Page 1 of The Spinster and Her Rakish Duke (The Athena Society #3)
“ I s that… Lord Stonehall on a pony?”
The whispered question carried across the manicured gardens of Norfeld Hall, accompanied by the soft rustle of silk skirts and the gentle clink of teacups against saucers.
Lady Samantha Brennan paused mid-conversation with Mrs. Combs, the elderly vicar’s wife, and turned toward the source of the commotion.
What she witnessed defied all comprehension of proper society behavior.
A white pony, no larger than what one might expect to find in a child’s petting zoo, trotted into view theatrically.
Astride the small creature sat a young man of perhaps nineteen, his fashionable attire adorned with considerably more frills and embellishments than any lord of her acquaintance would dare sport, and his posture suggested someone who believed himself the hero of his own epic poem.
Behind this extraordinary procession, a small servant boy scattered rose petals dutifully, creating a trail of crimson across the otherwise pristine lawn.
“Good heavens,” breathed Lady Hargrave, her teacup frozen halfway to her lips.
Samantha found herself equally transfixed by the spectacle, though for entirely different reasons.
The sheer audacity of such a display at the Marquess of Norfeld’s genteel garden party was simultaneously horrifying and fascinating.
She had witnessed many peculiar behaviors during her years observing the ton’s social machinations, but this exceeded even her considerable experience with masculine foolishness.
“Jane,” she called to her sister, who stood some distance away near the rose arbor. “Jane, come here at once.”
But Jane was already moving: not toward Samantha, but toward the approaching pony and its rider. Her blue eyes sparkled with delight, and she clapped her hands together in excitement.
“Oh my,” Jane breathed, her voice carrying the kind of wonder that Samantha had long since abandoned. “How perfectly marvelous!”
The young man brought his pony to a halt directly before Jane and produced a single red rose from his elaborately embroidered waistcoat before clearing his throat.
Samantha dreaded what was coming next.
“ Domina Jane,” he began, his voice carrying across the suddenly silent garden, “ rosa pulchra es, et cor meum est …” He paused, his brow furrowing as he searched for the proper Latin. “ Et cor meum est very on fire pro te !”
Samantha’s mind automatically supplied the proper translation, and she nearly groaned aloud.
Beautiful Jane, you are a rose, and my heart is aflame for you .
Half-Latin, half-English, and entirely mortifying.
The resulting silence was so profound that Samantha could hear the distant bleating of sheep in the far pasture. Every guest at the party stood frozen in varying degrees of shock, amusement, and second-hand embarrassment.
Jane, bless her generous heart, appeared confused but maintained her polite smile. “That’s… very kind of you, my lord.”
The young man dismounted with considerably less grace than his entrance had suggested, nearly losing his balance as he swung his leg over the pony’s back. He recovered quickly, straightening his cravat, and extended the rose toward Jane.
The servant boy, apparently unaware that the procession had ended, continued scattering petals around the stationary group.
“Stop,” Samantha muttered under her breath, watching the boy’s mechanical movements with growing hilarity. “Dear God, please stop.”
Jane accepted the rose with genuine gratitude, though Samantha could see the bewilderment in her sister’s eyes. “Thank you, Lord Stonehall. It’s quite lovely.”
“Lord Stonehall?” her uncle William, the current Marquess of Norfeld, announced, his voice carrying a note of delighted surprise as he approached from the direction of the house. “What an… unexpected pleasure to see you here.”
It was definitely unexpected, that much was true.
Percy Wildingham, the young Viscount Stonehall, straightened up with flourish. “Lord Norfeld, I hope you don’t mind my arrival. I wished to make a memorable impression upon the charming Lady Jane.”
“Memorable indeed,” The Marquess replied, diplomatically. “May I present my eldest niece, Lady Samantha? Samantha, this is Lord Stonehall, ward to?—”
“The Duke of Valemont.”
The deep voice cut through the Marquess’ introduction with terrifying exactness.
Samantha’s breath caught as she turned to see the duke himself, Ewan Wildingham, approaching across the lawn, his long strides eating up the distance between them with an efficiency that heralded a predator.
He looked exactly as she remembered from their single dance six years ago: tall, powerfully built, with dark brown hair and penetrating green eyes that seemed to see far too much.
His presence commanded attention without effort, making the young viscount’s theatrical display seem even more ridiculous by comparison.
“Uncle Ewan!” Percy exclaimed, his face lighting up with genuine affection. “I was hoping you’d arrive in time to witness my tribute to Lady Jane’s beauty.”
“I witnessed it,” the Duke replied dryly, his gaze flickering between the young Lord Stonehall and the scattered rose petals. “As did half the county, I suspect.”
“Your Grace,” Uncle William bowed his head slightly. “It’s an honor to have you here.” There was a subtle edge in her uncle’s tone, however, she was quite certain the duke heard.
“Please, Lord Norfeld,” Valemont said, his manner severe, “I was on the hunt for my wayward charge.”
Norfeld nodded, then turned. “Are you acquainted with my niece?” he asked, gesturing toward Samantha.
The duke’s eyes met hers, and for a moment, she was transported back to that ballroom, to the intoxicating sensation of his hand on her waist and the way the world had seemed to narrow to just the two of them moving together to music long done.
“Lady Samantha,” he said, inclining his head with the correct degree of courtesy.
Nothing more, nothing less.
Of course, she’d suspected he wouldn’t remember their fleeting encounter. His reputation as a connoisseur of women preceded him, after all.
“Your Grace,” she responded with a proper curtsy.
“Lord Stonehall,” Jane said, drawing attention back to the younger man, “that was quite the most unique welcome I’ve ever received. However did you manage to train a pony to perform so beautifully?”
Stonehall’s chest swelled with pride. “Weeks of practice, my lady! I wanted to create something worthy of your grace and beauty. Did you… did you quite like it?”
Samantha couldn’t contain herself any longer. “Like it? My Lord, you nearly caused three elderly ladies to spill their tea in shock. And I suspect the vicar’s wife may never recover from the sight of a peer of the realm astride what appears to be a child’s pony.”
“Samantha,” Jane murmured, tugging at her sleeve with a warning note in her voice.
“Furthermore,” Samantha continued, warming to her theme, “your Latin requires improvement, I am quite sorry to inform you.”
The duke’s eye twitched. “Perhaps you might show some consideration for my nephew’s efforts, Lady Samantha.” He said. “He meant no harm.”
Samantha’s heartbeat skipped.
“Oh, I’m certain he meant no harm,” Samantha replied, her voice sweet with thin consideration. “Just as I’m certain he meant no offense when he chose to turn my uncle’s garden party into a theatrical performance better suited to Vauxhall Gardens.”
“At least he had the courage to make a gesture,” the duke said, his voice dropping to a dangerous degree of quiet. “Rather than standing in judgment of those who dare to act upon their feelings.”
The words ruffled her feathers effectively, and Samantha felt heat rise in her cheeks. “How fortunate for him that he has such a devoted champion in?—”
A tremendous crashing sound interrupted her retort, followed by the Uncle William’s anguished cry of “My roses!”
They turned in unison to see the white pony careening through the carefully tended flower beds, its reins dragging behind it as it trampled prize-winning blooms with enthusiastic abandon.
The servant boy stood frozen, his basket of petals scattered across the lawn.
“Aphrodite!” Stonehall shouted, sprinting toward the rampaging animal. “Come back here at once!”
“You named your pony Aphrodite?” Samantha called after him, unable to suppress a hint of amusement.
“It seemed appropriate for such a romantic endeavor!” he replied breathlessly, lunging unsuccessfully for the trailing reins.
Several footmen rushed to assist, creating a chaotic scene as they attempted to corner the increasingly agitated pony.
Samantha watched the mayhem with exasperation and grudging admiration for the pony’s thoroughness. When she turned back to the duke, it was to find him studying her with an intensity that made her pulse skip again .
“Your Grace,” she said, her voice steady despite the chaos surrounding them, “I do hope your nephew’s next romantic gesture proves less… destructive to innocent horticulture.”
Without waiting for his response, she linked her arm through Jane’s and began steering her sister away from the scene. “Come, Jane. I believe we’ve had quite enough entertainment for one afternoon.”
“But Samantha,” Jane protested, looking back over her shoulder, “I should thank Lord Stonehall properly for the rose.”
“I’m certain you can express your gratitude when he’s not chasing livestock through Uncle’s prized roses,” Samantha replied firmly, guiding her sister toward the relative quiet of the library terrace.
Once they were safely away from the crowd, Jane turned to face her with sparkling eyes. “Wasn’t that the most wonderfully romantic thing you’ve ever seen?”
“Romantic?” Samantha stared at her sister in disbelief. “Jane, he arrived on a pony . With a servant boy throwing flower petals behind him.”