Lady Lorena’s Spinster’s Society ( The Spinster’s Society) (A Regency Romance Book)

by Charlotte Stone

  He groaned and was still trembling. “Oh, God!”

  “Yes,” Lorena cried. She was erupting once more, her body overtaken by the moment.

  Ashwick stilled, grunted again, and rolled away.

  She sat up and watched in astonishment as his hand took that part of him that made him male. He thrust once, twice, into his own hand, and pale liquid came out of his tip.

  Lorena couldn’t help but stare through the entire event. She felt a twitching between her legs because… she liked it.

  He grunted until the very end then seemed to fall, exhausted from the experience. His stomach and thighs were spotted with the pale liquid and she leaned over to have a better look. He rolled out of bed as her hand moved toward him, then pulled out a handkerchief and wiped himself off. Finally, he returned to the bed, holding new cloth, and spread her legs. He cleaned her delicate part, put the cloth down, turned off the light, and dragged her body toward his.

  She was facing him, unsure of what to say, and what to comment on first. Everything had been beautiful.

  She opened her mouth.

  “Later,” he told her.

  She frowned and wondered how he’d seen her in the dark.

  He leaned forward until his lips met her forehead and said, “I’ll explain it all upon my return. At the moment, I simply want to hold you.” Then he pulled her partly onto his body and partly onto the bed.

  Lorena remained silent and told herself not to cry. She’d had a beautiful night, and he would return to her. She had to believe this.

  It took a long time for her to fall asleep, but when she finally did, she hoped to never wake until he was back in her arms.

  * * *

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  * * *

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  EPILOGUE

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  Six Weeks Later

  The engagement party was larger than they’d planned, but this could not be helped. Upon Ashwick’s return, Levi had mysteriously found out all the details of Lorena’s kidnapping, Ashwick, Morris, and Julius hunted in Liverpool, and at their victorious return, Levi’s story was once again printed in the papers. London was mad with want for the Men of Nashwood, but also to claim themselves friends, if not merely acquaintances, with the Spinster’s Society. Lorena knew that the ton still did not respect her as the daughter of a duke, but they were not above bragging to know the leader of the wicked and adventurous Spinster’s Society.

  Thus, the small engagement party they’d planned was so large that they’d had to use a ballroom.

  This hadn’t pleased the Nashwood Brothers, but they were all in attendance and were happy for Lorena.

  She was dancing with Francis when he said, “I found out where all the artwork in your home is coming from.”

  Lorena’s eyes widened. “Truly? Surely, not from you.” Her brother was no longer a poor duke. Since the day of Nashwood London’s opening, her brother and his friends had received requests from half the wealthy man in London to become a member. Both Whig and Tory had been anxious just to see inside the Valdeston townhouse’s rebirth. Calvin had cleverly decided to give a tour to the public and the requests for membership had come in from the other half of London.

  But Francis hadn’t had much money when the gifts had first started to arrive.

  “Who brought them?” she asked.

  “The first Duke of Valdeston.”

  This surprised Lorena. “How do you know?”

  “Maura found the treasure.”

  Lorena stilled, but Francis was powerful enough to keep them dancing.

  “Apparently, they were moved to the Shaw family’s basement years ago. The first duke probably decided to hide it from his own line, knowing that every duke after him would all be mad. But who truly knows. It’s only a guess.”

  “You’re not mad,” Lorena said, though she was still trying to picture Maura pulling a statue from her basement. “Why didn’t Maura simply tell me she found it?”

  Francis shrugged and turned to her. “Maura said a ghost told her where to find it.”

  Lorena frowned. “I’m going to find that ghost and set Maura free. Even if I have to go to Bedlam myself.”

  Francis didn’t look pleased. “No more adventures.”

  “Of course,” she said with a smile.

  His hold tightened, and his brows drew together. “Put asylums on the list of places you can’t go. Taverns and asylums.”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” Lorena said sweetly.

  His anger didn’t vanish. “Am I going to play both brother and guard to you for the rest of my life?”

  “You do live next door. Quite convenient.”

  Francis stilled in the center of the dance floor. “Lorena.”

  Her eyes widened when she realized she might have gone too far.

  A hand settled at the small of her back and Ashwick’s voice broke the tension. “I believe I’ll take it from here.”

  “Good,” Francis said, all but dropping Lorena.

  “Francis,” Lorena cried.

  Francis looked at Ashwick. “Thank God she’ll soon be your problem.”

  “Francis,” Lorena said a little louder.

  “I’ve enough to deal with, being the mad Duke of Valdeston and all.” And then he marched away.

  Lorena watched him go then she turned into Ashwick’s arms and caught his smile.

  “What did you do now?” he asked her.

  “Nothing,” she said quickly. Perhaps a bit too quickly.

  He chuckled. “You wouldn’t be planning anything that would irritate Francis, would you?”

  Actually, she most definitely was. Her eyes moved until she saw Genie.

  Her friend smiled. Their plan was still set, even if the audience would be bigger.

  “Lorena.” Ashwick’s voice had become cool, and she turned to see he was not smiling.

  She swallowed and whispered, “Have I told you I love you today?”

  His eyes studied her. “Damn.”

  “What?” she asked, pure innocence.

  He shook his head. “When the house is built, we’ll marry, and be done with all this… Spinster Society nonsense.”

  Lorena smiled. The house would not be complete for at least another year, which meant she had time for a bit more fun.

  Her eyes caught Sophia’s as she danced in Levi’s arms and when she gave Lorena a solid nod, Lorena returned the gesture. It was time.

  “Lorena,” Ashwick warned.

  Lorena just smiled and realized that for the first day in a long time, she’d not shed a single tear. It was because of love. She had the love of her brothers. The love of friends new and old. And the love of Ashwick.

  Leaning closer, but discretely, she said, “There’s pie in the kitchen. Would you care for some?”

  Ashwick’s lips twitched and he said, “I believe I’d rather trade it for something more delectable.”

  They laughed. They danced. And they were happy.

  * * *

  THANK YOU

  for reading my book and

  i hope you have enjoyed the story.

  The next book targeted release date will be 6th September.

  In the meantime . . .

  If you have enjoyed reading Lady Lorena’s Spinster’s Society, I believe you will be interested in checking out Book 1 of another series I have - The Earl’s Unforgettable Flame.

  I have enclosed a sneak preview of the book.

  Check it out below . . .

  It is currently priced at $0.99 (around 230 pages)

  * * *

  “I saw the way you looked at my scars when we first met,” Catherine began as her voice trembled. “So, you know that I am…not damaged but certainly not fit for the likes of you. It wouldn’t be fair to you.”

  “But it wasn’t the first time we met,” Benjamin finally blurted. “I saw you on the night of the fire. We spoke. When I saw your scars again, I
was just putting together a memory that I have never been able to forget.”

  “Because you never forgot my deformities,” she assumed. Her voice lacked any self-pity. It was as if she was just stating the facts. “How could you?”

  “No,” he cried. “It was your bravery that stayed with me.

  “There is nothing I can say to change your mind? No compliment I could give, however true in my opinion, will convince you of your beauty to me or how much I esteem you?”

  She bit her lip. “You are very kind, Lord Benjamin. And well meaning, too. But you deserve someone worthy of the title countess someday. And that is not me.”

  There was nothing left to say. …

  * * *

  PROLOGUE

  Pritchford, Yorkshire

  1809

  On the night her family’s home burned to the ground, Catherine Watson was dreaming of a knight on a handsome silver horse traveling from a faraway land to rescue a beautiful princess. She slept on as the fire crept its way up the walls, blissfully unaware.

  She finally woke to the terrible heat, her head already dizzy from the smoke. Her blue eyes, large in her tiny face, blinked in confusion at the hellish sight that surrounded her. Could this be a dream, too? Or perhaps a nightmare? Still halfway dreaming, she thought at first a roaring dragon was responsible for the flames.

  After a few moments of confusion, a high-pitched scream echoed from the direction of the nursery, and she scrambled from her bed. Thinking of those brave knights and the love she bore her little sister Jane, Catherine stumbled toward her bedroom door, tripping on her coverlet. Though she was wanted to be courageous, a part of her knew that she should be scared. Her belly coiled tightly as she began to run, her nightgown flapping against her heels. She had to make it to the nursery. She had to save her sister. Dread and panic mixed together in her throat as she breathed in the smoke.

  But once there, she could not find her sister. She began to cough, and once she started, she could not stop. Her eyes watered, but still she looked for Jane. Catherine could not find her in bed nor near the toy horse they both loved.

  Once again, she heard someone screaming, but suddenly Catherine was more tired than she could ever remember being. She tried to move, but her limbs were sluggish, as if the air was the quicksand Nanny had told her about in one of her bedtime stories. She fell to the ground, but it did not hurt. Nothing hurt anymore, not even her burning lungs. Her cheek rested against the floor as she watched fingers of red and orange reach up the walls. Her eyes slowly shut.

  When she woke up, she was on the ground. She thought grass was beneath her, but she was so confused it was hard to tell. Was she in her nightgown? Had she had a nightmare? Where was Nanny or Mama? They would make it better. They always made it better.

  Then the pain hit her so completely and strongly that the very air burned her skin. Seeking refuge from the torment, her mind shut off completely as her body continued to quake in pain. She lost consciousness just as her parents rounded what had been the side of their home, screaming her name over and over again. Certain she had died in the fire, they let out a relieved breath as they reached her. But upon seeing her injuries, her mother fell to her knees.

  It was as if the skin of her neck and arm had simply melted, layers scraped off by the fire, every nerve exposed.

  “My girl, my girl,” her mother sobbed, rocking on her knees, afraid to touch her daughter for fear she would cause more pain to the mottled flesh.

  Would Cat survive? There was no way to know.

  * * *

  Catherine looked so tiny in the bed, Benjamin Frederickson thought, with soot clinging to her plait of blond hair. She was just a little girl, squeezing her eyes shut as the doctor tended to her arm. She looked younger than his twin sister but not by very much. From his vantage point, Benjamin could see no visible injury, which made him cross that his father had pulled him out of bed. Then he heard his father, Lord Wembley, speaking with Mr. Watson.

  “She should be screaming in pain,” Benjamin’s father said quietly. “Poor thing. What will we do? How could this happen?”

  “Catherine would never want to worry us, Lord Wembley. She could never bear anyone else’s pain but her own. She’s keeping quiet for my sake,” said the girl’s father, Mr. Watson, his voice trembling as he anxiously watched the scene in front of him. He was smaller than Benjamin’s father and covered in black grime. He was a gentleman of some means, but did not look it now. “We have no idea where the fire started or how. We are very conscientious, and for it to become so awful so quickly? My wife went to the nursery to rescue our youngest daughter, Jane, and I went for Catherine at the other end of our home, but she wasn’t there. I thought my wife would have both girls when I exited. She thought I would have Catherine with me. We were inconsolable as the house began to collapse. None of the servants had seen her either, so we thought she must be still inside. Until we heard her scream around back, we thought she was dead.” His voice croaked over the last words. “We are so blessed that she is alive, but we have no earthly idea how she made it out the house. She has explained, as best she can, that she went to the nursery looking for her sister but remembers nothing else. There is no way she left the house on her own two feet. So, how did she escape?”

  Benjamin had never seen a man look as exhausted or downtrodden as Mr. Watson. Though he’d never met the man before, he knew the house, or what had been the house, several hours earlier. It had not been a great estate, nothing like Pritchford Place, but a nicely situated manor house.

  “Papa, I am all right,” Catherine croaked from the bed. Benjamin wondered if it was the smoke she’d inhaled that caused her voice to be so hoarse. Had she cried for help for a long time? How frightened had she been? Had she seen the fire eating the walls? Though he was twelve, nearly thirteen, and wanted to be brave because that was what his father, the Earl of Wembley, would expect, he shuddered. His uncle, the younger son to Benjamin’s father and one of Benjamin’s heroes, was the bravest man he knew. He had bought a commission in the army as soon as he was of age to fight Napoleon. Still, Benjamin could not imagine waking in the middle of the night to a fire on the great estate of Pritchford Place. He would not know what to do. Would he think of saving his sister as this young girl had? Or would he be selfish, in the way that fear makes most people, and think only of getting out himself?

  Benjamin always worried he would fall short, both in terms of Uncle Robert’s bravery and his father’s expectation of responsibility, but this Catherine had exceeded both of those expectations. A girl! And younger than him, too!

  Honestly, when his father woke him in the middle of the night, Benjamin had complained over going to see this family. “What does this have to do with me?” he’d asked. But his father had insisted that they had a responsibility to the people of Pritchford, and that this responsibility would one day be Benjamin’s as the future Earl of Wembley. It might not be as large of a city or as connected to London as Ripon, but the majority of the land was owned by Benjamin’s family, the Fredericksons. Duty ran in his father’s blood—passed down by grandfather and beyond. His father expected it to be in Benjamin’s blood as well, but Benjamin feared he was lacking some essential element that would make him the great earl his father was. More and more, conversations with his father left Benjamin feeling like there was a giant weight around his neck.

  His father wanted him to care about the land and the people, but how could he care about what he didn’t know, especially when he was sent to boarding school at Eton in a few days? He had friends here and lessons. He was focused on withstanding the pranks and teasing from the older boys, not the land he would someday inherit. All the while, his sister watched him in between lessons with her governess, and Benjamin knew she was thinking what a better job she could do someday of running the place. But she was a girl, so none of this actually belonged to her. It all fell to Benjamin.

  But now that he was here with this family, the Watsons, now that he could see t
he little girl and the people who loved her, he realized his father was right. It was not about owning the surrounding land or even responsibility. It was impossible to see his fellow man, Mr. Watson, lose so much and not care. It was impossible to think of an injured girl and not consider how he could help. Perhaps some of what made his father such a great Earl of Wembley had been passed to him after all.

  For the first time, Benjamin’s world grew to include the needs of others. He would never forget this night as long as he lived. He knew the Watson family would not forget either, but for very different reasons.

  “They said she was trapped,” Benjamin murmured aloud. Having seen the wreckage of her home, the way the fire had eaten it alive and devoured it, the destruction complete and absolute, he had to wonder how a girl of no more than eight could escape that. “If she was trapped, how did she get out?” The mystery would confound him whenever he thought of it, but for now, his attention was on the area of the room where the little girl lay prone and suffering.

  The local doctor stood from his place at her bedside. Lord Wembley had already sent his carriage to Ripon for the doctor there, but the roads this time of year were rough, and the horses and livery had a good thirty miles to travel. The current country doctor was the same man Benjamin saw years ago when he took a tumble from his horse, but at that time, the man had been gregarious, making Benjamin laugh to keep his mind off of the pain. Now, he was incredibly tense. A line of worry appeared on his already sweaty brow. “I need more laudanum to manage her pain. And I need to speak to you, Mr. Watson. We need to discuss her options. I fear this is beyond my expertise.”