Smitten by the Spinster (4 page)

Lizzie raced through the dirty streets of London, the one thing she actually didn’t hate about this time. She loved dodging the pickpockets and noisy street vendors, adored keeping an eye out for waste getting tossed from an upper window, felt a burst of glee when she had to jump over a miry muck puddle.

As soon as she was out of the sight of anyone who might be a future employer or report back to a current one, she walked fast, with long improper strides, her skirt hoisted up nearly to her knees and a deadly glare on her face in case anyone got the wrong idea to mess with her.

She stopped short to keep from trampling a chicken that had wandered out of an alley. Poor thing, it was probably about to meet an axe blade. By taking her dangerous shortcut, she’d saved at least twenty minutes, and her heart pounded with the freedom and exhilaration of being able to move without someone looking down their nose at her.

She mounted the back steps of the manor house Lew worked at— it still gave her the creeps, this house that had stolen her life out from under her, and there was no amount of money that would have made her go to the upper floor again, not without express instructions from Lord Ashford anyway.

She made sure she looked respectable by smoothing her hair and straightening anything that might have gone awry during her lively dash, and knocked on the door. She offered up a little prayer that he might have been in contact with the slippery lord sometime in the last month since she’d seen him, then frowned. Over the last year she’d turned into such an awful person, no prayer of hers would ever be answered.

A young footman answered the door and smiled at her. She searched her memory for his name, but ended up with nothing and dropped a half curtsy.

“I’m here to see my uncle,” she said.

“Yes, I know who y’are,” the boy said, clearly offended that she didn’t remember him.

It came to her all at once and she grinned. “I know, William, I’m just helping you practice.” He laughed, and with a bow, let her into the kitchen, which was bustling with activity and steaming hot. “Is there a big party on tonight?” she asked as he sent a kitchen maid to look for Lew.

William wiped his brow and nodded. “Giant shindig, miss.”

She was sorry her charge was only just arriving that day, it would have been an important party to be invited to. The big ones were good for getting a handle on who everyone was, and what their goals were. She could get some targets lined up, which would make it easier for her to know which of the smaller invitations to accept.

She reminded herself how very rich this new girl was. She really didn’t need to stress at all this time around. One whisper of the amount and she’d have her choice. Young miss Ferguson that is. She would have her choice. Sometimes Lizzie got too wrapped up in the game, too competitive, but it was the only thing that kept her from slipping into despair while she waited.

Lew interrupted her speculation with a firm handshake and dour look. If she could grow attached to anyone in this time, it would be this ramrod old man, but he’d probably be thrilled to be rid of her.

“Sorry, my dear,” he said without preamble. “Not a hint of him this month.”

She tried to keep the disappointment from showing, should know better by now than to even build up any hope anymore. She really hated when he got that pitying look on his face.

“Well, tell me about the shindig tonight instead,” she said.

Lew ignored the slight slump of her shoulders, bless him, and leaned in for a bit of gossip. “Word of your Scottish heiress is spreading like wildfire,” he said in low voice. “If she’s at all attractive, you’ll be beating them back.”

“With her money, she can look like the hind end of a pig and I’ll still be beating them back,” she said.

He scowled at her. “You’ve grown cynical, dear.”

“Do you think so, Lewellyn?” she asked sarcastically. “Waiting on pins and needles for someone who’s probably a figment of your imagination to show up and somehow miraculously get me home? When all I had to do in the meantime is give up everything I love and be a servant?” She instantly regretted her harsh words and looked away so she didn’t have to see the hurt that was surely in his kind eyes.

Lewellyn Hallifax was a butler, a servant, from a long line of them. It was an honest and noble profession and he was right to be proud of his job. And she had to believe she had an easier lot of it being a companion than being a courtesan, which he’d gently assured her would be the road she’d end up on if she tried to take to the stage in this time.

An unattached, unprotected young woman like herself, trying to make her way in such a wild profession, stood very little hope of not getting immoral propositions. Legitimate acting jobs would be so few and far between, she’d have no recourse but to become the mistress of a man who would most likely beat her, and probably give her syphilis to boot. He’d basically scared the crap out of her. Yes, she was grateful to be a chaperone, and she owed that to Lew.

He’d never once looked down on her, had always been patient and kind, even through the past year of her turning into a bitter shrew. And of course she didn’t believe that Lord Ashford was a figment of his imagination. She’d seen him herself that fateful night at Trent’s work party.

She sighed. “I better get back,” she said, feeling like a jerk. “Miss Ferguson might arrive early.”

He placed his hand on her sleeve, and looked at her with his serious eyes. “Let yourself live a little, Lizzie. You’ve been performing so long, you aren’t yourself anymore.”

A deep weight settled in her chest. “I’ve been acting respectable and fine for so long, I don’t know how to stop.” She smiled sadly at him and he shook his head.

“You are respectable and fine, my dear. You needn’t act at all. I fear you may have to accept living in this time for good. Give yourself a chance to be happy.”

“Find a nice boy and settle down?” she asked, getting up to leave.

“Now you’re mocking again,” he sighed. “But would it be so terrible?”

“Just keep me informed, Lew.”

The walk home was less than joyful and free, and she took the long way through the park. She didn’t have to dodge any offal and didn’t trip over any livestock, but her mood grew worse with every step. She didn’t know why she placed so much hope in the reappearance of the mysterious time traveling earl.

After all this time, Lew had only seen him once, had quickly apprised him of her situation, and had been told every possible avenue would be exhausted in getting her back. But, apparently this particular window through time was volatile, and going this far into the past was difficult for him.

At first, she’d clung to the hope that difficult didn’t mean impossible and kept on the edge of her seat, ready to take off at any moment. If Lew had summoned her in the middle of a party, she would have overturned every card table and broken down a door if need be, to get home. But no dramatic summons had ever come, and Lew never had good news for her when she visited him.

And now she had to trot around an uncouth Scottish girl and deal with her caveman brother on top of it. She knew how to deal with mothers, aunts, grannies and even fathers could be charmed. But older brothers? They were notoriously overprotective and overbearing.

She shuddered, her active imagination dreaming up a hunchbacked, hairy, toothless ogre in a stained and ragged kilt. And the poor girl! Why had they never sent her to her English relatives before she was seventeen? Lizzie wondered if she could even read, which in this time wasn’t all that farfetched of a fear.

She took her place in the sitting room with Lady Amberly and picked up a stray piece of needlework from the basket and demurely worked on it, making agreeing sounds whenever her boss said anything. The rhythm of passing the needle back and forth through the fabric calmed her jangled nerves and by the time Franklin announced the arrival of Miss Catriona Ferguson, she’d regained her equilibrium. She was still here, still had no way to get home. She would continue to make the best of things.

Catriona entered the room a step behind Franklin, looking curiously from her to Lady Amberly. Lizzie mentally sighed with relief that she wasn’t shaking like a windswept leaf. The girl was medium height, with dishwater blonde hair that was neatly swept off her face to hang in a straight cascade down her back. Lizzie prayed it would hold a curl. After her thankfully very nice curtsy, Catriona smiled at them, transforming her somewhat long, plain face to something quite angelic. Her cheeks had good color, and when Lizzie stood to warmly take her hand in greeting, her pale blue eyes sparkled.

“Verra glad to make your acquaintance at last, Miss Burnet,” she said.

“Have you been fretting the entire journey, poor girl?” Lizzie asked with a sympathetic laugh to put her at ease.

Her Scottish accent was strong but understandable. In fact, her voice was quite lilting. Her rosy cheeks flooded with further color.

“Aye, that I have,” she said. She made her curtsy to Lady Amberly, who uncharacteristically wrapped Catriona in a hug and burst into tears.

“Oh child, you are the image of my dear, late sister. I do miss her so.”

Lizzie had never seen such a display of emotion from the woman and found tears rising in her own eyes, which she quickly swiped away before they could spill. She never cried. In fact, it had always been incredibly difficult for her to work up a tear for performances. No matter how deeply she delved into a character’s motivation, she couldn’t seem to tap that well. Once she’d complained about it over lunch with her non-actress friend Andie and Andie had instantly teared up, much to Lizzie’s disgruntlement.

“Just think about Charlotte’s Web,” she’d said. “No one was with her when she died, remember?” Her face wrinkled with emotion and she waved her fingers, Miss America style, in front of her watering eyes.

Of course, if Lizzie had ever tried it she would have invariably been dinged by a reviewer, who would have seen right through the ruse. But now, the emotion was very real. She knew what it was like to miss people. For the first time, Lizzie kind of liked Lady Amberly. Damn it.

Tea and cakes were ordered and Catriona’s bags were sent up to her room. After some more patting and clucking, Lady Amberly gasped and looked around her.

“But where is your brother? Did he not make the journey with you after all?” Her voice held a distinct note of hopefulness.

“No, ma’am, he’s gone to find himself a room before it got too late. He’ll be along to meet ye tomorrow.” She swallowed nervously and looked from one to the other. A little lamb among wolves, Lizzie thought.

“Why don’t I show Miss Catriona to her room and help her get settled in before supper?” Lizzie offered, seeing how overwhelmed she was at the onslaught of attention from her brand new aunt.

Up in her room, Catriona visibly relaxed. “I didna know I would cause my aunt to cry,” she said shyly. “Did ye know my mother as well?”

Lizzie helped her take things from the valise and began assessing her wardrobe. It was clear right away they’d need to shop. “No, I’ve only just met your aunt recently.” She turned around to see the girl looking her over with a scrutinizing air, but dropped her eyes at once at being caught.

“I’m verra sorry, miss, but ye dinna look at all like how I imagined ye would.”

Lizzie stifled a laugh. “And how was that? Quite like a dragon?”

Catriona’s face turned bright red. “Not a dragon exactly, but ye’re nothing like how I thought a spinster would look either. Ye’re verra pretty and not verra old at all.”

Lizzie tried not to roll her eyes. At twenty-six, in this day and age she was well on the shelf. When she’d first made her foray into eighteenth century social life, she’d had a few offers, both rude and sincere, but couldn’t let go of the hope she’d be able to go home and couldn’t bear the thought of shackling herself to a man just for security.

“Thank you,” she said simply, accepting the awkward compliment for what it was.

Catriona meant no harm or insult. She was, in fact, a spinster. She tamped down the rage she sometimes still got being trapped here, forced into the standards of this time.

“Ye’re far prettier than I could ever hope to be, even all done up,” Catriona continued, giving herself a sad glance in the mirror.

Now the laugh couldn’t help but come out. “Well, I do not have a fortune to go with my face,” she said, smoothing Catriona’s hair. It was soft and probably wouldn’t hold a curl, but up close it had lots of pretty natural highlights. All of a sudden she felt a protectiveness, looking at her charge’s sad eyes in the mirror. “You’re very lovely, dear. You have wonderful skin, and your eyes sparkle, which is a sign of great intelligence.”

“I hope at least someone is interested in me,” she said morosely. “It seems verra important that I marry.”

“Don’t you want to be settled?” Lizzie asked, returning to wardrobe assessment. It was bad, really bad. She made a mental note to send a message to the dressmaker that very evening, to be ready for them first thing in the morning. She already had a list of parties lined up and didn’t want to miss any of them. “With your fortune, you’ll have your pick, don’t you worry about that.”

“It doesna seem savory, getting a husband like that,” she said. “I thought it would be different.”

Lizzie snorted. Didn’t they all? “Don’t fret about it. It just means you’ll be able to find someone you actually like, is all. What kind of gentleman do you fancy?”