Spinster Ever After

by Rebecca Connolly

  Of course, she knew the answer.

  She had been enjoying the life of a spinster, in which there was no harm or sin, but now she had nothing but the fortune and beauty she had been born with to show for it.

  She had her friends, of course, but her friends were not here. Which brought her back to the situation at hand.

  Charlotte groaned and turned away from the window, glowering at the empty parlor. This was how her thoughts had been of late; always going round and round until they came right back to the same problem, the same defenses, the same process of consideration. She had not gotten anywhere, and her lack of intelligence in this area was more maddening than the situation itself.

  Surely there was someone who could give her some insight.

  Georgie was tending her son, who had managed to come down with a cold. Prue was in her confinement. Izzy was unwell, which likely meant she, too, would have a blessed announcement shortly. Grace was taking tea with her mother, which undoubtedly could have been pushed off. Edith was in Scotland with her new husband, most assuredly reveling in bliss. And Elinor…

  Charlotte shuddered, rubbing at her brow. Elinor was spending time with her husband, she had said. That was undoubtedly the worst possible excuse of them all, considering the identity of the aforementioned husband.

  Idiotic girl.

  She could have invited Kitty Morton, she supposed, but Kitty, bless her, was not much for company on her own.

  Where was Michael when she needed him?

  She pursed her lips, calculating quickly. He ought to be back in London by now; if she sent for him, it may prove fruitful. He had been gone far too long, leaving her to resort to keeping more company with Hensh. It was not good for a lady to spend much time in the company of a single man she has no intention of marrying.

  Or so she had been told.

  Hensh was like a brother to her, and Michael was, too. More so, even, for Michael had been her friend since they were children. And he scolded her like a brother, as if there needed to be more discipline in her life.

  Not that her own brother had scolded her, for Charles was far too obtuse and obsessed with his own entertainment to care about her antics. Unless they interfered with his wishes, and then they would have a perfectly frightful row until he gave in and stormed off.

  They were due for another soon.

  But yes, she could send for Michael. If nothing else, she could regale him with tales of all that he missed while he was away. He wasn’t as dedicated to Society as she was, but he was just as informed. His opinions on the recent actions they had taken for Edith, for example, would be most interesting to hear. He had been away for their attempts to show her off in Society, for their escape to Lord Radcliffe’s country estate, and for the dramatic manner in which Edith had finally been freed from her lascivious cousin by marriage. It seemed impossible that he could have missed so much, or that he could have stayed away so long, and yet…

  Settling it in her mind, Charlotte rose and moved to the door of her parlor.

  “Annie! Annie, are you still out there?”

  “Yes, Miss Wright!” came the distant reply. Footsteps soon echoed in the corridor.

  “No, don’t come to me,” Charlotte called back. “Will you see that Mr. Sandford is sent for, please?”

  “Yes, Miss Wright!”

  “Charlotte, must you bellow?” her mother moaned from somewhere nearby in the house.

  Charlotte grinned, eyeing the massive ancestral portraits hanging on the walls above her as though her mother were among them. “You bellowed too, Mama!”

  “Lottie, leave Mother alone,” her father’s voice echoed, his amusement evident.

  “Sorry, Papa!” Charlotte snorted a laugh, covering her mouth.

  “You are all mad!” Charles hollered, no humor to be heard in his voice.

  Rolling her eyes, Charlotte ducked back into her parlor and flopped onto a divan. There were not as many benefits to having a fine house if they all stayed in rooms close enough to hear each other. It was trouble enough to manage privacy with their ingrained level of curiosity, but to be cloistered in such proximity?

  She adored London, but one must surely go to the country to find any space to breathe.

  Her eyes widened. She must truly be bored beyond reason if she was wishing herself at Brancombe Park. The place was expansive, sprawling even, but it was also in the middle of Oxfordshire with nothing at all to amuse anybody for ten miles around it.

  Unless one enjoyed quaint villages, busybodies, and hordes of local children that seemed to increase in number at an exponential rate. Her annual visits with the family had long given Charlotte the opinion that the village of Cambryn was in desperate need of a gamekeeper to control the number of locals. And perhaps to stock some strapping men of a certain attractiveness to work at the blacksmith’s or stride out in regimentals or farm the lands.

  She’d never marry one of them, but at least the drive through Cambryn would be more appealing.

  It was not long after her note had been sent that Michael was announced, and Charlotte picked up a book to hide her grin and her state of utter boredom.

  “What are we reading today?” Michael asked, striding into the room with his usual easy lope.

  Charlotte pointedly turned a page. “Shh. This is the best part.”

  “I’m sure it is. And if I actually thought you were reading, I’d ask you to read it aloud so that we both might enjoy it. But since you were not actually reading, and your eyes are not actively moving across the page, I’ll thank you to lower the book and tell me what I’m doing here.”

  Slowly, Charlotte lowered the book, scowling darkly at her oldest friend. “You are distinctly less entertaining than when you left, Michael.”

  Michael’s clear blue eyes surveyed her without rancor, his mouth quirked in the slight smile he was never without. “I’ve never been known for my entertainment value.”

  “No surprises there.” Charlotte tilted her head at him, smiling in earnest now. He had been gone several months, and it was remarkable how pleased she felt at seeing him now.

  He, at least, wasn’t married. There was that.

  “How was the country?” Charlotte asked, softening even in her pretense of cynicism and indignation. “And your family?”

  If Michael noticed anything, he kept his opinions to himself. He only smiled at her question. “Perfectly quaint, if you must know. My sisters much prefer the country to London, and I think my brother may turn out to be a great sportsman.” He chuckled and shook his head. “He’s already a better shot than me.”

  Charlotte smirked. “Good for Peter. Did your mother try to convince you to stay again?”

  He nodded, still looking almost whimsical. “Of course. And took me to several events in the surrounding area, introducing me to any young woman over the age of sixteen.”

  “It’s fortunate she is not desperate,” Charlotte muttered dryly, a feeling of disgust welling up. “One might do something drastic otherwise.”

  Michael snorted a laugh. “Quite. But, alas, none of the young ladies were to my liking. Pleasant enough, but…” He shrugged, unconcerned by his apparent failure.

  The irony between his lot and Charlotte’s was not lost on her.

  “How many young ladies of adequate fortune and breeding are there in Oxfordshire?” Charlotte lifted a dubious brow. “And how many of those possess fair enough looks to be really considered?”

  “You’d be surprised,” Michael assured her. “I was. Pleasantly.”

  She frowned. “Not pleasantly enough, evidently. Was she very cross that you returned to London?”

  He shook his head, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair absently. “Not at all. It is during the Season, after all, and she expects that. I promised to return to them in the autumn, so I have no doubt she will run me through my paces again.”

  “She’ll have you married by Christmas.”

  “Very likely.”

  They shared a bemus
ed look, knowing that it wouldn’t happen, no matter what his mother said or did. Michael had no inclination to marry, had never courted anybody, and, as far as Charlotte knew, had never even considered such a thing.

  Other than the one time.

  But that was ages ago.

  “Charlotte…” Michael said slowly, his voice both teasing and prodding.

  She pursed her lips, only answering with a questioning look.

  His expression was all too knowing, and his eternal patience was in full force. “What’s wrong?”

  Closing her eyes, Charlotte exhaled, feeling a strange tension begin to whirl in her chest. “Nothing at all.”

  “Try again.”

  Her eyes squeezed more tightly shut, willing the emotion she’d hidden to stay as such. “No.”

  “Charlotte.”

  How did he do that? How did he see through her fortress of defenses and through her deferrals into the truth of her feelings? He’d been able to do so for years, with such accuracy that she was convinced that, at times, he was the only one who could see her.

  She had plenty of friends, the best of which were like sisters.

  But Michael was different. He always had been.

  “I’m not married,” Charlotte admitted in a whisper.

  The silence in the room was almost deafening.

  “Are you supposed to be?” Michael asked slowly.

  She glanced over at him, managing to smile at the sight of his abject confusion. “No. And yes. All of the Spinsters are now, and…” she bit her lip, shrugging, “I’ve been left behind.”

  Michael’s brow furrowed, and he straightened in his chair before leaning forward. “I don’t think they’ve done so on purpose. It’s natural to bind themselves to their husbands.”

  “I know that.” She flicked her hand in a quick gesture. “What’s more, I like their husbands. I understand why they’ve done it, and I encouraged it. It’s just… I don’t know. I feel the strangest sense of loss, Michael.”

  “But you haven’t lost anyone,” he pointed out. “You still see your friends all the time, don’t you?”

  Charlotte nodded. “I do. And we still write the Chronicles, but everything is different now. We can no longer be the same friends as we have been. Everything has changed.”

  She shook her head, looking down at her fingers now resting in her lap. “They have husbands who need them, and children, in some cases. The freedom to do as we please whenever we please is gone. I am not among the first in their thoughts.”

  Pausing, Charlotte scoffed to herself. “Not me, you understand. Not alone, but us... We. The collective Spinsters. Of a truth, Michael, I have never minded being a spinster, especially not when I had such friends around me in the same straits. But now I find that I alone remain, and I wonder if I wasn’t grossly mistaken in finding satisfaction as I was, for now I feel so terribly alone.”

  Her voice broke very slightly at the end, and she clenched her fingers together, as though it could somehow strengthen her.

  “I’m sorry, Charlotte,” Michael murmured, his voice low and soothing. “I never thought… Never considered that you’d feel like this.”

  She shook her head, forcing a lightness back into her tone. “Nor did I. I’m an heiress, it does not particularly matter if I marry or not. I’ve always known this. Ironically, if I hadn’t made friends with the other girls and grown so close, I’d likely not care that they had gotten married off. Everybody does, after all.”

  “Not everybody,” Michael insisted. He raised a dark brow at her. “You know that.”

  “Clearly.” She rolled her eyes and huffed. “Most everybody does, and it’s hardly a surprise that they do so. But it never quite occurred to me that the Spinsters would.”

  He grunted once. “Did it not?

  “Even Elinor got a husband! Elinor, Michael!” She shook her head, sputtering. “If you can call that a husband.”

  Michael exhaled noisily, not nearly as upset about the thing as he ought to have been. “So what are you going to do, Charlotte? I’m assuming you already have some sort of plan to recover yourself.”

  Charlotte lifted her chin, smiling with a calm she did not feel as she prepared to speak her plan aloud. “I have.”

  “And?”

  “I’m getting a husband.”

  Chapter Two

  Far be it from this author to tell anyone how to behave, but it seems that one’s reaction to surprising news ought to be restrained and words carefully chosen, lest offense be given. Privately, however, one may hold any number of opinions on the subject, in word and expression.

  -The Spinster Chronicles, 17 October 1816

  “Explain it to me again.”

  “It’s simple enough.”

  “Yes, but I need to hear it again.”

  “I’m getting a husband.”

  Michael Sandford blinked, blinked again, then shook his head. “Right, that’s not getting any clearer.” He exhaled roughly, wondering if Charlotte had truly lost her mind this time.

  She was getting a husband? How? Where?

  “Who?” he asked, his voice dipping as something sharp lanced through his chest.

  Charlotte’s brow furrowed, shielding her dark eyes slightly from view. “Well, I’m not sure yet.”

  “You’re…” The tension eased slightly, but Michael stared at his oldest friend without any actual comprehension. “Charlotte, you aren’t making any sense, and normally that doesn’t bother me, but this is really too much.”

  She sneered at him, then sobered. “What’s so complicated about it? I’ve simply decided that it is time I marry, and I am determined to do so. I’m not set on a man, given I haven’t seen many worth considering since I’ve made my decision, but I will make a concentrated effort from this moment on to find a husband.”

  Michael could only shake his head, bringing a hand to his brow. “Haven’t you been absolutely avoiding that? You turned down fourteen proposals, after all.”

  “Fifteen.”

  He looked over at her in surprise. He was positive he knew every one of them, she’d kept him very well informed over the years.

  Charlotte blushed slightly but met his eyes. “I still count yours.”

  Nothing could have prepared him for that. After all these years, they had never once discussed that day. He’d never forgotten his folly, but she had never reminded him of it.

  She counted it? Why would she tell him that? Why now? Why ever?

  “Serious proposals, Charlotte,” he recovered with a snort he hoped would hide his shock. “Legitimate ones.”

  She held up her hands, smiling at some private joke. “Fair enough.” But she quickly sobered and became markedly interested in the nails of her fingers. “It may not make sense to anyone else, Michael, including you, but I’ve made the decision to do this. Edith said something to me some time ago, and it has haunted me ever since.”

  “Edith did?” Michael repeated. “I find that hard to believe.”

  Charlotte immediately shook her head. “It wasn’t cruel, that isn’t in Edith’s nature. It was simple candor, and I can neither forget it, nor deny it.”

  Michael blinked at that, the raw honesty in Charlotte’s voice, without the amusement or fire so in her nature, taking him as off guard as her suggestion had. “What was it?”

  A sad smile appeared on her full lips. “She told me that she did not think I had really tried all that hard to find a husband.”

  The words hung in the air between them, and Michael scrambled within himself for the correct response to the statement. He wanted to tell her it wasn’t true, that Edith was mistaken in her well-meaning words, that he had seen Charlotte entertaining suitors and the like. But Michael had never lied to Charlotte, and he wouldn’t start now.

  “I can see that,” he said after a moment, careful not to look at Charlotte as he did so. “She’s not wrong.”

  “I know.”

  He glanced at her then, unable to resist. “You do?”
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  Charlotte nodded, the dark falls of her half-bound hair concealing most of her face as she continued her study of the tip of each finger. “I have entertained suitors, it is true, and an outsider would think these my efforts, and perhaps they would seem sufficient. Despite my wit, intelligence, and influence, I could not give you half of the names of those who have admired me over the years. I barely remember their faces.”

  “You never were very good at that,” Michael admitted with a rueful chuckle. “That was one of the reasons I lingered at the edges of your circle.”

  “Yes, you were vastly helpful there.” She lifted her chin, and Michael caught a glimpse of a whimsical smile. “Entertained would be the best word to describe what I have been and what I have done with my time. I have been entertained, and I have entertained. I’m an heiress, so what need had I to give effort?”

  There were no words for any of this in Michael’s view. Charlotte had clarity of vision where her life and behavior were concerned, and always had, but this? This was an unburdening of the deepest secrets, and the overturning of every stone within the fortress of her soul.

  And for what? Out of loneliness? Envy? Regret? None of those things would have suited Charlotte Wright, and he knew it well. It had to be something else. Something stronger than them altogether.

  “Why didn’t I even look?” Charlotte whispered harshly, and he thought for a moment there might have been tears in her voice, though he’d never be sure. “What if he was there all along and I wasn’t seeing him?”

  The irony in that statement would have made him laugh had it not chilled him.

  “Charlotte…” He paused, wetting his lips, willing the tingling in his fingers to subside. “Are you afraid?”

  Slowly, she looked over at him, her eyes wide. “Don’t tell,” she rasped, looking and sounding very young.

  He rose and was to her in an instant, crouching before her and taking her hands. “Of course not!” He gave her what he hoped was a consoling smile. “Who would I have to tell, anyway?”