a duty to marry and to secure the title that had unexpectedly fallen to him, but perhaps he didn’t have to do it tonight. He frowned reflexively, and a young woman arm in arm with her mother gasped. The pair skittered around him, and he wanted to throw his hands up and storm out.

  The scar was not helping matters. He had never considered himself so very handsome before he had gotten on the wrong side of a French saber, and now it gave him a positively demonic demeanor. Soldiers followed a scarred commander better than they did one whose face and body were unmarked, but he had a feeling he couldn’t say the same for eligible Society women.

  Victor knew it wasn’t just the scar, however. Wherever he went, he heard whispers of his title and his rank, and more than one person, male and female alike, shuddered. It was all he expected from the Beau Monde, insulated as they were from the ravages of the Peninsular War, but it struck a deep and angry chord inside him.

  He knew that anger came through when he was cautiously greeted by some casual acquaintances, and apparently, even the lure of his new titles and holdings were not enough for the older women, who took their young charges by the elbow and steered them away.

  That was bad enough, but the girls who seemed fascinated by him were almost worse. The ones who slipped away from their guardians to stand as close as propriety permitted, who watched him with wide and avid eyes, they were equally frustrating in their own way. When one asked him what it was like to be in the heat of a battle and kill a man, Victor excused himself abruptly and walked away.