The Merry Lives of Spinsters

by Rebecca Connolly

  “No designs to take the Spinster Chronicles to the entire country?” Tony teased with a laugh.

  Georgie shuddered and pushed off the wall, seeing the speculative look in her aunt’s eyes as she watched them. “Heavens, no. Walk with me, my aunt grows suspicious.”

  Tony looked where she indicated, then nodded once, gesturing for her to lead the way. “Shall I look cross to throw her suspicions into disarray?”

  “I would be most grateful, yes,” she replied, only half in jest.

  He immediately furrowed his brow, his mouth forming a perfect frown.

  Georgie had to force herself not to laugh. “Very good. So convincing.”

  “Too much?” he asked, shaking his head slowly as if Georgie had said something wrong.

  “Rather perfect, actually.” She managed to look over at her aunt again, who looked almost exasperated. “I’ll be hearing about this for days.”

  “You have experience with this.” It was not a question, nor did it have any tone of disapproval in it.

  Georgie gave him a sidelong look as they walked. “Most men tend to wear that expression in my presence. I have yet to determine why.”

  “You cannot think of a single reason?” he persisted, a brow rising in disbelief.

  “Oh, all right,” she blustered a little, frowning without having to pretend. “I speak to most people the way I do with you, but only when provoked. I can be very well-behaved when I wish to be.”

  “I’m sure you can,” Tony replied in the most unconvincing voice she had ever heard. “Though I imagine hating men has something to do with it.”

  Georgie turned to him, her hands on her hips now. “I do not hate men! I like them quite a lot!”

  “Don’t announce that too loudly,” he suggested, looking around them.

  “I do!” she insisted. “I simply hold them to a high standard.”

  He looked doubtful. “Do they know that?”

  “They would if they asked,” she quipped, “but none ever do.”

  “It’s not the sort of question one asks a lady,” he pointed out, forgetting to furrow his brow.

  She shrugged her shoulders easily. “Then I suppose I will have to write about it in my next column.”

  That caught his attention and he nodded in thought. “I shall have to give my approval to the article. As a man with a vested interest in the column and its successes, you must allow me that.”

  Georgie shook her head at once, smiling smugly. “Not a chance, Tony. It was a good try, though.”

  He scowled at her in earnest. “Come on, Georgie. Let me help.”

  “Not with the column. If you want to help, find out what the gossip really is about it, and me, and then report back to me.” She gave him a daring look, wondering what he would say to that.

  Tony straightened up, then stared her down. “I will. And I won’t protect you from what I find, Georgiana Allen. If you want me to do this, if you really want to know, I will tell you exactly what I hear, word for word.”

  Clearly, he thought this would intimidate her, but she was made of stronger stuff than that. Years of practice had given her a far thicker skin than anyone expected. Necessity had dictated she must gain that, at least.

  “I accept.” She stuck out her hand, as a man might have done. “Are we agreed?”

  Tony looked down at her hand, then back into her eyes. He reached out and clasped her hand. “We are,” he replied simply before drawing her hand up to his lips for a quick kiss.

  She barely had time to gasp at the bold gesture before he was gone, sitting down at the card table with Charlotte and two others.

  Georgie looked around quickly, praying no one had seen that, for there would be no easy way to explain it. No one marked her, so she seemed safe. She rubbed her hand almost absently as she moved back to the window, suddenly feeling rather warm.

  Much, much too warm.

  Chapter Ten

  The trouble with gossip is that it is sometimes very useful, but other times only hurtful. A clever woman is able to discern the difference, but a silly one will repeat it all without thought. A good woman knows there is absolutely no benefit to gossip whatsoever and avoids it at all cost. A man, however, does not care about gossip. He already knows everything anyway. Or so he presumes.

  -The Spinster Chronicles, 25 April 1817

  “Are you a praying man, Francis?”

  “I’ve been known to bow my head on occasion, but I’d hardly call myself religious. Why?”

  Tony groaned and leaned his head back against the carriage, closing his eyes. “I would take it most kindly if you would pray that I never do something so stupid as to encourage gossip again.”

  Francis coughed in surprise, his walking stick suddenly whacking Tony in the shin. “What?”

  Tony nodded without opening his eyes. “I know. So, if you wouldn’t mind…”

  “Lord, please save Tony from his own stupidity,” Francis muttered.

  “Amen.”

  His cousin barked a hard laugh and Tony opened his eyes to look across the carriage at him. “What was that for?” Tony asked.

  “I wasn’t actually praying for you,” Francis informed him with a sardonic look. “That was more of a curse.”

  “Not sure that was very helpful, then.”

  In truth, he wasn’t entirely sure a prayer would have helped him either. He’d spent a full week learning everything he could about the Spinsters from the point of view of everybody else in London. He’d called on the Partlowes and managed to bring them up in conversation, and discovered that Mr. Partlowe, while speaking very highly of the women in general, disapproved of their group as a whole. Mrs. Partlowe did not seem to disagree, though she did not concede to anything her husband said either.

  Lady Hetty found them all exceedingly agreeable and wished she’d thought of such a task at their age, though there were hardly any unmarried girls in her situation. All of them had been “poorer and plainer, and nothing worth going on about.” He’d have to take her word for it, but she was most likely a fairly unbiased source.

  Fairly.

  Then he’d been to every sort of event the Season could manage in the course of a week. He’d followed the guide mentioned in that week’s Spinster Chronicles and found it to be an accurate portrait of what Society offered. Theater, balls, card parties, soirees, luncheons, even a scholarly meeting of bluestockings and intellectuals; he’d been rather out of place with the scholars, but he muddled through well enough.

  Everybody had an opinion on the Spinsters.

  Fathers of daughters found them to be interfering and insufferable. Young men thought them shrewish nannies-in-waiting. Mothers fussed about the effect on their daughters, and the difficulties for their sons. Scholars thought it an imprudent rebellion against tradition, while the bluestockings found it ennobling and admirable.

  The young ladies were a mixed bunch, depending on which side they took. The fairer, more experienced ones thought it a ridiculous venture by embittered old maids to make the rest look foolish, while the plainer, sometimes younger ones found great delight in applying the lessons to their own lives. Old women fussed and bothered. People in the streets used their name as a joke or an insult. The cads and wastrels at gaming tables cursed them regularly.

  And then there were the few girls who spoke of them with an almost reverence, their eyes soft at the mention of them. They spoke of gratitude and enlightenment, of finding their own strength, and two who were now happily married spoke of the Spinsters as being the reason that they were so.

  Nothing correlated, and everything was subjective.

  Which made perfect sense to him, as it was all gossip.

  And he hated gossip.

  His leg was suddenly kicked, and he jerked his head up to look at Francis again, unaware that he had begun to drift off. “What?” Tony demanded, wanting to rub his eyes of the bleariness that they currently held.

  Too much social interaction in a short amount of time had left
him sleep-deprived and agitated. And as his interaction with Georgie or any of the other girls had been very limited during that time, he was also sorely lacking in decent conversation.

  “Would you care to tell me why you are engaging in gossip mongering of late?” Francis asked with all the imperiousness of a peer. “After all, we are using my carriage to meet your friends.”

  Tony exhaled heavily and sat up taller. “For your kindness, my lord, I will oblige you.”

  Francis scoffed loudly but folded his arms and looked interested.

  “For the past week,” he began, his voice sounding almost as weary as his body felt, “I have been unusually social for the express purpose of collecting information and gossip. About the Spinsters, with a capital S.”

  His cousin groaned and looked out of the window. “For God’s sake, man, you’re obsessed with the Spinsters.”

  “Everybody is obsessed with the Spinsters,” Tony protested, crossing an ankle over his knee. “You should have heard the way everyone jumped at the chance to talk about them. And that was before this week’s edition came out. It only got worse after that.”

  “I could have told you that.” Francis exhaled heavily and turned back to him with an almost disgusted scowl. “Why are you doing this, Tony? And don’t tell me you’re bored or you’re curious, I won’t believe that. Something is driving you.”

  Tony stared at his cousin for a long moment, letting the sounds of the carriage fill the silence. He hadn’t admitted to anyone what he was really doing, or why he was involved at all. Only Hugh knew the true purpose as it originally had been, and they had not spoken since their fight. He had received a very brief note with a poor attempt at an apology, but as no apology had been made therein, he did not see a need to accept it as such.

  “I’ve been asked to investigate the Spinsters,” he finally confessed.

  Francis did not look impressed. “By whom, the Prime Minister?” He snorted incredulously.

  “By your brother.”

  That drew him up, and he stared at Tony wide-eyed. Swearing under his breath, he leaned forward. “What did he ask you to do? More to the point, why are you doing it?”

  Tony smiled blandly. “He asked me to investigate them and break them up.”

  Francis swore again and rubbed his face with both hands.

  “And I agreed because… I was bored and curious.” Tony let his smile spread into one of excessive innocence.

  Francis dropped his hands and glared at him. “Very funny.”

  “It’s true,” he admitted. “But I didn’t intend at that time to break them up, nor do I now. I’ve come to know these women decently well, and now I seek to support them in any way I can.”

  “Oh, Lord,” Francis moaned leaning his head back and looking heavenward.

  “Are you praying or cursing this time?” Tony inquired mildly, watching in amusement.

  “Both,” Francis snapped. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head slowly back and forth. “Why, Tony? Why?”

  Tony chuckled at his cousin’s distress. “Because they aren’t actually doing half of what London thinks they are. Because they could use a friend on the outside. Because it turns out that being a spinster in general is not pleasant for any of them, but they’re trying to make the best of it.”

  Francis winced at the last bit and reluctantly nodded. “All right, I concede to that, but really, collecting gossip? Surely they know what is being said.”

  “Not entirely.” Tony shrugged and glanced out of the window. “Most things are not said to their faces or in their presence. Georgie asked me to look into it, not thinking I truly would, but I said…”

  “Georgie?” Francis interrupted sharply.

  Now it was Tony’s turn to muffle a curse and he waited for the fatal blow to fall.

  “Would that be Georgiana Allen?” Francis continued, drawling now, his interest further piqued. “Widely speculated as being the leader of the Spinsters?”

  “She’d never put it that way,” Tony insisted, shaking his head, “but she probably is, if any of them must be called such.”

  “I see. And you’ve spent a good deal of time with her, yes? If you call her Georgie…” The suspicion was blatant, as was the suggestion.

  Tony scowled, wishing the earth would swallow him up at this moment. “I spend a good deal of time with most of them, Francis. I call them all by their Christian names, at their request.”

  Francis laughed heartily, too heartily for Tony’s taste, but it was to be expected. “And Georgie is your favorite.”

  “What?” Tony almost barked, whipping his head around to look at Francis. “Why would you say that?”

  The dark eyes of his cousin sparkled with humor. “Because she’s the only one you mentioned by name. But if that wasn’t it, your reaction just now would prove it.”

  Tony lowered his head in abject misery, wishing he’d never opened his mouth about any of this. His cousin would be insufferable about it now and would tease him to the end of time about Georgie, and he wasn’t prepared for that. He had no defenses against it.

  Because it had only just occurred to him days ago that Georgie was his favorite. Hers was the company he had missed the most in the last week. She was fairer in his memory than he thought she’d been in reality, but he couldn’t be sure, as he suddenly considered her to be rather fine in all respects.

  She was beautiful, and somehow, he’d missed that before.

  He had no rebuttal against accusations about his feelings for her, his relationship with her. He wasn’t sure what they were himself. All he knew was that he wanted to pursue whatever it was and see how it played out.

  The Spinsters were all friends of his, and he would protect and defend them for life.

  But Georgie…

  That was entirely different.

  “Don’t worry about it, Tony,” Francis said calmly with a sniff, as if he hadn’t just discovered a great secret. “Miss Allen always was Janet’s favorite one. Introduce me at the ball this evening, will you? I want the pleasure of a dance with her.”

  Tony looked up at him in surprise. “I’ve not even danced with her. I don’t know if she’s any good at it.”

  Francis shifted a little. “That doesn’t matter much, does it? You hate dancing, so she can dance with me instead.”

  There was no possible explanation for the madness that had just overtaken his cousin. A fever would not have him looking so well, no delusion could take hold so quickly, and Francis did not possess acting skills proficient enough to be pretending at this. He must have simply taken mad.

  Tony would have a hard time explaining that to Janet.

  “You hate the Spinsters,” Tony reminded him weakly.

  “I do not.” Francis shook his head firmly. “I find the discussion of them to be an annoyance. You think well of them, so must I do. You hold Miss Allen in some great regard, so must I do.” He lifted one shoulder. “Simple as that.”

  Tony gaped at his cousin for a long moment, curious that Francis should shift his perspective so suddenly on his word alone. Something Hugh had not been capable of in his limited knowledge of the situation.

  “Ah, here we are,” Francis said as the carriage rolled to a stop, preventing Tony from expressing his gratitude in whatever way he could manage.

  He nodded and climbed out of the carriage, blinking hard in the bright sunlight.

  Of all days for London to not be its usual dreary self, it had to be a day when he was already pained by nearly everything.

  Tony looked around the coaching station as Francis disembarked behind him. Henshaw and Morton ought to have been easy enough to find, having yet to resign their commissions. Unfortunately, scarlet was a popular color this Season.

  Or so the Fashion Forum had stated the other day.

  “There,” Francis pointed out, gesturing with his walking stick. “Is that them?”

  Tony looked, and sure enough, Henshaw’s broad shoulders and wide grin met his gaze. Morton st
ood next to him, more reserved, as usual, but seeming pleased to see him. He moved swiftly in their direction and shook both their hands warmly, introduced them to Francis, and then followed them into the inn.

  Francis ordered a luncheon for them all, and they sat in a private room together, regaling each other with stories from their past and reminiscing on former comrades. Henshaw told most of the stories, which suited his nature, and Tony and Morton were left to defend themselves as much as they were able, with Francis not believing anything they said.

  Once the meal was finished, Henshaw leaned back in his chair, scratching at the pale scruff along his jaw. “Oh, it is good to be with a group of lads again. I’ve had no one but my sisters for days, and they are so much noisier than I remember.”

  Morton chuckled at that, his wide eyes flicking to his larger friend. “You’re the one who wanted to go, Henshaw. I offered to have you come stay with my family, as it is only Kitty and me, but you insisted.”

  Henshaw gave him a sour look. “Your sister would be terrified of me, Morton. According to you, she is too shy and sweet to tolerate my roughness.”

  “Yet you have seven sisters,” Tony mused aloud.

  “Nothing shy or sweet about my sisters, Sterling,” Henshaw grunted, though he smiled. “Just surrounded by females all the time.”

  “Poor lad,” Francis mourned, raising a glass to him.

  Henshaw sat forward suddenly. “Speaking of being surrounded by females. I’ve heard you’re associating with spinsters now.”

  Tony groaned and shook his head as Francis began to laugh. “Please don’t ask.”

  Oddly, Henshaw didn’t laugh. “I’ve heard they’re quite the group. Do you know if they are recruiting? Or if they even do that?”

  “Sounds rather ominous,” Morton murmured as he sipped his drink.

  Tony ignored him. “You know a spinster?”

  Henshaw nodded once. “Yes. Well, no, not exactly. She’s a widow, but she was only married for about five minutes. She’s without family or friends, and she’s fresh out of mourning, I believe, and coming to London.”