She looked up at him again. “Have you? How?”
He glanced down at her, then at the horizon. “I have some experience with girls who cannot always speak clearly. A cousin of mine, Molly, stammered nearly constantly. Worse than you, I think.”
“Did she?” Prue asked in a hushed voice.
Camden nodded once. “From what I gathered, your stammer is a symptom of your anxieties. It comes out when you are nervous or embarrassed, gets better when you are angry, and eases once you are comfortable. Stammering isn’t your true challenge, your emotions are.”
She’d never really thought about it, but she supposed that was true. “Debatable,” she allowed, smiling a touch, “but we’ll go with that.”
He grinned quickly. “See? No stammer there.”
She shrugged a shoulder. “Safe.”
Camden shook his head. “Still not a good answer from my point of view, but far be it from me to contradict a lady.” He sobered, and his throat worked on a swallow. “Molly’s problem was, in fact, the stammering. It got worse with her anger and irritation, and she was rarely embarrassed about it. She was angry with it. Hated it. And the more anger she felt, the more she stammered, until she was fairly choking on every syllable.”
Prue winced and shook her head sympathetically. That poor girl. Being trapped without a voice was the most paralyzing feeling in the world, and to have no way out of it seemed a torment worse than death.
“I grew up very close to Molly,” Camden went on. “I was used to her way of speaking, and knew how to calm her enough to help her be clearer.” He laughed a short laugh. “She had so much wit, and so short a temper, she could eviscerate me without any effort at all, and her having to stammer so badly to even get it out. It only made the insult so much better to hear her say it.”
The fondness in his tone was evident, and his smile was filled with such warmth and love, Prue suddenly envied Molly a great deal. Not for having Camden particularly, but for having someone in her family to understand her and encourage her in such a way. To be loved as she was and not wish her changed to be better than she was…
Her father had been that way, but he’d been gone so long now, she had nearly forgotten what his influence had been like.
“Perhaps that’s why I’ve taken to you, Prue,” Camden suggested, looking down at her once more. “Last night, you reminded me of Molly in so many ways, it was second nature to treat you the same as I always did her. Ergo, I have no difficulty with you.”
She smiled at him then. “That’s very good of you. Not many people have the patience to bear with our difficulties. Where is Molly now? Is she well?”
He swallowed with some difficulty. “Molly died many years ago. The doctors think her stammer was a symptom of some medical complaint, and when we were about fifteen, she took a fever and never recovered.”
Prue’s heart stopped in her chest, and she stared at Camden’s profile in stunned silence.
Curse her curiosity to know more about him and his cousin, to understand how he could make her so comfortable so quickly, to help her…
“Not quite the sort of thing one ought to discuss on a country walk, eh?” He sighed and looked over at her. “I’m sorry, Prue. I didn’t think of it.”
“You’re sorry?” she repeated incredulously. “Camden, I’m the one who should be sorry!”
He shook his head quickly. “Not at all. Don’t set to crying or anything. I only meant to explain myself further, and Molly is the best reason of all for me.”
Prue exhaled, looking away and finding her eyes blurring, despite his insistence on not crying.
“No, don’t do that,” he said at once as she blinked repeatedly. “I don’t do well with tears, I’ll bungle something up, and our newfound friendship will be at its end.”
She chuckled at that. “Quick, tell me something else!”
“Hmm…” he began, making a show of thinking, “I prefer dark hair to fair. I have never managed to make a good tea. I cannot whistle anything except bawdy tavern songs. My sister used to call me Camelot.”
Prue choked on a laugh, and any semblance of tears was suddenly gone. “Are any of those actually true?” she asked, still giggling.
Camden nodded almost proudly. “All of them, in fact. Although I can whistle ‘God Save The King’, too.”
“I’m sure that is very useful.”
“It is.” He tilted his chin to give her an expectant look. “Your turn.”
She returned his look with one of her own. “For what?”
He scoffed loudly. “Come, come, my dear, you didn’t think this was going to be a one-sided friendship, did you? I share something with you, you share something with me. I have shared five things now, and I am not receiving anything for my efforts.”
Prue rolled her eyes dramatically. “I shared last night.”
“What, that you’re a Spinster with a capital S?” He shook his head with determination. “That counts as one thing. Four to go.”
What could she share with him? She frowned in thought. There wasn’t much about her to share that wasn’t perfectly obvious. She was quite, in a word, dull.
“Is it really so challenging a task?” he chuckled when she did not answer. “It shouldn’t be. Tell me anything at all, Prue.”
“I h-have a hard time saying anything about myself,” she told him, her reluctance rather evident.
He nodded patiently, smiling a little. “That’s one.”
Prue huffed, laughing in spite of herself. “I didn’t mean for that to be one of them! I just wanted to explain!”
“Then feel free to share more than four things,” Camden replied. “Over-sharing is encouraged.”
Now she laughed outright, putting a hand to her face. “This is ridiculous. I’m not fascinating at all!”
“That’s two, though I disagree most heartily.” He tsked loudly. “We really must work on this, Miss Westfall.”
She clamped down on her lips to keep from giggling again. “Fine! I like the color blue most of all.”
“Bravo! That’s three.” He nodded and looked her up and down. “And I like blue for you, it’s quite fetching. Excellent choice.”
Really, her cheeks were going to crack from smiling and laughing too much, she was so out of practice. He’d just complimented her, but without any sort of airs and flattery, and in such a comfortable way that she hadn’t even blushed at it.
An attractive man was complimenting her and paying her attention, making her talk about herself, and she wasn’t even blushing and hardly stammering at all?
What in the world was this?
Prue looked up at Camden with a newfound appreciation for whatever it was he possessed that eased her so. “I think this house party might not be the terrible thing I imagined it to be after all.”
His pace slowed just a hint, and he gave her a searching look. Then his mouth curved up on one side and he nodded once. “That’s four, Miss Westfall. Very good.” He nodded again, then looked ahead. “And I quite agree.”
Chapter Four
A man’s motivation is a curious thing. This writer doubts if even they understand it most of the time.
-The Spinster Chronicles, 15 June 1816
“Riding.”
“No.”
“Shooting.”
“No.”
“Lawn bowls.”
“No.”
“Charades.”
“Lord, no.”
Camden groaned in mock agony and looked at Prue with no small amount of irritation. “Good heavens, woman, have you actually done anything in your spare time?”
She threw a glare at him that she was really quite proud of. “Yes.”
“She knows the word yes!” he crowed, raising his hands as if surprised. “Progress!”
Prue was not amused.
He dropped his hands and scratched at his brow. “Do tell me, then, what you do in your spare time.”
“Read.”
His head hit the table wit
hout much effort at all. “Read, she says.” He shook his head against the hard surface. “Of course, she reads.”
“I’m shy,” she insisted impatiently, sitting back in her chair roughly.
Camden raised his head to look at her dubiously. “You keep saying that, Prue, but I haven’t seen much proof.”
She scoffed loudly. “Then you are blind.”
“You’re timid, yes,” he allowed as he straightened. “But you are also completely terrified. Of everything, and everyone.”
Prue gestured with her hand as if to say “of course,” and he frowned at that. “Look, you’re a young woman of…?”
“Twenty-five,” she offered without a hint of remorse.
He would have said younger, but he’d accept twenty-five. “Twenty-five, then, and you’ve never ridden?”
She shook her head. “That’s not what I said. You asked if I go riding. And I don’t. But I have ridden.”
Camden dropped his head to the table again. “Prue…”
“I don’t live in the country!” she exclaimed.
“Shh!” He lifted his head to glance around.
They were outside with all the rest of the guests, and they were currently sitting at a small table with some light luncheon, but the chaperones were not too far away, and the other guests were either fetching more food or starting some lawn games. The table next to them bore a dozing Applegate, whom nobody was particularly keen to awaken, and if Prue got any louder, her mother would look over.
He hadn’t interacted with Mrs. Westfall at all yet, and he was not particularly inclined to start. All he could determine at this time was that she valued her own station as much as Prue’s, so she spent her time cavorting with the other chaperones and mothers to increase her circles.
He had no desire to be included in any of her circles.
“You live in London, I know,” he told Prue, “but you can still go riding in London.”
She shook her head firmly. “Not with my mother controlling the household. She’ll never go with me, or do anything active at all, and she can never spare a servant. Besides all of that, we no longer have horses.”
Camden stared at Prue and blinked for a few moments. “Did you like riding before?” he asked, his tone rather mild now. The more he learned about Prue’s life, the less he liked it.
He did not know much, and she was not particularly inclined to share, but he suspected it was far worse than he imagined.
Prue’s brow furrowed a little. “I think so. It has been several years.”
He nodded once. “Very well. Tomorrow we will go riding.”
Her face paled swiftly, her eyes widening. “C-Camden, n-no…”
“Don’t argue,” he told her softly. “We won’t go with anybody, if you’d rather not. We’re not riding for show. But if you liked riding, Prue, you ought to ride again. You have money now, so buy yourself a horse.”
She swallowed repeatedly, and her cheeks started to color once more with the telltale flush. “But… b-but…”
He shook his head slowly. “It’s just a ride, Prue. Not a race, not a demonstration. A ride. I’ll be with you the entire time, and I’ll have you know I am a terrible rider, so I will be quite sensitive to your ridicule.”
That made her laugh, albeit weakly. “Fine. All right, then.”
It was all he could do to not exhale roughly in victory.
They’d had a long walk this morning, and she’d looked perfectly refreshed afterwards, lively and almost sparkling. Then they’d returned to the house, and every ounce of that energy seemed to dissipate in a matter of seconds. She’d been made to return to her room for an hour, as did the other ladies, and Camden had spent the time mulling over the mystifying Prudence Westfall.
Among the things he had mulled had been his motivations for helping her. He couldn’t possibly chalk everything up to memories of Molly, though it certainly had been a factor. He wasn’t a protective man by nature, as far as he knew.
Granted, he would be a gentleman if a situation arose that required that of him, and he wasn’t exactly a villain, but nothing had ever tested his more honorable instincts. If his sister were in danger, he would have moved heaven and earth and burned in the fires of hell to resolve it, but that was family.
He’d have felt no end of guilt if this was all curiosity on his part. That wouldn’t be fair to Prue and did not say much about him at all.
He was curious about Prue, but that wasn’t it.
He didn’t like that she was terrified of the attention she was receiving, and he was finding out that it was only one thing on the list of things that frightened her. He could certainly understand being overwhelmed by all the attention, considering she had never received much before. He could help her wade through this change until it was more natural for her, and that would not cause either of them any pains.
What exactly he would get out of this was still unclear.
But he liked Prue Westfall well enough, and that seemed to satisfy him.
Taking her riding tomorrow was a small victory, and, he hoped, a catalyst to opening her up further. There was a great deal he wanted to know, and that curiosity did not give him guilt at all.
She fascinated him with her timidity, considering she could take his teasing well enough and had started to volley a few herself. There was life beneath the shy façade, and he wanted to see it for himself.
Alas for shy creatures. She threw a wall up the moment she realized what was happening. But Camden could be conniving and sly when it came down to it, and he would be undeterred. In helping her grow more comfortable, perhaps even confident, he would find a bit of entertainment for himself.
Entertainment.
What a sad motivation that was. But he’d never claimed to be a man of gentlemanly impulses, and no one who had heard his name would have said otherwise.
The house party would not last long, and when they returned to London, Prue would hear all about him, and that would be the end of it. Odd, but less than a full day of knowing her, and the thought left him discomfited. He’d lose his little friend when this was over.
He stared at her now with a sense of wonder. He was terrible at having friends, couldn’t name a single one at the moment but for her. Plenty of former friends, but…
“Come on,” he urged, pushing up out of his seat and waving at her. “We’re going to play bowls.”
Frantically, eyes wide, she shook her head. “N-no. No, a-absolutely n-not.”
He stopped and put his hands on his hips. “Prue, do you play games with the Spinsters?”
“S-sometimes,” she squeaked, her hands tangling.
“Then come and play with me.” He gestured towards the green. “The others are playing croquet.”
She chewed her lip and looked over at the chaperones.
He followed her gaze. Mrs. Westfall was looking squarely at Prue, and the look was not a pleasant one. “Good lord,” Camden muttered under his breath. “What does that look mean?”
“It means I have to do whatever it is I am not doing,” she whispered, her lips barely moving, no stammer in sight.
Camden grunted, taking care not to frown, lest her mother find further fault. “Then we are not playing bowls at all.”
Prue looked at him in confusion. “No?”
He shook his head quickly, smiling more for her benefit than his own. “I have a new plan for us, Prue. We are never going to give your mother cause to find fault with you.”
She coughed in disbelief. “I will b-believe that when I see it. She loves to find fault, particularly with me.”
He’d have glowered if they weren’t being watched. “I wondered if that might be the case.” He thought quickly, mind whirling. “Can you draw?”
She looked startled, then shrugged. “A little. Not enough to display anything.”
“It’ll do.” He gestured for her to come with him, and this time she did so, taking his arm when it was offered.
“W-what are we doing?” s
he asked, and he could hear an amused note under the stammering question.
Camden smiled a somewhat superior smile. “Just play along.”
“I’m not very good at that,” she admitted with a wrinkle of her nose.
“Then don’t ruin it.”
“No promises.”
He bit back a sigh and proceeded over to Mrs. Davies, thankfully not sitting near Mrs. Westfall. “Mrs. Davies, do you, by chance, have any drawing pencils? Or perhaps watercolors and easels? Miss Westfall wishes to draw or paint, but she is too kind-hearted to think of asking. I’ve only just convinced her that you, as hostess, would be only too happy to oblige, if able.”
Mrs. Davies beamed at Prue as though she had suddenly sung a perfect aria. “My dear girl, you only need to ask! I’ll have some things brought out for you at once! What are you going to draw?”
“I’m af-fraid I haven’t d-decided yet,” Prue managed, looking adorably shy, even to Camden. “I’m n-not very g-good.”
Mrs. Davies clasped her hands and made a high-pitched noise that Camden did not understand. “Neither am I, dear, but sometimes it feels just lovely to express yourself through art. Never you mind, I’ll fetch Charles to show you some lovely places.”
Prue’s hand suddenly clutched at his arm painfully.
“Poor Davies,” Camden said at once, almost yelping. “He is being so attentive to Miss Perry, I should hate to ruin his chances there.” He leaned closer to Mrs. Davies. “You know how particular her father is about potential suitors, ma’am. It’d be better for him if he kept at it and made a favorable impression with her.”
Mrs. Davies’ eyes widened, and she looked down at the green, where indeed her son was playing croquet in the same party as Miss Perry. “Right you are, Mr. Vale,” she whispered conspiratorially. “You are very good. He can show Miss Westfall another time, perhaps tomorrow. But we shall fetch the supplies, and Miss Westfall can make do with the orangery, yes?”
Prue nodded with a warm smile he hadn’t expected, and Camden gave Mrs. Davies an acknowledging nod. “An excellent thought, Mrs. Davies.”
Mrs. Davies glanced down at her son with some speculation, then smiled at the pair of them and left in search of a servant.
The Spinster and I (The Spinster Chronicles, Book 2) Page 5