Page 3 of A Spinster’s Folly (Courting the Unconventional #2)

E ugenie sat in the drawing room, elegantly poised in a dark blue gown that complemented her fair complexion.

A book rested in her hands, but her attention was far from the printed words.

This was unusual since reading had always been her greatest solace, her refuge from the world.

And yet, tonight, she found herself rereading the same sentence over and over, unable to focus.

Her gaze flickered to the long clock in the corner, its polished brass pendulum swinging in a steady rhythm. She had checked the time at least five times in the last few moments, telling herself it was simply out of habit. Certainly not because she was anticipating Lord Bedford’s arrival.

Not that she cared. At least, that was what she kept trying to tell herself.

But, heaven help her, she did.

Why had she let him kiss her? It had been sheer madness on her part. The moment his lips had met hers, the world had ceased to exist. It had been more than what she had ever imagined a kiss could be. And that was precisely the problem.

There was no future in entertaining such thoughts, no logical reason to allow herself to be distracted by a man she had no business thinking about. She was perfectly content being a spinster. A marriage would only shackle her, limiting the freedoms she so fiercely cherished.

She tried to convince herself that the kiss meant nothing.

It had been a stolen moment in the library of Lady Britton’s townhouse during a ball—nearly six months ago.

And at the time, she had no idea who Lord Bedford was.

Had she known, she would never have let him kiss her.

Not that she gave away her kisses. No. Lord Bedford was the only person she had ever kissed.

They had been arguing and it had just happened.

The chime of the long clock echoed through the room, jolting her from her wayward thoughts. Lord Bedford would be here any moment. The thought made her heart race, which was utterly ridiculous. She was not some love-starved debutante waiting for a suitor’s call.

She needed to compose herself.

Just as she was taking a steadying breath, the butler stepped into the room. “Lord Bedford has arrived, my lady,” Tanner announced.

Eugenie forced an expression of nonchalance and raised her book as if wholly engrossed. “Send him in, please,” she said, feigning disinterest. It would not do to appear as though she had been waiting for him.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Lord Bedford enter. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and his dark hair was impeccably brushed forward. Clad in a fine black jacket and matching trousers, he exuded effortless confidence. Worse still, he looked far too handsome for his own good.

Or hers.

Lord Bedford strode across the room with his usual surety, stopping just before her. She could feel his gaze on her, but she kept her eyes fixed on the pages before her, lifting a finger as if she were in the midst of an utterly engrossing passage. “One moment,” she murmured.

She read precisely three lines—none of which she comprehended—before finally snapping the book shut and lowering it to her lap. “My apologies,” she said. “I had to finish the chapter.”

Lord Bedford inclined his head. “Understandable. May I ask what you were reading?”

Drat.

It was a simple enough question, but in his presence, she found that recalling even the most basic details became unreasonably difficult. She glanced down at the book as if seeing it for the first time. “ Roxana: The Fortunate Mistress by Daniel Defoe.”

A flicker of something—interest? amusement?—crossed his face. “Ah, a story about a woman who rises through Society using her intelligence and charm but ultimately faces the weight of moral dilemmas.”

Eugenie arched a brow. “You’ve read it?”

Lord Bedford grinned. “You sound surprised.”

“I am,” she admitted. “Most gentlemen of the ton do not waste their time on fiction. They consider it beneath them.”

His grin widened. “You will find that I am not like most gentlemen.” He winked.

Oh, dear. A slow warmth crept up her neck, and she quickly averted her gaze, tracing idle patterns along the spine of her book in a desperate attempt to appear unaffected.

Lord Bedford took a seat beside her, his proximity sending an unwelcome flutter through her stomach. “I’m surprised Westcott and Elsbeth aren’t down yet.”

Eugenie exhaled, grateful for the change in topic. “I’m not. They can’t seem to keep their hands off one another.”

Lord Bedford visibly shuddered. “That is an unfortunate thought. ”

“You should try riding in a coach with them. It was truly dreadful. I even pinched myself to see if I had become invisible.”

He laughed. The rich, deep sound was entirely too intoxicating. “You poor thing.”

The dinner bell rang in the distance, its chime echoing through the house.

Eugenie turned towards the doorway. “Well, they should be down shortly,” she remarked, immediately chastising herself for stating the obvious.

Lord Bedford relaxed against the settee, regarding her with an amused expression. “What shall we talk about while we wait?”

Before she could think better of it, she blurted, “Do you like the weather?”

The moment the words left her lips, she nearly groaned aloud. The weather? Good heavens, what was wrong with her ? There was nothing remotely interesting about the weather. It always rained in England. That was a simple, indisputable fact.

Lord Bedford smirked. “I do,” he said, clearly humoring her.

“So do I.” Eugenie shut her eyes in mortification. Why, why, why?

His smirk widened. “I was hoping for a slightly more intellectually stimulating conversation.”

“Of course,” she said hastily, wishing the floor would open up and swallow her whole.

He studied her for a long moment before asking, “What do you think of the Luddite Movement?”

“You truly wish to know?” Eugenie asked, utterly surprised by the question.

Lord Bedford leaned forward slightly, his expression earnest. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to hear the answer.”

For the first time that evening, Eugenie felt herself truly relax. Perhaps she had underestimated Lord Bedford after all. He was actually engaging her in real discourse, a rarity among men of his social standing.

“Well,” she began, leaning slightly forward, “I find that I sympathize with the Luddites. Their livelihoods are being stripped away, replaced by industrial machines that can produce goods faster and cheaper.”

Lord Bedford studied her intently, his sharp gaze never wavering. “But should we not embrace industrialization? Progress is inevitable.”

“Not at the expense of people’s livelihoods,” Eugenie countered, a note of passion creeping into her voice. “These workers already endure grueling hours for meager wages. To have their only source of income taken from them—without any alternatives—how can that be justified?”

Lord Bedford tilted his head. “However, the Luddites do not merely protest. They break into factories and destroy expensive machinery. Surely, that level of destruction cannot be condoned.”

Eugenie set her book aside, folding her hands in her lap as she met his gaze with unwavering conviction.

“What other choice do they have?” she asked.

“Their pleas are ignored by the very people who profit from their misfortunes. They have families to feed and roofs to keep over their heads. Desperation makes men act in ways they might not otherwise.”

“I understand their plight,” Lord Bedford admitted, “but industrialization also makes textiles more affordable for the masses. The economy grows, and, in theory, new jobs emerge.”

“Perhaps,” Eugenie conceded, “but that does not change the fact that breaking machinery should not be a crime punishable by death. The Frame Breaking Act of 1812 is barbaric. Execution for damaging a loom? Surely you cannot defend that.”

Lord Bedford opened his mouth as if to formulate a response, but before he could say anything, a soft, familiar voice interrupted them from the doorway.

“Cousin,” Elsbeth greeted warmly.

Both Eugenie and Lord Bedford turned towards the entrance, where Elsbeth stood with a radiant smile. Her dark curls were pinned elegantly, and her gown was a soft shade of lavender that flattered her delicate features.

Lord Bedford rose from his seat and crossed the room, taking Elsbeth’s hands before leaning down to press a light kiss to her cheek. “I see that marriage agrees with you,” he observed, a genuine note of affection in his voice.

Elsbeth beamed. “It does,” she admitted. “It is far better than I ever imagined it could be.”

“Where is Westcott?” Lord Bedford asked.

“He should be here in a moment. He is reviewing the accounts,” Elsbeth shared. “I do apologize for interrupting your riveting conversation.”

Eugenie offered a small, knowing smile. “We were simply engaging in an intellectual discussion, that is all.”

Lord Bedford, still standing beside Elsbeth, glanced back at Eugenie, his lips twitching. “An engaging one, indeed.”

Just then, Niles appeared in the doorway, his arm slipping around Elsbeth’s waist. “Shall we adjourn for dinner?”

Eugenie rose from her seat. “Yes, please.” Then leveling her brother with a look, she added, “And need I remind you that we have company? Do try to keep your hands to yourself this evening.”

Niles didn’t so much as feign remorse. Instead, his lips curled into a smug grin. “I’ll try,” he said. “But I can’t promise Elsbeth will do the same. I simply can’t get her to stop kissing me. Not that I blame her, of course. I am quite the catch.”

Elsbeth, to her credit, did not blush or scold him, but merely smiled, entirely undeterred. “Yes, you are, my love,” she murmured, placing her hand over his .

Eugenie rolled her eyes, but before she could respond, Lord Bedford stepped beside her. Leaning in slightly, he lowered his voice so only she could hear. “You did try to warn me.”

“Trust me. It only gets worse,” Eugenie said. “Wait until he calls her his ‘love biscuit.’”