A Spinster No More by Rose Pearson
Chapter Eight
As Kingsley, the family butler, appeared in the library with more letters regarding Henry’s behavior the night before, Everton sighed heavily. He sliced them open with his ivory-handled letter knife and read the same words he’d been reading from friends and acquaintances all day. Everyone was aghast at the way Henry had monopolized Miss Spencer at Almack’s. Young men who were put out that they had not been able to dance with Miss Spencer made it clear that they would not tolerate such behavior in the future. The grand dames of Society insisted he do something to protect the honor of our young women, though what Everton was supposed to do they left ambiguous in their outrage.
He shook his head. The whole thing seemed to have been blown out of proportion. What was really wrong with two unattached young people spending an evening talking together, in full view of all of Society? Why were the rules as they were? Why was it a scandal that a woman only dance with one man, or talk with him – rather than if she danced with every man? And why were people who barely knew Bertie Wilson making threats to Henry’s safety on his behalf? There was no arrangement, as far as Everton knew, between Miss Spencer and Lord Wilson. There were rumors that the two were to be affianced, but it had not yet occurred. There was no formal claim on the young woman’s time, or her hand. If Bertie had been truly upset by Henry’s monopolization of Miss Spencer, he should have interrupted them last night. He should have insisted upon Miss Spencer’s company for the dances he had reserved on her card.
But Society etiquette ruled that would be a poor show – and so, he had done no such thing. He had simply looked on and looked sad. Bertie was not clever, but he was not a fool. He understood people. He had to have known that Miss Spencer’s feelings for him were not the same as those he held for her. And he was the type to accept that if she did not care for him, that he was better off looking elsewhere. Oh, his pride would smart for a few days, but he would soon be falling in love with another young lady. It was the kind of man he was.
Yet, despite that, someone would have to be seen to be punished for the transgression – even though there was no real harm done. Everton would have to be seen to be acting upon the matter in place of his absent father, to discipline Henry and make him face up to the errors he had made. But what to do?
The bell rang for supper. Everton left the letters on the desk and made his way into the dining room. Henry appeared a few moments later, his hair disheveled as usual, his nose stuck in a book that he seemed reluctant to set down until the very moment the first course arrived. He marked his place by folding over a corner of the page, closed the book and set it on the table beside him. Everton frowned and took a deep breath. “We are going to have to do something,” he said firmly.
“About what?” Henry said, distractedly as he took a spoonful of soup and slurped at it loudly.
“Your table manners for one,” Everton retorted, annoyed that Henry was so unaware of the furor that had erupted since the ball last night. How could he be so oblivious? Did he truly not care about anything other than his own intellectual pursuits?
“I know to be more refined in public, you don’t need to worry about them,” Henry said with a grin.
“You are the most exasperating creature,” Everton said shaking his head, his brother was incorrigible. “You do know that being out on the terrace with her alone couldn’t have ruined her reputation more effectively, Henry?”
“Who? I’ve not been out on a terrace with anyone,” Henry said distractedly as he continued to eat the rich oxtail broth that had been set before him.
“I know, I am talking about your conversation with Miss Spencer, last night,” Everton explained patiently to his brother, doing all in his power to keep his annoyance from his voice. “You know that Society has rules. Why must you always seek to ignore them?”
“I do not mean to.”
“I received word today, that the Lady Patronesses are to meet to discuss revoking our vouchers for the rest of the Season.”
“I cannot say that disappoints me,” Henry said with a mischievous grin. But when he glanced at Everton’s angry expression, his face fell. “I did not mean to cause such a ruckus,” he said with a nonchalant shrug. “We started talking, then all of a sudden the night was over. I truly do not see how having a conversation with someone, in full view of everyone, could possibly bring about their fall from grace.”
“You truly do not, do you?” Everton said with a heavy sigh. “The man rumored to be about to ask Miss Spencer to marry him was in attendance at Almack’s last night. He would have expected to dance with her; before supper, after supper and at the end of the night, so he might escort her home. Yet she did not dance with him, or anyone, all night. She talked. To you.”
“So, she did not dance. I did not kiss her or hold her too tightly. I talked to her – about literature and science. Is that really so shocking to the grand dames of the Ton?”
“Given that I have received some twenty or more letters today, it would appear so.” Everton knew there was no getting through to his brother about this. He would never understand – no matter how much Everton tried to explain. It made no sense to Henry, and so he was almost deaf to it. “You will have to apologize to Bertie, you know, at the very least. He would be within his rights to challenge you to a duel.”
“But I’m terrible with a pistol, and even worse with a sword,” Henry said naively. “Bertie knows that. He’d not do that, not to me.”
“Don’t you see, none of that matters, you dolt. It is not a matter of whether he likes you or not, but that his honor – and Miss Spencer’s honor – is at stake.”
“But I don’t want to fight Bertie. There’s nothing to fight over.”
“You might think that, but there is nobody else in London that does,” Everton said exasperated. “You have to make amends – even if you think you did nothing wrong.”
“And how, precisely do I do that?”
“You will have to ask for Miss Spencer’s hand, before Bertie does. That way, her honor is protected and he may be able to save face.”
“Fine, I shall do that, then,” Henry said. He picked up his book, stood up, and opening the book to where he’d left off as he approached the table, he began to read as he walked out of the room.
Everton shook his head. Henry was a law unto himself. Yet, such lack of feeling about being forced to marry was concerning to Everton. He did not particularly like Miss Spencer, but she deserved better than his brother’s nonchalance. And Henry had always been vehemently against the idea of being married. He often claimed that he saw little merit in it. Such indifference now seemed strange. True enough, Henry had come to London to please their parents and to pay lip-service to their demands that he find a wife, but nobody had expected him to actually find a bride.
Everton had held onto hope that Henry might change his mind, and that a match with Miss Knorr might interest his brother, as they seemed to have at least a few things in common – but it had been the slimmest of hopes. Henry was the very image of the English confirmed bachelor – eccentric and distracted. That he now seemed undaunted by the idea of marriage to Miss Spencer could only mean one thing. That Everton’s little brother had finally found someone sufficiently like himself to actually want to spend time with them.
Grabbing the decanter of port and a glass from the table, Everton made his way into his father’s study. He quickly penned a note to Lord Wilson, and a second to Miss Knorr, requesting an audience with Miss Spencer for Henry the next morning, sealed it, poured himself a glass of the rich red liquid and leant back in the high-backed leather chair and sipped it thoughtfully, wishing that some inkling of what his father would do in such a situation might be conveyed to him just by being here.
He did not doubt that his mother and father would be delighted that a bride had been found. They would not mind one bit that Miss Spencer’s father was not of the nobility. He was rich enough to offer a handsome dowry, and the match was one that would bring together two very powerful enterprises. And like him, they had held very low hopes of such a thing ever coming to pass.
The only problem Everton could see, was that Mr. Spencer was rumored to want his daughter to wed someone with a title. Miss Spencer had certainly, up until her meeting with Henry at least, seemed to show a tendency towards the sons of dukes, marquesses and earls. Bertie had clearly been her favored choice – an earl in his own right, and heir to the Marquess of Kent. He was wealthy, handsome and a good man. No woman in her right mind would ever choose Henry, an untitled second son, over someone with Bertie’s pedigree.
But whether he was accepted or not, it had to be seen that Henry was willing to do the right thing. And so, tomorrow, just before lunch, Henry would be on Miss Spencer’s doorstep, ready to ask for her hand – whether either of them wished for it or not. And at lunch, he would be at the Forteus Club, where he would buy Bertie Wilson a fine meal and would beg his old friend’s forgiveness.
Everton took another sip of the rich port and savored it for a moment before swallowing, then got up and made his way downstairs to the butler’s small office. Kingsley was sat at his fire, wire-rimmed spectacles perched upon his nose, entirely engrossed in the book he read. Everton rapped on the glass of the door and cleared his throat politely, to announce himself. He smiled as the elderly butler carefully marked his place in the book with a thin strip of leather, then looked up.
“Master Everton, I am sorry. I did not realize it was you,” he said when he saw who was calling upon him at this late hour. He jumped to his feet and stood ramrod straight.
“There is no need to be so formal,” Everton said with a smile. “These should be the hours when you may relax.” Kingsley gave him an awkward smile but did not relax his posture. He was a fine butler, and he had managed the Cormick household with precision and dedication for over twenty years. Everton handed him the letters he’d penned earlier. “Could you see that these are delivered immediately. I know it is late, but I should like them to be the first things that Lord Wilson and Miss Knorr see in the morning, if you would not mind?”
“I think one of the stable lads is still up,” Kingsley said primly. “I shall send him post haste.”
Everton smiled and left the old man to his book and his fire. There would be much to be done in the coming days. He wondered briefly as he made his way up the back stairs to the second floor, what Miss Knorr would make of everything that had occurred. She would no doubt be delighted that a match had been made – if Miss Spencer would agree to it. Lady Gertrude had told him that Miss Knorr did not particularly enjoy her new position and of her longing to return to her home near Exeter.
He couldn’t help imagining what London would be like without her. The two of them had shared a number of interesting conversations in recent weeks and he had come to look forward to seeing her at the many events around London. She was a breath of fresh air, in so many ways. She was candid and articulate, witty and intelligent. She spoke of the things that mattered, rather than making small talk. Like Lady Gertrude, she was always herself. He admired her for that. In an era when a woman’s worth was decided by her beauty, her wealth and her place in Society, Miss Knorr was unbothered by such things. Yet, still managed to live within the constraints Society had set in place – unlike Miss Spencer and Henry, who seemed unconcerned by them and so ignored them.
She was not, of course, here to find a husband as the other girls were. From what he had learned of her past, mostly from Lady Gertrude, Miss Knorr had not found a match when she Came Out into Devon Society, eight years previously, though Everton did not know why such a charming and accomplished young lady would have struggled to find a suitable husband. He could only assume that the young men of the surrounding counties were all fools for letting someone so sweet and good get away.
He knew that Miss Knorr had never had a London Season of her own, as her family could not afford such a thing. It was a very expensive enterprise to launch a young lady into Society, few families could truly afford to do so, so that was no shame. Many took the gamble that a good match would solve all their concerns, but it seemed that Miss Knorr’s family had chosen not to put the pressure on her to save the family’s position. And so, she had only ever acted as a companion to those that did come to London to try their luck.
Yet she seemed unconcerned about her position. She knew most young women of her age would be desperate to find someone to wed, so they might have children and a household of their own to run. But Miss Knorr never spoke of such things. That did not mean she did not think on them, of course. Everton was wise enough to know that all women had their secrets. But she did not display any signs of the panic he so often saw in young women who had not yet married by her age.
He shook his head, as if trying to get rid of such thoughts, as he opened the doorway onto the second floor and made his way along the wide, carpeted corridor to his bed chamber. As he entered the richly decorated rooms, he could see that his valet had laid out a clean night shirt on the vast four-poster bed and that there was a steaming jug of water on the washstand. Jenkins was discreet, but he was always watching and seemed to constantly anticipate Everton’s every need. Sometimes, Everton tried to catch the young man out – but he never managed to do so.
Everton readied himself for bed, and as he always did before he turned out the lamps, he glanced at the miniature of Katherine on the bedside table. He pressed a kiss to his fingers, then to her lips. “If only you were still here, dearest one,” he said to her image as he plumped his pillow and settled himself under the blankets. “You could tell me what to do. Am I making a terrible mistake with Henry? Am I right to push him to proposing to Miss Spencer, or would it be better to ride out the scandal?”
He blew out the lamp and stared up at the ceiling. For the first time since her passing, Katherine did not come to him, not even in his imagination. Instead, it was the flushed cheeks and gentle smile of Miss Knorr that came to mind once more. He tried to conjure Katherine, but he could not. She had left him. He no longer heard her voice in his head and no longer recalled the scent of her hair. He would never forget her. He would not let himself forget her. With a pang of regret for her loss, he suddenly knew that it was time to let her rest in peace, to stop begging her to remain with him in spirit – to let her go. She would not wish for him to waste his days pining for her. She would wish for him to be happy. As he closed his eyes, he couldn’t help thinking that she would have liked Miss Knorr. The pair were, in many ways, very alike.
