Page 2 of The Spinster and Her Rakish Duke (The Athena Society #3)
“Exactly!” Jane clasped the rose to her chest. “When has any gentleman ever made such an effort to win a lady’s attention? All the other lords just bow and make polite conversation about the weather. Lord Stonehall wrote me poetry… in Latin!”
“ Terrible poetry,” Samantha pointed out. “In terrible Latin.”
“But it was his terrible poetry, you see,” Jane said dreamily. “Written specifically for me. Don’t you see how special that is?”
Samantha felt a familiar knot of protectiveness tighten in her chest. “Jane, listen to me carefully. Lord Stonehall is clearly a young man given to flights of fancy. Today it’s poetry and ponies, but what happens when the novelty wears off?
Men like that are unreliable. They chase after whatever catches their attention in the moment. ”
“You don’t know that,” Jane said, her voice taking on a stubborn edge. “He might be exactly what he appears: a romantic soul who believes in grand gestures and true love.”
“Grand gestures fade,” Samantha said firmly. “What matters is steadiness, reliability, the ability to honor one’s commitments. Flighty behavior in courtship suggests flighty behavior in marriage.”
Jane’s expression softened. “I know you’re trying to protect me, but perhaps not every man is like… like him .”
Samantha didn’t need her sister to say the name. Her former betrothed’s betrayal hung between them like a shadow, coloring every interaction with the opposite sex.
“Perhaps not,” Samantha conceded. “But until you can be certain of Lord Stonehall’s character, I think it would be wise to maintain some distance.”
Jane sighed but then lifted the rose to her nose and inhaled deeply. “It does smell lovely, though.”
“ Jane .”
“All right, all right,” Jane said, though her smile suggested she was far from convinced. “I’ll be careful. But I won’t be cruel to him simply because he’s different from other gentlemen.”
Before Samantha could respond, Uncle William appeared beside them, slightly out of breath and looking harried. “Jane, my dear, there’s someone I’d like you to meet. Lord Ashworth’s son is visiting from Cambridge, and he’s expressed particular interest in making your acquaintance.”
Jane cast one last longing glance toward the garden, where Stonehall could still be seen attempting to coax his pony away from the remaining flower beds. “Of course, Uncle.”
As they walked away, Samantha remained on the terrace, her thoughts churning. She scanned the garden for the duke but found no trace of him. He had vanished as completely as he had that night six years ago, leaving her with the same bewildering sense of abandonment.
And why, despite everything she’d learned about the unreliability of men, did she find herself wondering where he’d gone?
Three days later, Samantha sat in the sun-drenched drawing room of Lady Witherspoon, their elderly hostess for this session of the Athena Society book club.
“I maintain that women possess an inherent advantage in detailed observation,” their hostess declared. “We are trained from birth to notice subtle changes in expression, behavior, and social dynamics. Why should this skill not extend to natural phenomena?”
Samantha nodded appreciatively. Since moving to the area following her uncle’s acquisition of a nearby estate, she had found unexpected solace in these weekly gatherings.
The members treated her with warmth and acceptance, free from the pitying glances and whispered comments that had followed her in London’s more fashionable circles.
“Lady Samantha,” Lady Witherspoon said, turning toward her with twinkling eyes, “as our newest member, you’ve been rather quiet today. What did you think of Dr. Mason’s arguments regarding feminine observation?”
“I found them compelling,” Samantha replied. “Though I suspect many gentlemen would argue that our ‘detailed observation’ is merely gossip dressed in academic language.”
The ladies laughed, and another lady patted her arm affectionately. “My dear, speaking of observation, we simply must discuss the extraordinary events at Lord Norfeld’s garden party. The entire county is buzzing with tales of Lord Stonehall’s… creative approach to courtship.”
Samantha felt her cheeks warm. “I’m afraid I can’t offer insight beyond what you’ve already heard.”
“Oh, but you were there,” Lady Langston, a woman slightly older than her, said eagerly. “Was it truly as romantic as some are claiming? Or as ridiculous as others suggest?”
“It was… memorable,” Samantha said diplomatically. “Though I’ve counseled my sister to be cautious. Lord Stonehall seems very young and given to dramatic gestures.”
“Youth and drama often go hand in hand,” Lady Witherspoon observed. “But what of his guardian? The Duke of Valemont was present, was he not?”
Several ladies exchanged knowing glances, and Samantha sensed she was entering dangerous conversational territory.
“The duke is certainly handsome,” a woman sighed, lifting her cup to her lips. “Though terribly mysterious. He rarely appears at social gatherings.”
“There are rumors,” Lady Winterbourne added in a lower voice, “about his… associations with certain types of women.”
“Opera singers,” Lady Langston said with the air of someone imparting state secrets. “And actresses. The type of women who understand the temporary nature of such arrangements. Scandalous!”
“A rake, then,” Samantha said coolly. “How refreshing to encounter a gentleman who makes his limitations so transparent.”
The ladies turned to her with varying degrees of curiosity and amusement.
“My dear,” Lady Witherspoon said carefully, “do you know the duke personally?”
“Oh no… but we’ve met,” Samantha replied carefully. “Once. Briefly.”
But her fellow book club members possessed the feminine intuition she had praised earlier. They leaned forward with collective interest, recognizing the careful neutrality of her tone.
“There’s more to this story,” another elderly spinster declared. “I can hear it in your voice.”
“We danced,” Samantha said finally. “Once. At the Ashworth ball, six years ago. A single dance, after which he disappeared entirely from society gatherings.”
“Ah,” Lady Witherspoon said softly, understanding dawning in her eyes.
Samantha did not like that look. “It was merely a dance,” she said. “Nothing more.”
She stared into her teacup, unwilling to admit how often she had replayed those minutes in her memory, searching for some misstep that might explain his subsequent avoidance of society.
But no answer ever came.