Tony chuckled and continued to eat.
Francis said nothing for a long moment, then cleared his throat. “I understand you have become acquainted with the Spinsters.”
Tony looked at him sharply. His cousin’s face was devoid of suspicion, but there was a hint of mischief in his eyes that Tony didn’t trust at all. “I’ve become acquainted with several people in the last few days, and I believe some of them are spinsters, if you must call them such.”
“Not just any spinsters,” Francis pointed out, his tone turning just as teasing as his look. “The Spinsters. Writers of the Spinster Chronicles, protectors of the innocent, defamers of marriage, haters of men. Those particular spinsters.”
Francis’s words struck Tony hard, and he stared at his cousin without responding for a moment. “Is that how they are seen?” he asked carefully, ignoring the way his stomach clenched and his blood boiled.
“How else should they be seen?” Francis asked in return, sitting back in his chair. “Isn’t that what they do? We all read their articles, though one could hardly call them newsworthy. The commentary is witty, I’ll give them that, and they seem to have found their audience, but at what cost? You should hear how the fathers of eligible daughters talk about them.”
“Should I?” Tony murmured, choosing to cut his meat rather than spear his cousin.
Francis nodded, apparently missing the way Tony gripped his silverware. “And you must know the young men are up in arms about it. I don’t believe half of their claims, as I’ve never seen anyone whisk young ladies away from them in the name of protection, but obviously something had to happen or else the stories would never have started.”
“Hmm,” was all Tony could muster, shoving his face with more food to avoid saying something he might regret.
The faster he finished his meal, the sooner he could depart without incident.
“Well?” Francis prodded, pushing his empty plate aside. “Have you met them, or haven’t you?”
“You seem to already know I have,” Tony replied easily. “Why ask?”
“Because I want to know the details.” Francis banged on the table a little. “Come on, Tony, Hugh says…”
“I don’t very well care what Hugh says on the subject,” Tony snapped, surprised that his tone was actually fairly mild. “As you said, he’s becoming a fop with more arrogance than taste, and with the circle of friends he has chosen for himself, I’d wonder at your listening to his opinions about them as well.”
Francis looked at him with a furrowed brow, clearly not expecting that reaction. “You do know them.”
Tony rolled his eyes and set aside his silverware roughly. “Oh, very astute, my lord. And I was going to come here to seek your advice and insight, but as you’ve already given me a fairly clear picture of where you stand, I believe I no longer need to.” He rose from the table and bowed, then went to move past him.
“Hang on a minute,” Francis barked, grabbing his arm as he passed. “Stop!”
Tony looked down at him, raising a brow even as his jaw clenched.
Francis indicated the chair. “Come on, sit back down.”
“And if I don’t?”
“I’ll tell Alice what you did to her favorite doll when she was six.”
Tony hadn’t expected blackmail from his cousin, and he blanched at the thought. Alice was Francis and Hugh’s younger sister, a girl of high spirits and short temper. Her grudges tended to last a very long time and remain quite passionate. She was eighteen now, but he had no doubt she would rail about that for at least five years if she knew.
His indignation abated slightly, and he moved back to his chair, sitting down roughly. “Fine. I am once more seated.”
“And you are still furious.”
Tony inclined his head a little, not seeing the need to deny what was obvious.
“Tell me why,” Francis said, folding his arms and looking intrigued.
Was it worth the effort, knowing his cousin felt the same scorn Hugh did for them, though at a milder level?
He did not have much of a choice, he supposed, considering the only other man he could confide in was Hugh, and that would have been much worse. He didn’t have to tell Francis how he came to be acquainted with them, or to what extent, but he could be honest in other respects.
Mostly.
“I have come to know them,” Tony allowed with a heavy sigh. “We’ve met several times at various functions I have attended, and a few of them have been very kind to introduce me to some of their associates.”
“Oh, they must approve of you, then,” Francis offered with a slight smile. “Fortunate man.”
Tony gave him a hard look, which made Francis sober and hold up his hands in surrender.
“I have not seen anything worthy of the sort of contempt that you seem so filled with for them,” Tony observed, frowning.
“I have no complaint against any of them personally,” Francis insisted as he sat forward. “I barely know a single one of them. I only protest that they fill nearly every conversation I wish to hold with anyone.”
That was fair, and Tony acknowledged it with a nod. “I have found each of them to be accomplished, kind, considerate young women, some of them remarkably so. As a group, they seem supportive of one another, which I find commendable, considering their situations, and I have yet to hear them disparage anyone, male or female.” Tony looked at his cousin steadily then. “They deserve better than what anybody says about them, and I’ll thank you to refrain from expressing such opinions in my presence.”
Francis looked surprised but nodded straightaway. “Fine, I can manage that. Lord knows, Janet applauds them, and that ought to be indicative of some good sense. But Tony…” He considered his words carefully, his eyes narrowing. “How much time have you spent with these women?”
“Enough,” Tony said, shrugging lightly. “I don’t see the need for anyone to judge them so harshly, and I’m determined to do what I can to stifle it.”
His cousin whistled low. “I don’t envy you that task. I think you’ll find it harder to accomplish than you realize, given the heated nature of things here. But you may consider me an ally, if you need one, provided I don’t have to make grand gestures or pronouncements. I do have some dignity, you know.”
Tony snorted. “Not much.”
“I pretend at it.”
“Now that’s true.” Tony winced and gave Francis a hopeful look. “You won’t tell Hugh, will you?”
“Lord, no,” Francis said at once, looking disgusted. “The less Hugh knows about any of this the better. He thinks the Spinsters are the devil incarnate, though I can’t imagine why. He’s never pursued any woman, as far as I know, so it’s not as though they’ve thwarted him personally.”
Not yet, no, but if Hugh continued pursuing the path he was on, Tony would not be surprised if it happened sooner rather than later. And if Georgie caught Hugh in her clutches after something like that, the poor lad wouldn’t stand a chance. Tony’s money would be on Georgie for that one. No question.
“Can we speak of other things now?” Francis asked, cringing a little. “Really, I hate talking about the Spinsters. They’re everywhere.”
Tony laughed at that. “Yes, they tend to be. Very well. How is Janet, then?”
“No, you cannot put that in there.”
“Why not? It’s the truth!”
“Charlotte, be reasonable.”
“She did look like a pumpkin!”
“But that doesn’t mean you have to say that!”
“It makes me wonder what you’d say about me if we were not friends.”
Georgie winced with an audible hiss, and she was not the only one to do so at Prue’s soft words.
Writing day was always a challenge for their group, given the difference in their personalities and abilities, but it was especially difficult when Charlotte was in a rage. She had volunteered to take on the Fashion Forum portion this week, and no one had suspected why, despite her usu
al aversion to the topic.
Now it was quite clear, and they were left with the crisis of shutting her down without losing much time.
“That is hardly fair, Prudence,” Charlotte protested, looking rather wounded. “I would never say anything about you.”
Prue shrugged a little in her pale green muslin, hard at work on her own section about the events of the coming week. “It’s easy to say that now, but if you did not know me and I had come in an ensemble my mother had chosen for me that did not suit, it is entirely possible that you would without a second thought.”
That was probably true, Georgie supposed. Charlotte was the sort of person who said whatever came into her mind, regardless of the effect it might have. She was not intentionally malicious, only a little thoughtless, and often had no idea what injury she caused with her words or actions.
Prue, on the other hand, was the sort of girl who always seemed to be on the receiving end of the careless words and actions of others, though never Charlotte specifically. No one ever considered Prue very much except for their particular circle. She was the type of quiet creature that became invisible far too easily, and it left her exposed for comments.
Charlotte huffed loudly now and crossed out a line of her work rather dramatically. “Very well, then. Nothing remotely resembling any vegetables in here, and I will even go so far as to remove all indication of a name. I would hate to offend anyone by commenting on the idiocy of garment choices, despite the fact that quite literally everyone was saying exactly the same thing.”
“Why not just say that?” Grace offered from her position in the window seat. “Comment on the color…”
“Oh, I have,” Charlotte muttered, widening her eyes meaningfully as she scribbled some additional things. “Thoroughly.”
“Specifically,” Grace continued as if Charlotte had said nothing, and glanced across the room at her. “Not just orange.”
Charlotte made an irritated noise. “I hate orange.”
“My hair is orange,” Izzy chimed in from her lounging position on the divan. She had finished her piece already, opting for the Society Dabbler, which was always tamer with her behind the pen.
Georgie grinned at her cousin’s quip, knowing Charlotte would hate it.
“Isabella Lambert,” Charlotte protested loudly, setting her pen down. “Your hair is a glorious shade of copper, and I suspect it flows like a river that cascades down your narrow shoulders in a most enticing way. Don’t you dare reduce it to a boring thing like orange.”
Izzy stared at Charlotte in surprise, then looked at Georgie with a small smile. “Remind me to have Charlotte instruct any potential suitors on the proper way to gain my affections.”
The room laughed at that, and the tension was diffused, just as it always was when Izzy put her mind to it.
Georgie would have loved to have such a gift. Oh, she was pleasant enough, and had heard quite often that she had a lovely temperament, but she became irritated quickly and simply could not tolerate fools. It wasn’t in her nature.
It did not explain why her mother continued to have such an effect on her, but that was unimportant. One could hardly tell off one’s mother in the same way they could anyone else.
Not that Georgie was in the habit of telling off individuals on a regular basis, much as she may have considered it. She always behaved properly.
If only just.
“It would serve Mrs. Renfrew right to be publicly scolded for her ensemble,” Charlotte muttered, though she smiled now. “And by name. It was ghastly. Even Prue has to admit that.” She looked at Prue rather pointedly in expectation.
Prue seemed to glow with the violence of the pink that stained her cheeks, her eyes wide as saucers. Then she ducked her chin and her hand shook as she strove to continue writing. “It was not particularly flattering on her, no.”
“Ah ha!” Charlotte crowed as she held out her hands in victory. “There you have it.”
Grace threw a scolding look in Charlotte’s direction. “You can’t get her to say such things by force!” She got up from her seat and moved to Prue, rubbing her shoulders gently. “There, there, lamb. It’s all right, Mrs. Renfrew won’t hear of it from us.”
“No doubt she heard it from several others, though.” Charlotte sighed as she returned to her work. “Someone surely ought to have told her, for her own protection.”
“Considering her two daughters look just like her and are trying for the Morris brothers,” Elinor announced from the corner where she had been studiously compiling her latest information into a more organized fashion. “I would think there are several things she ought to be told for her protection.” Elinor looked at Georgie in outrage. “Can you believe I had to convince Mary to not accompany Mr. Morris to his private box at the theater? I don’t know what she was thinking, but I highly doubt she can be trusted. She seemed to actually be keen on the idea, and to take her aunt with her as chaperone. Her aunt is almost completely blind!”
“I say let her get on with it,” Charlotte offered with a dismissive wave of her hand. “If Mary Renfrew wishes to be Mary Morris by such means and doesn’t care about the implications or consequences, let her ruin herself quickly and be done with it.”
“That’s a bit harsh,” Izzy said with a frown. “Mary may only be ignorant, and desperate to marry.”
“If I had her mother, I’d be desperate to be married, too,” Charlotte retorted.
Georgie shook her head slowly, going back to work on her own article, but her heart wasn’t in it. Usually she adored the chance to write the main article of the Chronicles, using it as an opportunity to vent her frustrations and dispense advice that she’d been wanting to for the younger generation of misses.
But lately, even this all had become a bit staid.
She knew full well that things had gotten out of hand as far as the gossip and comments of others. They’d not done half of what was said about them, and she doubted anybody could have managed such things.
And that went for the young girls who held them to such an extreme standard of goodness as well.
They had never stopped any elopements, nor had they discovered anyone in the middle of a tryst. Georgie had never argued with a parent over the treatment of their daughter, and Charlotte, for all her refusing proposals, had never done so purely to remain a spinster. Georgie had never challenged a man to a duel to protect the honor of a girl in her protection, nor did she actually have any girls in her protection.
She wasn’t fully aware of what those who did not approve of them were saying, and that ignorance ate away at her. People could be entirely too cruel in general whenever something they did not understand or did not approve of was the topic. It made no difference that many of these people had known Georgie since she was young. They perceived her as being something of a hoyden, as if she had somehow grown inappropriate in the years since her own coming out.
She’d never intended any of this to happen. All she’d wanted was to impart some of the wisdom she’d gained in her twenty-seven years of life, many of them spent waiting for the spark of life to come to her, with other girls who could find themselves in her situation.
She had been tired hearing of girls who were too naïve with the opposite sex and lost themselves in the moment, swept away by dreams of romance and what might have been. She’d been distressed when she heard about girls who had agreed to marriages with men that they had absolutely no affection for, purely to avoid being a spinster. She was disturbed by those whose only goal was financial gain or improvement of station. Unlike Charlotte, she did not insist that love was required, particularly at this point in her life, but she did feel that there ought to be some sort of compatibility between a husband and wife.
Not that Georgie had any sort of knowledge or experience of those things, nor should anyone actually take her advice on the subject seriously, but she had some opinions. She had seen a great deal from her vantage point in the corner of every ballroom she had ever been in.
> Georgie looked around at her friends, sighing a little. All she had ever wanted was to give people pause in their hasty decisions to avoid what they saw as a horrifying alternative. Spinsterhood was not as terrible as was often feared, and she wished she had known that before.
She wished everyone knew that.
Including the women in this room.
But what would be said of her if she backed out of their schemes now?
None of them knew of her doubts and her regrets. She hadn’t said a word about it. They were all in the midst of whatever purpose they imagined for themselves and enjoying every moment of it. She could not confide in a single one of them.
If spinsterhood could get lonelier than it already was, it had done so for Georgie.
“Pardon me, Miss Lambert,” Bessie said from the doorway. “Captain Sterling is here.”
Izzy sat up with a yawn and looked around. “Everybody done with their articles?”
They answered in the affirmative and handed them over to her.
Izzy nodded and stuffed them between pages of a book. “Show him in, Bessie.”
“Why we aren’t getting Tony’s opinion on these is beyond me,” Charlotte muttered as she sat back in her chair.
Prue paled quickly. “I would hate for him to see mine, knowing I was the author.”
Georgie smiled at that, albeit briefly. They kept the author of each article anonymous for the sake of protecting their reputations, though everybody knew they wrote something in the Chronicles. It might not have been much, but it saved them some trouble, and no one had ever outright asked them if they were the authors.
So, there was that.
Loud footsteps echoed in the corridor, and they all turned to the doorway expectantly.
“All right,” Tony boomed as he appeared, smiling despite his tone, “who the devil put my name in the Society Dabbler?”
Chapter Seven
A ball is the perfect opportunity to test the young man of your choice. Mark his attentions and his behaviors, but also his eye. The most perfect of gentlemen by appearances might act his part flawlessly, but his eye will never lie. Also, one can always trust a man who trods toes. No blackguard would be foolish enough to make such an obvious misstep and risk it all in such a shoddy way.
The Merry Lives of Spinsters Page 9