The Spinster and I (The Spinster Chronicles, Book 2)

by Rebecca Connolly

  He looked up at the stage then, and Prue’s eyes widened as she recognized him.

  Camden Vale.

  He watched the stage for a moment, then raised a brow as if to say, “This is the best he has?” which she echoed in her own mind, smiling at the thought.

  At that precise moment, his gaze met hers, and he stilled.

  Prue’s breath caught in her throat, and she prayed she did not look as stunned and bewildered as she felt.

  His dark gaze held her, kept her staring back at him rather frankly, and he did the same. She did not find herself becoming embarrassed or even flushed, oddly enough. On the contrary, it was as easy as staring at a wall, for that is all the expression he maintained.

  No flash of interest, no smile of encouragement or amusement, nothing to indicate she interested him in the least. There was, however, also no flash of sympathy or derision.

  What did he think? What was he feeling?

  What did she think and feel?

  She couldn’t even decide that at the moment.

  She didn’t think, she didn’t feel; she only stared at him. And he stared at her, and neither of them seemed in any way inclined to change that.

  As the tenor finished his poor attempts, neither of them applauded. Then he absently did, just three times, and Prue found herself slowly raising a brow at him, which made his mouth twitch, and he very slightly shrugged one shoulder.

  Smiling to herself, Prue returned her attention to the stage but found herself glancing back over on occasion, and he always seemed to be watching her.

  What did that mean? Why would he do that? What did he see, what made him look, why…?

  It couldn’t mean anything. It couldn’t. It was only the surprise, surely, and she was looking at him as well, and without much reason to.

  She just wanted to. Whatever that meant.

  So, he was in London. She wasn’t sure that she had expected him to be anywhere else, but without seeing him out and about, she’d gotten used to the idea that he was gone. From London, from Society, from her life…

  But there he was. Not gone from London, not gone from Society, and…

  Well, there was no need to jump to any conclusions, no matter how her knees suddenly shook with the urge to leap.

  She was bound to see him eventually, and now she had done so. And he had not seemed in any way ashamed of her, which was something significant, in her estimation. He, who had seen her at a very low moment, knew how bad she could get when overcome, had not made any move to pretend he did not know her.

  He was here, and he was alone, which made her sad. She’d settled on the idea that he’d been kind when he’d said he had no friends but her, something to make her feel at ease and give her reason to trust him, but there he sat in a box by himself. He seemed quite contented there alone, which Prue could certainly understand, being quite comfortable on her own herself.

  But with how entertaining Camden had been with her, she could not see why he would not be surrounded by friends at any given point in time. He might be somewhat unconventional for a gentleman, but that was becoming more and more of a popular trend and ought not to put many off from associating with him.

  It hadn’t stopped her.

  The Spinsters had no idea that she had ever associated with him. Despite confessing her fears and anxieties to them, as well as the full situation of her inheritance, her mother, and her experiences at Tinley House, she had neglected any and all mention of Camden Vale.

  He was her secret.

  Why, she hadn’t dared to contemplate, but with all that he had said and led her to believe about his reputation, she had no doubt that some, if not all, would have some powerful objections to being in any way tied to him through friendship, convenience, or anything else. She was terrified of what Elinor’s research on him would reveal, and the opinions of those who did not know him could unfairly sway her against a good impression.

  You don’t know him either, she reminded herself. Not really.

  No, that was true, but when a man treats a woman kindly and with gentleness and patience when there is absolutely nothing to be gained by it, it ought to say something about the true nature of the man. There was no possible benefit to aiding Prudence Westfall in the midst of her anxieties at a house party for wealthy young women to be flattered by potential suitors. There was nothing advantageous in paying any attention to a spinster so shy she could not bear compliments from others or being noticed.

  Yet he had done all those things.

  How wicked could a man like that be?

  It didn’t even matter if he were wicked or not, they were hardly going to move in the same circles and continue the odd friendship they had formed. He was only in the same theater as her this evening, but so were dozens of other eligible men, and some of them were wicked, some of them were good. There was no reason to dwell on it.

  She looked over at him again, and this time he smiled as she did so. Not in a teasing or arrogant way, but the same sort of soft smile he had given her any number of times at Tinley. Nothing that had ever made her flutter, blush, or fidget there.

  Now, however, it had all those effects on her. She felt a fluttering in the pit of her stomach, she felt her cheeks grow hot, and suddenly she was feeling restless. Her throat began to burn, and she started to rub her fingers together as anxiety twisted at them, despite not feeling any sort of panic anywhere else.

  Eliza was sitting beside her, smug in every respect, having every intention of taking complete advantage of Prue’s fortune and shyness, and of making her life as difficult as possible.

  Her mother was pressing her into more and more uncomfortable situations and encouraging every attention Prue had ever wished miles away.

  She would be flattered and fussed at for the rest of the evening, probably embarrass herself, stammer needlessly, and come close to fainting, despite having friends at hand.

  At this moment, none of those things mattered.

  Camden’s smile seemed to somehow force all those things to the back of her mind. They were still there, looming in the distance, but nothing about them irked her now.

  Slowly, Prue inhaled and exhaled, keeping her eyes trained on his, letting the corner of her mouth curve into what she could only hope was an adequately responsive smile.

  They might never have a moment like this again in their lives, particularly not after their farewells at Tinley, which had played over and over in her mind and in her dreams until the pain and awkwardness ate away at her. They might never again dance together or speak a single word to each other.

  But in this theater, in this first act of this mediocre opera, they could smile at each other.

  Camden dipped his chin in a nod, a hint of his mischievous nature showing forth, and then he returned his attention to the stage just in time for the final strains of the aria.

  The theater applauded the end of the first act, and Prue felt that something had broken with the sound. A bit belatedly, she joined the applause and waited for further torment at the hands of her family.

  “Miss Westfall!”

  Prue turned in her chair to see Amelia Perry standing in the entrance of their box, grinning unabashedly at her, and looking a shade of lovely that Prue could only ever hope to achieve.

  “Amelia!” Prue greeted, relief washing over her. She rose and went to her, taking the girl’s outstretched hands and letting her kiss her cheeks.

  “I couldn’t believe it when I saw you!” Amelia squealed, squeezing her hands. “I was fidgeting the entire first act, I was so excited to see you.” She suddenly seemed to recollect there were others in the box and she curtseyed perfectly. “Mrs. Westfall, it is so good to see you. I do love that color on you, it does you such credit.”

  It did no such thing, but her mother beamed anyway and curtseyed in response. “Miss Perry, you are so good. May I introduce my sister, Mrs. Howard, her husband, and their dear girl, Eliza?”

  Everybody greeted her accordingly, though Eliza had a
speculative light in her eyes that Prue was very wary of.

  “I wonder, Mrs. Westfall, if you would permit me to steal Miss Westfall for the interval,” Amelia begged with the sort of charm that could not be refused. “I have missed her so.”

  Eliza raised a brow that Prue could only pray that Amelia hadn’t seen.

  “And Miss Howard is more than welcome to join us,” Amelia continued, smiling at Eliza in a way that only ignorant people would.

  Prue could have kicked the silly girl in her perfect shins for the suggestion.

  “My brother is on his way to escort us,” Amelia went on, still smiling, “and we shall be quite looked after.”

  Mrs. Howard clucked excitedly. “Oh, what a dear creature! Yes, you may take my Eliza along, if my dear sister agrees to part with Prudence.”

  “Naturally, if Miss Perry wishes it,” her mother allowed indulgently, “and Mr. Perry will not find it too taxing to mind you all?”

  Amelia shook her head, her rich brown curls dancing against her translucent skin. “Not a bit of it. He is quite used to minding me, and that cannot be an easy thing.”

  “No, it is not,” a distinctly male voice replied drolly from behind her. A man with coloring equaled to Amelia’s, though his skin was a bit tanned, appeared, his mouth curved into a pleasant smile.

  “Mrs. Westfall, Mr. Howard, Mrs. Howard, Miss Howard, Miss Westfall,” Amelia said with a suddenly formal tone, though she smiled informally, “my brother, Frederick Perry.”

  He bowed with absolute precision, still smiling. “Charmed, ladies. Sir.”

  Now Eliza looked positively delighted and glided over to them. “So, you are to escort us, then, sir?”

  He apprised her politely. “I am, Miss Howard, if you do not find it burdensome to be escorted.”

  She smiled slowly. “Not in the slightest. I pray you will allow me your arm, sir, as I have somewhat of a weakness to my ankles. Walking does do me good, but I am not quite steady, you see…”

  He offered his arm at once, all cordiality. “But of course. Amelia, if you and Miss Westfall will follow, and stay close?”

  “Naturally,” Amelia replied easily, linking arms with Prue. “Lead the way, Fred.”

  They all nodded at the parents, then proceeded out of the box.

  Mr. Perry kept a steady pace for them, and an even steadier stream of conversation with Eliza, which was surely some trick of madness.

  He needed to be warned.

  “Amelia,” Prue murmured, feeling a stammer rising as they followed, keeping her voice low. “My c-cousin…”

  Amelia patted Prue’s hand easily, her dimple flashing with a smile. “Not to worry, Prue. Fred can handle her.”

  No, he couldn’t. No one could.

  “You d-don’t understand,” Prue insisted, whispering as best as she could. “She is…”

  “Oh, I know all about her, Prue,” Amelia overrode with a knowing look. “Trust me, I know. And I saw the pair of you before the start of the opera, and I saw how she made you look, to say nothing of the lace monstrosity she chose to wear. I might have doubted what I’d heard about her before, but now I see it is worse.”

  “Then your b-brother,” Prue stammered, eyes wide. “He…”

  “…has a remarkable talent for enduring unlikable people,” Amelia finished with a sly smile. “And is quite devoted to me. This way, I get you all to myself for a few minutes, and you don’t have to contend with that.”

  Prue found herself laughing and pulled Amelia closer to her side. “I missed you, Amelia.”

  “And I you,” Amelia replied with a wink. “Now, let me tell you what I’ve heard about Mr. Andrews…”

  Chapter Ten

  There are some people who add nothing of value to Society and ought not to participate in its activities and entertainments. Whether for reasons of morality or moronic tendencies, these individuals would be better served being trampled. If we all someday burn because of the general degradation of Society, feel free to blame these pox-carriers for your singed status.

  -The Spinster Chronicles, 23 January 1816

  “Oh, Mr. Applegate, you are such a wit! Such a surprising thing in a man of your intellect and station, and rather a pleasant one. If you asked me to dance the next, I would accept.”

  “Erm, Miss Howard, I…”

  “Never mind my dear cousin. She is terrified of all creatures of the male persuasion, and I am to aid her in finding those truly worthy of a woman of her position as it now stands. It is really the least I can do for her, such a dear, shy thing.”

  “In that case, it would be an honor to stand up with you next, Miss Howard.”

  Prue watched as Eliza placed her hand in Mr. Applegate’s outstretched one with a flourish, letting him lead her away.

  “Have you ever heard the sound a lamb makes when it cries, Mr. Applegate?” she heard Eliza ask before the music began again.

  Prue closed her eyes and craned her neck as an irritated shiver raced down it.

  “You really need to stand up to that tart, Prudence.”

  She glanced over at Lady Hetty, sitting beside her, and smiled sadly. “How, my l-lady?”

  Lady Hetty returned her smile, creating even more lines on her withered face. She patted Prue’s hand with an equally lined hand, covered by crocheted half-gloves.

  By telling her she’s an impudent tart and isn’t charged with anything where you are concerned.”

  Prue made a soft noise of amusement, feeling bone-weary after enduring first the theater and now this ball. “I never wanted Mr. Applegate to pay me compliments, Lady Hetty.”

  The older woman chortled. “No, I should say not. But it is the principle of the thing, my dear. And for her to speak such horrible things about you while she is trading on your name to further herself…” She shook her head, tsking loudly. “Not at all respectable.”

  Prue shrugged a shoulder. “I’m used to it.”

  That earned her a look. “And that is a tragic thing.”

  It was, wasn’t it? Prue had grown so accustomed to being insulted and degraded by her family, let alone embarrassed by them, that the shift to a grander scale had almost no additional effect on her. It was just as embarrassing to have Eliza telling potential suitors in ballrooms of her ties to Prue as it was for her to gossip about her in tea rooms. Being scolded by her mother in the park was just as embarrassing as being scolded by her at the theater.

  She was accustomed to their treatment of her. It did not make it easier to bear, just the way of things.

  “Surely your cousin doesn’t want Applegate for herself,” Lady Hetty scoffed as she watched the pair of them dance.

  “I doubt it,” Prue sighed, wringing her fingers together. “She just doesn’t want m-me to have him. Or any of them. She is very jealous of m-my attentions.”

  “She should be jealous of your nature, not your admirers,” chimed in Izzy as she approached them and took up position on Prue’s other side, smiling warmly. “She’s only two years younger than you, and no closer to marrying than you were even before your inheritance, but if she were not so mean…”

  There was another laugh, and Prue looked up to see Georgie approaching with Tony. “Don’t even finish that sentence, Izzy. Eliza Howard is a viper and a menace, and nothing good can or should be said about her.”

  Prue hiccupped a startled laugh as Tony snickered, giving his wife a proud look.

  “Who are we speaking badly of and can I join in?” Charlotte asked as she joined them, pulling at her gloves a little. She glanced around, looked where Prue was looking, and then snorted loudly. “Oh, good. Toad face. I don’t give three figs for Applegate, but he doesn’t deserve that.”

  Lady Hetty cackled and thumped her walking stick on the ground in apparent approval.

  “Where’s your contingent, Charlotte?” Tony asked as he looked around as if attempting to find them. “I would swear they followed you in here.”

  “Very funny, Anthony,” Charlotte replied with
a sniff. “I predict they will be here in no less than five minutes.”

  “Ugh,” Georgie groaned. “Take them over there, Charlotte. Away from Prue.”

  Charlotte grinned at that and looked down at Prue. “Not interested in sharing, sweet lamb?”

  Prue gave her a sardonic look that drew chuckles from her friend. “No.”

  “Ah,” Charlotte sighed, adjusting a perfect ringlet, “I do love when you are firm.”

  “Take them a-all,” Prue insisted.

  “I’ll take some,” Izzy offered wryly. “Anyone have a fortune I could borrow?”

  “If only,” Prue muttered with a sour look at the gentlemen nearest her, all of whom were glancing in her direction. “They’re g-going to start coming over s-soon.”

  Izzy took her hand and squeezed it gently. “I’ll be right here the entire time. You’re not alone.”

  Prue nodded and swallowed.

  “I’ll just be over there being myself,” Charlotte assured her, indicating the corner just opposite. “Unless I am dancing. But you give me any sort of signal, and I’ll come.”

  “Tony will dance with you if you need a reprieve,” Georgie reminded her with a smile. “And we can even get Lieutenant Henshaw to come dance with you if you’d feel comfortable. Maybe even Mr. Morton.”

  The mention of Tony’s friends set Prue’s cheeks to flaming, but she nodded again. “I m-might be.”

  Charlotte sighed, giving Prue a half-exasperated, half-sympathetic look. “So convincing, lamb. Who is distracting your mother?”

  Prue shook her head, feeling more nervous now than she had only moments ago. Her friends were loving and kind, but their assurances were overwhelming her, reminding her of all the things that could happen tonight, everything that could go wrong. It felt as though she were their new project, something requiring strategy and observation, with everyone taking up a position with Prue in their line of sight. Rather like the watch everyone in London presumed the Spinsters took up with the younger ladies in London.

  They didn’t, but it probably would have happened like this, if they did any such thing.