A Spinster No More by Rose Pearson
Chapter Five
May 1820, London
That she had been so frankwith Mr. Cormick concerned Anne in the days that followed. She was not normally one to share her innermost thoughts. She did not know what to think of Henry’s early departure, in truth. In recent weeks he had seemed solicitous and considerate, yet he was always a hundred miles away, thinking on something new and that he wanted to keep entirely to himself. But his behavior obviously concerned his brother. Mr. Cormick was, like her, condemned to forever make apologies for his charge.
It was no surprise to Anne that Miss Spencer had already managed to upset so many of the young women and their mothers here in London this Season. Miss Spencer did not seem to understand the need for allies amongst her own sex. If it were not for Lady Gertrude’s continuing acquaintanceship, the invitations would have begun to slow and the opportunities for Miss Spencer to find a husband would be narrowing. Yet, Miss Spencer showed no gratitude for the largesse that she was being offered.
There were still young men infatuated with her, but even they seemed to disappear once they had spent more than a few suppers in Miss Spencer’s company. She simply did not know how to be gracious, to be interested in others – or anything much other than her own desperate search for the right husband.
Thankfully, Lord Wilson was one of those who seemed immune to Miss Spencer’s less attractive traits or was perhaps not bright enough to notice them. He seemed to worship her, and Anne found herself wishing every day for a swift engagement and nuptials so she would be free. She was therefore delighted when she heard that Lord Wilson had requested an audience with Miss Spencer’s father. Mr. Spencer would be travelling from Northumberland imminently so it could take place.
Anne prayed every night that an arrangement would be made, knowing that to do so was selfish and wrong on her part. She had never before prayed for something for her own gain, and she hoped that the fact that her wish would make both Miss Spencer and, for a time at least, Lord Wilson happy made her sin less grave. Miss Spencer grew more testy as the days passed and her father had not yet arrived “When will he be here?” she demanded of her mother. “Does he not care one jot for me?”
“He will be here as soon as the horses can carry him here,” her mother assured her. “He is not doing it on purpose. You know as well as anyone that the weather in the North at this time of year can be most inclement. In the meantime, you must get ready for the ball tonight.”
Miss Spencer sighed heavily and flounced up to her bedchamber. Anne followed on reluctantly. The young woman was seated at her dressing table, unpinning her hair when Anne arrived. Anne picked up her ivory-handled brush and began to ease it through the lengths of golden hair. “Ow,” Miss Spencer cried when Anne came across a particularly difficult knot.
“Hold still, it will be done in a moment,” Anne said as she took the length of hair and held it firmly a little way away from the girl’s scalp and pulled the brush through the ends over and over until the knot was gone.
Miss Spencer stared at herself in the mirror, pulling at eyelids and pinching at her cheeks to make them color. She pursed her lips and tossed her glorious mane of hair. “Do you think he will grow tired of me?” she asked Anne, looking unexpectedly unsure of herself.
Anne gave her a reassuring smile. “He is besotted with you.”
“But is that enough?” she asked. “Will that remain enough? We both know I am not a kind woman, that I have little feeling for the feelings of others.”
Anne was surprised at Miss Spencer’s sudden self-awareness. She had shown little desire to look within in the time Anne had been her companion. “That is something you can perhaps change,” she suggested gently. “Why go through life alone, when you could have loving friends and an adoring husband?”
“It is easy for you,” Miss Spencer said, turning to look at Anne. “You are pretty and sweet and good. It is who you are. I have to work so hard to be any of those things.”
“Yet you are the one who has a fine young man who wishes to marry you,” Anne reminded her. “For all my sweet goodness I am unlikely to ever find a husband. I am too old – at just twenty-four years of age, I am an old maid.”
“How do you do it? How do you stay so calm when others are so foolish?” Miss Spencer asked. “I wish to be wed, but secretly I fear that a lifetime with Lord Wilson may be even harder to bear than one with my parents. At least they let me be – most of the time.”
“What would you rather?” Anne asked as she turned to put the curling tongs in the fire.
“Someone with their own interests, who doesn’t need me to compliment and praise them all the time. I would like them to not exactly be cold, but to perhaps be more like me and know that love isn’t always the answer to every problem. I do not wish for a monster, but I do not long for romance and flowers. It seems so false to me.”
Anne smiled, as Henry Cormick’s face sprang into her mind unbidden. She couldn’t help thinking that the person Miss Spencer had just described was the very image of him. It wasn’t that he didn’t care; he just didn’t see the point in pretending something he did not think or feel. “Do you like books, Miss Spencer?” she asked as she took the tongs from the fire and began to curl Miss Spencer’s hair into tight ringlets around her face.
“I do. What makes you ask?”
“It is just that I was recently lent a rather interesting one. I shall pass it on to you, and then perhaps once you’ve read it you could pass it back to my friend.” She hurried to her room and returned with the book, handing it to Miss Spencer.
“I’ve read it. It is a wonderful book,” she said taking it and flicking through the pages. “Your friend annotated this? The one you are so often talking with? With the dark curls and brooding look about him.” Such a description of Henry made Anne smile. He rather reminded her of a spaniel puppy, so to hear Miss Spencer say he was brooding seemed overly fanciful.
“Henry Cormick, yes he did,” Anne said holding back a giggle. “He has some very interesting ideas about literature. I think you might find him good to talk to. He certainly does not feign interest where he has none.”
“I should like that,” Miss Spencer said. “I have seen the two of you talking from time to time. You look to have very passionate discussions.”
“Oh, we do. Henry is not shy in his opinions and encourages me to be bolder with my own,” Anne admitted.
“I should like that. I hate having to pretend to be silly and not have thoughts of my own in order to placate men with nothing in their heads but their own importance. Why are men permitted to be whoever they actually are, yet women are forced into a mold – whether they fit within it or not?”
Anne did not have an answer to such a question. Miss Spencer was quite right, of course. Women were expected to conform to Society’s ideas of what made a perfect wife. It stood to reason that not all girls were able to do this – as all men were not able to be the same. Yet men were permitted their differences. A man could grow old without ever marrying if he desired without being condemned. A man could follow whatever path he wished, at least to some extent – though there were many forced into positions they’d rather not be in due to family concerns. Yet if they were cantankerous, that was permitted. If they were easily angered, nobody stopped them from airing their temper. But a woman should be sweet and polite at all times, no matter how bored or unfulfilling her life as a wife and mother might be to her.
She finished pinning Miss Spencer’s hair, feeling that she had been permitted to see into the young woman’s soul for the very first time. It was not an entirely easy image to process, but Anne now understood her young charge better. It was not that Miss Spencer was spoiled and unkind, but that she struggled to be what was expected of young women in Society. Anne could understand that. As someone who was a little shy and very bookish, she struggled from time to time herself. Miss Spencer’s concerns were harder to get past than a mere preference for a quiet life, though.
After she’d helped Miss Spencer into her gown, Anne hurried to her own rooms to dress for the ball. She washed her face and re-pinned her own hair. Her hair thankfully held its curl well enough to not need to be tonged anew. She chose a green velvet gown from her armoire. The color suited her dark coloring well and did much to offset the ruddiness of her cheeks. While other young women had to pinch themselves over and over or use rouge to add color to their peaches and cream complexions, Anne was a true English rose with her rosy cheeks and red lips.
“Miss Knorr,” Miss Spencer said as they got into the carriage, their long, hooded evening capes flowing behind them, “may I call you Anne? I hear all of the young women of our acquaintance calling their companions by their names, and vice versa. Why do we not do that?”
“I do not know,” Anne said, “but I would be happy to call you Caroline and have you call me Anne.” The girl smiled at her nervously. Anne took her hand and squeezed it. “It will be quite alright,” she assured her. “Whatever happens, it will be for the best.”
Caroline nodded. They drove to the ball in silence, but Caroline clung to Anne’s hand tightly. Anne marveled at how she had so misread the young woman in her care. Caroline was not selfish or vain – though she had been spoiled. She was forthright, blunt, clever - and knew that those were traits not much admired in young women. It must have been so hard for her to pretend to be otherwise – no wonder she was always so angry and frustrated.
The ball was already underway when they arrived. Caroline was soon mobbed by eager young men, as the young women of the Ton frowned at her. Anne spied Lady Gertrude, Mr. Cormick and the rumpled figure of Henry on the other side of the dance floor. She took Caroline aside. “Keep one dance, before supper free,” she told her, then made her way through the crowds to her friends who greeted her warmly.
“Henry, would you do me a favor,” she asked him once the pleasantries were complete. “Miss Spencer has nobody to take her into supper tonight. Would you perhaps do her the honor?”
Henry gave her a perplexed look but nodded. “If you wish me to,” he said amiably enough. Anne thought that she saw Mr. Cormick and Lady Gertrude frown, but when she looked back at them, both were smiling as widely as ever.
“Come and meet her, I don’t think the two of you have ever really been properly introduced,” Anne said, shepherding Henry away from them and towards Caroline.
“Did you like Vampyre?” he asked her as they made their way through the crowds and drew closer to where Miss Spencer stood.
“I did, but not as much as I enjoyed the Modern Prometheus,” Anne said, seeing Caroline smile as she overheard the topic of their conversation. “I think there were aspects of human nature that Mary Shelley captured that Polidori did not.”
“I disagree,” Henry said bristling a little as he often did when others disagreed with him.
“I do, too,” Caroline said. “I think Polidori is by far the better observer of mankind.”
And with that, the two were lost. Anne smiled, glad she had been right. Caroline simply needed someone who would value her forthright opinions and would not care if she were a man or a woman, simply that she cared enough to think.
“Whatever have you done?” Lady Gertrude asked as Anne rejoined their small party. “I’ve never seen Henry look like that. He’s happy and angry all at once.”
“And Miss Spencer actually looks as though she cares what he says,” Miss Jessup marveled. “She looks positively radiant.”
Anne grinned. “I learned something about Caroline earlier today – and it reminded me that Henry and she have much in common.” She paused then smiled. “She thinks he has a brooding look about him.”
Lady Gertrude shook her head. “Well, there’s no accounting for what others think, is there,” she marveled.
