My Fair Spinster

by Rebecca Connolly

  “The tea is perfect,” Aubrey told her, his tone returned to normal, though one look at him proved his eyes had stayed on Grace, the same mysterious look in them.

  Grace sipped her tea quietly, grateful when her mother began rattling on about tea and the new cook’s method of making the cakes and whatever else that seemed to fascinate Aubrey so. He was as engaging as ever, proving once again how sensitive he was, even to her mother. There was enough respect between them that Grace knew he was not simply playing a part in all of this.

  Oh, she knew he likely had no real interest in baking or china, or even cake, though the latter might have actually intrigued him. What man in his right mind would truly enjoy sitting in a drawing room with a woman he could consider a mother with such tedious topics for discussion? Even Grace did not care for them, and she was supposed to be the sort to take part.

  Normally, she would have begged her mother to find something else to discuss, to leave Aubrey’s ears alone, or simply broke in and changed the subject herself. At this moment, however, the only thing she really wanted was to find herself cooled, and then get on with the fault-finding session with Aubrey. To have him to herself. To get back to the feelings she was used to with him.

  Sitting in front of her mother while questioning, speculating, and outright burning for no apparent reason was not the most comfortable way she had ever taken her tea, and the fact that she had forgotten to add cream or sugar was a most unfortunate reminder with every sip that she was not at all herself.

  To escape or to endure… Neither option would truly set her to rights, but escape, at least, would get her alone with her friend, Aubrey, who could tease her out of this flurry of confusion. Provided, of course, that he wouldn’t make things infinitely worse.

  She chanced another glance at him, watched as he sipped his tea again, his throat moving on a swallow that made her do likewise in response. And then, of all rotten things, the man winked at her.

  So. Burning it was to be, then. Lovely.

  Grace sighed silently and sipped her horrid tea once more.

  Aubrey had always known he was an idiot, but he’d never thought he was actually an idiot in the truest sense of the word.

  And yet, the proof was before him in his absolutely inane suggestion that the fault-finding session today focus on Grace’s fashion.

  Fashion, of all things.

  Grace, who was exquisite in every aspect and from every angle, was parading in and out of the room in a wide variety of gowns, and she never looked less than perfect in any of them. To his surprise, constant perfection was beginning to grow less and less striking, and become more of a continual state of admiration that did not wax nor wane.

  What an unfortunate curse for a goddess to bear.

  That wasn’t to say, naturally, that Aubrey wasn’t enjoying himself. He was. Quite a lot, actually. But it was the sort of enjoyment one got from a gallery filled with impeccable works of art. A pleasant and constant wave of appreciation, with a pause every now and again to take a more in-depth look, but nothing that made one breathless or soaring with the experience.

  Nothing to find fault in. Nothing lacking.

  Constant beauty.

  What fault had he expected to find in her manner of dress? Or in her while she displayed each item? She was clearly enjoying herself, coming into the room with each gown and showing it off as though she were modeling gowns in a modiste, albeit with more gusto and flare than he suspected ladies normally employed under such errands. He reacted with all good manners, praising her with the same dramatics she herself was making use of, though without much by way of actual flattery.

  Not that she wasn’t deserving of such. She deserved all the praise able to be uttered by the human tongue, but after spending a painfully long time with her and her mother at tea, transfixed by every quirk of her full lips as they touched the cup, he was already at the end of his wits.

  Lord, to see her blushing and averting her eyes away from him! He could have swept her away from the drawing room at that moment, though what that would have accomplished hadn’t formed in his mind. He’d just known he had to.

  And then hadn’t.

  Now, her perfect figure in a plethora of shades and styles came and went before his eyes.

  Idiot. Blathering, mad, inconceivable idiot.

  “You looked so bored with all the day dresses and evening dresses you’ve already seen on me, I thought I might try something new. I hope you didn’t mind the wait, I had to find a maid to help me with it.”

  “Ah, we are to be fancy now, are we?” he teased, looking towards the door, prepared to admire freely.

  Whatever else he might have added to his precluding commentary dissolved without a thought. He lost all feeling in his lower extremities, and every one of the muscles in his face and jaw went slack.

  Grace stood before him, smiling as she had been doing, but with a hint of hesitation, which would have unmanned him had he not already been so thoroughly unmanned. The gown was pristine, evidence of a fresh purchase, and somehow it was the exact color of the blush she had just worn at tea. Her figure was enhanced to an artist’s perfection, perfectly encased in swaths of rosy pink. Her bodice and skirts draped with the same sheer white overlay that was dotted with lace bits and something that shimmered in the light of the day. Tight around her, just under the bodice, was a wide ribbon the same shade of pink, and his eyes stayed on it for a breath longer than they should have.

  The details of it were all but lost on him, though he was positive he would be able to recall every one of them later. It was a gown designed by the hand of God to enhance that tempting shade her cheeks took on, begging anyone seeing it to do all within their power to see her bloom further. She was glowing in the dress, and her fair curls had been swept up but for a few tendrils dancing alluringly against the exposed skin above her bodice.

  And suddenly, Aubrey felt like singing hymns of praise and confessing every one of his currently sinning thoughts at the same time.

  “Thorough examination,” Grace remarked, putting her hands on her hips, which immediately drew his attention to their perfect proportions. “See a flaw?”

  Yes, he did see a flaw. In that he was not currently kneeling before this goddess and begging her for favors and mercy. In that she was not captured in paintings and sculptures, or sung about in operas. In that, as far as he knew, not one single pair of eyes had wept at such beauty.

  But in the gown? None at all.

  In her? Impossible and bordering on the sacrilegious.

  He swallowed at least three times before actually succeeding in the supposedly natural action. “It’s lovely, absolutely, and even lovelier on you.”

  What a weak, unimpressive, nearly offensive statement.

  If Grace noticed how flat it was compared to what it ought to have been, or how hoarse he sounded in bleating it, she gave no indication. Her hesitant smile flickered with more confidence, though never quite made it there.

  Merciful heavens, that was a fetching sight.

  She curtseyed playfully, then moved to a nearby chair and leaned upon the armrest. “I had no idea how much exertion went into the repeated changing of many dresses. I’m quite fatigued.”

  So was he, but not for the same reason.

  He smiled with all the weakness of his current state. “Thank you for humoring me.”

  She raised a teasing brow in his direction. “Did you find anything of substance for your notes?”

  Had he ever. He couldn’t bear to look at her further, not with the sun coming through the windows and lighting her so exquisitely from behind, so he looked down at his hand currently trying to clench his thigh.

  “I believe so.”

  “Will you tell me?”

  “Of course not.”

  She sighed, and the sound rippled across his skin. “Ah, well. It was worth a try.”

  They were both silent for a moment, and Aubrey felt himself growing more and more uneasy. He could feel every inch
of the distance between them, each hair standing on end as though at any moment she would come towards him.

  His stomach clenched in anticipation.

  “So,” he said rather brusquely, his eyes lifting helplessly to her again, “are you going to show off anything else?”

  She bit her lip in thought, and his already clenched gut squeezed further, drawing a very faint grunt from him. “I don’t think so. You’ve seen most of the evening dresses but for the ones still being altered, and you’ve seen enough day dresses to blind yourself with. And, of course, you’ve seen the riding habit. I only have the one, but don’t tell Society that.”

  He remembered her riding habit vividly, and when the subject was Grace Morledge, the one riding habit was all that was needed.

  “Your secret is safe with me,” he replied, trying for his usual carefree air. “And I agree, I’ve seen enough. I don’t want to rid you of the opportunity to surprise me with more grand garments in the future.”

  Grace tossed him a wry grin and began toying with one of her dangling curls. “I doubt there is anything so very surprising about a lady’s evening dresses, Aubrey.”

  She had no idea.

  He tried for a smile in response, then looked at the window behind Grace rather than at her. It was safer, but only just. He had to collect himself, find the joviality that usually existed in their sessions. She was undoubtedly counting on him to bring more laughter into things, and today, he was failing miserably.

  “Did it ever occur to you that it could very well be my face or my figure?” Grace suddenly suggested, shifting in her position against the chair. “As the reason for my being a spinster, I mean.”

  His mind went blank. “No,” he said, keeping his eyes on the window, not seeing anything.

  “Why not? It’s one of the only things we haven’t discussed.”

  Aubrey’s hands gripped his legs tightly, his teeth grinding together. “I am not analyzing your figure, Grace.”

  “Oh, come now,” she teased as one of her legs began to swing just a little. “I would think this would be a perfect opportunity for your less-than-gentlemanly nature to officially act freely in whatever way I suspect it does all on its own anyway.”

  She had no idea what his less than gentlemanly nature had been doing of late, and what every side of him was trying to avoid doing now.

  He forced his teeth to separate and flicked his gaze to her. “It would be impossible in the current styles of the day, and inappropriate without the current styles of the day, and I’m having enough trouble as it is not imagining what that figure looks like at any given point in time on any given day without trying to find a bloody fault in it, all right?”

  Grace’s eyes widened, and that deuced attractive blush began to spread across every inch of her exposed skin, which made everything infinitely harder to resist. She wet her lips with hesitation, then asked, “But what about my face?”

  How many ways could one man dance along the edge of damnation in a single sitting? Aubrey closed his eyes, shaking his head. “Please, Grace…”

  “You haven’t said,” she half-whispered.

  He opened his eyes and gave her a raw, frank look. “Are you going to make me confess all my secrets?”

  Grace looked small and terrified, her color still high, her breathing uneven. “Would that count as a flaw?”

  Aubrey stared at Grace for a long moment, then slowly pushed himself to his feet. “Your face is the closest thing to perfection I have ever seen,” he told her, moving towards her in a manner that he would freely admit was far more predatory than leisurely.

  Her eyes widened further, and she stilled on her perch.

  “Your hair is the color of sunshine and glows twice as bright,” he continued, still coming towards her. “Your skin rivals porcelain, except for when you blush, and then it eclipses any sunrise.”

  He took her hand as he reached her and gently pulled her up, his skin burning where he had touched her, the heat coursing in his blood. “The only possible imperfection anyone could ever find in it is that freckle there.” He touched the spot just above the curve of her lip, taunting him with its very existence. “And I adore that freckle most of all because of it.”

  Grace exhaled shakily, her eyes darker than he’d thought them possible. “Because it makes me imperfect?”

  Aubrey’s finger began tracing her lips, dragging against the plump skin, his eyes following the pattern. “Because it makes me stare. And smile. And want…”

  A faint pant brushed over his finger, and he was completely undone.

  He leaned down and touched his lips to hers, a tentative inquiry against the rising tide of passion. Her lips parted beneath his, and he moaned in abject relief, his free hand moving to cup her face and bring her closer. She was curious and timid, her lips moving with inexperience, though there was no denying her ardency. Her fingers flailed against his chest before gripping his waistcoat and pulling him closer.

  He kissed her slowly, giving and taking in gradually increasing measures, as much as she would allow without pressing his advantage. He poured every ounce of his simmering desire and adoration into the kiss, sealing his lips over hers again and again. Nipping, grazing, drinking against her lips and mouth, brushing his lips around the edges of hers, enjoying how ragged her breathing grew when he did so.

  “Oh, hell,” he breathed after she had innocently pulled at his lower lip and sent his pulse skittering.

  Grace exhaled against him. “What?” she asked. “What is it?

  His thumb stroked against her cheek while the other hand slid back into her hair. “You even kiss perfectly.” He pressed his lips to hers again, tilting her head back to more fully taste her.

  “I hate perfect,” Grace replied breathlessly, her lips dusting across his with the words.

  Aubrey grinned, nuzzling against her a little. “God help me, I love it,” he murmured as he kissed her again, smiling mid-kiss as her hands slid up to his neck, lacing themselves there.

  “Lucky you,” she whispered, rising to her toes.

  “Quite so,” he said as he helplessly, inevitably, kissed her again.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sometimes it is our reaction to the thing rather than the thing itself that tells the greater story.

  -The Spinster Chronicles, 5 February 1819

  She needed to spend eleven days in her room, alternating between screaming into her pillow and staring dreamily out of her window. It was possible that there would be long expanses of time of questioning, doubting, and chastising herself, more than likely including the occasional exercise of sprawling out on her bed and reliving every moment.

  And this was a full two days after Aubrey had kissed her.

  Had thoroughly kissed her.

  And Grace had kissed him back.

  She hadn’t even known what she was doing, and she had done it. Instinctively, and purely in response to the gloriousness he was showering on her. She had never been more aware of the beating of her heart until that moment when it had completely drowned out hearing and thought, adding a fervent cadence to the breathless experience. She could swear now that she had felt that throbbing pulse in the bottoms of her feet even before she had risen on her toes to get closer.

  Closer. All she had wanted was to be closer. She couldn’t understand it, even now, as she had been so close to him already, but it hadn’t been close enough. She’d wanted more, wanted to cling, wanted to crawl inside the moment, and that kiss.

  Oh, that kiss!

  Her face flamed with a sigh of remembrance, and she fanned herself rapidly as the carriage pulled up to the Vale residence. She could not go into a meeting of the Spinsters with a flaming face and wistful smile. She could not sigh, swoon, make any sort of sound that would indicate anything particularly romantic had taken place, or drift away from the conversation at any given time. Any hesitation or moment’s delay in response could give her up entirely, and the interrogation would commence.

  She woul
d not endure that. She could not.

  Exhaling slowly, she nodded to herself and stepped out of the carriage, grateful she couldn’t feel any heat in her face presently. She was shown into the house and smiled warmly at the maid who had come to take her things. She quickly removed her bonnet and gloves, then focused her attention to her blue pelisse.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said to the poor maid, who stood there, still waiting, while she fidgeted with the buttons. “Normally, I can manage without any trouble, but today…”

  “Can I help you, Miss Morledge?” the maid offered with a sweet smile.

  Grace laughed and shook her head. “You are kind, but I’ll only be a moment.” She forced her mind to clear, and finally managed the last two buttons, as any sensible woman ought to have done.

  Sensible. She used to be considered sensible. Nothing could have been further from the truth today. She was insensible, frantic, and quite clumsy. She’d have to mind all tables and fragile items, or she would be embarrassing herself continuously and would have to explain herself to Prue and Cam, if not the entire group of Spinsters, as well.

  Just then, the butler strode by them, smiling politely, and the door behind her opened. “Good morning, my lord. Mr. Vale is expecting you.”

  “Would there be any point in handing you my card, then?” came the cheeky response.

  Grace froze in the act of removing her pelisse, her breath stuttering in her chest.

  Aubrey.

  “Wait here, sir. Mr. Vale asked to fetch you himself. I hope this doesn’t offend.”

  “Not in the least. It takes a great deal to offend me.”

  The butler must have nodded, for he passed Grace again with a smile.

  Which meant that, for the present, Aubrey was still there. With her.

  Her knees shook with the desire to run, to flee the house entirely or to flee into its depths. She wanted to hide, to vanish into thin air, to do anything to avoid the forthcoming awkwardness. She closed her eyes and prayed he would pass by her without taking time to notice her.