Page 32 of The Spinster and Her Rakish Duke (The Athena Society #3)

S amantha turned to find Jane at her side, looking particularly lovely in a pale yellow walking dress that complemented her fair coloring. “One can only hope it’s the former,” she replied with a smile. “Though I confess, I’ve grown rather fond of his dramatic nature.”

“As have I,” Jane admitted, linking her arm through Samantha’s as they began to stroll along the garden path. “There’s something refreshing about someone who feels so deeply and expresses it so openly.”

Samantha cast a sidelong glance at her sister, noting the soft smile that played about her lips. “I’m surprised to hear you say so. I thought perhaps you might have developed an appreciation for a more… reserved temperament of late.”

Jane’s cheeks flushed delicately. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh? Then I must have imagined the way Lord Tenwick’s eyes follow you across every room, or the way you seem to seek his company at every gathering.” Samantha kept her tone light, though she watched her sister’s reaction carefully.

“Nonsense,” Jane protested, though the deepening color in her cheeks told a different story. “Lord Tenwick is merely being polite. He’s a friend of your husband’s, after all.”

“Indeed, and I’m certain his decision to call upon Uncle William three times last week was motivated purely by friendship for Ewan,” Samantha teased gently.

Jane fidgeted with her gloves, a sure sign of discomfort. “He… he is very kind. And rather handsome, I suppose. And he listens, truly listens, when I speak about my interests.”

“High praise indeed,” Samantha observed, squeezing her sister’s arm affectionately. “And well-deserved, from what I’ve seen of him.”

They walked in silence for a moment, following the winding path that led through a display of vibrant tropical blooms. Finally, Jane spoke again, her voice soft with uncertainty.

“Do you think… that is, would it be terribly improper if I… encouraged his attentions?” She glanced at Samantha, blue eyes wide with vulnerability. “After what happened with Adam, I wouldn’t wish to see you hurt again by my association with one of Ewan’s friends.”

Samantha’s heart clenched at the reminder of her past humiliation, but also at her sister’s thoughtfulness. “Oh, Jane. Ralph is nothing like Adam. And more importantly, I am nothing like the woman I was then. If his affections are sincere—and I believe they are—then you have my full support.”

Relief flooded Jane’s features, followed quickly by a smile of such genuine happiness that Samantha felt her own spirits lift in response. “Thank you, Sam. Your blessing means everything to me.”

Before Samantha could reply, a commotion from the direction of the fountain drew their attention. Guests were turning, some with expressions of alarm, others with barely concealed amusement, toward what appeared to be some sort of disturbance.

“Oh dear,” Jane murmured, peering through the crowd. “I do hope that isn’t?—”

“Percy,” Samantha finished with a sigh, already moving toward the scene with swift determination. “Come, we’d better investigate before Ewan hears of it.”

They arrived at the fountain to find Percy standing beside Miss Waverly, both of them dripping wet, while a cluster of horrified onlookers gathered at a safe distance.

The young viscount was gesticulating wildly, water flying from his sodden sleeves as he attempted to explain whatever misadventure had led to their current state.

“—merely leaned in to examine the extraordinary pattern on the leaf she was describing,” he was saying as Samantha approached, “when I lost my balance and, well…”

“And took me with you into the fountain,” Miss Waverly finished, though to Samantha’s surprise, there was no anger in her tone—only a sort of resigned amusement. “A most unconventional botanical demonstration, Lord Stonehall.”

Percy’s face was a study in contrition. “I cannot apologize enough, Miss Waverly. I assure you, my intent was purely scientific, not…”

“Not to create a spectacle that will be the talk of London by nightfall?” she suggested wryly, wringing water from the hem of her gown.

“Precisely,” he agreed earnestly, then paused as her words registered fully. “Oh. Yes, I suppose it will be, won’t it?”

To everyone’s astonishment—including, it seemed, Percy’s—Miss Waverly began to laugh.

Not the polite titter of a society miss, but a genuine, unrestrained laugh that transformed her composed features into something radiant.

“At least it will be a more interesting story than the usual on-dits,” she managed between chuckles.

“Much more memorable than Lady Ashworth’s new bonnet or Lord Gillingham’s political ambitions. ”

Percy stared at her in wonder, as if seeing her truly for the first time. “You’re not angry?”

“Oh, I’m quite put out,” she assured him, though her smile suggested otherwise.

“But I’ve always found that life is too short for prolonged indignation over accidents.

Besides,” she added with a hint of mischief, “this particular specimen of water lily is actually best observed from this vantage point.”

A slow, delighted smile spread across Percy’s face. “Miss Waverly, you are a woman of extraordinary understanding.”

“And you, Lord Stonehall, are soaking wet and causing a scene,” came Ewan’s voice as he materialized at Samantha’s side, his expression a mixture of exasperation and resigned acceptance.

“May I inquire as to how you managed to end up in the fountain when I expressly instructed you to engage in normal conversation?”

Percy turned to his uncle, water dripping from his hair. “It was in pursuit of botanical knowledge, Uncle. Miss Waverly was explaining the fascinating structure of this Amazonian lily, and I merely?—”

“Demonstrated your usual grace and restraint?” Ewan suggested dryly.

“Actually, Your Grace,” Miss Waverly interjected with surprising boldness, “Lord Stonehall was showing genuine interest in my explanation. The… immersion was purely accidental.”

Samantha watched with growing amusement as her husband’s stern demeanor softened slightly in the face of the young woman’s defense.

“Be that as it may, I believe both you and my nephew would benefit from dry clothing. Percy, escort Miss Waverly to her mother at once, then find Lord Tenwick. He’ll see you home. ”

As Percy offered his arm to Miss Waverly with uncharacteristic dignity, despite his sodden appearance, Samantha heard him murmur, “You didn’t have to defend me, you know. My uncle is quite accustomed to my disasters.”

“Perhaps,” the young woman replied, just loudly enough for Samantha to catch, “I find your enthusiasm rather refreshing. Most gentlemen of the ton are so concerned with appearing proper that they’ve forgotten how to be genuinely interested in anything.”

Percy’s beaming smile could have illuminated the entire garden.

As the pair moved away, followed by whispers and sidelong glances from the other guests, Samantha turned to Ewan with raised eyebrows. “Well, that was unexpected.”

“Indeed,” he agreed, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “Though perhaps I should have anticipated something of the sort. Percy does have a talent for creating memorable impressions.”

“And it seems Miss Waverly appreciates that quality,” Samantha observed thoughtfully. “Perhaps your nephew’s unconventional approach to courtship may prove successful after all.”

Ewan snorted softly. “Success through disaster was not precisely the strategy I had in mind.”

“And yet,” she pointed out, slipping her hand into the crook of his arm, “it has yielded better results than all our careful coaching. Sometimes, my dear duke, the heart finds its own path despite our best efforts to direct it.”

His eyes met hers, suddenly serious despite the absurdity of the scene they had just witnessed. “As ours did, my tigress?”

The simple question held layers of meaning—acknowledgment of their own unlikely journey from reluctant spouses to passionate lovers, recognition of the feelings neither had yet named but both increasingly felt.

“Yes,” she replied softly, holding his gaze. “As ours did.”

The rain that had begun as a gentle patter during their return from the garden party had grown into a steady downpour by evening, drumming against the windows of the townhouse with hypnotic persistence.

Samantha sat in the library, a novel open but unread in her lap, watching the droplets trace silvery patterns down the glass.

The door opened quietly, and she looked up to find Ewan entering, a glass of brandy in one hand and a steaming cup of tea in the other.

Without a word, he crossed to where she sat and offered her the tea before settling into the chair opposite, his long legs stretched toward the fire that crackled merrily in the grate.

“I thought you might prefer this to brandy,” he said, nodding toward the cup she now cradled between her palms. “Though if you’d rather…”

“This is perfect,” she assured him, inhaling the fragrant steam. “Thank you.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a time, the only sounds the gentle patter of rain and the occasional pop from the fire. It struck Samantha how different these quiet moments had become—once tense and awkward, now filled with an ease that spoke of growing intimacy beyond the physical.

“Percy seems quite taken with Miss Waverly,” she observed at length, watching Ewan’s face over the rim of her cup.

He smiled faintly, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “Indeed. Though I confess, I had not anticipated a young lady of such apparent good sense to respond favorably to being pulled into a fountain.”

“Perhaps she sees beyond his… exuberance… to the genuine heart beneath,” Samantha suggested, thinking of her own journey to understanding the complex man before her. “Not everyone values restraint above all else, you know.”

His eyes, green as summer leaves, met hers with surprising intensity. “As you have demonstrated most thoroughly, my tigress.”

A pleasant warmth that had nothing to do with the tea or the fire spread through her at his words. “I merely recognized that there was more to the Duke of Valemont than his carefully constructed facade.”

“You, clever temptress, have only to speak, and you cut me off at the knees.” He said quietly, setting his glass aside in order to take her lips with his own, warm and insistent, the kiss deepening as she wound her arms around his neck.

Unlike their earlier passionate encounters, this kiss held something more profound: a promise, an acknowledgment of the feelings that had grown between them, feelings neither had anticipated but both now cherished.

When they finally parted, both slightly breathless, the rain still falling steadily beyond the windows and the fire casting golden light across their entwined figures, Samantha knew with absolute certainty that whatever trials lay ahead, they would face them together—not as the reluctant spouses forced by scandal into marriage, but as partners who had found in each other something far more precious than either had dared to hope for.

“Stay with me tonight,” Ewan whispered against her lips, his arms still encircling her, eyes smoldering with promise.

She nodded, heart too full for words even as her pulse skittered across her nerve endings from the anticipation, knowing that this request went far beyond the physical sharing of a bed—it was an invitation to share a life, to build together what neither had believed possible when they’d first exchanged their vows.

And as he led her from the library, their fingers still intertwined, Samantha silently thanked whatever twist of fate had brought them together, scandal and all.

For it had led her to a happiness she had long since resigned herself to never finding.