Secrets of a Spinster Read online

  Secrets

  of a

  Spinster

  by

  Rebecca Connolly

  Also by

  Rebecca Connolly

  An Arrangement of Sorts

  Married to the Marquess

  Coming Soon

  The Dangers of Doing Good

  Also from

  Phase Publishing

  by

  Emily Daniels

  Devlin's Daughter

  If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped” book.

  Text copyright © 2016 by Rebecca Connolly

  Cover art copyright © 2016 by Rebecca Connolly

  Cover art by Tugboat Design

  http://www.tugboatdesign.net

  All rights reserved. Published by Phase Publishing, LLC. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher.

  Phase Publishing, LLC first paperback edition

  June 2016

  ISBN 978-1-943048-08-3

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2016940389

  Cataloging-in-Publication Data on file.

  Acknowledgements

  To my beautiful, talented, and incredibly brave Aunt Laurie, who has always supported and loved me, understood me on a very special level, and inspires me on a daily basis. For your courage and your faith, for your ability to find joy even in the darkest times, and for the light and laughter you bring to the family. I am honored and beyond blessed to know you, and to have you in my life forever.

  And to Cadbury’s Royal Dark Mini Eggs, as a massive apology for my ignorance to the existence of such a radiant gift. You are addictive, guilt-inducing, and divine. And I adore you without shame.

  Thanks and cheers to Chris Bailey and Phase Publishing for all of the craziness they patiently endure in working with me and keeping things running smoothly. Deborah Bradseth with Tugboat Design for an exquisite cover that makes everything perfect.

  Whitney Hinckley for enduring the stress that is editing of my stuff and still liking me in spite of it. The A-Team for indulging in my whimsy and obsessive behaviors and plying me with Snickers when I get hangry.

  Thanks to the family for all your support and excitement. You’re my favorite.

  And finally, thanks and chocolate kisses to my Musketeers. You know I’d be lost without you, and all of the cheesecake in the world couldn’t make up for it. Well, maybe some cheesecake. Let’s be real.

  Index

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  London, 1819

  There was something to be said for being a spinster.

  It allowed one to escape from tiresome wretches and fawning fools, as nobody universally declared a spinster was of the smallest bit of interest to anybody. One could listen to all manner of conversations without anyone thinking anything of it at all, which made for delightful gossip, should anyone have cared to ask.

  Party invitations were few and far between, which was usually quite a relief as very few parties were actually worth attending. Balls were opportunities to secretly snicker at those who couldn’t dance, and to observe the attempts of nearly every person from sixteen to forty-five to gain the affections of a member of the opposite sex. Nobody called, nobody wrote, and one could move about quite freely without the merest sniff of a scandal. It was quite liberating.

  Unless, of course, one had the desire for attention or parties or dancing or visitors.

  Then it could be quite lonely.

  But those moments were exceptionally rare for Mary Hamilton. She rather enjoyed the quiet and being left to her own devices. And really, she was so well thought of that she received a good many more invitations than your average spinster, though not enough for her to consider herself popular.

  Take this evening for example. Here she stood, aimlessly lingering along the western wall of the very fine ballroom in the home of Lord and Lady Carteret, whom she had only met possibly once in her entire life. She had very nearly declined their invitation, but her sister had been driving her so completely mad the whole of the winter that an early spring soiree was a welcome distraction, and she accepted, against her better judgment.

  The melee of the dance was a welcome reprieve from the plaintive whining of home.

  Mary sighed a little to herself as she took her thoughts away from her sister and attempted to appear interested in what was going on around her. She would have to give a full report when she returned, and experience had taught her that the particulars were important. She began cataloguing various details; Lord Frampton’s ill-fitting waistcoat, Miss Dawes’ shocking neckline, Mr. Peter Tolley’s inebriation, Lord Devereaux’s evading of debutantes, Lady Greversham’s unnecessary walking stick intentionally interfering with the servants’ duties… All in all, it seemed a very typical London party.

  And yet, for the strangest reason, Mary found herself wishing she might dance this time. It was completely inexplicable, as she was really not very good at it, but it had been a very long time.

  Alas, she was a spinster, she reminded herself, and quite profoundly so. Dancing could not be anticipated.

  “No one to dance with you, Miss Hamilton?” came a low voice near her.

  She turned with a quick smile to the cheerful and dreadfully handsome Earl of Beverton. “Not today, my lord,” she replied with a curtsey. “But I have learned not to expect it.”

  His smile turned a trifle sad. “Well, the day is not over yet, and my wife is not dancing in her condition, so perhaps you would favor me with this one?”

  She quirked a brow up at him. “Do you pity me, my lord?”

  He immediately shook his head, dark eyes twinkling. “Never, my dear Miss Hamilton. I simply cannot tolerate fools and simpletons. As you are neither, a dance with you would be rather enjoyable, I think. So will you?”

  “Only if you don’t mind trodden toes,” she said with a hint of apology.

  “I don’t.”

  She smiled and placed her hand in his open one. “Then I shall, with pleasure.”

  He nodded and led her out to the floor, where other couples were beginning to take their place. The music struck up and as Mary began the movements, she could not resist the urge to smile. She had not expected the earl to ask her to dance, but she was not surprised. The earl and his wife had somehow become friends of hers after they’d met last summer, and now she was always being looked after.

  “I am surprised to see you here tonight, my lord,” Mary commented when she was near him again. “Weren’t you in the country this winter?”

  “For most of it, yes. But when the weather cleared, Moira desired a bit more, shall we say, entertainment. She is anxious to do as mu
ch as she can before her time comes.” He looked rather exasperated about it, even if he was smiling still.

  Mary laughed and spun with the other ladies. “Is that why you’ve come tonight? To entertain your wife?”

  “Partly. But I also had no idea who Lord and Lady Carteret were, and I couldn’t exactly refuse an invitation if I didn’t know whether or not I should.”

  Mary nodded. “Very wise, my lord.” They shared a brief grin.

  “I thought Geoff would be here this evening,” the earl remarked as the dance took him around her.

  She shrugged as she placed her hands in his for the next movement. “I assume he’s not in London yet. He often gets distracted on his way in.”

  The earl laughed once. “That does tend to happen when Duncan is around. But then, we all know how Geoff hates London. I really have no idea why he still comes.”

  “Nor do I, but if he didn’t, I would have no visitors at all, so it suits me just as well.”

  He gave her a teasing look. “Now, Miss Hamilton, are you fishing for company?”

  “Not at all, my lord,” she replied with a smile. “My sister and I are quite cozy in our house. It’s a pleasure to be able to hear oneself think.”

  That seemed to surprise him. “I think the silence would be a bit deafening.”

  “I don’t mind.” And she didn’t. Not really.

  Well, not all the time.

  The earl hummed a little. “Well, perhaps I will let Moira come around, just to entertain you.”

  Mary looked up at him with concern. “Should she do that? Isn’t she very near her time?”

  He snorted softly. “Yes, but she won’t rest any more than she thinks she needs. It’s driving me mad. At least if she is with you, I’ll know she’s not doing anything reckless.”

  She smiled in response. “Not very reckless, at any rate,” she teased.

  He inclined his head, returning her smile. “If she feels like seeing you, I will allow her.”

  “It’s not necessary, really.” If Moira injured herself or her child on a visit to her, Mary would never forgive herself.

  He raised a brow. “She will do it regardless. You know her nature. And if I know my wife, and I do, she will bring Kate with her.”

  That was undoubtedly true.

  Mary bit her lip in thought, fighting a smile. “I think I’ll need more pastries, then.”

  The earl barked out a loud laugh that turned many heads in the ballroom. “I hope you’ve stockpiled enough, Miss Hamilton. They will eat you out of house and home. Now, let us see if we can find you some more dance partners for this evening.”

  “Oh, good! You’re back!”

  Mary barely suppressed a heavy sigh as she handed her cloak off to Winston, who wisely had no expression, but shuffled away quickly.

  “Yes, Cassie, I’m back.”

  “How was it? Who was there? Tell me everything!” Her sister literally jumped the final two stairs as she raced towards Mary, then seized her arm and pulled her into the sitting room, where a rather large fire was crackling. Mary gratefully approached and held her hands out to warm them.

  “Calm yourself, Cassie, for heaven’s sake. It was a ball, not a festival.”

  Cassandra snorted and tossed her curly blonde hair over a shoulder as she sank onto a well-worn settee. “You have absolutely no taste in social occasion.”

  “I have taste enough,” Mary retorted. “I merely do not appreciate the spectacle people make of themselves.”

  “Who made a spectacle?” Cassie inquired with rampant excitement, leaning over the arm of the settee.

  Mary laughed and gave the report she had prepared in the carriage on the ride home, being sure to elaborate on the bits she knew her sister would find most interesting. It was much to her credit that she knew exactly what to say and how to say it so that it would satisfy Cassandra’s enthusiasm. Or perhaps it was just from practice.

  When she was finished, she took a seat across from her sister and put a hand to her brow, a new headache beginning to form.

  “I can’t believe Lady Raeburn is back from Paris this early,” Cassandra commented in an awed voice. “She never stays anywhere less than four months, and she only went just before Christmas. What do you think she means by it?”

  “Perhaps she was dissatisfied with the selection of hats.”

  “Mary,” Cassie moaned in exasperation. “Don’t be a toad. I thought you liked Lady Raeburn.”

  “I do, very much so. But I see no reason to speculate as to her reasons for coming back to England where she lives.” Mary gave her a hard look, which she tempered with a weak smile.

  “Well, Mr. Gerrard lives in England, too, but he hasn’t been seen in Society for two years!”

  “He was there tonight as well.”

  “He was what?” Cassie shrieked, her hands flying up to her hair. “You mean to tell me that Mr. Gerrard… Christopher, mind you, not Colin…”

  “As he is the elder of the Gerrard twins, I do believe I know who you mean when you merely say Mr. Gerrard,” Mary remarked dryly.

  Cassie waved her comment off impatiently. “Mr. Christopher Gerrard back in England. What did he do? Who did he dance with?”

  “I have no idea. I saw him come in, I saw him exit. I didn’t watch him the whole evening.”

  “You are positively hopeless, Mary!” her sister moaned as she dramatically flung herself out on the settee.

  “Yes, so I have been told.”

  Cassie rolled her eyes and sniffed dismissively. “Well, what did you do the entire night? Sample the punch? You ought to be an expert on the subject by now.”

  Mary sneered playfully. “I was preparing reports for you. I could not possibly have time for anything else.”

  “Come on, Mary,” Cassie groaned, “be serious. Did you dance at all tonight?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I did.”

  “Oh?” Cassie sat up and eagerly folded her hands in her lap. “With whom, pray tell?”

  Mary smiled secretively. “The Earl of Beverton. The Marquess of Whitlock. Lord Beckham. Lord Cartwright.”

  “Mary!” Cassie said, groaning yet again. Really, she was getting quite good at it. “You cannot always dance with married men.”

  “I can if they are the only ones who ask me,” she quipped, grinning.

  “Perhaps if you did not match the draperies in dress and manner, someone else would.”

  “Perhaps if I cared, I would do so.”

  “You will never get married.”

  “I’ll survive.”

  Cassandra made a noise of disgust and rose. “You know, you are far less agreeable when Geoffrey is not around. I quite tire of the sight of you.”

  “I’ll survive,” Mary said again as her sister left the room. When she could no longer hear the petulant footsteps on the stairs or above her, she allowed herself to sink down into her chair and removed her slippers from her feet. Being neither old nor delicate, she rarely was able to sit during a party where there was dancing. It was rather tiresome for her poor feet, particularly when they were so out of practice.

  She sighed to herself and closed her eyes. That made two individuals tonight who seemed to associate her presence with Geoff’s. Not that she ought to be surprised, as they did tend to be at the same events and with each other. She received far more attention when he was about. It seemed she was only noticed if he was there.

  She could hardly blame them for that.

  Geoffrey Harris was the darling of Society, the crème de la crème of all bachelors. He was also the one bachelor who seemed entirely uninterested in marriage. This, of course, made him all the more tempting for the eager and determined mothers of Society, as Mary was constantly reminding him as he continued to evade each and every one.

  They were the best of friends and had been since they were very young. They laughed, they bantered, and there were no secrets between them.

  Well… almost no secrets.

  Mary had the greate
st secret of all; she was once in love with Geoffrey Harris.

  It was really quite sad. She had spent most of her life alternating between feelings of helpless infatuation and complete adoration, with the slight venture into hopeless longing on occasion, topped off with a spattering of simple platonic affection. She always thought extremely well of him, and from time to time thought herself very much in love with him. At ten, it was love. At twelve, it was not. At eighteen, it was very much love again. And now, at twenty-seven, she could safely say she was most definitely not in love with him any longer.

  She wasn’t.

  Why, she was even comfortable enough to tell Geoff when he looked especially attractive without the slightest hint of heart fluttering or cheek flushing. If those weren’t signs of romantic indifference, she didn’t know what was.

  But she had never told him that she had been occasionally in love with him. Why, she could not have said. It could have been because admitting that she’d ever had those feelings for him would make her no better than the rest of the idiotic females who fawned over him. It could have been because she was embarrassed by the sheer volume of paper she had wasted in her journals, pining for a young man who would never see her beyond their friendship. It could have been that she was afraid of anything changing in their relationship.

  Whatever the reason, she hadn’t told him, and had no plans to ever do so.

  She couldn’t risk it, not when he was the best person in her life.

  Oh, she had her family, but they were not particularly close. Her parents had removed themselves to Italy indefinitely and wrote faithfully once a month; her other siblings came to London only when they had to, and wrote only when they had things to say. It was just her and Cassandra in the London house now, shockingly without any elderly relative or companion. But nobody paid attention to the Hamiltons enough to care. London was full of other excitement, and to be perfectly honest, Mary was bored with it. The only thing that ever amused her here was Geoff.