Secrets of a Spinster

by Rebecca Connolly

She froze, her hand still in the process of adjusting her glove. But he noticed, ever so faintly, that her breathing became heavier.

  He wasn’t sure if that was favorable or not, but he continued. “I have always loved you, and I am fairly sure I always will. I’ve been an idiot, and I must ask… is there a chance for me?”

  “It’s my wedding day…” she said, her voice wavering.

  “There’s time,” he insisted. “If you love me, if you could ever love me, then we have all the time in the world.”

  At long last, she turned to face him.

  Mary’s lovely eyes were filled with sadness, the sheen of tears beginning to form.

  He held out a hand to her, feeling his heart lurch to his throat. “Mary, please,” he pleaded, his voice hoarse. “I love you. Come away with me. Run away with me now. Leave all of this. Leave him… Come home with me.”

  Her eyes were unreadable amidst the tears. She stared at him for the longest moment, so long he lost count of the number of heartbeats that thudded against his ribs. A solitary tear silently rolled down her pale cheek.

  She drew in a quivering breath. “It’s too late, Geoff.”

  His heart stopped in his chest and his knees faltered.

  Mary wiped her cheek and glided past him. As he turned to watch, she halted, turned, and laid a perfect hand along his face. “It’s too late,” she said again, her voice soft and delicate.

  She turned then and exited the room, the triumphant sounds of the church organ suddenly blaring into the joyous notes of processional.

  The door closed behind her, before he realized it had even moved. He turned, only to hear it lock. “No!” he cried as his heart surged again. He ran to the door, banged on it with all of his might. It was not too late. He could not be too late. Not for her, not for this.

  “Mary!” he bellowed, beating the door with his fists. “Mary, no! I love you! Mary!”

  Geoff surged up from his bed with a strangled cry, completely disoriented in the dark of the room. Where was she? Where was she? His chest heaved with his breaths, still exhausted from running those corridors. And his heart…

  It took him several moments of frantically turning his head to realize that it had only been a dream. He hadn’t run the corridor any more than he had any other night he had dreamed it. There was no reason to panic, not single solitary one. Mary wasn’t here, she wasn’t getting married, and he was most certainly not too late.

  “Too late?” he muttered to himself. “Too late for what?” He shook his head and swung his feet off of the bed, put a hand to his now-throbbing head, and heaved up to his feet.

  The fire in the grate was nothing but coals now, which meant it was still the middle of the night. He grunted and sat in the chair before the fire, stoking the coals until a few flames flickered.

  He stared at them for a long while, then sat back and put his hands over his now clean-shaven face. He had no idea his frantic corridor run would lead him to Mary, let alone in such a situation. How could he have? Weeks of the same dream over and over with no resolution, all to culminate in this?

  “Ridiculous,” he grunted with a snort and shake of his head. He dropped his hands and sighed. “Get a hold of yourself, man. You cannot be dreaming this, cannot keep panicking like this. There is no reason. Just because she’s furious with you and you are in love her doesn’t mean…”

  He stopped suddenly, his eyes widening, his throat constricting. What had he just said?

  He was in love with her? How was that even possible?

  Yet instantly he knew it was true. Had always known it.

  He loved her. Of course he loved her, how could he not?

  He laughed once, breathless with the momentous realization, feeling his chest expand with delight. Then he covered his face again and groaned. He was, without a doubt, the biggest idiot that had ever walked God’s earth.

  He couldn’t condone her consorting with other men because he had always considered her his. It wasn’t vanity, it was nothing more or less than the fact that he loved her, and there could not be any other man for her but him.

  Except he had just ruined that.

  It really was too late.

  He groaned and bent forward, his hands gripping his hair. Why had he been so stupid? She had every reason to hate him now and forevermore.

  But he would do what his friends had suggested. He would do everything in his power to somehow apologize, on bended knee if she asked him, and then spend every day proving that he valued their friendship above all else, that she meant more to him than his pride.

  That he loved her, if he could.

  He leaned his head back against the chair and shut his eyes.

  He was the world’s most pathetic fool.

  Chapter Seventeen

  He was running again, but this time it was no dream. He was properly dressed, his shoes did not skid, and there was no corridor about him. He could have waited for the carriage, but it would have taken too long. His heart thudded in his chest and his fingers clenched more tightly around the note in his hand.

  It was a short missive, nothing out of the ordinary. He could recall the exact words as he had read it hundreds of times in half of the seconds;

  If you could be so good as to come to call upon us at your earliest convenience, it would be most appreciated.

  Mary

  It was perfectly polite, and gave no indication of emotion of any kind.

  To anyone else, perhaps.

  But Geoffrey Harris had received thousands of notes from Mary Hamilton over their lengthy friendship and he knew the exact form of her writing and penmanship. These words had the slightest tremble to them and the alignment was poor. Mary had the steadiest hand of anyone he had ever known. Something was terribly wrong.

  That had sent him flying about his house like a madman, calling for his brother to inform him what he was about, his valet to finish dressing him, and his butler to inquire after the carriage, only to be told it was not prepared and would take time. So, with no more ado than that which he had already created, he had fled the house on foot and run for it.

  Finally her home was in sight and he ran faster, willing his mind to not conjure up disaster without cause.

  He rang the bell and attempted to collect himself. The door was swung open and Winston let him in, looking as though he had been expecting Geoff to arrive exactly as he was.

  “Winston,” Geoff said, ignoring the way he was panting. “Where is she?”

  “Geoff?”

  He heard the gasp of his name and whirled. She stood in the hall, her eyes wide and red rimmed, her complexion drawn, her face haggard. He had never seen anything so lovely in all his life.

  “Mary,” he managed to force out.

  Her throat constricted visibly. “You… you came.”

  He swallowed with no small amount of difficulty. “Of course, I came,” he said softly as Winston made himself scarce. “How could I not?”

  Her chin quivered and she ducked her head as her shoulders heaved with a single sob. Instantly he moved towards her and gathered her into his arms.

  “Oh, Mary, what is it?” he asked, holding her as she trembled. “What’s wrong?”

  She shook her head and pushed back to look up at him. “It’s not me, I’m well enough. I didn’t send for you for me…” She looked away and shut her eyes.

  His chest tightened. “Heavens above, Mary, what is it?”

  He noticed then how her hair was simply plaited, her dress was rumpled, and her eyes puffy besides their redness. She looked absolutely exhausted. She faltered slightly against him, and he took greater hold of her.

  “Have you slept at all?” he asked quietly.

  She shook her head.

  He led her over to pair of chairs against a wall and helped her sit, while he took the other. Then he took her cold hand in his.

  “Mary, what is it?” he asked again, his voice gentle and calm.

  She looked towards the darkened drawing room, whose do
or was ajar. Geoff followed her gaze but could see nothing within, and he wasn’t about to leave her side until he knew everything.

  “Cassie received a letter last night,” Mary said at last. “From Felicity Wyndham.”

  Geoff felt a curl of dread begin in the pit of his stomach.

  “It appears that Lieutenant Wyndham’s ship has been lost at sea.” Mary’s voice wavered slightly. “Sunk somewhere around the Spanish coast, it is presumed. They’ve not recovered any survivors as yet.”

  “Oh no…” Geoff looked towards the room again, and this time he could see a lone figure sitting before the fire.

  Mary swallowed hard. “She has been up all night, and so have I. I cannot get her to eat or to drink, and she won’t even think of sleep. She is barely speaking a word, except when she cries. I’ve been unable to console or comfort her with any success. Geoff…” She shook her head and looked at him. “I didn’t know who else to send for.”

  He searched her tired, tear-stained face for a moment, aching for her aches. He nodded and squeezed her hand. Then he rose and softly entered the drawing room.

  The curtains were all drawn, letting in only the faintest degree of light from the morning outside. No candles were lit, and only the sound of the low fire crackling could be heard. Cassie stared into the fire, her hair in disarray, a shawl draped around her shoulders, but she didn’t seem to notice.

  She gave no indication that she saw Geoffrey as he came around and sank down before her. He reached for one of her hands, colder than ice and as limp as a rag doll, and held it tightly.

  “Cassie,” he said softly, trying in vain to get her to look at him. “Cassie, I am so very sorry.”

  She said nothing for a long moment, her eyes vacant. “He’s gone,” she finally said, her lips barely moving, her voice weak.

  He squeezed her hand. “I know, pet.”

  “I loved him.”

  “I know.”

  She inhaled, her breath catching as she did so, and her face tightened. “I’ll never… never see him again. No one will. I will never be able to tell him that I loved him… that I m-missed him. That I will always love him.” Her whole body trembled with her suddenly erratic breathing. “He’s g-gone…”

  Stray tears fell from her eyes, but she didn’t seem to feel them.

  Geoffrey could not take this and seized both of her hands. “Tell me how to help you, Cassie,” he pleaded earnestly. “Tell me what to do, anything, and I will.”

  She shook her head frantically, her breath catching, tears still absently falling. “There’s nothing to be done. There’s nothing anyone can do. Nothing.” Her chin quivered and she erupted into pathetic, heart-wrenching sobs, and buried her face into her hands. Geoff immediately gathered her up into his arms and she clung to him like a child.

  He soothed her softly, murmuring words of comfort and solace. He rose from the floor, holding her tightly, and moved to the sofa, cradling her in his lap, content to let her cry as long as she needed to.

  Mary jerked awake for no apparent reason and blinked hard, her head still fuzzy. Her chair in the hallway was not comfortable in the least, so it spoke to her exhaustion that she had somehow managed to drift off at all. She craned her neck to one side, then the other, wincing at the stiffness that had set in. She couldn’t hear anything but the ticking of the clock near her and stilled as she realized what that meant. There was nothing resembling sobs or sniffles coming from the drawing room.

  She rose silently from the chair and went to the doorway, peering into the darkened room.

  Geoffrey was sitting on the sofa, staring into the fire, Cassie still in his arms, her eyes closed.

  Mary released a sigh of relief, and Geoff heard it, slowly turning his head to look at her.

  “She’s sleeping at last,” he told her softly, readjusting the arm around Cassie’s back. “Though it took quite a while to get there.”

  Mary nodded, a lump forming in her throat that she struggled to swallow. “Thank you, Geoff,” she finally said. She swallowed again and took a deep breath, “After the things I said to you, I did not…” She couldn’t even finish the thought. She didn’t know if he would come. She wouldn’t have blamed him if he didn’t.

  And yet he had come. With no explanation at all, he had come running, despite everything. She didn’t deserve a friend like him. If they still were friends.

  “Mary.”

  She looked up at his gentle use of her name, and found him smiling softly at her, holding out his free hand.

  “Come here,” he said, flexing his fingers ever so slightly.

  Blinking back tears, she came and took his hand, sitting beside him on the sofa.

  “I don’t want to hear another word about that,” he said firmly, giving her hand a tight squeeze. “I have treated you horribly, and you had every right in the world to toss me out of the house and worse. I need to apologize.”

  “No,” she instantly argued, shaking her head.

  “Yes,” he insisted, his eyes silencing her. “Yes, Mary, I do. I am sorry, so deeply sorry, for all that I have said and all that I did to make you unhappy. It’s unforgivable, one does not treat friends this way.”

  Mary’s heart twitched with the faint stirrings of hope and she looked into his face eagerly. “Are we still friends, then?”

  He gazed at her with a soft smile, then took the hand he held and brought it to his lips for a long moment. “You are my best friend, Mary Hamilton,” he said as he squeezed her hand once more. “And you always will be.”

  The warmth that suddenly radiated from her heart coursed through her limbs and she could not help but to smile broadly at him. Her exhaustion evaporated and she felt as though she could run the streets of London without once feeling the least bit winded. He returned her smile with one of his own, and she felt, ever so briefly, the all-too-familiar twinge of butterflies in her stomach. She pushed that away immediately. She had just got her best friend back, she was not going to ruin the moment with long-forgotten romantic whims.

  Cassandra shifted slightly, moaning sleepily and tucking herself more securely against Geoff.

  They looked down at her, then back at each other with a bit of a smile.

  “Do you think she will sleep in her bed?” Mary asked, pushing a bit of Cassie’s hair out of her face.

  “Probably,” Geoff replied, grinning. “She’s quite soundly asleep.”

  Mary looked up at him. “Can you carry her up?”

  He gave her a look. “She’s smaller than you are and I’ve carried you.”

  “Not in years,” Mary reminded him with a bit of a snort as she rose and backed away to give him space.

  He shrugged, tightened his hold around her sister, and rose fluidly. “Close enough. You haven’t changed that much.”

  Mary shook her head, astonished at how quickly they had managed to pick back up where they had left off. It was as if the last few weeks had never happened, and she found she was perfectly content with that.

  They slowly made their way up to Cassandra’s bedchamber, accompanied by Mrs. Evansdale, who seemed to be on the verge of tears every time she looked at Cassie. They entered the room and Geoff gently set Cassie on the bed.

  “I’ll leave you to it,” he told Mary softly, backing away.

  She seized his arm. “Don’t leave,” she ordered, knowing she sounded severe, but not particularly caring.

  He smiled and patted her hand, then removed it from his arm. “I’ll wait in the drawing room.” He nodded at Mrs. Evansdale, then left without another word.

  Mary blew a puff of breath at a strand of hair in her face, and shook her head. She didn’t want him to leave just yet, not when things had been so bad between them.

  She looked down at her sister, finally at peace after hours of so much turmoil, and sighed. Everything would have to change now. She could hardly stay and play debutante with Cassie hurting so, and the gossip would only get worse. Whatever games she had played, they were at an end now.


  She worked silently with Mrs. Evansdale to change Cassie out of her dress from the day before and slip her beneath the bedcovers, then she turned her attention to the situation at hand.

  Geoffrey.

  She made her way back down the stairs, steeling herself and forcing her breathing to be natural. Geoff was her friend. He would help her decide what to do, and the misunderstandings of the past would be forgotten. If she could forget the look in his eyes when they danced or the heat of the moment that night of the riddles, nothing about Geoffrey would make her uncomfortable at all.

  She hoped, at any rate.

  He was in the drawing room, as promised, but the room could not have looked more different. The fire had been built up and the curtains pulled back, illuminating the room in a morning glow that made her wince a little. Geoffrey had pulled Cassandra’s chair away from the grate and moved it to its typical position near the divan, and he was now sitting on the sofa he had so recently vacated.

  He smiled fondly at her as she entered and rose.

  “Oh, sit down,” she said with a laugh, waving at him. “This is not a social occasion, no need for formalities.”

  His smile grew into his reckless grin she so adored, and he sat back down. “If you insist.”

  She sat on the other sofa opposite him, but matched his position, leaning one elbow on the armrest. She let her smile fade, and she glanced at the fire. “Thank you for what you did for Cassie. She was so distraught, and you’ve always been able to put her to rights.”

  “There’s no need to thank me for that,” he murmured. “I only wish I could do more.”

  Mary nodded, understanding only too well. “I don’t know what else there is to do. The Wyndhams were so angry with her before, which crushed her, and now that he is gone…” She shook her head, willing fresh tears away. “I don’t know if she will ever recover.”

  Geoff made a noncommittal sound, frowning as he stared off at nothing.

  “What?” Mary asked, seeing his expression. “What are you thinking?”

  “Do we…” He paused, as if trying to phrase it properly. He looked out of the room, then back at her. “Do we know that he was aboard?” he asked in a very soft voice. “I mean do we definitely know that he was lost with the rest?”