Page 15 of The Spinster and Her Rakish Duke (The Athena Society #3)
“ N ow then, shall we discuss what’s truly troubling you?” the Duchess of Marchwood asked, settling back into her chair with practiced ease.
Samantha felt her breath catch as she found herself seated in the garden with the three ladies, their kind but knowing expressions making her stomach flutter with nervous energy.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Your Grace,” she replied carefully, smoothing her skirts.
The Duchess of Westmere leaned forward slightly, her voice gentle. “My dear, we’ve all been where you are now. The uncertainty, the fear of trusting someone new.”
“Particularly,” the Marchioness of Knightley added, adjusting her spectacles with a small smile, “when that someone happens to be one’s husband.”
Samantha’s cheeks warmed. “I assure you, I’m managing quite well?—”
“Are you?” the Duchess of Marchwood interrupted softly, pulling her chair closer to Samantha’s. “Because, my dear, I was once exactly where you are. A confirmed spinster, suddenly thrust into marriage with a duke.”
The admission hung in the air between them, and Samantha found herself studying the duchess’s serene face with new interest.
“You were?” she whispered.
“Oh yes,” the Duchess of Marchwood laughed softly. “I was thoroughly convinced I’d spend my days with my dear grandmama, Lady Oakley. The idea of marriage was absolutely terrifying. I had given up entirely on the notion of love. But sometimes, my dear, life surprises us in the most wonderful ways.”
Samantha swallowed hard, unsure whether to trust these women with the chaos swirling in her heart. The rehearsed responses she’d been perfecting seemed inadequate in the face of such genuine understanding.
“I… thank you for the sympathy, Your Grace. Truly. But I’m still processing it all myself. Everything has happened so quickly, and I find myself quite …”
“Overwhelmed?” the Duchess of Westmere supplied gently.
“Yes,” Samantha breathed. “Exactly that.”
The Marchioness of Knightley and the Duchess of Westmere exchanged a knowing look, the kind that spoke of shared experiences and mutual understanding.
“It’s perfectly natural,” the Duchess of Westmere assured her. “Marriage is a significant adjustment for anyone, but particularly when it happens under unusual circumstances.”
“Has he been treating you well?” Lady Knightley asked directly, her expression kind but penetrating. “Your husband, I mean. We know his reputation wasn’t… pristine before your marriage.”
Samantha’s cheeks flamed as memories of Ewan’s heated kisses flooded her mind, the way his hands had framed her face, the desperate hunger in his voice when he’d spoken of wanting her.
“Yes,” she managed, her voice slightly breathless. “He’s been most considerate. More than considerate, actually.”
The three women exchanged another meaningful glance.
“You know,” Lady Knightley continued, leaning forward slightly, “my husband didn’t have the best reputation either before we married.
The whispers, the speculation about his past relationships.
But I discovered that the Duke of Valemont has been caring for his cousin for several years now, ever since the boy’s parents died.
That speaks volumes about his true character. ”
“Indeed,” the Duchess of Westmere agreed earnestly. “Men who care for children, who take responsibility for family, possess a very good quality. It shows loyalty and genuine caring beneath whatever facade they present to society.”
“I hear he speaks of you with great respect,” the Duchess of Marchwood added.
Samantha felt her heart flutter at the thought, but the familiar ache of uncertainty crept in.
“The trouble is, I don’t know him at all.
Not really. We’ve barely had proper conversations beyond the necessary arrangements of marriage.
I don’t know his thoughts, his fears, his dreams. I don’t know what he truly wants from this union. ”
“Then perhaps,” the Duchess of Marchwood suggested gently, her eyes warm with encouragement, “you could get to know him? Marriage provides ample opportunity for such discoveries, if one is willing to be brave enough to try.”
The simple suggestion sent a flutter of possibility through Samantha’s chest. Could it be that straightforward? Could she simply… try to bridge the gap between them?
“But what if …” she began, then stopped herself.
“What if he doesn’t want to be known?” the Duchess of Westmere asked perceptively.
Samantha nodded, grateful that someone understood her fear.
“Then you’ll have your answer,” Lady Knightley said practically. “But what if he does? What if he’s as uncertain as you are about how to proceed?”
Before Samantha could respond to this startling possibility, a small voice called out across the garden.
“Mama!”
A dark-haired child of perhaps four years came running across the perfectly manicured lawn, his little legs carrying him straight into the Duchess of Marchwood’s waiting arms.
“William, darling, you’re supposed to be with Nurse,” the Duchess laughed, settling the boy on her lap with natural ease.
“I wanted to see you,” he declared, then turned curious dark eyes to Samantha. “Are you the new duchess Mama told us about?”
“I am,” Samantha managed, her throat suddenly tight as she watched the easy affection between mother and child.
The sight of such natural love and contentment made her chest ache with longing.
“Will you have children too?” the boy asked with the brutal honesty that only children possessed. “My governess says all duchesses should have lots of babies.”
The question hit Samantha like a physical blow. The reminder of what she could never have, would never experience, crashed over her with renewed and devastating force. She felt the familiar burning sensation behind her eyes, the tightness in her throat that warned of approaching tears.
“William,” the Duchess of Marchwood said gently, though her eyes sought Samantha’s with sudden understanding, “that’s not a proper question to ask a lady.”
“It’s quite all right,” Samantha said quickly, though her voice sounded strained and artificial to her own ears. “Children are… a wonderful blessing for those fortunate enough to have them.”
The Duchess of Westmere reached over and briefly squeezed Samantha’s hand, a gesture of comfort that nearly undid her completely.
The conversation moved on to lighter topics, with William chattering about his pony and his upcoming birthday, but Samantha found herself barely listening.
The ache in her chest grew with each passing moment, each innocent comment about family and future.
When the child finally ran off into the house, the silence that followed felt heavy with unspoken sympathy.
“My dear,” the Duchess of Marchwood said softly, “forgive me if I’m presuming too much, but if you ever need to talk …”
“Thank you,” Samantha whispered, rising from her chair with as much dignity as she could muster. “You’ve all been more than kind, but I think I should return home now.”
The next morning, Samantha decided she desperately needed air, space, and distance from the overwhelming emotions that seemed to plague her whenever she remained too long within the walls of Valemont Hall. The grand house, beautiful as it was, felt like a prison when her thoughts grew too dark.
So, she decided to visit the village.
The village of Valemont proved to be everything Mary had promised and more.
Nestled in a valley between rolling hills, it consisted of neat stone cottages with thatched roofs, a bustling market square, and an ancient church whose bells chimed the hour with melodious precision.
The morning air was crisp and clean, scented with the promise of autumn and the lingering fragrance of late-blooming roses.
Samantha found herself drawn to a small bookshop tucked between a milliner displaying fashionable bonnets and a bakery whose windows were fogged with warmth and filled with golden loaves.
The shop was small but perfectly organized, with towering shelves that reached nearly to the ceiling and cozy reading nooks tucked into every available corner. Sunlight streamed through diamond-paned windows, illuminating motes of dust that danced in the air like tiny golden fairies.
“Good morning, Your Grace,” the shopkeeper greeted her as she stepped inside. He was an elderly gentleman with kind eyes behind wire-rimmed spectacles and ink-stained fingers that spoke of a man who truly loved his trade. “What an unexpected honor to have you visit our humble establishment.”
“The honor is entirely mine,” Samantha replied, immediately feeling more at ease as she breathed in the familiar scent of leather bindings and aged paper. “You have a wonderful selection here.”
“His Grace has been most generous in his patronage over the years,” the man said proudly, gesturing toward a shelf that held newer volumes.
“He often orders books for the local school, ensures the children have access to proper literature and educational materials. Not many of the nobility take such interest in the education of common folk.”
The unexpected revelation about Ewan’s charitable nature added another intriguing layer to the mystery of her husband.
How many facets of his character remained hidden from her? How much kindness and consideration did he show to others while maintaining that careful distance from her?
“That’s very generous of him,” she murmured, selecting several volumes that caught her interest.
A collection of poetry, a novel by a popular author, and a treatise on gardening that she thought might help her feel more connected to her new home.
After making her purchases, Samantha and Mary made their way to a small tea shop where they could rest and refresh themselves. The proprietress, a plump woman with flour-dusted aprons and rosy cheeks, approached their table with obvious delight and barely contained excitement.
“Your Grace!” she exclaimed, bobbing a curtsy. “How wonderful to finally meet you properly. I’m Mrs. Hartwell, and this is my establishment. We’re all so honored to have you visit.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Hartwell. Everything looks delicious.”
“We’re all so pleased that His Grace has finally settled down,” the woman continued, her eyes twinkling with genuine warmth. “He’s been solitary for far too long, if you don’t mind me saying. A man like that needs a good woman to share his life with.”
Samantha felt her cheeks warm at the woman’s frank assessment. “That’s very kind of you to say.”
“Oh, it’s nothing but the truth, Your Grace. He’s been a blessing to this village, truly. Far better than the old duke or his brother ever were. Night and day difference, if you ask me.”
Samantha’s curiosity sparked immediately. “His brother?”
Mrs. Hartwell’s expression grew more serious, and she glanced around as if to ensure they wouldn’t be overheard.
“Lord Benedict, he was… well, perhaps it’s not my place to speak ill of the dead, but he was not a kind man.
Cruel, that one. He really was. Had a temper on him, something fierce, and he took pleasure in causing pain to those weaker than himself.
The servants, the tenants, even the animals weren’t safe from his rages. ”
“But His Grace,” she continued, her voice warming again, “he’s nothing like that.
Kind to everyone, generous with his time and money.
When my husband broke his leg last winter and couldn’t work, His Grace made sure we had everything we needed.
Didn’t make a show of it, mind you, and didn’t ask for anything in return.
Just quietly saw that we were taken care of. ”
Before Samantha could ask more questions about Ewan’s family history, another villager approached their table, looking flustered and desperate.
“Mrs. Hartwell!” the young woman called out. “Your Grace, forgive the intrusion, but might we trouble you for assistance?”
“Of course,” Samantha replied immediately, rising from her chair. “What’s the matter?”
“It’s our young Tommy, Your Grace. He’s taken terribly ill with a fever, and his mother needs help getting him to the doctor in the next village.
Our cart’s broken down, the wheel came clean off, and we’ve no other way to transport the child.
Dr. Morrison is away, and the fever’s getting worse by the minute. ”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Samantha turned to Mary. “Have our carriage brought around immediately. We’ll take the child ourselves.”
“Your Grace, are you certain?” Mary asked, though she was already moving toward the door. “The child might be contagious.”
“I’m quite certain,” Samantha replied firmly. “A child’s welfare is far more important than any risk to ourselves.”
Within minutes, she found herself holding a feverish, semiconscious boy while directing the coachman toward the neighboring village. The child’s mother, barely more than a girl herself, wept silently in the corner of the carriage.
“He’ll be all right,” Samantha murmured, smoothing the boy’s damp hair from his forehead. “Dr. Patterson is an excellent physician. Tommy will be running about again before you know it.”
The trip to the doctor and back took the better part of two hours. By the time they returned to Valemont village, Samantha was severely fatigued, but she did not mind it one bit.
“We’re taking Christiana and her dear boy home,” Samantha had told the coach, and were on their way there, when suddenly they came face to face with a crowd, waiting outside eagerly.
“Any idea what must have caused this commotion?” Samantha asked Mary, though knowing her maid might not have the answer seeing as they were all together.
“If it is not too important, we can ask the crowd to dissipate a little so we can take the boy home. I would hate for them to cause a hitch in our journey,” she said, the worry in her eyes evident.
However, as they approached the crowd, Samantha was surprised to see them parting to let the carriage pass through, and then she heard the words.
“Oh, our duchess is so selfless!”
“She took the sick boy in the carriage.”
“Has she no fear for her health?”
“I never reckoned much of her before, but she’s proved herself wonderful.”
Samantha could not understand it.
Apparently, word had spread of her kindness, and the crowd had gathered to see them arrive.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” the boy’s mother said, tears streaming down her face as she clutched Samantha’s hands. “I don’t know what we would have done without your kindness. The doctor says Tommy will be fine, thanks to getting him there so quickly.”
“Nonsense,” Samantha replied warmly, surprised by how natural it felt to offer comfort and reassurance. “You’re a good mother, and Tommy is a strong boy. He’ll be right as rain in no time. And please, don’t hesitate to send word if you need anything else.”