A Spinster's Luck (25 page)

“The young miss is looking for a place to lay her head, Matthews. She's that weary from her travels,” Jarvis informed the matronly housekeeper.

“I've had a room ready this past week. You follow me, miss. Will you be needing a bite to eat?”

“No, thank you, Matthews. Just a bed.” Celia noticed Dora hanging back in the front hall, and gestured for the girl to come closer. “Dora, you must meet Matthews. She knows everything about Harford Abbey.” Celia knew Matthews would draw the petite girl under her wing.

They followed the housekeeper up the stairs. Matthews chattered nonstop about the renovations that were being made and how good it was to have the young miss home.

Matthews showed her to a room sparsely furnished,
but very clean, with a southern exposure. Celia was relived that she hadn't been shown to Edna's old room.

Dismissing both women when they offered to help, Celia leaned against the door after closing it behind them.

What was the duke doing at this moment? Enjoying himself at his club or a soiree, more than likely. He had probably been very relieved when he found she'd left.

Before her departure she had given Porter a note to give to the duke. She had written a polite little missive thanking him for his hospitality and explaining that she felt she needed to check on the work being done at Harford Abbey.

She hoped he inferred from her dignified letter that she had no intention of continuing to embarrass him with her presence.

A pang of sadness touched her heart. Now that she knew she loved him, she understood him so much better. No wonder the duke had been austere and somewhat cold. The woman he truly loved belonged to another.

A flush of shame stained her cheeks at how harshly she had judged him. Could she blame him for having an affair with Lady Kendall? She had heard that the earl was quite decrepit. It was so sad. The duke and the countess made such a handsome couple. She continued to torture herself, biting her tender lip at the memory of them dancing so close. Severly was so tall and dark, the countess so fair and petite. Celia felt tall and clumsy next to such a pretty butterfly.

Wearily, Celia removed her clothing and lay on the bed in her chemise. As hard as she tried, she could not prevent the silent tears from slipping past her closed lids.

Earlier that day, after watching Celia's coach turn down the drive, Imy went back into the house to find Severly's butler.

“Porter we are not at home today. And please inform me the moment his grace returns.”

“Very good, your grace.” The stately butler inclined his head as the duchess returned to the drawing room.

After wondering listlessly for a short while what she should do next, Imy searched the room for quill and paper.

Taking a moment to think, she finally dusted off a note and directed one of the footmen to deliver it to Major Rotham. She went to sit in a leather-seated chair by the window, deciding the only thing she could do was wait as patiently as she could.

From the other side of the house, Imy became aware of the continual knocking at the front door.

No doubt the whole of the polite world planned to call, Imy thought with sheer annoyance. She had no intention of accepting visitors, knowing full well that the gossip and questions would start all over if it were known that Miss Langston had departed London.

It was no wonder that Celia wanted to leave. Last night's assembly had been a near disaster. But, to his credit, Drake had somehow turned the tide of scandal. Celia's poised behavior had also done much to salvage her own reputation, Imogene mused futilely. She wished again that Celia had not insisted upon leaving Severly House.

At that moment the drawing room door opened and Porter announced Major Rotham.

Imy jumped up and held out her hands. “David!” she exclaimed, pleased that he had come.

The major swiftly crossed the room and took her hands in his. “I came as soon as I received your note.”

Pulling him to a chair near hers, Imy looked at him with bewildered eyes.

“Thank you so much for attending me. I'm at sixes and sevens. Celia has packed up and left. My brother cannot be located, and the knocker has been banging incessantly.” Listening to herself now, Imy suddenly felt silly for calling him to her side.

The major dismissed her sudden shyness. “And you have summoned me to help you defend Severly House against an onslaught of gossip seekers,” he said with a pleased smile.

Imy laughed, relieved that he so quickly grasped the situation.

“Yes, if I have to be holed up with the curtains drawn, I would prefer to have you here with me.” She dimpled, feeling much better.

The major's smile faded as his eyes locked with hers. “I hope you always feel that way, Imogene,” he said seriously.

Imy felt her heart skip as her eyes met his. “Of course I will, David,” she said simply.

Suddenly they were standing, and Imy was in his arms. Pressed against his warmth, Imy felt like a girl again.

“There is much to say. Much I wish to ask you,” he began, as she allowed herself to relax against him.

“Is there?” she queried, waiting for his kiss.

“Yes, but words can wait.”

His head lowered and their lips met in a kiss as sweet as it had been long awaited.

Moments later the double doors to the drawing room opened and Severly charged in with a scowl on his face.

“God's teeth, Imy! I can't even traverse my own drive. There are too many damned conveyances clogging the way.”

Upon seeing his sister in Rotham's arms, Severly stopped dead in the middle of the room. A look of pleased surprise spread over his face.

“Beg pardon. Didn't you know you had company, Imy,” he said to his sister with a slow smile.

Parting from Imogene reluctantly, Rotham turned to his old friend. “I know I should have spoken to you first, Severly—”

“Not a bit of it, my friend,” the duke interjected. “You two have been smelling of orange blossoms since your visit to Harbrooke Hall. You have my blessing.”

The gentlemen shook hands while Imogene looked on, a serene smile gracing her pretty face.

At the sound, once again, of the distant knocker, Imy suddenly came back to the problem at hand.

“Oh, Drake, everything is amiss. Your drive is so crowded because the entire beau monde has decided to pay us a visit. Everyone is still agog at last evening's entertainment,” she said archly. “But that is not all. Celia
has departed. She has gone off to live at Harford Abbey.”

“Bloody hell you say.” The duke lost his characteristic composure. “Doesn't she know the gossipmongers will start all over again?” He slapped his gloves impatiently against his thigh, a frown returning to his brow.

“I don't believe she cares, Drake,” Imy pointed out gently.

Severly began to pace the room with long strides. Imy turned to the major with a helpless look. He shrugged in response, having nothing to offer to the conversation.

All of a sudden, a loud commotion was heard outside the drawing room doors. The room's occupants turned with startled curiosity as the doors flew open.

The Countess of Kendall dashed in, her face flushed and her bonnet askew.

“I beg your pardon, your grace. I did inform the countess you were not at home. But she insisted.” Porter stood behind the lady, a pained expression on his usually placid countenance.

“That's quite all right, Porter,” Severly said icily, turning to the unexpected guest.

Nodding, the butler stepped out of the room and closed the door. The four people remained in awkward silence.

Ignoring the duchess and Major Rotham, Letty approached the Duke with a pout. “Severly, I would have a word with you.”

With cold anger the duke realized this scene could not be avoided. It was his own fault, he told himself grimly.

“Imy, Rotham? If you would pardon us for a moment?”

“No. I will not pardon Lady Kendall,” Imy said angrily, her chin held high as she looked at Letty accusingly.

Cutting the duchess a nasty look, Letty pulled a hankie from her reticule and made a show of dabbing her eyes.

“Please, Severly,” Letty whimpered, gazing up at him with beseeching eyes. Severly gave his sister a firm glance, and Rotham took Imy's elbow and drew her to the doors.

“I will leave the room, but I
shall not
pardon Lady Kendall,” Imogene bristled before exiting with the major.

After watching the doors close, Letty turned tear-filled eyes toward the duke.

“Why is your sister so mean to me?” she asked innocently, moving to the chair the duchess had recently vacated.

“She has little reason to be kind,” the duke responded calmly.

For the first time, Letty wondered if coming to Severly House had been such a wise idea. Her plan had been to brazen the whole thing out, and throw herself into Severly's arms. But judging by his unyielding expression, her desire might not be so easily achieved.

“Why have you come here, Letty?”

Disregarding the duke's cold countenance, Letty plunged ahead. Drake, darling, say you are not angry at me about last evening. If you are, you must forgive me, for I was terribly jealous,” she sulked. In her vast experience, gentlemen loved a woman to be jealous. It flattered their vanity.

The duke gazed down at his former mistress for a moment, his face unreadable.

“Letty, your behavior at Almack's was beyond the pale. It is one thing to goad me, but to denigrate someone who is completely innocent is inexcusable.” His tone was so even and calm that, at first, Letty mistook his meaning. But as the words sank in, her face grew scarlet.

“But, Drake, I was jealous. You were neglecting me for that spinster.” Her tone was petulant.

“Then you will continue to be jealous, Letty, for our time together is over.”

Lady Kendall's jaw dropped. You are throwing me over? Drake, you can't mean it. I thought you loved me,” she accused shrilly.

“Now, Letty, why would you think that? Love was never part of our game.” His tone was deceptively gentle.

Letty sputtered in her outrage. But you can't throw me over. Not me.” She practically stamped her foot.

“Then you may throw me over. I care not,” he said dismissively.

The statement threw Letty into a fit of crying hysterics. “I cannot accept that you prefer that wretched ape leader to me,” she cried as Severly went to the bellpull.

“Lady Kendall, you will never refer to Miss Langston again. Have I made myself clear?”

Letty stopped crying. There was something in the duke's harsh voice that made her very afraid. She realized that if she defied the duke in this she would surely be committing social suicide. With a hiccup, she knew that his influence might cause the patronesses to blackball her from the assemblies at Almack's. This thought sent her into another fit of noisy crying.

At the duke's summons, Porter reentered the drawing room. “Yes, your grace.” The butler kept his eyes averted from the countess.

“Have Lady Kendall's carriage brought around.”

“Very good, your grace.”

When the door closed behind the butler, Severly turned to Letty. “You may make use of this room as long as you like. I bid you adieu and thank you for the pleasure you have given me in the past,” he drawled with exquisite politeness, and strode from the room.

C
elia had set out quite early for Harbrooke Hall three mornings after arriving at Harford Abbey. Despite the beautiful summer day, the long walk had been bittersweet.

Taking a different route to her former home, Celia walked to the burial ground by the little stone church she had attended since childhood. After stepping through the iron gate, Celia spotted a place, a short distance away, where the grass had not yet grown to cover the recently turned earth. Edna's resting place had not been difficult to locate.

Walking amongst the headstones, Celia came to kneel at the simple marker bearing Edna's name. Tears gently escaped her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. Memories were all around her. She now realized Edna must have been planning for many years to leave the fortune she had painstakingly built to Celia. Edna had been an ill and troubled woman, but Celia was grateful that she had come to know her kind heart.

“Thank you, Edna,” she whispered aloud.

After kneeling in silence for some time, Celia finally left the churchyard knowing she would return again soon.

Crossing a field, she joined the road that led to Harbrooke Hall. Presently, she was pulled from her musings when she noticed an old-fashioned rig coming toward her, down the lane. As it neared, the vehicle slowed, and Celia saw that it was Squire Marchman at the reins.

At the sight of her, he lumbered down from his seat, doffing his hat. His heavy face registered great surprise.

“Miss Langston! I heard that you had returned to Harford,” he said, gawking at her quite openly. His small eyes traveled up and down her form.

Celia, though not in the mood for company, greeted him kindly, asking after his health.

“I am hale and hearty,” the squire proclaimed in his rather blustery voice. “I have never seen you looking so well, Miss Langston. You look as if you are about to attend a ball.” He was still staring at her walking dress.

Laughing, Celia looked down at her lilac-colored dress with its pale green buttons and bows. Even her walking shoes were the palest green. Undoubtedly, in London, she would be commended for her modish sense of style, she thought wryly. She determined to remind herself to have some new, simpler gowns made up. Her current wardrobe was far too sophisticated for her new life, here in the country.

“All the old tabbies in the village have been talking of the changes taking place at Harford Abbey,” he said, moving the conversation to a more interesting topic.

“I daresay they have been,” she stated roundly, knowing how the village thrived on gossip. She was certain that the news of Edna's hidden wealth had been more than a nine-days' wonder.