Chapter Ten
The trouble with gossip is that it is sometimes very useful, but other times only hurtful. A clever woman is able to discern the difference, but a silly one will repeat it all without thought. A good woman knows there is absolutely no benefit to gossip whatsoever and avoids it at all cost. A man, however, does not care about gossip. He already knows everything anyway. Or so he presumes.
-The Spinster Chronicles, 25 April 1817
“Are you a praying man, Francis?”
“I’ve been known to bow my head on occasion, but I’d hardly call myself religious. Why?”
Tony groaned and leaned his head back against the carriage, closing his eyes. “I would take it most kindly if you would pray that I never do something so stupid as to encourage gossip again.”
Francis coughed in surprise, his walking stick suddenly whacking Tony in the shin. “What?”
Tony nodded without opening his eyes. “I know. So, if you wouldn’t mind…”
“Lord, please save Tony from his own stupidity,” Francis muttered.
“Amen.”
His cousin barked a hard laugh and Tony opened his eyes to look across the carriage at him. “What was that for?” Tony asked.
“I wasn’t actually praying for you,” Francis informed him with a sardonic look. “That was more of a curse.”
“Not sure that was very helpful, then.”
In truth, he wasn’t entirely sure a prayer would have helped him either. He’d spent a full week learning everything he could about the Spinsters from the point of view of everybody else in London. He’d called on the Partlowes and managed to bring them up in conversation, and discovered that Mr. Partlowe, while speaking very highly of the women in general, disapproved of their group as a whole. Mrs. Partlowe did not seem to disagree, though she did not concede to anything her husband said either.
Lady Hetty found them all exceedingly agreeable and wished she’d thought of such a task at their age, though there were hardly any unmarried girls in her situation. All of them had been “poorer and plainer, and nothing worth going on about.” He’d have to take her word for it, but she was most likely a fairly unbiased source.
Fairly.
Then he’d been to every sort of event the Season could manage in the course of a week. He’d followed the guide mentioned in that week’s Spinster Chronicles and found it to be an accurate portrait of what Society offered. Theater, balls, card parties, soirees, luncheons, even a scholarly meeting of bluestockings and intellectuals; he’d been rather out of place with the scholars, but he muddled through well enough.
Everybody had an opinion on the Spinsters.
Fathers of daughters found them to be interfering and insufferable. Young men thought them shrewish nannies-in-waiting. Mothers fussed about the effect on their daughters, and the difficulties for their sons. Scholars thought it an imprudent rebellion against tradition, while the bluestockings found it ennobling and admirable.
The young ladies were a mixed bunch, depending on which side they took. The fairer, more experienced ones thought it a ridiculous venture by embittered old maids to make the rest look foolish, while the plainer, sometimes younger ones found great delight in applying the lessons to their own lives. Old women fussed and bothered. People in the streets used their name as a joke or an insult. The cads and wastrels at gaming tables cursed them regularly.
And then there were the few girls who spoke of them with an almost reverence, their eyes soft at the mention of them. They spoke of gratitude and enlightenment, of finding their own strength, and two who were now happily married spoke of the Spinsters as being the reason that they were so.
Nothing correlated, and everything was subjective.
Which made perfect sense to him, as it was all gossip.
And he hated gossip.
His leg was suddenly kicked, and he jerked his head up to look at Francis again, unaware that he had begun to drift off. “What?” Tony demanded, wanting to rub his eyes of the bleariness that they currently held.
Too much social interaction in a short amount of time had left him sleep-deprived and agitated. And as his interaction with Georgie or any of the other girls had been very limited during that time, he was also sorely lacking in decent conversation.
“Would you care to tell me why you are engaging in gossip mongering of late?” Francis asked with all the imperiousness of a peer. “After all, we are using my carriage to meet your friends.”
Tony exhaled heavily and sat up taller. “For your kindness, my lord, I will oblige you.”
Francis scoffed loudly but folded his arms and looked interested.
“For the past week,” he began, his voice sounding almost as weary as his body felt, “I have been unusually social for the express purpose of collecting information and gossip. About the Spinsters, with a capital S.”
His cousin groaned and looked out of the window. “For God’s sake, man, you’re obsessed with the Spinsters.”
“Everybody is obsessed with the Spinsters,” Tony protested, crossing an ankle over his knee. “You should have heard the way everyone jumped at the chance to talk about them. And that was before this week’s edition came out. It only got worse after that.”
“I could have told you that.” Francis exhaled heavily and turned back to him with an almost disgusted scowl. “Why are you doing this, Tony? And don’t tell me you’re bored or you’re curious, I won’t believe that. Something is driving you.”
Tony stared at his cousin for a long moment, letting the sounds of the carriage fill the silence. He hadn’t admitted to anyone what he was really doing, or why he was involved at all. Only Hugh knew the true purpose as it originally had been, and they had not spoken since their fight. He had received a very brief note with a poor attempt at an apology, but as no apology had been made therein, he did not see a need to accept it as such.
“I’ve been asked to investigate the Spinsters,” he finally confessed.
Francis did not look impressed. “By whom, the Prime Minister?” He snorted incredulously.
“By your brother.”
That drew him up, and he stared at Tony wide-eyed. Swearing under his breath, he leaned forward. “What did he ask you to do? More to the point, why are you doing it?”
Tony smiled blandly. “He asked me to investigate them and break them up.”
Francis swore again and rubbed his face with both hands.
“And I agreed because… I was bored and curious.” Tony let his smile spread into one of excessive innocence.
Francis dropped his hands and glared at him. “Very funny.”
“It’s true,” he admitted. “But I didn’t intend at that time to break them up, nor do I now. I’ve come to know these women decently well, and now I seek to support them in any way I can.”
“Oh, Lord,” Francis moaned leaning his head back and looking heavenward.
“Are you praying or cursing this time?” Tony inquired mildly, watching in amusement.
“Both,” Francis snapped. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head slowly back and forth. “Why, Tony? Why?”
Tony chuckled at his cousin’s distress. “Because they aren’t actually doing half of what London thinks they are. Because they could use a friend on the outside. Because it turns out that being a spinster in general is not pleasant for any of them, but they’re trying to make the best of it.”
Francis winced at the last bit and reluctantly nodded. “All right, I concede to that, but really, collecting gossip? Surely they know what is being said.”
“Not entirely.” Tony shrugged and glanced out of the window. “Most things are not said to their faces or in their presence. Georgie asked me to look into it, not thinking I truly would, but I said…”
“Georgie?” Francis interrupted sharply.
Now it was Tony’s turn to muffle a curse and he waited for the fatal blow to fall.
“Would that be Georgiana Allen?” Francis continued, drawling now, his interest further piqued. “Widely speculated as being the leader of the Spinsters?”
“She’d never put it that way,” Tony insisted, shaking his head, “but she probably is, if any of them must be called such.”
“I see. And you’ve spent a good deal of time with her, yes? If you call her Georgie…” The suspicion was blatant, as was the suggestion.
Tony scowled, wishing the earth would swallow him up at this moment. “I spend a good deal of time with most of them, Francis. I call them all by their Christian names, at their request.”
Francis laughed heartily, too heartily for Tony’s taste, but it was to be expected. “And Georgie is your favorite.”
“What?” Tony almost barked, whipping his head around to look at Francis. “Why would you say that?”
The dark eyes of his cousin sparkled with humor. “Because she’s the only one you mentioned by name. But if that wasn’t it, your reaction just now would prove it.”
Tony lowered his head in abject misery, wishing he’d never opened his mouth about any of this. His cousin would be insufferable about it now and would tease him to the end of time about Georgie, and he wasn’t prepared for that. He had no defenses against it.
Because it had only just occurred to him days ago that Georgie was his favorite. Hers was the company he had missed the most in the last week. She was fairer in his memory than he thought she’d been in reality, but he couldn’t be sure, as he suddenly considered her to be rather fine in all respects.
She was beautiful, and somehow, he’d missed that before.
He had no rebuttal against accusations about his feelings for her, his relationship with her. He wasn’t sure what they were himself. All he knew was that he wanted to pursue whatever it was and see how it played out.
The Spinsters were all friends of his, and he would protect and defend them for life.
But Georgie…
That was entirely different.
“Don’t worry about it, Tony,” Francis said calmly with a sniff, as if he hadn’t just discovered a great secret. “Miss Allen always was Janet’s favorite one. Introduce me at the ball this evening, will you? I want the pleasure of a dance with her.”
Tony looked up at him in surprise. “I’ve not even danced with her. I don’t know if she’s any good at it.”
Francis shifted a little. “That doesn’t matter much, does it? You hate dancing, so she can dance with me instead.”
There was no possible explanation for the madness that had just overtaken his cousin. A fever would not have him looking so well, no delusion could take hold so quickly, and Francis did not possess acting skills proficient enough to be pretending at this. He must have simply taken mad.
Tony would have a hard time explaining that to Janet.
“You hate the Spinsters,” Tony reminded him weakly.
“I do not.” Francis shook his head firmly. “I find the discussion of them to be an annoyance. You think well of them, so must I do. You hold Miss Allen in some great regard, so must I do.” He lifted one shoulder. “Simple as that.”
Tony gaped at his cousin for a long moment, curious that Francis should shift his perspective so suddenly on his word alone. Something Hugh had not been capable of in his limited knowledge of the situation.
“Ah, here we are,” Francis said as the carriage rolled to a stop, preventing Tony from expressing his gratitude in whatever way he could manage.
He nodded and climbed out of the carriage, blinking hard in the bright sunlight.
Of all days for London to not be its usual dreary self, it had to be a day when he was already pained by nearly everything.
Tony looked around the coaching station as Francis disembarked behind him. Henshaw and Morton ought to have been easy enough to find, having yet to resign their commissions. Unfortunately, scarlet was a popular color this Season.
Or so the Fashion Forum had stated the other day.
“There,” Francis pointed out, gesturing with his walking stick. “Is that them?”
Tony looked, and sure enough, Henshaw’s broad shoulders and wide grin met his gaze. Morton stood next to him, more reserved, as usual, but seeming pleased to see him. He moved swiftly in their direction and shook both their hands warmly, introduced them to Francis, and then followed them into the inn.
Francis ordered a luncheon for them all, and they sat in a private room together, regaling each other with stories from their past and reminiscing on former comrades. Henshaw told most of the stories, which suited his nature, and Tony and Morton were left to defend themselves as much as they were able, with Francis not believing anything they said.
Once the meal was finished, Henshaw leaned back in his chair, scratching at the pale scruff along his jaw. “Oh, it is good to be with a group of lads again. I’ve had no one but my sisters for days, and they are so much noisier than I remember.”
Morton chuckled at that, his wide eyes flicking to his larger friend. “You’re the one who wanted to go, Henshaw. I offered to have you come stay with my family, as it is only Kitty and me, but you insisted.”
Henshaw gave him a sour look. “Your sister would be terrified of me, Morton. According to you, she is too shy and sweet to tolerate my roughness.”
“Yet you have seven sisters,” Tony mused aloud.
“Nothing shy or sweet about my sisters, Sterling,” Henshaw grunted, though he smiled. “Just surrounded by females all the time.”
“Poor lad,” Francis mourned, raising a glass to him.
Henshaw sat forward suddenly. “Speaking of being surrounded by females. I’ve heard you’re associating with spinsters now.”
Tony groaned and shook his head as Francis began to laugh. “Please don’t ask.”
Oddly, Henshaw didn’t laugh. “I’ve heard they’re quite the group. Do you know if they are recruiting? Or if they even do that?”
“Sounds rather ominous,” Morton murmured as he sipped his drink.
Tony ignored him. “You know a spinster?”
Henshaw nodded once. “Yes. Well, no, not exactly. She’s a widow, but she was only married for about five minutes. She’s without family or friends, and she’s fresh out of mourning, I believe, and coming to London.”
Tony looked at Morton, who shrugged helplessly, and at Francis, who only made a face. He returned his attention to Henshaw. “How do you know her? Personal interest?”
“Protective interest,” Henshaw corrected, blue eyes flashing. “I met her brother doing some training with the Highlanders. He asked if I might look after her when I returned.”
“Scottish girl?” Tony was surprised by that, as it was hardly a common thing to have a Scottish woman in London these days. “And you agreed?”
Henshaw glared. “He knew I had many sisters. He asked me to do so, brother to brother. I take that seriously.”
Morton seemed to consider that, then turned to Tony, his disheveled dark hair disheveling further. “I would, too, for my sister.”
“So would I,” Francis added softly, surprising him. Francis might not mention it often, but he was remarkably protective of Alice. There were more than ten years between them, but they were unusually close. Had she not chosen to spend a year abroad, she would have been flitting about with the other young women of the Season, no doubt being carefully guarded by one or both of her brothers at every turn.
He faintly wondered how Francis would feel about the Spinsters had Alice been about.
Tony nodded at his friend, smiling a little. “I’ll see what I can do. They may not take my suggestion to heart, but if there is a young woman in need of friends and associates, I think they just might. Tell me her name, and I’ll see to it.”
He wasn’t exactly in the mood for the theater again, not after the week he’d had, but he had promised to be there, and to attend the ball at Charlotte’s afterwards.
There was no refusing the Spinsters when they set their mind to something.
Besides, it would be better for him to tell Georgie exactly what he could before he forgot it all or had a chance to think too much on it. And he now had a task for her to see to as well, and he thought she might need the diversion, given what he had to tell her.
It was destined to be an unpleasant night, and he hadn’t even seen the play yet.
But at least he would see Georgie and the others, and there was some comfort in that.
Oh, he had seen them from time to time at various events, as they really were invited to many things individually, but he had kept his distance. None of them had said anything about it, so he assumed that Georgie had told them, at least in part, what he was doing.
Or she’d flat out lied to them all.
He could never be sure with Georgie.
He hid a yawn behind a gloved hand, then moved into the main of the theater. He hadn’t bothered securing a box or anything of the sort. His cousins had begged off but would attend the ball later. He fully intended to snooze during the bulk of the show in the hopes that it would allow him some energy for the ball.
But for now, he would smile and nod at all who acknowledged him, making all manner of small talk, and generally being a congenial gentleman, as his reputation had indicated he was. If word was getting out that he was associated with the Spinsters in some way, he would need to present a persona that was above reproach. The perfect gentleman, a warm acquaintance, and a good sport, if it came down to it; proper and respectable at all times.
Surely he could manage that.
“Tony!” Charlotte’s voice called out to him.
He bit back a groan.
So much for proper and respectable.
He turned to face her, bowing politely. “Miss Wright.”
She grinned at him, her dimple making an appearance, and winked. “Don’t think me forward. I call everybody by their first name in public, so I might as well do the same with you.”
“If you like,” he replied, nodding once. “You look lovely, Charlotte.”
She truly did, in a gown of deep pink that heightened her rosy complexion and made her dark hair and eyes richer. The cut was bold, but not to the extreme. It was very flattering, and very Charlotte.
Charlotte beamed up at him. “For that, Captain Sterling, I shall take your arm. Come and sit in the box with us.”
He could not bear the thought of enduring more than a quarter of an hour with her bevy of suitors vying for her attention. He would not last the night if he did.
“Charlotte…”
“We’re all going to be in there,” she overrode. “My parents, Izzy, Prue, my brother, Mrs. Lambert, Georgie…”
“Really?” he said with interest, his ears perking up.
She gave him an odd look, which shouldn’t surprise him. He practically jumped at every mention of Georgie’s name now, and he could not understand why.
“I would have thought your admirers would want to be close to you this evening,” Tony explained, giving her a knowing quirk of a brow.
Charlotte rolled her eyes and scoffed. “Lord, no. I get enough of them at everything else, I want to spend the evening with my friends.”
Tony chuckled and inclined his head at her. “I am privileged to be included in the group.”
“Charles will probably want to talk to you the entire time,” Charlotte warned him. “He is dreading the number of females in the box, none of them of any interest to him.”
“That shows what an idiot he is, if you’ll forgive me.”
“I do.” She grinned up at him without shame. “This is why I like you, Tony. A proper sense of humor.”
He shook his head with a laugh. “Thank you, I think. Why were you alone when you found me, Charlotte? Surely you weren’t wandering about alone.”
“And what if I was?” she demanded, looking perturbed. “I am an independent woman!”
“Charlotte.”
She scowled and waved a hand at a man in eveningwear nearby. “Michael followed me.”
“And he is…?” Tony asked, not sure he liked the idea of her being followed.
“Old friend. Very old. Practically my brother.”
But not her brother. No, he didn’t like that one bit. “And why was he following you?”
Charlotte huffed and frowned at him. “Because I wouldn’t let him escort me properly, now are you going to be my nanny?”
Tony raised his hands in surrender and led her to the box, Michael following behind yet again. They arrived and heard sounds of jubilation from the girls. Even Prue seemed delighted to see him, and he found a great comfort in that.
“Mr. Wright, Mrs. Wright,” Tony said as he bowed to them. “A pleasure to see you both. I hope you don’t mind my joining you, Charlotte insisted when she saw me just now.”
“Not at all, not at all,” Mr. Wright exclaimed. “The more the merrier! Michael, find another chair, will you?”
Michael nodded without speaking, then left the box again.
Remembering his duties, Tony turned to bow to Mrs. Lambert. “Mrs. Lambert, what a pleasure to see you again.”
She didn’t look entirely convinced, but she smiled politely. “Captain.” Her eyes flicked to Izzy, who had only waved at him and was now talking with Prue again.
Tony greeted Charlotte’s brother with a handshake, but he was preoccupied arguing with his sister, so paid Tony little mind, which suited him well enough.
“You look rather ill,” came Georgie’s voice in her usual straightforward manner.
He turned to look at her and found himself suddenly without words or breath.
However he had imagined her in his mind over the last week, it had not been remotely like this. She was an absolute vision in a cream muslin with a pale green panel extending from the square bodice, gathered at her waist, and falling the length of the dress. Elegant gold embroidery fashioned vines and flowers along the bodice, and the green ribbon in her hair bore a similar embroidery. Her eyes seemed somehow more green, more vibrant thus, and her hair was fairer than gold, but only just.
“You look extraordinary,” he replied, somehow managing the breath to say it, though his sense returned to him the moment the words escaped. If only his control had done the same.
Georgie’s brows rose in surprise, but her lips curved into a small smile that teased at his heart. “Why, thank you, Tony.” Her brow puckered, and her smile turned almost coy. “You did mean that as a compliment, yes?”
“Yes,” he rasped, nodding fervently. “I did.”
Her smile grew, and she gestured to the seat beside hers. “Sit here, if you like.”
He did like, and he did so. It was a trifle difficult to see the stage from behind Mrs. Lambert, but he did not mind that much.
“This way you can fall asleep without offending anyone,” Georgie whispered, holding her fan up to shield their conversation.
Tony smiled as he looked at her, still somewhat blinded by her stunning beauty. “Is it that obvious?”
She shrugged a little. “Not wildly, but I know you, and I’ve never seen you look so fatigued. Trouble?”
He shook his head at once. “No. Gossip.”
Georgie wrinkled up her nose at that. “I don’t like the sound of that. Do you have much to report?”
He nodded, unable to stop looking at her.
She heaved a little sigh. “Very well. Don’t tell me now. Wait until the ball. We will probably be less likely to be overheard there.”
Michael returned to the box then with another chair and set it down beside Charles Wright and began conversing quietly with him.
Tony watched for a moment, then leaned closer to Georgie. “Who is Michael?”
She looked over, then back to him, trying not to grin. “That is Michael Sandford. He was at the Galbraith’s garden party, remember?” At his shake of the head, she smiled again. “He holds the distinction of being the first person to propose to Charlotte.”
That was not what Tony had expected to hear and he looked back to the man. “And he is still here?”
Georgie nodded, giggling just a little bit. “He is still here. Can’t stay away, even though Charlotte doesn’t see him romantically at all. And he has never courted anyone else. Isn’t that something?”
It certainly was, though he wasn’t sure if it were something mad or something admirable.
Tony looked at Georgie with a fond smile. “How do you know so much?”
Her smile turned sly as she looked back at him. “Being a spinster has some advantages, one of which is knowing far more than anybody thinks about things nobody knows about.”
He couldn’t keep his smile from turning to a full-on grin as he stared at her. “I am very impressed, Miss Allen. What else can you tell me about the members of Society?”
Georgie laughed, then looked towards the stage. “So much. So very much. But don’t you want to spend the time here sleeping, Captain Sterling?”
As she glanced back at him, Tony shook his head slowly, smiling rather stupidly. “Not anymore, I don’t.”