Smitten by the Spinster (21 page)

Not knowing how she found the strength, she wriggled her hands out of his grasp and stepped back. “I have to get the thread for Lady Amberly,” she said in a stranger’s voice, and took another step away.

“Lizzie.”

“I can’t,” she said, trying to convey how sorry she felt. “Please let me go. I’ll see you later, at the house.”

She turned and walked away, not looking back, but knowing he didn’t follow her. She knew he wouldn’t because she’d asked him not to. He’d respect her wishes, because he was a good man, kind. The best she’d ever known.

She got to the notions shop and stood outside, straightening her hair and trying to lose the crazy from her eyes, which had to be there, she felt so flustered. It hit her again all at once, the thing she’d fled in terror from a few minutes before. Longing. To be with Quinn, see his home, make it hers, just as he’d asked. He’d said he loved her, and in so many words, had asked her to marry him. Hadn’t he?

She walked further down the street, trying to sort her thoughts and reliving the last moments with Quinn. The look on his face, she’d never seen anyone look that way at her. She wanted to see it again, but this time, throw her arms around his neck. He’d pick her up around the waist and twirl her, laughing into her hair and telling her again and again that he loved her. And she would…

“Oh, no.” She stopped dead, causing an elderly gentleman to shake his walking stick at her. Hurriedly getting out of the way, she huddled under a pub sign. “Oh, no,” she repeated, frowning at a lady who looked like she might offer some help. There was no help for her now. She’d fallen in love with Quinn Ferguson.

She bought the thread and took a winding route back to the house, muttering to herself the whole way. Once she realized the awful truth, realized how deeply Quinn had made his way into her heart, the thought of leaving him kept jabbing at her like poison darts. Every time she thought of something she missed about her old life— then jab, the thought of Quinn countered it. She didn’t know how she could leave him.

Wait a damn minute, she thought. What if you didn’t leave?

What if she stayed in this time and made a life with Quinn? The idea was so intoxicating, she had to sit down. She found a bench and collapsed onto it to twist and prod the notion of spending her life in the eighteenth century, on a farm, with Quinn.

He would do anything for her, she knew. And she’d never want for fantastic sex again. He probably wouldn’t mind if she left off wearing a corset. All selfish reasons to stay. Quinn’s good qualities and the things she loved about him were too many to list. Really, he was much too good for her.

She could barely mend a hem, had never gone faster than a trot on a horse, didn’t know the first thing about farming save the little herb garden she used to have on her kitchen windowsill back home. That had died from lack of water. She felt confident she could deal with chickens and ducks, but pigs or cows? Bulls? She wasn’t so sure.

Being an actress, she felt she could certainly play the part of a farmer’s wife until she actually lived and breathed it. After all, she’d become a paid companion well enough. But that only involved going on errands and sitting around at parties, getting to know people. There wasn’t any real labor involved. Loads different from herding and harrowing, planting and peeling, or whatever they did every day. She didn’t even know any farming terms.

Quinn knew she was from the city, and would help her with everything, and she knew he’d be patient and only laugh at her a little. She did love his laugh. Spending every evening curled up with Quinn and a book, talking and snuggling and laughing … oh, those were selfish reasons again. She had to figure out what was in it for Quinn if she stayed.

She liked children fine, but didn’t have much experience with them except for teaching them dance an hour or two every week. And for this time, she was getting up there in age for sure. If they were going to have children, she’d need to start squeezing them out straight away, and if she was going to stay here to be with Quinn, she didn’t want to share him, not even with her own baby.

Had she really gone so far as thinking about babies? She kicked at the pebbles near her feet and rolled her shoulders, realizing she’d been sitting hunched over, breathlessly going over her options.

It was all so foolish. There were no options. She couldn’t stay, no matter how much it hurt to leave. This wasn’t her time. She’d never really fit in and eventually Quinn would come to see how useless she was. Making her sadness a small, tight ball, she got up and went to the house. She’d find a way to get through the next few days, then if she made it home, she’d find a way to get through the rest of her life without Quinn.

Catie woke up, too sick with nerves to eat, and didn’t go down to breakfast. She snapped at Miss Burnet to stop hovering, prowling the length of her room as soon as she was left alone. Tonight was the night. Her nerves almost got the best of her and she leaned over the basin in her room, but she hadn’t eaten much in the past few days. She sat down to compose her letters, then bounced back up again, remembering Miss Burnet’s strange letter. Though she’d memorized it, it seemed like a wise idea to have it with her. As a form of proof, should she need it.

Glancing both ways down the hall, she made her way to Miss Burnet’s room. Miss Burnet had been more tolerable since she’d stopped mooning over Quinn. Catie noticed a difference on the day Edwin had asked her to elope with him.

Catie figured Quinn had seen that she knew about their scandalous dalliance, since she’d been acting as disgusted as she felt by it. She knew how badly he wanted to be a good influence, and change his ways to be more like Lachlan, and she didn’t feel too guilty exploiting that. After all, she knew it couldn’t be serious between the two. Miss Burnet was another in a long line of Quinn’s conquests. She felt a bit sorry for Miss Burnet, who’d retired early to her room each evening, and begged off excursions that involved Quinn.

When she got to the little attic room, she stopped feeling even that bit of compassion for her chaperone. It was highly probable that Miss Burnet was involved somehow with whatever happened to Lachlan. Catie needed to do this with a clear conscience and not let her focus be muddled by her heart.

Sliding halfway under the bed, she pulled out the box, carefully unwound the ribbon and dug around until she found the envelope. It gave her the vapors to imagine that she held something that shouldn’t have even been made yet. The greater part of her still didn’t believe, but she’d know the truth soon enough.

She returned the box and left the room, surprisingly calm. Either she’d become used to the covert actions of the past weeks or she was just frozen inside with fear for what was to come. She still had to write her letters, dispatch them, then pack up her things to take to her new friend Dahlia’s house. Dahlia was a girl who loved gossip and could not keep a secret if the world depended on it, which was exactly what Catie herself depended on. They were both invited to the same party that evening, and would go together, her mother set to be their chaperone for the night.

After her letters were written, she thought she should spend a bit of time with Quinn, in case it was a long time before she saw him again. He’d be so angry at her when he found out, she’d be glad to have the distance. Quinn was out, so she sat with her aunt and asked for stories about her mother while she waited for him to return.

She’d come to love her English aunt, and learning so much about her mother gave her a sense of history she’d never felt before. Lachlan and Quinn were her true brothers and they’d never made her feel otherwise, but having a different mother had set her apart in her own mind. It was nice to have the missing piece. She’d miss her Aunt Amberly and prayed she’d see her again one day, hopefully soon.

The afternoon slipped away and he still hadn’t come back, and then it was time to leave for Dahlia’s. She dawdled and pretended to forget something twice, but the carriage was ready for her and she ran out of reasons not to get in it. The letter she’d put in Quinn’s room would have to suffice as a goodbye. She prayed it wasn’t forever. As angry as she was with him, she couldn’t imagine never seeing him again.

Oddly enough, Miss Burnet’s farewell was full of emotion. She grabbed Catie up in a hug, and even had tears shining in her eyes as she made her promise to have a wonderful time. Catie almost thought she was caught, that Miss Burnet knew something, but how could she? And she didn’t stop her, so Catie eventually managed to get her heartbeat under control, able to act normal when she got to Dahlia’s.

Dahlia was a year older than Catie and determined to be married before the year was out. She had three prospects, though Catie thought only one of them was realistic. She kept trying to get Catie to talk about Oliver, as if she might have designs on him as well.

“I dinna think he’s ready to settle just yet,” she said, feeling protective of her friend, and repeating what she’d been told by Miss Burnett.

Honestly, Oliver had been her first choice before Edwin showed his sudden strong interest. Dahlia was a sweet girl, but Catie didn’t think she was at all right for him. Brushing off her irritation, she changed the subject.

“Can I trust ye with a secret, Dal?” she asked, hopping up to close her friend’s bedroom door.

Dahlia’s eyes grew three times their size and she clasped her hands in front of her heart. “You know you can,” she said. “I’d die if you thought you couldn’t.”

“Good. Then I shall tell ye.” Catie waited a beat, just out of cruelty. She knew the secret wouldn’t last past the first dance that evening. Which was of course what she wanted. Before Dahlia actually died from holding her breath, Catie leaned in to tell her secret in hushed tones.

“Lord Edwin Hollingsborn has asked me to marry him,” she said.

“But that’s wonderful,” Dahlia exclaimed, flushing a bit.

“Aye, that bit is wonderful,” Catie hurried on. “I love him so much. But my brother willna give his consent.”

“But whyever not? He’s to be a marquis.”

Catie refrained from rolling her eyes. “Because he’s a monster who doesna want me to be happy.” She felt this part at least was the truth, even though it had nothing to do with Edwin.

“A monster indeed!” she loyally agreed. “Oh, you poor thing. To be denied your happiness.”

Catie paused, breathing out a long sigh, and looking meaningfully at Dahlia. “What’s coming up is the secret, Dal. Are ye sure ye willna tell a soul? My happiness depends on it.”

Dahlia blinked so many times, Catie thought something might have gone wrong in her head. She finally agreed to never tell a soul, crossing her heart and swearing on various family member’s graves.

“We are running away tonight.” She held out her hands in case Dahlia fell over, but she stayed upright.

“Eloping? But you shan’t have a wedding? You’ll ride to Scotland?” She said Scotland as if it were the most unsavory place possible, but Catie let it slide.

“Aye, tonight. It’s the only way. Perhaps after all is said and done we can have a wedding.”

The maid knocked on the door. It was time to get ready. Catie felt a real wash of nerves and grabbed Dahlia’s hand.

“I promise not to tell, but are you sure, Catie? This is what you want?”

Catie wasn’t sure, not really, but she vowed to remain true to her course. Dahlia took over, making sure Catie had a perfect hairstyle, and offering to let her borrow her birthday earrings, which were ruby and diamond and she swore brought good luck.

“I better not, but thank ye,” Catie said, touched by the offer. “I dinna know when I’ll see ye again.”

This made Dahlia burst into tears. Whatever her faults, Dahlia cared about her. She’d made real friends here, and if she waited, perhaps she’d have an offer of marriage that wasn’t based on her inheritance. Why was she doing this? She struggled to remember.

“Do you think your brother will ride after you?” Dahlia asked.

Her brother. That was why she was doing this. To find out the truth about Lachlan. But Dahlia didn’t even know about Lachlan, she’d meant Quinn. Catie smiled.

“Let him try,” she said.

***

Catie pounded on the back door of Belmary House, wishing she had a little timepiece like she’d seen Miss Burnet use. She should have made Quinn buy her one after one of his many slip-ups. She’d run as fast as her gown would allow, and got a bit lost, but still thought she had time.

A frazzled maid opened the door, saw she was a fine lady and dropped a curtsy. “Miss, what can I do for you? Are you lost?”

Catie cursed herself for not changing her clothes. She must look outrageous in her extravagant gown. With a start and more inner cursing, she realized this was what she’d be wearing to the future, if it indeed worked, and hoped Belmary House was still a fancy mansion whenever she ended up. Maybe she wouldn’t stick out too much in her rose silk and lace ball gown.

“I need to get a message to Mr. Hallifax,” Catie said, copying the authoritative manner she’d seen Miss Burnet use to good effect. “It’s about his niece.”

“What’s this about?” A young man, who Catie recognized from her first outing in London pushed his way past the maid. He bowed when he saw her. “Miss Ferguson?” he asked. “Please come in.”

“No, I canna stay, I only need to get a message to Mr. Hallifax, about Miss Burnet.”