My Fair Spinster

by Rebecca Connolly

  Freed from the captivity of her gaze, Aubrey managed to exhale far more roughly than he would have done otherwise.

  “Would you mind telling me what you are doing?”

  Aubrey looked up into Henshaw’s bemused expression, keeping his own perfectly bland. “Preparing to assess the waltz. Are you prepared for that?”

  “I could waltz blindfolded on my own in front of every Society matron and you without blinking twice,” Henshaw shot back. “I want to know what you are doing.”

  So did Aubrey, but that wasn’t exactly clear at the moment. So, he settled for the only thing that was clear.

  Habit.

  He smiled at his friend. “Preparing to assess the waltz.”

  Henshaw rolled his eyes. “All right, then.” He took one step back, looked over his shoulder, and cleared his throat. “I solemnly swear to you that this waltz is purely because you are forcing me to take your place, as you are too terrified of a close proximity with Grace to do so yourself.”

  Aubrey coughed in surprise and straightened up. “What? Are you calling me a coward?”

  “No, sir, not at all,” Henshaw blustered as he puffed out his chest. “Just extraordinarily foolish. Enjoy the show.”

  “I will kill you,” Aubrey vowed as Henshaw slowly backed away.

  Henshaw grinned. “Kindly after the waltz. Grace is a marvelous dancer.” He tipped an imaginary hat in Aubrey’s direction, then turned and swept towards the ladies with all the airs of a carefree gentleman.

  The moment the man touched Grace’s hand, Aubrey’s temper erupted.

  Thankfully, he had always been a controlled man in his anger, so it did nothing except make him surly and enraged, burning and seething himself into a towering inferno that couldn’t move. Wouldn’t move.

  Didn’t move.

  Kitty Morton struck up a waltz on the pianoforte, and the two couples began their dance, swirling and turning with a fluid grace that would have suited any ballroom in London. Henshaw was a tall man, but there was nothing awkward or ungainly about his dancing. He moved Grace about the room easily, turning her effortlessly, his steps crisp and sure, saying something that made her smile as he did so.

  Aubrey felt himself snarl as he watched them, the music a twisted accompaniment to the farce he was witnessing.

  A ridiculous, moronic, laughable farce about which no one was laughing.

  Grace tipped her head back with a musical laugh that constricted Aubrey’s insides, his jaw clenching as the light through a window caught her hair. Every step she made could have touched a cloud, every turn highlighted another stunning angle of her features, every swish of her skirts taunting him from across the room. She danced with all the lightness of a breeze, and she could not have looked more angelic had a halo begun to glow above her.

  And he was standing over here.

  Watching.

  Henshaw glanced at Aubrey, one corner of his mouth twitching suspiciously.

  The man would be dead by the end of the day, if only Aubrey could decide on a proper course of assassination.

  Then again, this had all been Aubrey’s idea. Henshaw had only agreed to it, and then proceeded to take great pleasure in fulfilling that agreement.

  A thrashing instead of a murder, then. All the better.

  He was obsessed, and he couldn’t even bring himself to care. He watched her hungrily, eagerly, tracking every single minute motion she made. Every detail was precious. Anything he could catch, any sign, any flicker…

  He ran a hand over his face, working his jaw absently to loosen it.

  Ridiculous.

  A turn of the waltz and Grace was looking in his direction, and then, suddenly, at him. Directly. Frankly.

  He met her gaze without shame. He didn’t care if she saw his yearning; he wanted her to know he saw.

  She swallowed and wrenched her gaze away, back to Henshaw.

  Aubrey felt his mouth curve in dark satisfaction. If she could upend his world so completely, at least he was giving hers a bit of a nudge in return, if nothing else.

  He could work with that.

  The waltz came to an end, and he applauded politely, as did Izzy, who had chosen to sit beside Kitty for the duration. The dancers smiled amongst themselves, and Charlotte turned to Aubrey, hands on her hips

  “Well, Lord Ingram,” she called cheerily, “have you seen enough?”

  He grinned at her and bowed. “I have, Miss Wright, and I thank you for your kind hospitality.”

  “Oh lord,” Grace groaned, rubbing at her brow.

  She seemed tired, fatigued somehow, and his jaunty air faded at once. He wanted to ask her what was wrong, see if he could mend it, see if he had done this. He knew he had been a bit of a cad of late, and that an apology was due, but how could he…? What could he…?

  Not here. Not now.

  He bit the inside of his lip very softly, waiting as the others began to leave one by one. He bid them all farewell, as he must, and maintained his usual demeanor as best he could, his eyes always tracking Grace. The moment she left, the very instant she left the room, he would be behind her. He would follow, he would explain, he would…

  He paused as he realized there were only two others in the room now. Just two.

  Grace and Charlotte.

  Somehow, he had missed whatever moment Henshaw had left, which he would undoubtedly hear about later, but he would take it. He would take every single bit of ribbing, teasing, and ridicule that came to him. This would be worth it.

  She was worth it.

  A wave of warmth and need slowly washed over him, leaving him surprisingly comfortable and at ease. And unnervingly clear.

  Grace finally began to move to the door, her eyes darting towards him, but not at him, her cheeks heating. Not with pleasure, but with shame.

  Why did he know that? How did he know that?

  He blinked as she moved away from him, down the corridor, and the stairs.

  “Aubrey.”

  He turned to look at Charlotte quickly. “What?’

  She grinned in a manner he had never seen her do before. “I bid you good day, and all that politeness, but I will push you down the stairs myself if you don’t run right this moment.”

  Now, he was the one who grinned. “I adore you, Charlotte Wright, and I don’t care who knows it.” He darted out of the room to the sound of her merry laughter, though her response was completely lost on him.

  He moved with a speed he’d forgotten he had, racing without any sort of manner through a house that was not his in pursuit of the woman he… The woman…

  Well, in pursuit of Grace Morledge, of all people.

  “Grace!” he called out in relief as he saw her, standing in the foyer with her hands on her bonnet ribbons.

  She paused and looked up at him, eyes wide as he fumbled his way down the stairs. “Aubrey?”

  “Wait,” he panted as he made his way down to her. “Wait. Just wait.”

  Her pale brow furrowed. “Waiting…”

  His knees shook in relief and delight at her wit, and he exhaled as he reached her. “So I see.”

  Grace was silent a moment, then gestured with her hand. “What am I waiting for?”

  What, indeed.

  Insanity consumed him, and he strode to her, hands going to her face. “This,” he whispered as his lips descended on hers in a delicious foray that had spent far too long pent up within him.

  She stiffened in his hold for only a moment, then blessedly relaxed against him, her hands gripping his wrists tightly. Her mouth softened beneath his, responding with a gentle steadiness that stole his breath.

  Gads, how he loved kissing her.

  He broke off with a gasp, dropping one hand from her skin and pressing it against the wall behind her. When exactly had there been a wall behind her?

  Grace’s thumb moved against the exposed skin of his wrist and he shivered, dropping his head to nuzzle against her tenderly. “What was that for?” she asked wryly.

 
Aubrey pulled back to look at her, his fingers brushing against her cheek. “I didn’t want you to think my feelings have changed simply because I wasn’t dancing with you. I was… well, I was saving myself.”

  She tilted her head in his hold. “From what?”

  “From you, of course.” He shook his head, stroking her cheek once more. “I didn’t think I could hide this from them if we waltzed. I doubt I hid it anyway.”

  Grace lifted her chin, her perfect lips curving rather the way his toes were at the present. “And what is this, exactly? What do you feel?”

  He chuckled. “Hell if I know, but I’m not about to complain.” He leaned down to kiss her again, taking great care to use restraint this time, only lingering in the very corner of her lips.

  She sighed, and he felt the pleasure in it. “Is there a flaw in allowing oneself to be kissed in a private foyer of a friend’s home?”

  “I hope not. Best slap me for assaulting your virtue, just in case.”

  Grace seemed to consider that, and he narrowed his eyes, daring her to do it.

  One of her hands went to his cheek, patting gently as though in thought. Then she rose up on her toes and pressed her lips to his other cheek instead, the kiss a gentle blossom of feeling he’d never experience in his entire life and now would die without. She nuzzled against the spot, then trailed her fingers across his lips as she moved away.

  He turned as she went to the door, watched as her fingers deftly tied the ribbons, and only exhaled when the door closed behind her.

  “Guh,” he bleated as his legs shook, his hands flying to the decorative ledge of the wall nearest him for support.

  He stared at the door in fascinated wonder, blinking as though Grace stood there still.

  Curses… He was in for it now.

  Chapter Seventeen

  There are some things for which there is no explanation.

  -The Spinster Chronicles, 23 June 1815

  “You cannot be serious.”

  “Oh, but I am. Entirely.”

  “He wouldn’t.”

  “He would.”

  “He would subject you to comment in such a way?”

  “So it would seem.”

  “I cannot understand it.”

  “No, I suppose you couldn’t.” Grace sputtered a disgruntled sound, shaking her head. “He suggested the thing over dinner, and would you believe that my brother agreed to the idea?”

  Edith seemed to consider that. “Would I believe that your brother would agree with your father that paying men to court you was a good idea? Yes, I believe I would. I know your brother better, and that is entirely worthy of him.”

  Grace laughed in surprise, reaching for her tea. “You have met my brother perhaps three times, all told.”

  “That was enough to know I don’t have much to recommend him,” Edith shot back with a mischievous grin. “He reminds me of my brother, actually.”

  “Does he?” Grace asked, sipping slowly. As a general rule, Edith did not speak of her family. All anybody knew of them was that her father had not been well pleased with her, and that he had been keen to have her married off. She’d never heard of any siblings, except for the brother who’d asked Henshaw to look after her, and that was all she knew. The prospect of further revelation gave her a flutter of excitement.

  Edith nodded, her smile still in place, though turning rueful. “Aye.”

  It was clear that for any sort of deeper response, Grace would to have to do a little prodding, if not outright suggestion. She scoffed softly, settling her tea in her lap. “What? Your brother is also obsessed with finery and the ridiculous, all too superior, desperate for attention and going about earning it in all the wrong ways?”

  The Scottish beauty tossed her dark hair back on a laugh. “Sharp tongue, lass, but a well-placed description. No, he’s not obsessed with finery, for we never had any to be obsessed with. And I canna say he takes joy in the ridiculous either. He’s a bit rougher, you might say. But he is all too superior, desperate for attention, and certainly earning some in the wrong ways.” She winked at Grace with a knowing smirk. “Though not in the same wrong ways that your brother employs.”

  Grace lifted her teacup once more. “To wayward brothers and their various wrongs. May we never fall under their protection.”

  Edith raised hers with a nod. “Amen.”

  They giggled as they sipped, and Grace shook her head. “I don’t think you’re supposed to say amen in a toast! What would you say at home?”

  Edith’s lips curved a little “Slàinte,” she murmured softly.

  Grace eyed her friend for a moment. “Do you miss Scotland?”

  “Terribly,” came the whispered reply.

  “And your family?”

  Edith’s reverie broke and she grinned once more, raising a brow. “Not so terribly, if you can believe that.”

  “But I am absolutely certain that they miss you,” boomed a voice from the doorway.

  Grace felt her cheeks crack with a beaming grin as she turned to see Aubrey standing there, glorious and charming as he strode in, his fawn-colored breeches perfectly accentuating his legs as they vanished into pristine boots. His dark waistcoat and green coat heightened his complexion, and Grace thought he somehow seemed more tanned and robust today than before, though it had barely been a day since she had seen him last.

  “Aubrey!” she cried belatedly, rising from her chair, thankfully setting her tea aside before she upset it.

  His grin matched hers, and her heart leapt to her throat at the sight of it. “Grace,” he replied, his voice gentling as he said it.

  Heavens, she would swoon where she stood.

  Aubrey turned to Edith quickly and bowed deeply. “Lady Edith.”

  Edith shook her head, smiling to herself, and curtseyed. “Aubrey. And I can assure you, my family doesna miss me overly much.”

  “Nonsense!” he protested, reaching for her hand and kissing it fondly. “I’d miss you daily, were you my family. Perhaps even hourly.”

  “Och,” she scoffed, her cheeks coloring. “Away wi’ you, flatterer.”

  Aubrey chuckled and turned his still-smiling face towards Grace.

  She couldn’t help it; she kept grinning like a fool. “Why are you here? Were we supposed to meet?”

  “No,” he said simply, tugging at his coat, “but it’s so delightful to surprise you, and you react so splendidly, I thought I might take the opportunity to do so.”

  Her cheeks flamed on cue, and she saw how his smile deepened at the sight of it. “I’m not normally known for enjoying surprises,” she murmured, suddenly feeling terribly shy, pushing a strand of nonexistent hair behind her ear.

  “That isn’t what I’ve heard,” he replied, his eyes darkening.

  A delicious shiver started making its way down her spine, and a sigh began building within her.

  “Right,” Edith said slowly, turning to pick up her tea and saucer. “I am going to remove myself from this very private conversation and enjoy a spot of sunshine. Over there.” She pointed to the exact opposite side of the room, where a large window overlooked the garden. “And where I willna be able to hear anything the pair of you are saying.” She nodded and started to move, then thought better of it as she snatched a cake and crumpet from the table before sweeping away.

  Grace blushed more furiously, her eyes darting to Edith’s retreating figure.

  Aubrey did not so much as blink. “I’ve always liked Edith. She’s very astute.”

  “There’s not much to dislike,” Grace agreed weakly as her fingers began to twist at each other.

  He only hummed in response, still looking at her.

  “You’re staring,” she whispered, biting her lip.

  His eyes moved to her mouth as she did so. “Yes. I am.”

  “Stop.”

  “No.”

  “Stop!”

  “No.”

  “Aubrey!”

  He heaved an almost dramatic sigh. “Grace, I t
ake great delight in drinking in the very sight of you, and I’ll thank you not to revoke such a pleasurable pastime.”

  She tried to look annoyed, despite the surge of affection currently constricting her throat. “Oh, please…”

  “Now, now,” Aubrey scolded, his brow furrowing deeply. “I believe it is customary for the mere mortals to beg from the goddesses, not the other way around. Don’t confuse our roles here.”

  Grace stared at the man in outright bewilderment now. “Goddess? Where in the world do you see a goddess?”

  He stared, then gestured at her, then stepped back and did so much more grandly. “Exhibit A, my dear.”

  “I am no goddess,” she murmured, shaking her head very firmly. “If anything, Aubrey, you of all people know how very mortal and flawed I am.”

  He made a thoughtful face, then scrunched it up in disagreement. “No, I can’t say that I do, and as the sole individual tasked with actually finding your flaws, I am in a position to know.”

  The affection she felt was beginning to grow more and more uncomfortable, and she wondered if one could swoon purely from excessive blushing. “Aubrey, please…”

  “Too much?” He came back to her, expression apologetic. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be. I just… Grace, I haven’t the faintest idea what I’m doing, so if I’m fumbling around in a buffoonish way, it is only because I am entirely out of my depth.”

  “I don’t believe either of us have actually stated what we’re doing,” she replied with a sheepish smile. “I wouldn’t even know what to call it.”

  Aubrey laughed once and reached for her hand, stroking it softly. “I’d call it courtship, but I’m afraid several ceilings would begin to crack and fall upon various heads if we said anything so formal. I’d call it exploration, but I hate to think of this as merely an expedition. I’d call it flirtation, but that’s a paltry description. I don’t know what it is, Grace. I just know I can’t help it.”

  Of all the lovely things he could have said, that might have been the loveliest. She sighed, and he laughed again at the sound.

  “You like that, eh?” he murmured, stroking her hand in a way that seemed to burn the bottom of her feet.