My Fair Spinster

by Rebecca Connolly

  Prue smiled up at him, her adoration clear. “Was I? I can never remember when to deny you and when to accept you.”

  He winked, his expression turning to something that seemed too intimate for their current setting. “Always accept me, love. Always.”

  “And now would be an excellent time for the Vales to recollect their surroundings!” Charlotte chortled, striding up to the group. “I could choke on the amorous air.”

  “One could only be so fortunate,” Cam said on an exhale, turning to her.

  Charlotte made a face, then smiled broadly at Jane. “Jane, dear, I’ve just seen Mr. Greensley come in, and he’s already looking for you.”

  Jane colored and quickly excused herself from the table.

  Mary Wilton watched her sister go, then quirked her brows at Charlotte. “And with Jane occupied, I have less competition for Captain Gracie. Many thanks.” She grinned and dashed out of her chair, as well.

  Edith, left without competition, put her cards down and smiled placidly at Izzy. “I take it we’ve won.”

  Izzy snickered and laid out her cards for all to see. “Between the pair of us, I think we’d have won anyway.”

  “The Wiltons were never particularly skilled card players,” Elinor informed them staunchly as she arrived, flopping herself into a vacated chair.

  Charlotte looked at her in disbelief. “As if you would know such a thing, child. I swear, you only learned cards yourself the day before yesterday.”

  “Give it a rest, Charlotte,” Sebastian Morton groaned as he and his sister came to them. “Surely we can avoid a fight at the Perrys.”

  Charlotte gaped, and no wonder, for Sebastian Morton had never teased her for half a second of her life. But Charlotte, being Charlotte, recovered at once and smirked at the man. “I wouldn’t fight, Mr. Morton. I am far too collected for such childish things.”

  Elinor snorted loudly, then covered her mouth.

  Sebastian grinned and kissed the top of Izzy’s head as he passed, his sister choosing to lean against the pillar nearest her, smiling with her residual shyness. “Naturally,” Sebastian mused. “My mistake.”

  “Indeed,” Charlotte sniffed. She winked at Kitty, who giggled. “Good evening, Kitty. You look lovely. Lavender is the perfect color for you.”

  Kitty blushed, her porcelain skin transforming with the color, her pale blue eyes lowering even as she smiled still. “Thank you. And only you could wear that shade of yellow and look so majestic.”

  “Kitty,” Edith moaned in mock agony. “Don’t say such things to her, you know it only encourages her.”

  Grace found herself smiling at the banter surrounding her, loving the fun in it, the genuine fondness within the group, and the ease she felt among them all. Whatever she might have felt, or not felt, from various members of her family in her life, this was more of a family to her than most of them. Her mother was the exception, of course, and even she adored hearing about the antics of the Spinsters and their husbands, as they were now being collectively referred.

  She found herself looking at the vacancy beside her, and a strange, sad twang pulled at her heart. Aubrey would have fit right into this delightful madness, tossing out quips and wit with the fluency of a man skilled in such arts. Playful, engaging, and amusing to a fault, he would have thrived among them all and added to them all so perfectly.

  Perfectly.

  She swallowed hard as she realized how his absence affected her. She missed him, though she had just seen him the day before. And it seemed weak to call it something so simplistic as missing him. As if she only missed him. This was different, something deeper and perhaps something there wasn’t a word for. She felt that he was missing. She wished that he were here, and desperately so. She couldn’t imagine the evening being as enjoyable without him, and possibly could be dull by comparison.

  When had Aubrey become such a fixture to her that anything without him seemed somehow lacking?

  She could see his wry smirk in her mind’s eye, the almost wicked glint in his eye when he was up to something, the warmth and genuine beauty in the moments where all of that faded away… That moment they’d shared after her visit from her aunt, when she had raged, and he had held her, when he had told her she was not ugly, unworthy, or flawed…

  The breathless comfort of being in his arms…

  Even the recollection of it made her sigh.

  “That’s a sound that cries for explanation,” Edith murmured, thankfully low enough for the others to miss.

  Grace looked at her friend with wide eyes. “Shh!”

  One side of Edith’s mouth curved up. “I’ll keep your secret, lass, but I know very well in which direction it leads. Take care, lest you find yourself in over your head.”

  She swallowed with some difficulty, a slow burn starting somewhere behind her ears.

  “Grace,” Charlotte suddenly bustled, spearing her with a look, “where is our resident surveyor of Spinsters this evening? Was he not invited?”

  “Charlotte!” Prue hissed, her eyes going wide.

  Grace closed her eyes, exhaling painfully.

  “Who?” Sebastian asked in a curious tone, a hint of something hard in it.

  “Who’s surveying the Spinsters?” Cam demanded, not bothering with Sebastian’s politeness.

  Grace opened her eyes and cleared her throat. The time for secrets was over. “He’s not surveying Spinsters,” she told them. “He’s surveying me. Well, assessing me, I suppose. For flaws and faults. Trying to decipher the reason behind my spinsterhood.”

  Cam’s dark brow furrowed further still. “Who is?”

  “Aubrey. Lord Ingram.”

  There was a moment of silence. “I’ll kill him.”

  “I’ll help,” Sebastian added in a shockingly dark voice for such a polite man.

  Grace felt a surge of fondness for both of them but had to laugh at what Aubrey’s face would have looked like had he heard them. “Oh, don’t get mad at him, Cam! He is doing me a great favor.”

  That didn’t seem to comfort him in the slightest. “By finding your imagined flaws?”

  She gave him a pointed look. “By doing the task himself instead of leaving it to some finicky codger or crony that might consider my very existence a flaw.”

  Cam seemed to consider that, exchanging a glance with Sebastian, who shrugged. “I suppose that could be true, but why are we engaging in this insanity at all?”

  Now Grace offered a flat smile and fluttered her lashes. “My father insists there must be something wrong with me and demanded an outside source perform an analysis, after which we will take the findings and make improvements, at which time I should, by all accounts, be able to find myself a suitable husband and end the great disappointment of being unmarried at my age.”

  Again, silence reigned. Cam had drawn himself up, seeming to hold his breath, his expression unreadable. Sebastian was perfectly composed as he usually was, though a distinct tension resided in him,

  Cam swallowed, exhaled softly, then tilted his head in a show of polite deference. “Miss Morledge, may I perform an analysis on your father? With my fists, some odd bits of furniture, and possibly a rusted saber?”

  A surprised burst of giggles escaped from Grace, and the rest of the group chuckled along with her.

  “I am quite serious,” Cam informed her, beginning to smile now. “Even Morton would help, and you know how he feels about physical altercation.”

  Sebastian shrugged, smiling himself. “I would.”

  Grace shook her head. “Tempting, but no. Believe me, Aubrey makes the process painless, if it has to be done. I didn’t think it would be so at first, but…”

  Cam’s smile turned almost as mischievous as Aubrey’s might have done. “He’s surprising you, is he?”

  She opened her mouth to deny it, refute it, protest the teasing, but found she couldn’t deny it. Or refute it. She had no desire to.

  Not in the least.

  “Yes,” she admitted, lifting
her chin despite the increasing heat swirling in her neck and cheeks. “Yes, as a matter of fact, he is.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  There is some debate as to all things inevitable. Are they meant to happen, or do they belong to the category of spontaneity? Can we escape such things, or are we doomed to our fate? A definitive response from the scholars of the world would be most welcome. Nothing terrifies a parent like inevitability in their children, and this author would know.

  -The Spinster Chronicles, 11 December 1817

  “What will Aubrey be analyzing today?”

  Grace looked up from her reading to stare at her mother in surprise. By unspoken agreement, the observations that went on during her sessions with Aubrey were never discussed. Grace had no desire to become a topic for discussion over supper, especially not with her father and brother about. There was no telling what they might say, or what suggestions they might have to offer on any particular subject.

  What would she do if they scrutinized the analysis together as a family?

  She shuddered and focused on her mother. “Mama?”

  Her mother gave her a sympathetic look. “I don’t mean to pry, darling, I only wonder if Aubrey might consider staying for tea today. Your father will be gone the entire day, and your brother, too, and I do feel most inhospitable when I think he only comes here to attend to such a vile, tedious task for your father. Surely, he must wish for a reprieve.”

  Grace blinked, unsettled that she hadn’t considered such a thought herself. She supposed Aubrey just might enjoy a moment free of analysis, but she had never thought to ask him so. They had always been more concerned with completing the task and getting it over with than doing the polite thing. And at the moment, she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to share her time with Aubrey with her mother.

  Her cheeks flamed in response, and she brought her book up in an attempt to cover it. “I think he would enjoy that, Mama. I don’t know what he’ll focus on today, he tends to surprise me with the subject. Gives me less time to prepare, or some such nonsense.”

  “Hmm.”

  There was something very suspicious about her mother’s tone, and Grace slowly raised her eyes to hers. Her mother watched her with a small, bemused smile, and it was clear that she had caught every hint of a blush Grace had felt. Nor had she believed Grace’s offhand remarks. And this woman wanted Aubrey to take tea with them.

  Oh dear.

  Grace swallowed once. “Yes, Mama?”

  “Oh, nothing,” her mother said with a dismissive wave that did nothing to hide her desire to interfere. “It’s just all working out quite splendidly, isn’t it? What would we have done if someone less sensitive would have accepted your father’s proposition?” She shook her head and turned from the room. “When Aubrey comes, bring him to our drawing room. I’ll have a tea service ready.”

  Grace watched her go, dropping her book back into her lap.

  Sensitive? Aubrey? She laughed to herself and leaned her head back against the top of the wingback chair she was in. Sensitive. She would have to tell Aubrey that one.

  Her smile faded as she thought about Aubrey, as she recalled missing him so fiercely the other night, and how that feeling hadn’t left her since. It rather felt as though her heart were being plucked like the strings of a harp, only there was no music to accompany the sensation. Every moment they had together was filled with laughter and fun, or with comfort and calm. They could banter back and forth for ages, and yet he had a way of helping her see through whatever fog or problems had arisen.

  He was sensitive. He was sensitive to her and her needs. He made her smile with ease and held her when she raged. He kept this whole embarrassing spectacle free of genuine humiliation and had even gone so far as to make the experience an enjoyable one. She actually enjoyed having him there to analyze her, to come up with something ridiculous for her to do that would prove nothing, to be with him however the circumstances arose.

  Aubrey was sensitive. And kind. And witty, cheerful, irreverent, warm, handsome…

  The man was so many things, her head began to spin with the lot of it.

  Handsome. The word was suddenly emblazoned across her mind. He was dreadfully handsome, with his dark hair and grey-blue eyes, and a jaw that begged to be recreated in stone. His height over her did not intimidate, given her own taller than the average stature, and it was, in fact, rather a delightful distance.

  Not that she had a reason to consider it delightful. She did not. No reason whatsoever. It was simply a statement of fact. She had always preferred men who were taller than her, whenever she had found a man to her liking.

  Aubrey had always been taller than her.

  Grace screeched to herself and flung her hands up to her eyes, as though they were the culprits in this cycle of betrayal. She could not face him today with thoughts of how handsome and kind and gentle he was, and how grateful she was that he had accepted her father’s proposition.

  Grateful! After the noise and fuss she had made over it? He would double over in hysterics for three hours on her floor, at least.

  “Who are we hiding from and how far have you counted?”

  Damnation.

  The unladylike, silent curse shocked her, but she couldn’t even be grateful it had remained a thought, considering Aubrey was the one who had interrupted her personal disciplinary action.

  She dropped her hands and glared at him, which was the safest course when he was leaning so inelegantly against the door frame and grinning at her in a way that made her toes curl. He would never suspect she was susceptible to him if she glared.

  “Blast, I was hoping to hide from you, but it seems I have failed.”

  He shrugged unapologetically. “I cannot deny that you have, as I am here, and I see you.” He tilted his head almost fondly at her. “And what a lovely gown you wear, that shade of blue does compliment you so.”

  Grace snorted, her brow furrowing in suspicion. “What has you in such a fine, polite mood?”

  “I understand I am to be in the company of your mother today.” He pushed off the wall, straightening and adjusting his cravat. “I am preparing my very best behavior.”

  “Ah,” Grace replied with a nod as she rose. “Playing a part today, are we? Excellent, I will be a dutiful daughter, and you a gentleman.”

  On cue, he extended an arm out to her. “Very well. Shall we?”

  She smiled playfully at him as she set her hand atop his, tempted beyond reason to lace their fingers, though she refrained. “Lead on, sir.”

  Aubrey inclined his head, then led her grandly to the drawing room where her mother sat with a fine tea service, ready to receive them. She beamed at their entry and nodded warmly in response to Aubrey’s perfect bow of greeting.

  “Oh please,” she protested with a gesture. “No formality. Come, sit, if you will.”

  “Thank you, Lady Trenwick.” Aubrey played the perfect gentleman, assisting Grace with her chair before seeing to his own, and then sat, giving the spread an assessing look. “I do believe this is the most perfect tea service I have ever seen, madam.”

  That earned him a crumpet on a plate, and her mother’s laughter. “Aubrey, dear, there is no need for flattery. I thought you might appreciate something more than just assessing Grace for Lord Trenwick today.”

  Aubrey sobered just enough to make Grace curious. “I do not find my time spent with Miss Morledge to be a trial, my lady. Only the reason behind it.” He blinked, and then smiled more like his manner. “And you must know, she has not made the task an easy one.”

  “Indeed not,” Grace scoffed softly as she reached for the tea. “Why should I?”

  He glanced at her, wry smile in place. “To pity me my hardships?”

  She paused in her preparations to pour the tea and raised a brow. “Your hardship? Poor man.”

  “That will do well enough.”

  “Grace,” her mother murmured, smiling in amusement at the two of them, “do pour Aubrey some tea, won�
�t you?”

  “Excellent thought,” Aubrey agreed, turning his body more fully to Grace. “Now I might assess your abilities with all things tea without creating a fuss about it. Proceed naturally, if you will.”

  Grace’s lips quirked, and she shook her head, fighting a laugh. “You’re an idiot,” she whispered.

  He leaned forward, and her breath caught at the change in proximity. “I know,” he replied, leaning back and folding his arms.

  Dutifully, Grace poured his tea, then her own, offered him cream and sugar, which he accepted with minimal amounts of both, and stirred the cup in a brisk but not disorderly manner. She handed him the spotless teacup and saucer, unable to keep from smiling a bit proudly at managing the whole thing so perfectly.

  Aubrey surveyed her with unreadable eyes, his lips only slightly curved, one hand dangling near his chin. He rubbed his fingers together absently before reaching out to take his cup, the edges of his smile widening just a touch. “Perfect, thank you,” he murmured.

  Perfect. The word sent a warm burst of delight into her midsection at the same time a faint shiver of cold hit her spine. She hated that word, and had for so long, and yet from him it was a sonnet.

  Both sensations were doused as logic set in. The man could very well have been saying she made his tea perfectly, or that the china was perfectly spotless, or that the teacake he had eaten while she made his tea was perfect. There was no reason at all for her to presume that he was referring to her.

  Her cheeks flushed in telltale embarrassment, and Aubrey caught it as he sipped the tea, his eyes fixed on her. “And the tea is perfect, too,” he whispered as her mother busied herself with fixing her own tea.

  Grace felt her eyes widen, and she wrenched her gaze from his, focusing on stirring her tea vigorously. Her cheeks needed to cool, and so did the back of her neck, her ears, and anything else currently feeling quite overheated at the moment.

  “What was that, dear?” her mother chimed in, somehow so unobservant at the present as to miss the recent incendiary reaction of her daughter at the hands of the man beside her.