My Fair Spinster

by Rebecca Connolly

  He snorted softly. “Probably as well as we should have expected of Miranda. And it would seem we have our marching orders.”

  “Indeed.” She exhaled, and then realized her hand was still on his arm. She jerked it away, her cheeks coloring as her smile turned almost sheepish. “So, have you worked anything out this evening as yet?”

  Aubrey returned her smile, surprised at how easy it was to do so genuinely. “Some things, but more research is required. I’ll be attentive to your various conversations at as discreet a distance as possible to avoid obvious detection, or to make you uneasy, and we will see how much more I observe.”

  “Uneasy,” Grace repeated. “You expect me to not be uneasy this evening? No matter where I stand or what I say, I’ll know that you see and hear me, and will judge. That should be comfortable for me?”

  He shrugged with as much mischief as he could manage. “That would be the task, my dear. You must get used to observation, by me or by others.”

  She frowned, though it appeared to be teasing. “It is not the others I am worried about.”

  Aubrey let his mischief fade a little. “Grace, you know that Miranda was right, don’t you?”

  “About what?”

  He took one step closer, needing her to understand this. “I will not break you.”

  Her eyes widened, and her breathing seemed to falter. Then, miraculously, a gentle, beautiful smile appeared. “I know that, Aubrey. I might not know much else, but I do know that.”

  She touched his hand, then moved on past him to find another group to mingle with.

  At least, he thought she touched his hand. Or what used to be his hand. Or rather where it used to be.

  Everything seemed to be on fire at the moment, and he could not be entirely sure.

  He turned to watch her go, saw her join Henshaw and Francis with a few others, and wondered if he was brave enough to venture the same.

  Something possessed him to turn back and find Charlotte Wright to check one suddenly nagging thought.

  Ah, there he was. Michael Sandford, right where he had been before. Hovering at the edge, never quite brave enough to go all the way.

  Suddenly, Aubrey could relate perfectly.

  Chapter Eleven

  It would behoove a sensible being to accomplish their tasks as quickly as possible while still maintaining the quality of one’s work. One must be thorough, but never prolong matters needlessly. There is nothing worse than needless prolonging of anything, but most especially when there is expectation in the results. Simply intolerable.

  -The Spinster Chronicles, 2 January 1817

  “Heavens above, why are you here at this time of morning?”

  “I thought to begin our task early today.”

  Grace glowered at him as she sat down to her breakfast. “I’ll not be ruled by you as by an overbearing tutor, Aubrey. I dislike being roused from my bed and subjected to an examination before I have eaten a single thing.”

  Aubrey returned her glower with a bright grin. “By all means, eat something. It would be good to keep up your strength. As for the earliness of the hour, I suppose you must grow accustomed to it.”

  “Why?” Grace asked as she took a bite of potato. “What could possibly require me to rise early in the future?”

  “The duties of a wife, I expect.”

  The duties of what?

  Grace set her fork and knife on her plate with a faint clatter. “I beg your pardon?”

  Aubrey’s smile turned hesitant and apologetic, his fingers anxiously fiddling with his cravat. “Umm… I take it back?”

  “Do you?”

  “I do, with all my heart.”

  Grace scoffed and picked up her utensils once more. “Half-heartedly, more like.” She gestured to the chair across from her. “You might as well sit and judge my eating habits and table manners. Do you want anything?”

  Aubrey shook his head and sat, leaning back against the chair. “Why so violent against even the word wife? Don’t you want to marry?”

  “Of course, I do,” Grace replied, swallowing a bite. “It’s only the reminder that I have yet to become one that tends to make me irritable. As if I could not be a complete person without a man to tell me I am so.”

  “That’s not what I…”

  She waved him off. “I know, I know. You were only teasing, but I’m a trifle testy this morning, what with everything else. Yes, I want to be a wife. Very much. But I am at the point now where I refuse to marry just for the sake of it. I know what it is to be without a husband, as it’s all I have known, and, short of distressing my father, I think I’ve managed to do very well.”

  Aubrey smiled and nodded in consideration. “I concur, you certainly have.”

  Grace allowed his comment with an accepting dip of her chin. “So, if I marry in the future, it must be to a man I can actually tolerate, sustain conversation with, and one who does not see my worth and value as limited to the dowry that he will gain upon joining with me. I refuse to be bartered with.”

  “Too right.”

  She glanced up at him and saw, to her surprise, a smug smile and warm eyes. It was entirely too becoming on him, and somehow seemed perfectly natural.

  “You agree?” she asked him. “Why? It’s not a popular opinion.”

  “No, but I have always been in favor of unpopular opinion. People, in general, are idiots.” He grinned cheekily, then sobered. “In truth, I actually agree. Despite what your father thinks, I find no need for you to rush into matrimony for the sake of it. Popular opinion or not, matrimony should be more than a financially beneficial contract if it is to be of any pleasant yield to either party. I think we can both say as much from experience.” He widened his eyes, close to laughter.

  Grace groaned and nodded, taking another bite of her breakfast. “Among others, to be sure. I could never marry a man who did not know how I prefer my porridge.”

  Aubrey looked down at her plate pointedly, then raised his cloudy blue eyes to hers. “You aren’t eating porridge.”

  She shrugged as she chewed. “Then you’ll be no help to any potential prospects, will you?” She swallowed and tilted her head at him, a strange mischievous streak lighting within her. “And if we are to speak of matrimony over breakfast, we may as well turn to your own prospects.”

  As she suspected, he blanched in horror. “Good heavens, why?”

  “Why not?” she shot back, sitting forward and setting her hands in her lap. “You’re of an age, and your situation has improved now that Breyerly is restored.”

  “Stop. Just stop.”

  Grace twisted her lips on a laugh. “You should put your mind to it, Aubrey. You need a wife.”

  He quirked his brows, mouth curving to one side. “I thought I was practically perfect. Elinor said so.”

  “Elinor is an infant,” Grace said at once. “And besides, practically is not completely. A wife would improve you.”

  Aubrey snorted once. “What if I don’t want to be improved?”

  What did that have to do with anything? Grace did not want to be improved either, and yet here she was, being evaluated for faults so that she could improve.

  But that wasn’t Aubrey’s fault, and she would not pretend it was.

  “A wife would humanize you,” she added, resuming her eating.

  Aubrey released a loud laugh. “How would you know? You’ve never been one.”

  Grace paused, raising a brow at him. “I’ve never been an idiot, either. Yet, I know one when I see one.”

  His mouth popped open as he coughed another laugh, then grabbed at his chest in mock-pain. “Oh, the agony…”

  “I’m sure you’ll survive.” She smirked and continued to eat her breakfast. “Now, since you’re here, amuse me while I finish.”

  “If my lady doth command,” he responded, somehow bowing from a seated position without technically doing so. “What would best amuse you presently?”

  Grace glanced out of the breakfast room door, then ba
ck to him, letting her excitement show. “Tell me everything about Breyerly and Withrow. Absolutely everything.”

  Thankfully, Aubrey needed no prodding on that topic, and for the next few minutes, he regaled her with every single detail, not minding her constantly interrupting him for specifics. If they never agreed on anything else, this would be enough. They shared a passion for their home estates, the lands, and the memories had among both. Unlike her father or brother, Grace longed for Withrow and Derbyshire, and would happily spend the rest of her life there, married or not.

  As it was unlikely she would ever be able to, she would soak up every image Aubrey painted in her mind and every description he gave.

  It just might be her last.

  When he’d finished, Grace sat back, sated both mentally and physically, and sighing in a mixture of satisfaction and regret.

  “Such a sad sound,” Aubrey murmured. “Withrow?”

  She nodded and smiled wistfully. “It is unlikely we will ever go back, and no one seems to feel the loss as I do. No one seems to remember it as fondly as I do, though Mama tries. I know Father and James complain that it’s not producing enough, but I have seen no evidence of anyone actually trying to salvage it. London will never be home for me; that will only and ever be Withrow. And they want to be rid of it.”

  Aubrey made a soft, unintelligible sound. “I had no idea you felt that way about it. I thought… well, I thought you would feel the same as all the rest of your family. Your mother aside.”

  “I am not my family,” she told him with all the firmness she could muster.

  His smile was swift and sure. “I’m beginning to see that.” He eyed her plate again. “Are you finished?”

  Grace sat up and nodded primly. “I am. Did you find any fault in my table manners?”

  Aubrey chuckled and smoothed down his cravat. “Not a one. You used all the right utensils, kept a proper distance from the table, and maintained equal and appropriately proportioned bites throughout. Most satisfactory.”

  “You noticed all that?” she asked as she rose from her seat. “Even while you were talking?”

  He gave her a look as he, too, rose. “I am capable of doing more than one thing at a time, you know.”

  “Will wonders never cease?” she mused as she made her way out of the breakfast room.

  “Just for that, you get to be judged on comportment today. More specifically, the way you walk and move. Starting now.”

  Grace whirled around to face him. “What?”

  He spun his finger in a circle, indicating she turn. “Walking. Forward. Now.”

  She glowered and grabbed her blue gingham skirts, and spun back around with a swish of them, snarling through gritted teeth. He wanted to see her walk and try to find a fault? Three years with Miss Godson had stripped her of any flaws in this regard, even if she stomped away in a temper.

  She tossed her head, eliciting a snicker from behind her, then strode gracefully towards the drawing room at the end of the corridor.

  Aubrey followed silently.

  Once in the room, she turned to face him. “Well?”

  He sat in a chair and crossed his legs. “Keep going.”

  Grace frowned at him. “Are you serious? You want me to walk about the room while you watch?”

  He reached into his waistcoat and pulled out the list Elinor had made him. “It says so right here. ‘Comportment. How she walks and moves.’” He held it out for her. “See for yourself.”

  She exhaled through her nose and shook her head. “I believe you, I suppose. Very well, I shall continue walking.”

  It was beyond stupid, but there was nothing to be done about that. They both had to play the game if they ever wanted it to end. And for all she knew, she might have developed a hitch in her step over the years.

  Doubtful, but possible.

  Over and over again she walked, crossing the room back and forth, tracing the edges of the room. Just walking. It felt awkward and ridiculous. She sent many long-suffering looks in Aubrey’s direction, hoping he’d allow her to stop.

  He never let her desist. On the contrary, he sat in his chair, one hand near his mouth, and a small smile on his face. Just watching. It was clear the blackguard was enjoying himself at her expense, and she was done with it.

  She stopped and turned to him, hands on her hips. “Aubrey, enough! I feel like a horse being carted out for observation. Honestly, haven’t you found a flaw yet?”

  Aubrey cleared his throat and lowered his hand. “No, Grace, I haven’t. So, if you wouldn’t mind…” He gestured for her to continue, smiling more fully.

  Grace felt her cheeks flush, and she shook her head. “No. No, I do mind! I’m just wandering around pretending that I am not being studied, which is terribly difficult to manage as if all were normal, and that is…”

  “I think you would find,” Aubrey interrupted, sitting up and giving her a serious look, “that a great many people, men and women, are watching you move. Watching you walk. Dance. Glide. I have seen them do so, and I cannot blame them. Because it’s very nearly a thing of art, Grace, and I won’t apologize for taking pleasure in its observation.”

  Her heart stuttered within her chest, then seemed to pound terribly in her ears, drowning out any other sound for a moment or two. She managed a rough swallow.

  “Oh.”

  He smiled at her gently, taking pity on her. “But as you are especially uncomfortable, I think we may stop.”

  She exhaled in a rush of relief and sat down in a nearby chair, taking care to do so very properly. “Thank you. Any flaws?”

  Aubrey smirked at her. “That is for me alone to know. I will not always tell you what I find as I find it.”

  “You promised!” she protested in outrage.

  That earned her a scolding look. “I promised to tell you what I found, but I did not promise it would be immediately. I will tell you what I find before I tell your father, but it would be best if we did not exchange findings at every single meeting. I’d rather proceed more naturally and reveal all once we reach the end. Do you consent to that?”

  Naturally? His examination of her? It did not seem likely, but she supposed if she began to view things less as an evaluation and more of a meeting with a friend…

  A friend? Aubrey?

  She looked at him, saw the warmth in his eyes, the comfort in his smile, and the relaxed nature of his countenance. Even in their sparring, she found herself liking him and enjoying herself. Even when he was impossible, he could make her smile, against her will at times.

  Yes, she supposed they were friends. And she would much rather be natural with her friends.

  “Very well,” she finally replied. “I do consent.”

  Aubrey left Trenwick House with a broad smile and laughter on nearly every breath.

  He couldn’t help it; it could have been pouring sheets of rain outside, and he would have thought it sunny.

  That had been the best session of fault-finding he’d had with Grace yet, and he hadn’t found a single fault in any aspect.

  After having her parade around the drawing room, which really had been sheer perfection, they shifted to analyzing her language abilities. German, French, Italian, and, surprisingly enough, Latin.

  She was fluent in all of them and happened to be just as witty in those languages as she was in English.

  Of course.

  His own Italian was a little weak, so it was entirely possible that she had neglected a thing or two in her conversation there, but nothing glaringly obvious.

  He’d thought about asking her to dance a jig with him after all that, but he’d been so entertained by their multilingual conversation that it wouldn’t have been any sort of evaluation. It would likely dissolve into ridiculous bouts of laughter, stumbling, and treading on toes.

  And there was no telling how Grace would have acted.

  He was sane enough to know that her laughter was too musical, and in close proximity, that laughter could be dangerous.


  But it would not keep him from smiling and laughing now as he left.

  That last burst of wit she had spouted in German had really…

  “Ingram, what a pleasant surprise!”

  He turned quickly to see Henshaw and Francis approaching him, and he smiled at them both. “Good day, gentlemen.”

  Francis eyed him with interest, smirking. “The hat generally goes on the head, Ingram. Not in the hands.”

  Aubrey barely avoided scowling and replied, “Does it really? What an ingenious notion.” He popped it on his head, tapped it down, then gave Francis a look. “Satisfied?”

  “Inestimably.” Francis grinned, looking rather like his cousin when he did so. “This isn’t your side of town, what are you about?”

  “Paying calls,” Aubrey retorted defensively. “The mark of a gentleman, is it not?”

  “Debatable,” Henshaw remarked in his offhand way, eying the houses around them.

  Aubrey watched him, curious as to his reasoning. “Lost, Henshaw?”

  The man looked at him with a sudden, swift grin. “No, but you might be. Why were you calling on Grace Morledge?”

  “Who says I was calling on Grace?” Aubrey asked as they began to walk in the direction he had begun. “I’ve been advising with her father, Lord Trenwick, of late.”

  “No one meeting with Trenwick would exit the house with a grin like the one you were just wearing.” Henshaw’s look turned inquiring, though Aubrey suspected he would have turned all out interrogating if the need arose.

  Francis made a careful sound of consideration, then looked at Aubrey. “And it is rather early for business arrangements. Or social calls, for that matter.”

  “That didn’t stop the two of you from being out and about at this time of day,” he shot back, fighting the urge to shove his hands in his trouser pockets and ambling along as he would have done in the country. London required a stiffer, stuffier approach to his style and manner, and it was beginning to grate on him.

  Henshaw and Francis shared a look. “Evasion,” they said together.