Page 33 of The Spinster and Her Rakish Duke (The Athena Society #3)

“ I s it true that the Earl of Blackwood mistook Lord Stonehall for a botanical expert at Lady Whitmore’s gathering?

” Lady Harrington asked, her silver eyebrows arching high above her spectacles as she leaned forward in her chair.

“I heard the poor man spent nearly an hour discussing his prize roses before realizing his mistake.”

Samantha bit back a smile as she set her teacup down carefully on the delicate china saucer.

The ladies of the Athena Society had spent precisely twenty minutes discussing Mrs. Radcliffe’s latest novel before abandoning all pretense of literary discourse in favor of more compelling subjects—namely, her nephew’s many exploits and the transformation of her marriage.

“I cannot speak to Lord Blackwood’s horticultural conversations,” she replied diplomatically, “though my nephew-in-law does possess a certain… enthusiasm that might be mistaken for expertise in any number of fields.”

This elicited a ripple of knowing laughter from the circle of women gathered in Lady Knightley’s elegant drawing room. The afternoon sun streamed through tall windows, illuminating motes of dust that danced above the silver tea service and platters of delicate pastries.

“Oh, do tell us more about the peacock incident,” Annabelle, the Duchess of Marchwood, implored, her eyes alight with amusement. “Henry claims the bird nearly carried off an elderly baronet’s toupee.”

“A toupee!” Samantha echoed, unable to suppress her amusement. “I fear the tale grows more extravagant with each telling. I can assure you no hairpieces were harmed, though I understand several tail feathers were sacrificed in the name of… scientific observation.”

“Scientific observation!” Lady Harrington snorted, thumping her cane against the carpet for emphasis. “Is that what the young people are calling mayhem these days? In my day, releasing exotic birds in a musicale would have been termed lunacy, not science.”

“My nephew merely wished to demonstrate the superiority of natural beauty over artificial ornamentation,” Samantha explained, recalling the lengthy justification her nephew-in-law had offered when pressed for details.

“Unfortunately, the peacock took exception to Lord Blackwood’s wig and attempted to… incorporate it into its plumage.”

The resulting burst of laughter nearly upset Emma’s teacup, requiring a hasty intervention from the footman stationed discreetly behind her chair.

“How perfectly dreadful,” Lady Knightley said, though her eyes sparkled with amusement. “And how is His Grace managing his nephew’s… pursuits?”

“With remarkable forbearance,” Samantha replied, a note of genuine warmth entering her voice as she thought of Ewan’s patient tutelage. “The Duke takes his responsibilities as guardian quite seriously.”

“As he should,” Lady Harrington nodded approvingly. “The boy will be a duke someday, after all. He cannot go about releasing peacocks in polite society when he holds such a title.”

“I wouldn’t be so certain,” Emma remarked with a wry smile. “Victor still reminisces about releasing frogs in his grandfather’s study, and he’s been a duke for years now.”

“That explains young Tristan’s fascination with amphibians,” Annabelle observed, referencing Emma’s son from her first marriage. “I’ve never seen a boy so eager to wade into every pond he encounters.”

Samantha nodded her agreement, though privately she wondered if Percy’s exuberant spirit would ever be fully contained by the constraints of aristocratic propriety—or if it should be.

There was something refreshing about his refusal to conform, his determination to experience life with all the intensity his romantic soul could muster.

“And speaking of young people in need of guidance,” Lady Harrington interjected with barely concealed eagerness, “is it true that your lovely sister has captured the attention of the Marquess of Tenwick? I saw them riding together in the park just yesterday, looking most companionable.”

Samantha felt her cheeks warm slightly under the collective gaze of the Athena Society.

She had indeed chaperoned Jane and Lord Tenwick on several morning rides, watching with quiet pleasure as her sister’s natural vivacity drew the usually sardonic marquess out of his carefully maintained shell of cynicism.

“My sister enjoys Lord Tenwick’s company,” she acknowledged carefully. “They share an interest in… horsemanship.”

“Horsemanship!” Lady Harrington cackled, slapping her knee with undignified glee. “Is that what they’re calling courtship these days? My dear Duchess, you must know that half the ton is already speculating on when the announcement will appear in the papers.”

“I believe such speculations are premature,” Samantha replied, though she could not entirely hide her smile. The attraction between Jane and Lord Tenwick had been increasingly evident over the past fortnight, as she’d well noticed.

“Perhaps,” Emma said with gentle understanding, “but it would be a most advantageous match. The Marquess is well-respected, despite his… reputation for unconventional wit.”

“And handsome as sin,” Annabelle added with a knowing smile that suggested her own handsome duke had spoiled her for appreciating other men’s charms. “Though not quite as striking as your duke, of course.”

“I had not noticed,” Samantha said primly, though the ladies’ knowing looks suggested they found this claim entirely unconvincing.

“Well, well,” Lady Harrington said, tapping her cane thoughtfully against the carpet. “Two sisters, wed to two of the most eligible peers in England. Your uncle must be beside himself with satisfaction.”

“My uncle has always wished for our happiness above all else,” Samantha corrected gently. “Titles and fortunes are secondary considerations.”

“How charmingly idealistic,” Lady Harrington remarked, though not unkindly. “But speaking of happiness, you must tell us how married life suits you, my dear. You positively glow with contentment these days.”

The question, though asked with genuine affection, brought a deeper flush to Samantha’s cheeks.

How could she possibly describe the transformation that had occurred in her marriage without revealing the intimate details that propriety forbade discussing?

The tenderness Ewan showed her behind closed doors, the way his eyes softened when they were alone, the passion that ignited between them with the merest touch—these were treasures too precious to be exposed to even the most well-meaning scrutiny.

“His Grace is everything a husband should be,” she said simply, hoping the warmth in her voice would convey what modesty prevented her from expressing directly.

“Attentive?” Annabelle suggested with a meaningful arch of her eyebrow.

“Considerate?” Emma added, her lips quirking in a barely suppressed smile.

“Vigorous?” Lady Harrington contributed bluntly, causing several ladies to choke on their tea simultaneously.

“Ladies!” Samantha protested, though she could not help but laugh at their shameless prodding. “I believe we have strayed rather far from our discussion of Mrs. Radcliffe’s use of Gothic elements, have we not?”

“Gothic elements are all very well,” Lady Harrington dismissed with a wave of her gnarled hand, “but a virile duke is far more interesting, my dear. Particularly one who looks at his duchess as though she hung the moon and stars.”

“Does he?” Samantha asked before she could stop herself, curiosity momentarily overcoming dignity.

The ladies exchanged triumphant glances at this inadvertent revelation of vulnerability.

“Oh, my dear,” Emma said kindly, reaching across to pat Samantha’s hand.

“He most certainly does. Anyone with eyes can see it. The way he watches you when you enter a room, as though nothing else exists—it’s quite remarkable, especially for a man once considered the most confirmed bachelor in England. ”

“The transformation is indeed striking,” Lady Harrington agreed.

“I remember when the Duke was scarcely more than a boy, just after he inherited. So cold, so distant—as though he had encased himself in ice. But now…” She shook her head wonderingly.

“Well, suffice it to say that love has worked its inevitable alchemy once again.”

“It’s rather like watching ice melt in spring,” Annabelle observed with a gentle smile. “Slow at first, then all at once, revealing the life that was dormant beneath.”

Love. The word hung in the air between them, fragile and potent.

Samantha felt it resonate within her chest, a truth too powerful to deny yet still too new to fully comprehend.

The sentiment remained unspoken between her and her husband, though constantly demonstrated: in his touch, his care, the way he included her in decisions regarding the estate, his willingness to reveal his deepest vulnerabilities.

“I believe,” she said finally, choosing her words with care, “that His Grace and I have discovered an unexpected compatibility that has made our arrangement far more rewarding than either of us anticipated.”

This diplomatic understatement was met with knowing smiles from the assembled ladies.

“‘Compatibility,’”“ Lady Harrington repeated with a snort. “Is that what the young people are calling it these days? In my time, we spoke plainly of passion and desire.”

“Perhaps some things are best left to the imagination, Lady Harrington,” Samantha suggested, lifting her teacup to hide her smile.

“At my age, my dear, imagination is often preferable to reality,” the elderly woman replied with a wicked twinkle in her rheumy eyes.

“But I am delighted to see you so happy. When you first joined our little society, there was a sadness about you—a resignation that had no place in one so young. Now you fairly sparkle with life. Marriage clearly agrees with you.”

“Or perhaps it is simply the right husband that agrees with me,” Samantha replied quietly.

“I couldn’t agree more,” Emma said, a soft reminiscence in her voice that suggested she was thinking of her own duke.

“When I married Victor, I was so certain our union would be merely practical—a marriage of convenience for us both. Yet sometimes the heart discovers compatibility where the mind least expects it.”

“Henry and I were much the same,” Annabelle added with a knowing smile directed at Samantha. “Thrown together by circumstance rather than choice, only to discover that fate perhaps knew better than we did all along.”

The conversation mercifully turned then to the upcoming publication of a new novel that had already generated significant controversy among London’s literary circles.

Samantha participated with genuine interest, grateful for the reprieve from personal inquiries while silently acknowledging the truth of their observations.

She had indeed been resigned—to spinsterhood, to disappointment, to a life defined by the humiliation Adam had inflicted.

Now she found herself transformed, not by marriage itself, but by the discovery that love could heal wounds she had thought permanent, that trust could be rebuilt from the ashes of betrayal.

As the meeting drew to a close, with plans made for their next gathering and the selection of their next literary subject determined, Samantha found herself lingering in conversation with Emma and Annabelle while the other ladies retrieved their bonnets and shawls.

“I hope our teasing did not discomfit you too greatly,” Emma said quietly. “The ladies mean well, though their curiosity sometimes overwhelms their sense of propriety.”

“Not at all,” Samantha assured her with a smile. “I find their interest touching, if occasionally overwhelming.”

“They have watched over you since you joined us,” Annabelle explained. “Many of them remember what it was to be young and uncertain, to face disappointment in matters of the heart. Your happiness gives them hope.”

“Hope?” Samantha echoed, puzzled. “But most are happily settled, with marriages spanning decades.”

“Even the most fortunate marriage contains moments of doubt,” Emma replied, her expression thoughtful.

“Periods when the connection between husband and wife seems tenuous at best. To see two people who began as strangers find such profound understanding—it reminds us all that renewal is always possible, that love can flourish in the most unexpected circumstances.”

“And that the heart sometimes knows what the mind refuses to acknowledge,” Annabelle added with a meaningful smile. “I suspect you and your duke discovered that truth just as Henry and I did.”

Touched by their perspectives, Samantha impulsively embraced both women. “Thank you for sharing that with me. And for welcoming me into the Athena Society, even when I was at my most withdrawn.”

“Books bring us together,” Emma replied with a warm smile, “but it is the reading of human hearts that sustains us through life’s chapters, both joyful and sorrowful.”

“And speaking of reading,” Annabelle added with a conspiratorial twinkle, “do let us know if you require any… supplementary material beyond Mrs. Radcliffe. Lady Knightley has a most illuminating collection of French novels that have proven quite educational for several of our members.”

With these words of wisdom—and slightly scandalous suggestion—echoing in her mind, Samantha took her leave, stepping into the carriage that would return her to Valemont’s London townhouse—to Ewan, who would no doubt be waiting with that particular smile he reserved only for her, the one that made her feel simultaneously cherished and desired.

She greatly hoped that it would continue to stay that way.