Page 37 of The Spinster and Her Rakish Duke (The Athena Society #3)
“ M ust you look so pleased with yourself, Your Grace?” Samantha asked, her voice lilting with amusement as she surveyed the freshly delivered stacks of lumber arranged neatly beside the cottage.
“One might think you had hewn the timber with your own hands rather than merely ordering it from the mill.”
Ewan turned to find his wife standing in the doorway of what would soon become Valemont’s village school, a smudge of plaster dust on her cheek and her hair escaping its pins in a most delightful fashion.
The sight of her, so thoroughly engaged in this project, so utterly unconcerned with maintaining the pristine appearance expected of a duchess, stirred something profound within him.
“I am merely admiring the efficiency with which my orders have been carried out,” he replied, though his grin belied the formal tone. “The roof beams will be installed by week’s end, if Mr. Finchley is to be believed.”
“A momentous achievement indeed,” she teased, stepping into the sunshine to join him. “Nearly as impressive as Heather mastering her letters in a fortnight.”
It had been three weeks since their first visit to the cottage, and the transformation was well underway.
The damaged eastern wall had been repaired, the rotted floorboards replaced, and the windows newly glazed to keep out the drafts.
More remarkable still was the transformation of the village children, who had taken to appearing daily to observe the work and, increasingly, to receive informal lessons from Samantha while they waited for their proper school to be completed.
“She is a most apt pupil,” Ewan acknowledged, thinking of the solemn little girl who had attached herself to Samantha with unwavering devotion. “Though her progress surely owes more to her teacher’s patience than any natural brilliance.”
He watched her cheeks color prettily at the compliment. “You give me too much credit. These children are hungry for knowledge. They would learn from anyone willing to teach them.”
“Not just anyone,” he corrected gently, removing his gloves to brush the smudge of plaster from her cheek with his thumb.
The simple touch sent a current of awareness between them, as potent now as it had been in those first heady days of discovery.
“They respond to your genuine interest in their progress. Children are remarkably perceptive that way.”
She leaned into his touch momentarily before straightening with a self-conscious glance toward the workmen who tactfully kept their attention fixed on their tasks. “Perhaps. Though I suspect Percy’s astronomy lessons are the true highlight of their day.”
Ewan chuckled, recalling his nephew’s latest educational performance, which had involved an elaborate orrery constructed from household objects, with apples and oranges standing in for planets and a particularly large pumpkin representing the sun.
“He does have a flair for the dramatic explanation.”
“And they adore him for it,” Samantha replied, her eyes warm with affection. “Who would have thought your poetic nephew would find his calling educating village children on the movements of celestial bodies?”
“Certainly not I,” Ewan admitted, shaking his head in continued amazement at Percy’s unexpected talent. “Though I’m beginning to suspect there are many things I have failed to perceive about those closest to me.”
The weight in his words drew her gaze to his face, her expression softening with understanding. They had spoken more openly in recent weeks about his family, about the darkness that had shadowed his childhood and the fears that still haunted him regarding his own nature.
Each revelation had been a stone removed from the wall he had built around himself, and each time, Samantha had met his truths with acceptance rather than the revulsion he had secretly feared.
“We all have our blind spots,” she said quietly, her hand finding his in a brief, reassuring squeeze. “The important thing is our willingness to see beyond them when shown the way.”
The simple wisdom of her words struck him with unexpected force. How thoroughly this woman had altered his perception—of himself, of his place in the world, of what might be possible despite the shadows of the past.
“Indeed,” he agreed, his voice rougher than intended. He cleared his throat and gestured toward the village lane. “I believe we’ve accomplished all we can for today. Might I persuade you to accompany me on a short excursion before we return to Valemont Hall?”
Curiosity brightened her features. “An excursion? Where to?”
“That, my tigress, is a surprise.” He offered his arm with exaggerated formality that made her laugh, a sound he never tired of drawing from her.
“How mysterious,” she remarked, placing her hand on his sleeve. “Should I be concerned that you’re planning to lead me into some manner of ducal mischief?”
“Absolutely,” he replied with a wolfish grin that brought a becoming flush to her cheeks. “Though I assure you, any mischief will be entirely proper.”
They bid farewell to the workmen and to Mr. Finchley, who promised to oversee the remainder of the day’s tasks.
The village was quiet in the late afternoon, most inhabitants still at work in the fields or engaged in household duties that would continue until dusk.
A few called greetings as the duke and duchess passed, their initial wariness having given way to genuine regard as Samantha and Ewan had proven their commitment to the school project.
“Will you truly not tell me where we’re going?” Samantha asked as he led her past the village green and onto a narrow path that wound between ancient oaks.
“Patience, Duchess. The destination is but half the pleasure.”
She huffed at this evasion but followed willingly, her curiosity evidently piqued.
The path climbed gently upward, dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy of leaves overhead.
Birds called to one another in the branches, and once a rabbit darted across their path, freezing momentarily before disappearing into the underbrush.
“I had no idea this path existed,” Samantha remarked, gathering her skirts to step over a fallen branch. “Is it part of the estate?”
“The entirety of Valemont extends for miles in every direction,” Ewan replied, steadying her with a hand at her elbow. “But yes, this particular section has belonged to the Wildingham family for generations. My father used it primarily for hunting.”
“And you?” she asked, her perceptive gaze noting the shadow that crossed his features at the mention of his father.
“I prefer to visit for other reasons,” he said simply.
They continued in companionable silence for perhaps a quarter of an hour, the path gradually steepening until it emerged suddenly from the trees onto a rocky outcropping that overlooked a breathtaking vista.
Below them stretched the whole of Valemont village, the cottages like toys from this height, the church spire gleaming in the afternoon sun. Beyond lay the patchwork of fields and meadows that comprised the heart of the estate, and further still, the distant rooftops of Valemont Hall itself.
“Oh, Ewan,” Samantha breathed, her eyes wide with wonder. “It’s magnificent.”
A warmth that had nothing to do with exertion spread through his chest at her reaction. “I discovered it as a boy,” he told her, watching her face as she took in the panorama. “It became something of a sanctuary when life at the Hall grew… difficult.”
She turned to him then, her expression softening with understanding. “Thank you for sharing it with me.”
“I wanted you to see Valemont as I see it,” he replied, gesturing toward the landscape spread before them.
“Not just as a collection of properties and responsibilities, but as a living whole. These lands, these people, they’re connected to each other and to us in ways that transcend mere ownership. ”
“I understand,” she said softly, and he knew with certainty that she did—that this woman who had entered his life through the most unlikely of circumstances truly comprehended what he was trying to convey.
He drew her to a flat stone near the edge of the outcropping, where he had arranged for a small basket to be placed earlier that day. “I thought perhaps we might enjoy a modest repast while admiring the view.”
Samantha’s delighted surprise as he revealed the basket’s contents—fresh bread, cold chicken, berries from the Valemont gardens, and a bottle of light summer wine—was a reward in itself.
They settled side by side on the stone, close enough that their shoulders touched, sharing the simple meal as the afternoon light gilded the landscape in gold.
“This is perfect,” she said after a time, her voice holding a contentment that resonated with his own. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
“I find I wish to share everything with you,” he admitted, the words emerging with unexpected honesty. “Even the parts of myself I’ve kept hidden for so long.”
She set aside her wine glass to take his hand, her fingers warm against his. “I want to know all of you, Ewan. The light and the shadow both.”
The openness of her expression, the acceptance in her eyes, undid him in ways he could not have anticipated when he had first proposed this impromptu excursion.
He had planned it as a pleasant diversion, a chance to show her a favorite spot and perhaps steal a kiss away from the watchful eyes of servants and villagers.
Instead, he found himself speaking with a vulnerability he had never permitted himself before.
“I used to come here when my father was in one of his rages,” he told her, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. “I would imagine that I was a hawk soaring above it all, free from the constraints of the Hall and all it represented.”
Her hand tightened on his, offering silent support.
“Later, after Benedict died and I became the heir, I would stand here and try to see the estate as my father saw it: as property, as a symbol of power and prestige. I tried to make myself into the duke he would have wanted.” A bitter smile twisted his lips.
“I failed, of course. But in failing, perhaps I became something better.”
“Something infinitely better,” Samantha affirmed, the conviction in her voice warming him more thoroughly than the wine ever could.
He turned to her then, framing her face with his hands, overwhelmed by the depth of feeling this woman had awakened in him. “How do you do this?” he asked, his voice rough with emotion. “How do you continue to cut me off at the knees, my duchess?”
“Perhaps,” she replied, her eyes luminous in the golden light, “you were really always just weak-kneed.”
Ewan chuckled at the joke, his heart light.
When he kissed her, it was with a tenderness that belied the fierce possessiveness he felt toward this remarkable woman who had chosen to see beyond his carefully constructed facade to the man beneath. Her lips yielded to his, warm and willing, her arms twining around his neck to draw him closer.
The kiss deepened, heated by the acknowledgment of feelings too long unspoken, and Ewan found himself trembling with the effort of restraint. This sacred place deserved better than the urgent coupling his body demanded; Samantha deserved better.
“We should return,” he managed when they finally broke apart, both breathing heavily. “Before I forget myself entirely and scandalize any passing wildlife.”
She laughed, the sound bright and uninhibited in the open air. “A most improper duke indeed.”
“Only with you, my tigress,” he replied, gathering the remains of their picnic. “But I’m certain you know this already.”
They made their way back down the path, hand in hand in the lengthening shadows of late afternoon, and Ewan felt that lightness spread across his shoulders with each step.
Now, the future he saw stretched before him was filled with possibilities he had never dared to imagine: a marriage based on mutual respect and genuine affection; something he had convinced himself he might never have.
And it terrified him to the bone.