A New Beginning: The Spinsters Guild Read online

  Emily nodded, looking about her and seeing that her father was making his way up the small staircase towards the card room, walking alongside Lord Smithton. Their engagement was to be announced later this evening and Emily knew she had to speak to Lord Havisham before that occurred.

  “I know this is most untoward, but might we speak in private?” she asked, reaching out and surreptitiously putting her hand on his arm, battling against the fear of impropriety. She had done this much, she told herself. Therefore, all she had to do was continue on as she had begun and her courage might be rewarded.

  Lord Havisham hesitated. “That may be a little….”

  Emily blushed furiously, knowing that to speak alone with a gentleman was not at all correct, for it could bring damaging consequences to them both – but for her, at this moment, she did not find it to be a particularly concerning issue, given that she was to be married to Lord Smithton if he did not do anything.

  “It is of the greatest importance, as I have said,” she replied, quickly, praying that he would consent. “Please, Lord Havisham, it will not take up more than a few minutes of your time.” Seeing him hesitate even more, she bit her lip. “Surely you must know me well enough to know that I would not force you into anything, Lord Havisham,” she pleaded, noting how his eyes darted away from hers, a slight flush now in his cheeks. “There is enough of a friendship between us, is there not?”

  Lord Havisham nodded and then sighed “I am sorry, Miss Taylor,” he replied, quietly, looking at her. “You are quite right. Come. The gardens will be quiet.”

  Walking away from her mother – who did not do anything to hinder Emily’s departure, Emily felt such an overwhelming sense of relief that it was all she could do to keep her composure. Surely Lord Havisham, with his goodness and kind nature, would see the struggle that faced her and seek to do what he could to bring her aid? Surely he had something of an affection in his heart for her? But would it be enough?

  “Now,” Lord Havisham began, as they stepped outside. “What is it that troubles you so, Miss Taylor?”

  Now that it came to it, Emily found her mouth going dry and her heart pounding so furiously that she could barely speak. She looked up at Lord Havisham, seeing his features only slightly in the darkness of the evening and found herself desperately trying to say even a single word.

  “It is…..” Closing her eyes, she halted and dragged in air, knowing that she was making a complete cake of herself.

  “I am to be wed to Lord Smithton,” she managed to say, her words tumbling over each other in an attempt to be spoken. “I have no wish to marry him but my father insists upon it.” Opening her eyes, she glanced warily up at Lord Havisham and saw his expression freeze.

  “I should offer you my congratulations,” he stammered, suddenly rubbing his chin with two long fingers. “I am certain that –”

  “Your attentions, Lord Havisham, have been countlessly more welcomed than those of Lord Smithton.” A swell of determination had suddenly ripped through Emily’s chest, her hands clenching into fists as she spoke. “I have longed to spend more time with you and would be glad to accept your courtship, should you ever wish to give it.”

  Lord Havisham said nothing for some moments after this pronouncement, clearly astonished by what she had said. Emily did not look away, her dark future giving her the impetus she needed to speak from the heart. He was, she knew, her only hope.

  Clearing his throat, Lord Havisham began to shake his head and instantly, Emily felt all hope begin to flicker and die.

  “I will not pretend that I have found your company to be greatly enjoyable, Miss Taylor,” he told her, putting his hands behind his back and holding them there tightly. “I had considered that I might seek to court you but now it seems that matters have been taken out of my hands.”

  Emily swallowed hard, an ache settling in her throat. “There is always Scotland,” she whispered, aware that she was sounding desperate but being quite unable to pretend that she was accepting of her situation. “My father might never grant you courtship but we could escape and marry over the anvil.” Stepping forward, she put one hand on his arm, grasping it tightly. “Please, Lord Havisham. If you have any fondness for me whatsoever, tell me that you will at least consider my request.”

  Lord Havisham sighed heavily, let his hands fall to his sides so that he no longer stood tense and taut. Emily let her hand slide down his arm to touch his hand, hearing his swift intake of breath as she did so. Sparks flew from their fingers, their prolonged touch bringing a shower of peace to her soul.

  And then, he stepped back.

  “I cannot,” he stated, pulling his hand away and ending their connection. “As much as I regret that you will be forced to marry a gentleman you care nothing for, I can do nothing to aid you in this, Miss Taylor.”

  She stared at him, her eyes wide and a faint trembling beginning to wash over her skin.

  “Were circumstances different, I would have sought to court you, Miss Taylor,” he continued, turning the knife that already pierced her heart. “But I cannot permit myself to do so when I know you are already engaged.”

  “But it is not of my choosing!” she cried, tears beginning to stream from her eyes unhindered. “You know Lord Smithton, do you not? You know, surely, that he is not a suitable match for me.”

  Lord Havisham sighed and rubbed at his forehead. “I am aware of Lord Smithton, yes,” he replied, heavily. “I am aware that his previous marriage ended with the death of his wife after only a few months, but I am certain that the rumors surrounding her passing are nothing more than idle gossip.”

  It felt as though someone had kicked her hard in the ribs. “His first wife?” she whispered, having known nothing of it – but Lord Havisham did not seem to notice her shock.

  “I fear that the displeasure and discourtesy that would follow my actions of taking you to Scotland would be too much to bear,” he finished, a hint of sadness in his voice. “My family name would hold some disgrace for some time, which might even pass onto further generations. As much as I admit a fondness for you, Miss Taylor, it is not substantial enough to –”

  Emily swiped the air with her hand, cutting him off. “You have said more than enough, Lord Havisham,” she said, tears still burning down her cheeks as agony tore through her heart. “I can do nothing other than accept my fate. You have made yourself quite clear. I do not need to hear anything more.”

  “Miss Taylor, please.”

  She turned away from him blindly, swiping at her tears as she hurried further into the gardens. The darkness welcomed her, pulling her into its embrace as she staggered away from him. He had not done as she had prayed he might. Her belief had, perhaps, been foolish but it had been the only hope she had left to cling to. Now it was dashed to pieces, crushed under the feet of Lord Havisham.

  Chapter Three

  Two years later

  “Well,” Emily murmured, walking into her townhouse and feeling a weight roll from her shoulders. “This is certainly more of a delight than I expected.”

  Over the last two years, Emily had dealt with a great deal of difficulty but had managed to return to society with a sense of strength and determination that she had not had before. Now that she was an independent widow, it meant that she had no need to cower before anyone, whether that be a husband or a father. She had nothing to concern herself with other than her own affairs. It was, she considered, rather freeing.

  Having been in London for a little less than a week, Emily had taken to walking in the park for a short stroll every afternoon. Most people glanced at her and then looked away, but for some, their interest had become a trifle more apparent. Some looked once, then looked again, but for longer this time. Emily said nothing to them and they said nothing to her, forcing herself to remain entirely disinterested in anything and everything that was said.

  “You have a visitor, my lady.”

  Emily froze, glove in hand, as she stared up at the butler, who was ready to ta
ke said gloves from her.

  “A visitor?” she repeated, slowly, her stomach suddenly twisting. “And who might this visitor be, might I ask?” It was most unusual to have someone calling upon her without sending a note around first, particularly since Emily had not been expecting anyone. She had not attended any social gatherings since returning to London and was still trying to find the strength to do so.

  “It is Lady Blakely,” the butler replied, deftly taking Emily’s gloves and then handing her a card in their place. “She did insist on waiting for your return, my lady. I am sorry if I did wrong in allowing her to stay.”

  Emily shook her head, taking in a long breath and pressing a smile to her lips. “You did nothing incorrect, of course,” she told him, seeing him visibly relax. “It is merely that I am little surprised at the visit, that is all.”

  The butler cleared his throat and inquired, “Would you like a tea tray to be delivered? You must be in need of refreshment after your walk.”

  “Yes, please, that would be wonderful.” Emily moved away, stopping to look at her reflection in the mirror.

  Her dark brown tresses were pulled back neatly, although there were a few wisps that needed to be smoothed down. The same green eyes that had stared at her in despair some years ago looked back at her now, except they were filled with a measure of confidence that had Emily lifting her chin just a little. She had managed to live with Lord Smithton for a little over nine months before he had passed away and, in that time, had discovered a way to live that ensured she protected herself from his advances. It had taken a great deal of courage to refuse to do as he had insisted, having been trained to obey without question, but having done so once, she had learned she had the strength to do so again and again. Thus had begun her new life. A life where she had been able to live with some dignity, whilst refusing to give her husband what it was he wanted. Lord Smithton’s age had prevented him from slapping any of the consequences he threatened down upon her and so she had found herself quite safe from him. Her confidence had only grown as the days and months had passed, to the point that she now knew that she had nothing to fear from anyone, be it gentleman or lady.

  A small smile lifted the corner of her lips, her eyes flashing as she wondered why Lady Blakely had come to call upon her. Most likely it would be to discover why Emily had returned to London. This news would then be spread about to all Lady Blakely’s friends and acquaintances, who would chew over this gossip for some time. It did not help that the suggestion had been made that Lord Smithton had sought death due to her stubbornness and insubordination – a claim that had been made all the more painful when Emily had discovered that it had come from her own father.

  Setting her shoulders, Emily made her way towards the parlor, walking as gracefully and as calmly as she could. Opening the door, she stepped inside and immediately saw Lady Blakely rise to her feet, a warm smile on her face that did not quite reach her eyes.

  Emily was on her guard at once.

  “Good afternoon, Lady Blakely,” Emily said, curtsying. She recalled Lady Blakely from when she had been in London as a debutante, although the lady had been acquainted more with Emily’s mother than with her herself. “I confess I am a little surprised that you have called upon me this afternoon.” Her smile remained, her tone warm, but still, the lady flinched visibly. “You will have to accept my apologies for your wait. I was taking a walk this afternoon.”

  “As I well know,” Lady Blakely replied, with a tight smile. “I have seen you there almost every day this week.” She curtsied quickly, before sitting down without Emily’s request that she do so. The lady’s hair was in tight curls, pulled back from her face, although it was more liberally streaked with white than Emily remembered. A pair of dark grey eyes looked back at her as Emily finally took her seat, narrowing slightly at Emily’s cool tone.

  “So,” Lady Blakely began, as the maid came in with the tea tray. “You have returned to London.”

  “I have,” Emily replied, giving a quick smile towards the maid. “It has been two years since I was last in London but I doubt very much has changed.”

  Lady Blakely sniffed but Emily busied herself with pouring the tea, her instant dislike of the lady burning within her heart.

  “You have lost your husband, I hear.”

  “I have.”

  Silence filled the room for some moments. Evidently, Lady Blakely had been expecting Emily to say something profound about the loss of Lord Smithton, or to express regret or sorrow. Emily felt no such emotion and therefore did not feel the need to say even a single word. Lady Blakely coughed quietly as Emily set her tea on the table just in front of her, clearly a little displeased with how Emily had conducted herself.

  “You have completed your mourning period then, I presume,” Lady Blakely asked, making Emily hold back a sigh. “And now have returned to London to seek another.”

  Emily laughed before she could stop herself. It was not a light, delicate sound but rather one that was filled with harshness. It grated on even Emily’s ears but she did not hold herself back from it.

  “I hardly think that my return to society should indicate that I seek out another husband,” she told Lady Blakely, plainly. “I have only just found my freedom, Lady Blakely, and do not intend to give it up so easily.”

  Lady Blakely’s eyes narrowed all the more, although Emily caught a flicker of interest in those dark slits. “Your freedom, Lady Smithton? I thought you cared for your husband.”

  “Then you are mistaken,” Emily replied, with a small smile. “I tolerated my husband.” She knew full well that this statement would be all around London within a few hours but Emily did not care. She had found a new strength within her and she was not about to start shrinking back from the truth. “I am sorry that he met such an untimely end, of course, but I will not mourn a day longer for him than I am required to, Lady Blakely. Now,” She tipped her head and smiled at the older lady. “Do you think that will satisfy you?”

  Lady Blakely blinked rapidly, clearly unsure as to what Emily meant. “I came to offer my condolences, Lady Smithton, if that is what you mean.”

  Emily, who did not believe this at all, managed to suppress a snort of disbelief. “I see,” she said, coolly. “Then I thank you for your condolences, Lady Blakely.” So saying, she lifted her teacup to her lips and took a sip.

  Again, a silence settled across the room that Emily had no consideration to break. Lady Blakely was clearly a little perturbed over how Emily was conducting herself but had no words with which to explain such concern. It was quite clear to Emily that Lady Blakely had come simply to seek out some gossip that she might pass on to her friends, or to discover the truth about Lord Smithton’s death, although she had not yet asked about the latter.

  “Your husband died from a fall from his horse, I believe.”

  Taking another sip of her tea, Emily cleared her throat and then held Lady Blakely’s gaze. “Indeed,” she replied, calmly.

  “I did hear,” Lady Blakely continued, leaning forward in a conspiratorial fashion, “that your marriage was not a happy one.”

  There was no answer that Emily was willing to give to such a declaration. Her marriage to Lord Smithton had been greatly unhappy, but there was no need for anyone to be aware of such a thing, and certainly not someone like Lady Blakely. She did not reply, therefore, allowing Lady Blakely’s statement to hang in the air and fall to the ground thereafter.

  “I can see that I am not going to be successful in any attempt at conversation from you,” Lady Blakely said suddenly, putting her teacup down and hurriedly rising to her feet, her skirts billowing out around her. “Goodness, Lady Smithton, you have changed vastly since I last was introduced to you.”

  Emily could not help but smile. “I am glad to hear it,” she told Lady Blakely, seeing the lady start in surprise. “I was a mouse when I first came to London, Lady Blakely. A mouse who was told what to do, how to act, what to say and who to marry.” Her confidence filled her che
st as she rose to her feet, one eyebrow arching gently. “I am no longer that mouse, Lady Blakely, and therefore even less inclined to allow anyone to try and persuade me to speak about what I do not wish to. Particularly when I am certain that they seek to discover such things from me so that they might then pass it on to others.” She saw Lady Blakely’s color heighten but did not hold herself back from continuing to speak honestly. “I am aware that there will be some question over my return to London and believe me, I know full well the extent of my father’s whispers, but I will not permit such things to pull me down into a pit of despair. A pit from which I have only just escaped, Lady Blakely.”

  Lady Blakely sniffed and hoisted her chin in the air. “I do not think that you will do particularly well in London, Lady Smithton,” she told her, judgmentally. “You have become abrasive in your manner and are now suggesting such things about my own character – that I am here only to seek gossip and such like – when the truth is that I came merely to offer my sympathies to a young lady who now finds herself without her husband.”

  Emily did not move, nor did she let Lady Blakely’s words sting her. She had the measure of Lady Blakely and would not allow her ill manner to affect how she behaved in any way. She was beyond that now.

  Seeing that she was to get no reaction from Emily, Lady Blakely huffed loudly, then turned on her heel and walked towards the door. “I bid you good day, Lady Smithton,” she said, her voice high pitched and her face turned away from Emily. “I do not think I shall seek out your company again.”

  And nor shall I, thought Emily, gratefully, as the lady marched from the room. I shall choose my own acquaintances amongst society, since I am finally permitted to do so, and gossipmongers shall not be amongst them.

  Feeling fairly satisfied with how the visit had gone, Emily rose to her feet and wandered to the window, looking down upon London and thinking back to when she had first arrived as a debutante. Things were vastly different now, particularly as regarded her own character. She had grown in confidence and in strength of mind, able to see that she could, in fact, choose her own path in spite of what others might think. That was precisely what she was here to do now. Having no intention of seeking out a new husband, Emily wanted to experience all that London had to offer for what would be the first time in her life. Free from expectations, from demands and from society’s urgings, she would go where she pleased and speak to whomever she wished. She would care nothing for what society thought of her, for her reputation meant nothing to them now. She was a widow and had her own means by which to live, which meant that she could do precisely as she pleased.