“Well done, Miss Westfall,” Camden praised as he exhaled slowly. “And you said you could not play along.”
“I couldn’t promise to do so when I didn’t know what you’d be doing,” she replied as she smiled up at him. “But once I saw your plan, I could follow.”
He raised a brow at that. “And you always follow?”
Her smile dimmed a bit. “Yes, I tend to.”
That didn’t sit well with him, but there wasn’t anything to be done about that. After all, he was a follower himself. In a very meandering sort of way, but still.
“And why drawing instead of bowls?” Prue asked him. “I really am not very good.”
“It’s an excuse,” he explained as he led her around the green a little. “Once you are drawing, word will spread to the others, and in an effort to display their talents, if any, the other girls will also want to draw. As drawing is more of a solitary activity and not a truly competitive one, it will be well within your comfort level.”
Prue grunted a soft sound. “Until the other men come to praise my work, and I know they are lying through their teeth.”
“We always lie through our teeth about the accomplishments of women,” Camden assured her. “Not just you. Don’t take it personally.”
She nodded, seeming to steel herself. “I will try to keep that in mind. Perhaps tomorrow when you are all out shooting, the other ladies and I will draw, and no one will pay any attention.”
Camden looked down at her in surprise. “So, it isn’t just the men’s flattering that upsets you?”
An odd shiver seemed to ripple through Prue, and she shook her head almost sadly. “Ever since I inherited, everyone is flattering me and paying me compliments. Men and women.”
“And this is a problem?”
“For me, it is.” She cleared her throat softly, and her ears and cheeks began to slowly flush. “I am more uncomfortable with this than being neglected and ignored.”
He had never heard anything of this sort come out of a woman’s mouth in his entire life, and he had thought his cousin so similar to Prue in so many ways. But even Molly had loved attention if it was favorable.
She wanted to be neglected? It made no sense at all.
“How is that possible?” he asked.
Prue lifted one shoulder. “Neglect is what I am used to. It’s comfortable.”
Camden shook his head slowly. “I’m hardly going to neglect you, Prue, so you may as well forget that. And I refuse to blame anyone for liking you.”
She looked up at him, her lips curving. “No?”
“No. As it happens, you are a very likable person.” He made a face as if it was a most inconvenient thing.
Prue tried for a chuckle that almost convinced him. “Then I shall try to be less likable. For your sake, at least.”
Camden smiled, but he didn’t look away from her. She had freckles on her cheeks, which he had failed to notice before, and that undoubtedly made her look younger than she was. He liked them. They gave her an almost spirited air, even if she rarely exhibited such things.
He wanted to see that spirited Prue. Racing across a landscape on foot, laughing with the effort of keeping up, or perhaps even winning. No hiding in corners for her, once that side of her was unleashed, and she would never notice the stares or whispers of others. She might never be able to take compliments with ease, but that was one of the more endearing qualities, and it could stay right where it was.
“That is very good of you,” Camden murmured, smiling at the images swirling in his mind, and the plan that was forming. “But I’m afraid it won’t work.”
“No?” she asked, her tone rather mild, even for her.
He shook his head, though she wouldn’t see it. “No. You see, I am determined that I shall like you, despite your best efforts, and once I have made up my mind about something, there is really no turning back.”
That earned him a bewildered, if amused, look. “Why in the world would you decide something like that? It seems rather foolish.”
“Because I make you comfortable,” he shot back. “Is it so odd that my making you comfortable makes me like you?”
She smiled in earnest, and it did wonders for her features. “This house party is going to give you a very skewed sense of my nature, Cam. You think this is bad? You should see me when there are rooms filled with people, when I’ve got friends on either side of me and still cannot find my voice, when…”
“Don’t work yourself up on purpose to prove a point,” he interrupted with a look that was only half-teasing. “It won’t work. And don’t talk me out of it, either. I told you, I very rarely like anybody, so this is a new experience for me. I’ll protect you from too much attention, and you give me the rare privilege of liking someone without any real purpose to it, even if it doesn’t make sense. Agreed?”
Prue laughed once, and it was clear she thought he was mad.
Which was fair enough, as he probably was.
“Agreed,” she replied, shaking her head. “But I hold you to no promises.”
Mrs. Davies returned to them then and waved for them to follow her to the orangery, so Camden had no time to ask about a lack of promises.
Why was she always saying that?
He’d have to pay more attention there. If he’d said he was going to like her, he fully intended to, and he saw no reason why that should change unless she was some sort of criminal or madwoman. But as it was growing abundantly clear that she was neither of those things, he felt safe enough to proceed accordingly.
She ought to expect that he would keep to that.
Why wouldn’t she?
They had a silent walk to the orangery, aside from Mrs. Davies, who felt the need to tell the pair of them the history of said orangery, but Camden was not listening, and he doubted Prue was, either. But once they were within, Mrs. Davies left them to their own devices, leaving the door pointedly open.
Ah, so she did know who Camden was, did she? Fair enough.
The orangery was made almost entirely of glass windows, and they could see the lawn bowling from where they sat. What exactly did she think was going to happen there?
Apparently, Camden underestimated his own reputation.
Prue dropped her hand from his arm and moved to the easel that had been set up. She eyed it carefully, then looked up at the plant it was in front of, her brow furrowed.
“Not pleased with the subject?” Camden asked, folding his arms.
She shook her head, then looked around the orangery for a moment, smiling when she spotted a small, unobtrusive, almost hidden plant with tiny white flowers sprouting from it.
Why did that seem perfectly fitting?
Prue grabbed the easel and set it near the plant, then brought the supplies over. When she was settled, she looked over at Camden, who had chosen to sit in one of the small chairs nearby. “I’m really not very good at drawing,” she said again. “Don’t expect anything.”
He shrugged and pulled a small notebook from the pocket of his coat. “That’s all right. I’m barely passable myself, but it never stops me.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You draw?”
He shrugged again. “On occasion.”
“And what will you draw?” she pressed.
He gestured faintly to the room. “Oh, something in here, I suppose. There’s plenty to choose from. And I won’t look if you don’t.”
Prue fought a little smile, then nodded and turned to her easel and began to sketch.
And Camden pulled out his pencil, opened the notebook, and, after a moment, began to draw what captured his attention the most.
Her.
Chapter Five
A long ride on horseback can do wonders for a soul. Not so much for the body, though.
-The Spinster Chronicles, 14 April 1818
“You know, for someone who says they haven’t ridden in years, you’re showing a remarkable skill for it.”
Prue looked back at Camden with a wry smile. “I ro
de a lot when I was younger. We lived in the country then. Oxfordshire.”
“The fact that you can say Oxfordshire without trouble is absurd,” he replied as he brought his horse up alongside her.
She giggled, tossing her head back a little. She couldn’t believe that she had been fighting his suggestion that they go for a ride just because of her fear that it would be embarrassing. Or that she would be on display somehow. Or what he might think of her.
She had ridden all over Wetherington before her father’s death, with and without a groom, much to her mother’s dismay. Her father had laughed at that, thinking it all a very fine thing that his shy daughter was a bold rider in her own right. Granted, she had not been particularly daring where her riding was concerned, but children were limited in that regard.
If they hadn’t lost Wetherington, she might have actually become a confident rider.
But lose it they did, and she no longer rode.
She inhaled deeply, then released it slowly, taking in the fresh air around them. She’d forgotten this feeling, this complete and utter freedom that she had never found anywhere else. How often had she escaped her mother’s criticisms as a child by riding out? Or practiced her breathing in the midst of the hills behind their home? Or found consolation in the breeze of riding when she’d disappointed someone again? Or hidden from Eliza’s torment in a refreshing ride?
She’d forgotten all of this.
She’d never thought her situation particularly tragic before, but now she wondered.
“What was that?”
Prue looked over at Camden in surprise, honestly having forgotten he was there with her. “Pardon?”
He gave her a bemused smile. “Something rather significant just happened in the confines of your mind, and now I am wild with curiosity.”
Did she dare share something so private with him? Despite their spending so much time together lately, they really knew nothing about each other. Hardly anything they shared was deep or genuinely personal, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to change that.
He had been very good to her, it was true, and had lived up to all that he’d said. He was by her side whenever he could be, whenever it was feasible, and she was so very grateful for the reprieve from having to worry about what might happen. But she also did not have to extend trust particularly far with all of that.
Could she tell him?
“I’d forgotten,” she murmured before she could think about it too much.
Camden’s brow furrowed. “Forgotten?”
Prue nodded slowly, letting herself smile with all her newfound joy. “I’d forgotten that I love to ride.”
He stared at her for a long moment, and then he returned her smile, but only just. “That’s a sad thing to forget.”
“Isn’t it, though?” She tried to be nonchalant about it all, shrugging one shoulder and leaning down to pat her horse gently. “Perhaps I will buy a horse for myself when I see the new estate.”
“You should.”
His voice was so firm, so sure about the notion, and it made her smile. “Don’t you think I should examine the place first? It could be a terrible place for riding.”
“That’s true,” he allowed, making a face of consideration. “From whom did you inherit?”
Prue chuckled to herself. “Aunt Harriett. My father’s sister.”
“That’s good. I was afraid she’d be related to your mother, and then she wouldn’t have led any sort of active life at all.” He shuddered rather dramatically, drawing a laugh from Prue.
“I’m not entirely sure she was any more active than my mother,” she told him. “I hadn’t seen her since I was a child, and she seemed frail then.”
Camden shook his head insistently. “If that’s the case, all the more reason to believe the estate is just fine. She only just passed, she was undoubtedly a very robust woman. I take that as a very good sign indeed.”
She was not about to argue the point with him, as there were entirely too many eccentricities involved with her father’s family. And she could not share much about her father, or else she would share entirely too much about herself.
It was too soon for that.
“Perhaps,” was all she said in response.
She glanced over her shoulder at the groom, trailing dutifully behind and looking somewhat bored.
Poor man. Despite Prue feeling very free riding now, she was not particularly adventurous. She had no desire to be truly saved by Camden, or by the poor groom. She would never get over such embarrassment, she knew that much, despite being comfortable with Camden.
It was one thing to be saved by him in a social situation when she was uncomfortable. It was quite another to have to be saved for the sake of her own life or at the risk of injury.
Her face began to flame as she thought about it.
“Four things, Prue.”
She looked at Camden quickly. “Four things?”
He nodded, smiling almost smugly. “Four. About you.”
“Why?” she laughed, twisting in her uncomfortable sidesaddle to see him better.
“Your cheeks are coloring without any provocation that I can see.” His look turned almost scolding. “That means you embarrassed yourself in your head, and I mean to distract you. Four things. Don’t delay, or it will be five.”
Prue barked a laugh and shook her head, looking up at the overcast sky. “I hate talking about myself.”
“No,” he said sharply, “you said that last time. That does not count.”
She groaned and squared her shoulders. She could do this, she could tell him things about herself without feeling vulnerable. Surely there were small enough things that would give little enough away while still satisfying his requirements.
He wanted to distract her. Perhaps it would help.
“I hate the color orange,” she said quickly, keeping her gaze straight ahead. “I cannot sing. I don’t like birds.”
“Slow down!” he protested, almost whining from his horse. “I need to process.”
Prue barely flicked her gaze in his direction. “And I used to read upside down.”
“Up…” He nudged his horse ahead, so he could see her more clearly. “Upside down? Explain.”
She bit back a smile. “Upside down. I would lay on my bed or twist in the chair so that my head was off and read a book that way.”
He gaped at her but somehow smiled as he gaped. “How long did this go on for?”
“Until I was eighteen or so.”
He laughed in disbelief, a deep, almost booming laugh that filled the surrounding hills. “That is incredible.” He turned his laughing eyes back to her. “Tell me you haven’t stopped entirely.”
Prue hesitated, then slowly shook her head, smiling. “No, I haven’t. It is still my preferred reading position.”
“Yes!” He made an exultant face, then grinned at her. “That is the best thing you have ever shared.”
“It doesn’t take much to please you, does it, Cam?” she asked with the utmost patience.
He scowled a little. “I beg your pardon. I am only trying to get to know my new friend beyond the polite niceties of a drawing room or ballroom. Is that so wrong?”
No, it really wasn’t, but that didn’t make it any more comfortable than being asked questions in either of those places. All she could say for this scenario was that she was relaxed with Camden, for whatever reason, and nothing she was sharing was embarrassing.
Well, perhaps the reading position, but if that got out to the public, her mother would deny it most emphatically. Prue had come close to sudden death when she’d discovered how her daughter read, which was why Prue never read that way anymore.
Unless she was alone.
Which she almost never was these days. Never alone. Never time to feel or to breathe, never time to think for herself, or to simply be. She was surrounded.
All the time.
“Four things, Cam,” she said quickly, interrupting her own thoughts with a franti
c edge. If he was going to make her share things she did not want to, he had to return the favor.
She desperately needed a distraction, and she needed it now.
“I was afraid you’d say that,” he muttered.
Prue only gave him a look and waited.
He stared at her, then reared back a little. “Do you have any idea how intense that look is, Prue?”
She raised one shoulder. “Some.”
No, she didn’t. She never looked at anybody that way, not even the Spinsters. How could she? There were five others, and each of them had something to say. She loved each of them, individually and collectively, but saying anything to them took a considerable amount of effort just to be heard. They would never know she felt that way, and she would never tell them, but she also could not ignore the fact.
She never took a stand.
On anything.
She had an intense look? What a bewildering thought!
Camden heaved another sigh, which he seemed to do a great deal in her presence. Was he tiring of her already? He couldn’t… He wouldn’t…
“I have no friends but you at this moment, because I’m an idiot.”
Prue’s panic faded, and she stared at him in horror.
“I love to fight,” he continued, his tone not changing in the slightest. “Not as in arguing, but with fists. And I don’t lose.”
He… fought? That did not make any sense; he was so patient and comfortable. He was relaxed and easy, and yet he brawled with fists? Intentionally? And enjoyed it?
So many questions filled her mind, overwhelming her as much as excessive conversation did. She would begin stammering in her mind soon, and then she would be lost.
Could her father’s pattern find her there?
“I have a sister,” Camden went on, completely oblivious to Prue’s situation. “No other family. Just Lydia. She’s older, so we can blame my major character flaws on her lack of example. But don’t tell her I said that.”
Prue found herself smiling, catching the change in tone there. He adored Lydia, no matter what he said, but he hadn’t really said anything about her. With all that he was sharing, to have so much kept back about her seemed to indicate a significance to the subject.
The Spinster and I (The Spinster Chronicles, Book 2) Page 6