What a Spinster Wants - Rebecca Connolly Page 0,34
for a smile. “Well enough. It’s just… Amelia, my late husband’s cousin wants me to be his mistress. He calls frequently to renew his addresses, and while he has yet to make advances towards me there, he has made advances elsewhere. He controls my finances, as well. I do not live in finery, and my continuing to refuse him may make my situation worse. I dinna want to bring you into this unawares.”
There was no change to Amelia’s expression, then she reached for Edith’s hand and squeezed tightly. “If you can live in it, I can live in it, Edith. You shouldn’t have to face it alone, and if I can help in any way, I will.” She finally smiled, albeit ruefully. “I don’t mind telling you, but I’ve had a disappointment, far beyond what I thought I would. My mother, sweet though she is, will not leave me in peace, and the reliving of it all makes everything hurt more.”
“I can imagine,” Edith said softly, her mind racing back to her more innocent days in Scotland when she had romantic dreams and imagined beaus. Had she ever fancied a lad enough to find her heart broken in that way?
The only heartbreak she could recall was that of being betrayed by her family and forced down an aisle she would have fled from.
A cold shiver raced down her spine, and she shoved the dark memories away.
“Perhaps,” Amelia continued, “in staying with you, I will find the healing I need, and in helping you, distract myself from it all.” She smiled further still, looking bright again. “It sounds as though we are both suffering in some way. We might as well suffer together.”
Warmth spread from Edith’s chest out into the tips of her fingers, and she felt hope for the first time in ages. “I will confess to ye, lass; it will be lovely to have a friend in my home.”
Amelia nodded, her eyes bright. “And it will be lovely to me to be of use again. Shall I come tomorrow?”
Edith laughed once. “Aye, if ye please! I’ll have a room ready for you.”
“Finally,” Charlotte announced, entering with a tea tray in her hands, the others trailing behind her. “I’ve been hovering out there waiting for you both to agree to it. Now, can we please discuss the articles this week? Amelia, would you like to write as a guest? Sterling ladies, perhaps you might consider working together on something? Anything, really.”
Chapter Eight
A meeting of men is shrouded in mystery from ladies such as we. One can only imagine what is discussed in such goings-on, and whether it really should be such a mystery at all.
-The Spinster Chronicles, 16 June 1819
“It’s not that bad.”
“It is.”
“Tony, it’s not.”
“Cam, it is.”
“I can assure you, it’s not.”
“It is,” Tony Sterling insisted, flicking the ends of his cravat for emphasis. “It’s the most ridiculous bit of frippery I’ve ever seen. What was wrong with how I wore it before?”
Camden Vale exhaled heavily, turning the glass in his hand against the surface of the table. “I don’t care. It doesn’t matter. Is your wife pleased with it?”
“Yes…” came the reluctant response.
“Then shut up and wear the damned thing.”
Graham watched their exchange from a nearby table at the club, his own drink in hand. He hadn’t intended to interact with any of Lady Edith’s friends and associates today, having spent far too much time with the lot of them lately, but their paths did seem to cross inordinately frequently. And he was sitting alone for the present, Tyrone clearly having forgotten the time or the location of their meeting this afternoon.
No matter. His friend would likely have a decent enough excuse, and it wasn’t as though Graham had pressing engagements today.
He wished he did; a life of idleness and pleasure-seeking had never been one he wished for himself. The country was far more his taste. No one minded there if he worked alongside his tenants or just for the sake of it. No one cared if he didn’t dress finely or ride his horse across the lands for hours on end. No one expected him to be on display or to be aimlessly social.
Merrifield was his responsibility and where all his energies ought to be focused. Had he gained just Merrifield with his brother’s death, he would have had no reason to leave it. But the title required more from him, so here he was, sitting alone at a table in London.