What a Spinster Wants - Rebecca Connolly Page 0,60

the walls.

As it was, the whole place felt particularly comfortable to her, as opposed to many fine houses that seemed more a display of finery.

Tapestries hung along the southern wall, and Edith found herself admiring each. It seemed that the Radcliffe family had a taste for legends, as she could see Robin of the Hood, King Arthur, and St. George with his dragon among the stories portrayed. The work was impeccable, though there were signs of aging in each, if one looked close enough.

This was no home on display for the fine Society of London. This was a family home in every respect.

Which begged the question: why had it been so very popular among them?

Edith frowned in thought as she continued to explore, moving further into the house. She passed two parlors and a breakfast room, then paused at the sight of a woman standing out on the terrace. The grand windows at the rear of the house, which belonged to no room to speak of, offered an unhindered view of the terrace, and the woods and gardens beyond.

There hadn’t been others arriving when Edith had, apart from the rest of her party, and she wasn’t aware that anyone else had come since their arrival. There was something about this woman that made Edith curious.

She stood at the railing, a deep blue shawl wrapped around her slender frame. Fair hair barely contained in a low chignon, stray locks dancing on the breeze, and a pale complexion provided such a contrast to Lord Radcliffe that it seemed impossible for her to be a sister of his.

Searing pain lanced at Edith’s throat, and her hand flew there as if to soothe it. Could it be that Lord Radcliffe had a wife?

She had never asked; he had never said. Their limited conversation hadn’t provided an opportunity to express such things, and all that her friends had told her had been related to the title, not the man. The tragedy of his brother, but not himself.

The woman turned then, her dark eyes falling on Edith almost at once, leaving her no opportunity to flee undetected. She smiled at Edith, a warm and gentle smile, though Edith felt no comfort from it.

“Jings crivvens, help ma boab,” Edith muttered as she forced a smile and strode forward.

There was no help for it now.

The fair woman was remarkably pretty, though clearly older than Edith or any of the Spinsters. She moved to a door close by, entering the house.

“Good morning, my dear. Have you made yourself comfortable?”

Edith smiled, the low tone of the woman’s voice settling on her rather like a sip of brandy might have done. “Aye, that I have. I canna take a rest after riding in the carriage so long, so I fancied a walk. I hope ye dinnae mind,” she said.

“You’re Lady Edith,” came the bemused reply, the smile turning almost mischievous.

“I am,” Edith admitted, her cheeks heating. “It isna hard to tell, in some respects.”

That brought a light giggle from the other woman. “No, it is not.” She stepped forward and smiled further still. “I’m Lady Eloise Hastings. For better or worse, I suppose I am the mistress of Merrifield.” She shook her head on another laugh. “My nephew is Lord Radcliffe.”

“Nephew?” Edith exclaimed before she could stop herself. “How is that…? I mean, my lady, you canna be old enough for that.”

“Thank you very much,” Lady Eloise said with a playful curtsey. “I am his father’s much, much, much…” her eyes widened for emphasis, making Edith grin, “younger sister. Not even a dozen years in difference between my age and Graham’s. I might as well be a sister.” She turned her head to cough weakly, though it seemed to take a deal out of her to do so.

Edith stepped forward, a hand instinctively going to Lady Eloise’s arm. “Lady Eloise, are you unwell?”

She waved a hand. “Just Eloise, please,” she managed between a pair of weak coughs. “I have never been one for unnecessary syllables in addressing me.”

“Eloise, then,” Edith amended. “And ye may call me Edith, ma’am, if it please ye.”

“It would.” Eloise grinned at her, then dabbed a handkerchief at her throat. “And no, I’m not unwell… Simply not especially well.” Her smile softened, and her color heightened just a touch. “I’m afraid good health has not been my companion throughout my life. Delicate, I believe they call it, though I hardly find that flattering.”

Edith rubbed her arm gently, attempting to soothe what she knew she could not. “Would