My Fair Spinster

by Rebecca Connolly

  And this was what Grace had grown up with?

  “Aubrey?”

  He looked around wildly, her sweet voice breaking through his heated fog. Grace stood near the stairs, waiting for him, her expression worried. He moved towards her at once, seeking her solace and her influence to cleanse him of what he had just witnessed.

  “What was that about?” she asked, her eyes searching his.

  Aubrey swallowed and cupped her face, surprising her. He touched his brow to hers and exhaled roughly.

  “Aubrey?” Her hands came to his chest, pressing against his heart.

  He tilted his head and kissed her very softly. “I will not break you,” he vowed in a harsh whisper, his hands nearly clenching against her.

  Her fingers gripped his coat tightly. “I know,” she replied in the same tone. She went up on tiptoe and kissed him hard, then pulled one of his hands from her face and kissed it, as well. “You won’t.”

  The certainty in her voice bolstered him, and he nodded, stroking a finger against her cheek. “We will find a way, won’t we?”

  Grace nodded, smiling with the brilliance of the dawn. “Of course, we will. And if we get lost, we’ll just wander a bit.”

  Aubrey felt himself soften the longer he looked into her eyes, and he tilted his head towards the door, letting her escort him towards it. “Well, I am particularly good at wandering.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  A woman is a strong, powerful, beautiful creation capable of a great many things. But all should take care with her, for a woman is also more fragile than her strength may suggest.

  -The Spinster Chronicles, 1 November 1816

  As it happened, wandering about from day to day with Aubrey as he paid her particular attention was a rather enjoyable experience for Grace. The man was even more charming when he was sincere than he was when he was playful, and for all his composure in public settings, he seemed to have an impossible time hiding his feelings when they were together.

  She could tell that it drove him mad that he was so exposed, and that she could read him so easily.

  She, on the other hand, adored it.

  It was refreshing to have someone be so open with her, even if it was somewhat against his will. So much of her world in Society was for appearances only, and it was difficult to know what was truth and what was fiction. But with Aubrey, there was no pretense. Everything was natural, easy, and real, sometimes breathtakingly so.

  She had always known that Aubrey was a dedicated, driven individual, and one with a capacity for great feeling, but never had she imagined what an effect such passion would have on the object of his attention. He was constantly taking her hand, staring too long, smiling too warmly, or making her laugh until her sides ached. And the man could not seem to stop kissing her at any opportunity.

  She had no objections there.

  Under the guise of their usual fault-finding meetings, they had managed to attempt to find faults in several areas. First on Aubrey’s list had been her billiard playing, which had been difficult enough to manage with him flirting with all the skill of a rake and attempting to teach her the proper manner of it. She hadn’t thought that billiards involved quite so much distraction, but she’d never been particularly skilled at the game during the best of times. Under his “helpful” tutelage, she was not likely to improve any time soon.

  Card playing was his next suggestion, and thanks to a small gathering with several of their friends, he was able to assess her abilities in loo, whist, and vingt et un. Grace had taken great pride in being able to cheat successfully in all of them, thanks to a very educational visit to the estate of a great uncle when she was ten. No one suspected her, nor had they ever, and Aubrey, much to his bewilderment, had not managed to take more than two hands in any single game.

  She had to let him win once or twice, or else he would have begun to accuse her.

  They’d walked Hyde Park with her mother, taking great care that Aubrey should happen upon them rather than attend on them, and while they had not been able to enjoy real privacy there, it had been time together. He’d been so attentive to her mother, had taken care that she should not feel as though she grew tiresome, and had been so engaging that her mother had not stopped talking of it since. And Aubrey had insisted that assessing Grace’s manner of walking a park was of vital importance to his evaluation, so the excursion had been beneficial from any aspect.

  Grace would have to have him explain that one to her at some later time.

  He was always finding excuses for doing one thing or another, something that would relate to his attempts to find fault in her. It had become the most entertaining sort of game between them, his suggestions growing more and more absurd and her attempts to engage in the proposed topic growing more and more eager. At this rate, they would be assessing her ability to climb a tree or slide a bannister in the next few days, followed by his evaluation of her ability to navigate the shops in Bond Street.

  Throughout each and every session, never once did she feel as though Aubrey were really searching for a fault. He participated in whatever it was he’d thought up for the day with the same energy he might have done had this been a real courtship.

  Had it been a courtship.

  It felt rather like a courtship, if she understood courtships at all. With only an outside perspective on the thing, it was difficult to say. But he was finding excuses to spend time with her, showing her real and genuine affection, making her feel things that she did not understand.

  Making her want…

  She shivered in the warm daylight of the parlor, looking out over the street in front of the house. He had promised to come today, and she was wild to see him. She was always wild to see him these days, and she quite liked such a thrilling feeling racing up and down her limbs.

  But where would it lead? Where would it end?

  What if he found a flaw?

  She was no fool; she knew full well she had flaws, and many in her character, if nothing else. She was not actually perfect and had spent ages telling people so.

  Yet Aubrey liked perfect. Aubrey loved perfect; he’d said so himself.

  What if she wasn’t perfect?

  What if this venture of her father’s not only worked, but in the process distanced Aubrey from her due to something unspeakable he might uncover?

  It was silly; she was being ridiculous. Aubrey was a flawed human, as any other person in the world was, and he could not expect Grace to be perfect, despite apparent difficulties in identifying the glaring faults that rendered her a spinster.

  But what if Aubrey wanted perfect?

  What would she do then?

  Her more independent side balked at such maudlin thoughts, scolded her for caring so much what one man thought, berated her for simpering about whether or not she was what he would want. The softer, secret, more vulnerable side of her curled up into a ball and shook with the fear that she would not be enough for him. Just as she was not, and had never been, enough for any other gentleman in this world.

  Including her father.

  “Grace.”

  Speak of the very devil…

  She turned to see him enter the drawing room and curtseyed in an automatic response. “Father.”

  To her surprise, her mother followed her father into the room, and while she knew her mother’s expressions and unspoken emotions well, this time she had no hint of what would follow.

  Except that her mother would not meet her eyes, and that was certainly not a good sign.

  “Mama,” Grace murmured with all the trepidation she had ever known in childhood.

  Her father’s face tightened, and Grace winced, belatedly recollecting her father’s distaste for such names. “I wondered, Grace, if you might spare a moment for a word with your mother and me.”

  As if she would have been permitted to refuse.

  She nodded and moved to a nearby chair, knowing whatever this turned out to be, it would require her apparent attention, and would l
ikely take some time.

  Grace watched as her mother sat on the sofa near her, but took care to stay close to her father. As united a front as they could be, she supposed.

  Her throat went dry as a wave of uneasiness filled her. “Have I done something wrong?” she heard herself ask, cursing herself for the childish tone.

  “Not that we know of,” her father replied in what he undoubtedly thought was a consoling manner.

  A jolt of panic hit Grace squarely in the stomach. Had he found out about the Spinsters? Was she about to be castigated for aligning herself with a group of unmarried women? Her father had the power to forbid her anything and everything, and if he forced her to give them up…

  “I have spoken with Lord Ingram,” her father went on formally. “He has informed me of his progress in your evaluation.”

  He had? What could he have said?

  The look on his face the other day as he had left her father’s study suddenly rose in her mind, and she heard his harsh words as he’d cupped her face in his hands.

  I will not break you.

  Her body went cold, and swallowing was suddenly impossible.

  “He says you have been very poised and respectful.” Something that was almost a smile crossed her father’s lips and he nodded once. “I was most pleased to hear it, as you might imagine.”

  Grace slowly released the breath she’d been holding. She couldn’t find the words to respond, so she only dipped her chin in a nod.

  Her father began to slowly pace before her. “It pleases me that you are taking this matter so seriously. No doubt, you must wish to have your faults identified, as well, so that you might remedy the situation and marry well.”

  Grace flicked her gaze to her mother, who very slightly shook her head. “Yes, Father,” she murmured through dry lips.

  “While Lord Ingram continues his investigation,” her father intoned as he continued to move before her, “I have charged him with another. That of your reputation.”

  “My… my reputation?”

  He gave her a brusque nod. “It must be done. In order to get the full measure of this unfortunate circumstance, we must discover what is being said. I have taken the liberty of sending him several suggestions for how to properly go about it, including some individuals that might provide him some useful information. I would have done this myself, but I feared being your father would limit the scope of things. I would not wish for you to be painted in a more favorable light than the reality.”

  No, of course not. Why would her father want to hear good things about her? She bit her tongue softly, pressing her teeth deep into the flesh to stop herself from snapping defensively at him.

  “I have no reason to doubt that Ingram will be as thorough in this matter as he has been others,” her father continued. “His care with restoring his family’s estate alone proves he will leave no stone unturned on something he has set his mind to. We will get the truth with him; of that, I have no doubt.”

  Because the care of restoring a man’s estate directly correlated to the care a man placed in unearthing gossip and finding faults. Everybody knew that.

  Grace swallowed slowly, willing her willful thoughts to stop their frantic pounding. She pressed her teeth further into her tongue, a sharp sting of pain rising.

  Her father’s pacing suddenly stopped. “But what I want to know, Grace, is what we are missing.”

  She hadn’t expected that. The room was silent, and slowly, the beating of her heart filled that silence in her ears as she looked up at her father in confusion.

  “What we are missing, sir?”

  The faint lines on his face seemed to stand out as his features hardened. “We are putting in all this effort for you, pulling a respectable man from his own interests in London to examine you, seeking out comments and gossip from Society, potentially exposing the entire family to ridicule, all in an attempt to root out your failings. To discover the areas in which you are lacking. Seeking out your deficiencies.” He exhaled shortly through his nose and clasped his hands behind his back, his eyes narrowing on her. “A great deal of effort and risk, Grace, when it could very easily be settled by taking our questions directly to the source of the problem.”

  Her heart stopped it’s not quite steady pounding as she stared up at him.

  “You, Grace. You.”

  She felt her jaw drop, though she managed somehow, to keep it from being obvious. Her eyes burned, not with tears, but with the sudden widening that seemed to strain them beyond their abilities. “Me? Why me?”

  That was not what her father wanted to hear, and he broke his cold, formal character to scoff loudly, his hands flying to his hips. “Can you really be so ignorant as to recognize that you are at the center of this problem, Grace? In case it has escaped your notice, you are the one who is unmarried, and you are the one who cannot provide a reasonable explanation as to why that is. Did you even read the missives I sent you before my coming? I don’t remember receiving any sort of favorable reply. I did not think it possible that a daughter I had raised would think so little of the responsibilities and expectations that lay before a young woman of birth and situation. Is it really so very hard to get a husband, Grace?”

  Her mouth worked, but she had absolutely no voice for it.

  “Your sister managed it well enough,” he said, flinging an arm out as though Anne were there in the room. “She had not your looks nor your good temper, but she managed to secure a husband. One of impeccable lineage, even if his title is less than one might hope. And she did so without ever reaching an age that would raise comment.”

  Had she not been torn between wounded and furious, Grace might have pointed out that Anne’s husband was terrified of his wife and worshipped the ground she walked on in the most god-fearing manner. He was a good sort, and she was fond of him, but her sister was tyrannical, and there was no denying it.

  But she didn’t mention that. She couldn’t. She stared at her father with all the wide-eyed vacancy of a mute.

  Which he took to be attentiveness.

  “Why do you think we invested so much into seeing you so well accomplished?” her father raged, his dark eyes widening now. “Your mother and I knew from very early on that you would far outstrip Anne in looks, and a handsome woman must have accomplishments that would be worthy of admiration and respect. We sought out the best tutors and instructors, spared no expense in shaping you into a woman that would be a diamond of the first water. We created the perfect young lady of Society. One without blemish and without excesses.” He sniffed in disdain, shaking his head. “I thought I might need to curb your accomplishments so you would not be thought to outstrip anyone else, for one does not wish to appear so very mercenary. But how could I have known that instead I was creating a daughter who would be so very unremarkable, who would blend in so completely that she would be mistaken for the curtains?”

  Grace saw her mother shift in her seat, but she said nothing. Her color was high, her eyes were lowered, and Grace had the impression that this discussion had been rehearsed before now. And without a hope of preventing it.

  “I am sorry to be a disappointment,” Grace managed to reply, surprised at the emotional tremor she heard. She was not near to tears, and she felt no telltale choking sensation. Yet her words had no power, and her body had no strength.

  “A disappointment?” Her father laughed without humor. “A disappointment would have been a daughter that is too thin or too plain to be considered handsome, but at least that sort of daughter would have been all the more appreciated for what she did possess! This is beyond a disappointment, Grace. I have been patient, and I have tried to be understanding.”

  He had? When exactly had that been?

  He turned and pointed at her mother. “I have even taken counsel from your mother, who assured me that you were all I should be proud of. When I returned to London, I was convinced that she was right. Yet now, I am left to wonder if she was wrong.”

  A sudden weight descend
ed upon Grace’s shoulders, and she felt as though she were being pressed into the chair she sat upon, sinking with it into the floor beneath her. Her chest began to squeeze, the pressure slowly increasing by degrees the more she breathed.

  “I am not ready to give up yet,” her father insisted, seeming to regain some of his senses and returning to a more restrained tone. “As I have said, I trust Ingram to be able to discern the extent of damage here.”

  The word cut across her with a swift burn that singed a number of her ribs, and her eyes welled with newfound moisture. She looked down at her father’s shoes, shining with all the perfection he expected from her.

  Perfect. Without spot or smudge.

  Not damaged.

  “So, tell me, Grace, if you can: what am I missing?”

  A thousand and twelve responses swirled in her mind, each of them falling pitifully by the wayside. Nothing was worthy of voicing, and none of them would be acceptable to the great Lord Trenwick.

  So, she said the one thing that could honestly be believed.

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  The perfectly shined shoes moved towards her, stopping in perfect alignment with each other.

  She waited, head lowered, hands tight in her lap, shoulders quaking.

  “Then I trust you will make that question a significant subject for your daily consideration,” he told her in the same tone she had known as a child. “You must put in the same effort as the rest of us to solve this quandary.”

  Grace bobbed her chin obediently. “Yes, sir.”

  The shoes moved away, clipped in their step, cracking against the floor with authority. Then they stopped. “It is not pleasant for me to be harsh with you, my child. I only mean to stress upon you the severity of your situation.”

  Again, she bobbed her chin.

  This apparently satisfied him, and his footsteps resumed, vanishing down the corridor.

  The room was silent once more, and this time not even her heart could be heard.