Secrets of a Spinster

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Secrets of a Spinster Page 11

by Rebecca Connolly


  His smile faded ever so slightly as he realized that this exhibition of her abilities would only earn her more suitors, and ones probably more suited to her taste. Ones that would compliment her on talents she possessed long before her transformation ever took place. It was as close to the real Mary as one could get under these circumstances.

  He glanced around the room quickly, wondering if anybody present had any idea what they were in for.

  The ladies conferred as to the selection, and then Miss Arden started in her accompaniment. A few notes later, Mary’s heavenly voice joined in, and the entire room stilled almost as one. No one could even manage to whisper their shock as they were so captivated by the sound.

  Sweet and alluring, in the most perfect tones, Mary’s voice carried them all through the sad details of the song, stirring even the most hardened of hearts. Even Geoff, who had heard her sing on a number of occasions, felt his emotions rise and fall with the melody, and found it impossible to look anywhere but at Mary. She didn’t appear at all nervous up there on display. In fact, he had never seen her more at ease in his life.

  She was a natural. And now everyone else knew it.

  Her voice filled the entire room, rang from the ceiling with its purity, sending an ethereal air cascading down on the gathering. No one even dared to breathe as she finished, the last note lingering in the air. Geoffrey had to fight to swallow, feeling as though his lungs were dry as a desert.

  The applause that followed was bordering on the thunderous. Several gentlemen, even some of the married ones, leapt to their feet to applaud her, and some fool in the front shouting “Bravo!” at the top of his lungs as if she wouldn’t hear him. Her cheeks flushed with pleasure and she smiled in her embarrassment.

  Geoff clapped with the others, trying to catch Mary’s eye to offer her a smile of approval. But so thick was the immediate thronging about her that he could no longer see her. He did see Miss Arden making her way out, none of the praise for her, and was about to go over to her himself when the crowd suddenly gave way and he could see Mary once more.

  She smiled broadly at all who were around her, but none so fondly as she did Mr. Burlington, who was suddenly at her side, clasping her hand as if it were a lifeline. Mary looked up at the man with a laugh that brightened her whole countenance and gave her a glow that was indescribably beautiful. There was not a single man in the room, unattached or not, who couldn’t see it.

  She never looked his direction. Not even once.

  Something dark and feral began unraveling within Geoff’s chest. Something he didn’t dare dwell on or attempt to identify. Something that sent him storming from the room, down the hall, and into the card room, where he spent the rest of the evening, silently losing money he no longer cared about to men he usually avoided.

  It wasn’t until someone told him that Mary was ready to depart that he remembered he had brought her, and that alone stopped his play. Without a word, he collected his sparse winnings and sparser wits, and made his way back to the music room. Mary was still surrounded by her admirers, looking as though she could endure their attentions for a lifetime.

  He glowered for a moment, hoping she might notice him this time, as she had sent for him. When it was clear she would not, he grabbed the arm of a footman.

  “Kindly inform Miss Hamilton that her carriage is ready, as she requested,” he growled.

  “Yes, Mr. Harris,” the footman said obediently, surprised by his tone.

  Geoff could not even bring himself to care.

  He watched as the footman made his way through the throng and informed Mary, then saw her look around and meet his eye. Very briefly, he saw a light of relief enter her eyes, and the darkness in his chest lifted a bit.

  After a few moments of bidding farewell to her followers, she finally made her way over to him. She said nothing, but the widening of her eyes in exasperation made him smile. He helped her with her cloak and into the carriage, and only when they were off did she speak.

  “Oh, tell me I can stop smiling now!” she moaned, rubbing her face.

  He chuckled. “You can stop smiling now.”

  “Thank you,” she muttered with a roll of her eyes. “I didn’t think that was going to end.”

  “We could have left sooner,” he told her, shifting in his seat to face her. “All you had to do was say so.”

  She leaned her head back and looked at him. “Well, it was fine for a while. It was splendid, actually, for quite a long while. Everybody was so kind and complimentary after my song, and I have never had that before, not for something I can actually do and not pretend to do.”

  “What about when you sing for our friends?” he offered, feeling the need to remind her that not everybody in the world ignored her.

  She waved it off. “That’s not the same, and you know it. Our friends like me in spite of everything, and so one never really knows if they are being truthful or merely kind.”

  He frowned now, his irritation returning. “What about when I compliment you?”

  “You I believe, of course,” she said with a smile, “but only because I know you hate to compliment anybody if you can help it.”

  That offered him only the smallest of comforts.

  He waited a long moment, letting the silence of the carriage speak for them both. “Well, you sang beautifully tonight.”

  “Thank you,” she replied softly.

  “I hope you enjoyed yourself.”

  “I did.”

  Another series of minutes passed in awkward silence.

  “I didn’t know Miss Arden was so gifted.”

  “Nor I. I hope others noticed besides us.”

  “I didn’t see anyone approach her.”

  He heard Mary sigh with disappointment. “That’s unfortunate. I’ll call on her tomorrow, and set it right. Perhaps she would let me host a party and she would be able to have further opportunity to play without any… additional distractions.”

  Geoff smiled and glanced over at her. “I knew you would do something, Goose.”

  Her eyes rose just enough to meet his. “And just this once, you were right.” Then her brow furrowed. “Why didn’t you approach Miss Arden yourself? You had ample opportunity.”

  He was not prepared to have the tables so aptly turned on him and found himself without a reply. “I… I meant to, but…”

  She rolled her eyes and frowned at him. “Geoff. You could have done something.”

  He thought it best not to tell her that he’d been too upset with her ignoring him that he’d ignored Miss Arden. “Tell you what, Goose, you have that party and invite Miss Arden and I will be her chief admirer for the entire evening. I will be so full of compliments that you will think you invited one of your fops instead of me.”

  Mary snorted and sat back against the cushions. “I shall warn her to expect your attentions and to think nothing of them.”

  “Who says it will be nothing?” he demanded, raising a brow at her.

  Mary gave him a doubtful look, then sighed and closed her eyes. “I wished that Mr. Burlington and Mr. Ashwood had stayed longer. And it would have been so nice to see Lord Godfrey or Mr. Timmons in attendance, I know they are fond of music. But I did meet a few other gentlemen this evening that I hope I shall get to know better in time.”

  Geoffrey stared at her in complete and utter confusion. “Correct me if I am wrong, Mary, but I thought only a few hours ago you expressed an interest in thinning your throng of admirers.”

  She didn’t even bat an eyelash. “I still do.”

  “Then…” He hesitated, struggling to grasp any semblance of understanding. “Then why do you want to know more of these gentlemen?”

  Mary opened her eyes and looked at him as if he had sprouted an additional three heads. “Because most of those gentlemen were a far cry better than the majority of the ones I have had to endure as yet. I’m not thinning the crowd purely for the number, I also want to ensure that the ones I do keep are ones worth spending any pe
riod of time with. Surely you can understand that.”

  He did. He wished he didn’t, but he did. “So Marianne will help you there?” he asked, keeping his voice level.

  “I hope so. She has more practice than I do with this sort of thing.”

  “Just be careful, Mary.”

  Mary laughed and tilted her head at him in the coy fashion he’d seen her adopt of late. “Are you getting protective of me, Geoffrey?”

  He did not return her smile. “You don’t enjoy injuring people, and Marianne does. I would hate to see you lose any respect by becoming more like her.”

  Mary’s brows snapped together. “I hardly think Marianne actually enjoys injuring people.”

  “You don’t know her like I do.”

  “You may not know her as well as you think you do.”

  He tossed his hands into the air. “For heaven’s sake, Mary, I’m only trying to help.”

  “By telling me to be careful with your friend’s sister because the poor girl might turn me wicked?”

  “I never said that.”

  She snorted and shook her head. “Obviously, we aren’t having the conversation you think we are.”

  “She has a reputation for breaking hearts and being cruel about it,” he said, his voice louder than he liked, but he couldn’t help it.

  “At least she has a reputation and one that involves something other than being dull and lifeless!”

  His jaw dropped and he reared back a little. “Are you jealous of her?”

  One brow rose in his direction. “And if I am?”

  “Mary, you have so much more to offer than she does! Would you rather be the brunt of scorn and disdain than the ideal of respect and propriety?”

  “What I would like,” Mary said, sounding very much as though she were gritting her teeth, “is to be allowed to make my own decisions about my own life and behavior without reference to anybody else or their idea of me. Marianne Bray will never know what it feels like to stand in the corner of a ballroom and wish, just once, that someone she doesn’t know would dance with her for no other reason than because they want to. She will never know what it feels like to be passed over for someone more attractive or younger or better dressed. She will never understand what it feels like to be twenty-seven and never have a single man want to spend more than five minutes together in her company. And for that, yes, I envy her.”

  Geoffrey stared at her in stunned silence for a long moment. “Mary…” he finally said softly, reaching out.

  She held up a hand to stop him. “Spare me the pity, Geoff. I’m in no mood for it.”

  The carriage chose that precise moment to arrive at Mary’s home and she wasted no time extricating herself from the carriage and the situation without waiting for any aid. “Thank you for escorting me, Geoffrey. It was a most pleasant evening,” she said as she hurried away. “Good night.”

  “Good night,” he murmured, his brow furrowing as he stared after her. The evening had turned into quite a confusing one. They had never fought like that, had never even raised their voices at each other except in jest or calling over distances. And she had never accused him of pitying her, ever. Had he pitied her?

  He respected her right to do as she pleased, and certainly without any consideration for him, he had no claim on her at all. But their plan, his plan, if he were to be completely honest, had been to attend events together, watch her ever-improving acting skills doled out on Society, and then laugh about it on the carriage rides home. Yet here she was, enjoying herself and sorting out suitors, real suitors it appeared, and speaking of courtship.

  “Sir?” the coachman’s voice cut into his reverie. “Sir? Shall we make for home?”

  He looked up at him, only to realize that he was hanging halfway out of the carriage like an idiot and had been since Mary had bolted from it.

  “Yes, Dawes, home,” he instructed as he hastily reentered the carriage and took his seat.

  He didn’t like what was happening here. He did not like being pushed aside, particularly by his best friend. He did not like that he was so bothered by all of this, and he very much did not like that Mary was not.

  Her words about envying Marianne replayed in his mind. She had never expressed herself in such a passionate way before, and had never told him how Society’s treatment bothered her. He thought she had accepted it, had gotten over it, no longer cared. Now he could see that was far from the truth. She cared very much, as any other girl would. She just hid it within herself, kept her feelings inside, and put on a façade of indifference. And now she was through with hiding anything at all.

  His dark and sinking feelings returned as he continued home. Things were changing faster than he could keep up with and far more than he liked.

  Chapter Eleven

  He was frantically running down a London street with only one thing on his mind; he was late. He had no idea how he had gotten to this point, he was never late. Was he suitably dressed? He glanced down at himself to find that while he was technically wearing the appropriate attire, he had never been in more disarray in his entire life.

  He didn’t care.

  He was very late, and he was running out of time. He shoved open a heavy set of thick, wooden doors and turned the corner, his heart pounding so hard in his chest he could hardly breathe for the pain. He was running down the ancient stone corridor frantically, dodging in and out of faceless people, all dressed in their finery and talking so loudly he couldn’t hear himself think. The walls kept shifting and changing, becoming longer, thicker, taller, more like a maze than any building he had ever known.

  He had to get there in time. He had to.

  “You’re going to be late, Geoff,” came a low, scolding voice. Duncan? He turned to face his friend, but he was not there.

  No one was.

  Geoff’s eyes popped open and he found himself lying in his bed, just as he should be in the middle of the night. He sat up and wiped his brow, his arm coming away drenched in sweat. His chest ached as if he had actually been running through an endless corridor, and the panic… He had never felt emotion like that in his entire life. Which was entirely ridiculous, it had only been a dream about being late, and as much as he really did hate being late, he would never be so upset about it. Why should this dream give him such anxiety?

  He didn’t even know what he had been late for or what he had been doing or why it was so important. All he could remember was his sheer panic and terror at being too late.

  Geoff swung his legs off of the bed and shook his head. He didn’t normally dream so vividly. And he had never seen that corridor before. It had been old, almost falling apart, like some place they would have studied at school. Had he been in some ruins?

  He exhaled sharply and pushed himself up off of the bed, walking over to the grand windows facing the east. The sky was beginning to change to a pinkish hue, the remaining clouds still the thick purple of the night. It was morning, then, not night. All the better.

  He rubbed his hands over his face repeatedly, trying to scrub the night off of his face. He felt tense, ill at ease, anxious… It was almost as if he should find some warning in the dream he had just had.

  Geoff snorted and shook his head. Trying to find answers in a dream that he had had only once? It was preposterous. He must have still been agitated from his fight with Mary, nothing more.

  Mary was entertaining Marianne Bray along with her coterie of nitwitted admirers this morning. He frowned and moved to his bureau and pulled out a shirt and trousers, changing quickly in the dark. He would go for a ride, work out some of his agitation through exertion and fresh air, and then he would find something else to entertain his mind until the general populace would awaken.

  Anything to avoid thinking about what could happen today.

  He huffed in irritation and strode from the room, startling a few of the maids who were heading down to start the fires in the kitchen. He ignored them. There was entirely too much on his mind to concern himself with
the thought processes and gossip mongering of his staff.

  Mary had better behave herself today.

  Or she would be answering to him.

  “And so, of course, I said to Mr. Peters, ‘What care I for your books? If I wanted to live in a library, I should do so… provided I saw very few books and very little of you!’”

  The room erupted with laughter, and Mary attempted to join in, but really, she felt a little sick. Marianne had done nothing but tell stories about her suitors and behaviors, wherein the suitors were ridiculous and Marianne cold.

  It was working, she could see, as some of Mary’s own more sensitive admirers departed the room after a few stories from Marianne. It might not even take bad behavior from Mary herself to thin the throng. Being associated with Marianne on a more intimate level and not condemning her actions seemed to suffice.

  It had not taken long for her to see that Marianne was a good deal like Cassie and not in an admirable way. They were both over-emotional, highly impulsive, and prone to rash action. They were too young to understand consequences of their actions on a grander scale, and had no wish to adhere to the proper confines that had long kept Society thriving.

  In short, neither of them had any sense at all. But Mary couldn’t say the same thing about herself. She had spent the last eleven years of her life specifically cultivating good sense, the latter half of those years against her will. It was what made her such a well-thought-of fixture in certain circles. Mary Hamilton was a name that may not have commanded respect or amorous admiration in the past, but one could always expect good sense and proper behavior, and that was something of a rarity in London these days.

  She shook her head and looked over at Marianne, who was thriving in her element. What would it be like to be so confident and poised under the pressure of so much attention? Mary was still learning how to sit still in company such as this, let alone appear so collected.

  Marianne turned to her with a brilliant smile. “What about you, Miss Hamilton? What are your thoughts on books and literature and scholars?”

 

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