Page 4 of The Spinster and Her Rakish Duke (The Athena Society #3)

“I say,” Ralph said, following his gaze, “isn’t that the Italian songbird who’s been causing such a stir?”

“Signora Marchetti,” Ewan replied. “And yes.”

“She’s quite striking. I don’t suppose you’ve made her acquaintance?”

“Briefly.” Their night together had been brief, by his standards.

Ralph opened his mouth to pursue the topic, but movement across the room caught both their attention. Percy had extracted himself from his circle of admirers and was approaching Lady Jane once more, his confidence clearly restored.

“Lady Jane,” he said, reaching for her hand, “might I have the honor of your thoughts on tonight’s performance?”

Before she could respond, he lifted her gloved hand to his lips and pressed a lingering kiss to her knuckles. The gesture itself was within the bounds of propriety, but the theatrical intensity with which he performed it set tongues wagging immediately.

“Lord Stonehall,” Jane said, her cheeks flushing deeper, “you’re very kind.”

Emboldened by her response, Percy placed her hand on his arm and spun her in a graceful circle, as if they were dancing.

The whispers began immediately.

“Good God,” Ewan muttered, setting down his wine glass. “The boy has no sense of boundaries.”

He crossed the room with swift, determined strides, arriving just as his too bold nephew was preparing to twirl Jane again.

“Percy,” Ewan said, his voice carrying the authority of a guardian and a duke, “perhaps you might allow Lady Jane some breathing room.”

His nephew startled, releasing Jane’s hand and stepping back. “Uncle! I was just?—”

“I saw what you were doing.” He turned to the small group. “Lord Norfeld, good evening. Lady Samantha, Lady Jane.”

“Your Grace,” Lord Norfeld replied with a bow. “Always a pleasure.”

“Oh, Your Grace!” Jane exclaimed, her eyes bright with excitement. “Did you see Lord Stonehall’s wonderful dove? It was quite the most creative thing I’ve ever witnessed!”

“Indeed,” Ewan replied diplomatically. “My nephew has a gift for… originality.”

Lady Samantha’s response was notably more reserved. “Your Grace,” she said with a polite curtsy, though her blue eyes were stone cold.

That gave him pause.

His nephew stepped closer to Lady Jane again. “Lady Jane, I do hope you enjoyed the symbolism of the dove. You see, I spent considerable time training it to?—”

“Lord Stonehall,” Lady Samantha interrupted, her voice pleasant but pointed, “I wonder if we might discuss your views on more substantial matters? Perhaps your thoughts on agricultural reform? Or your position on the recent philosophical debates surrounding utilitarianism?”

The young viscount’s face went blank. He opened his mouth, closed it, then rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Well, I… that is to say… agriculture is certainly… important?”

The silence stretched uncomfortably.

“What my nephew means to say,” Ewan interjected smoothly, “is that he finds the practical applications of philosophical theory particularly fascinating when applied to land management.”

Lady Samantha’s eyes narrowed slightly as she turned her attention to him, and Ewan dismissed the kick in his chest at her pointed attention.

“How convenient that His Grace can interpret Lord Stonehall’s thoughts so precisely. I wasn’t aware that philosophy was among your many talents, Your Grace,” she said.

“I find it useful to maintain a broad range of interests,” he replied, enjoying the flash of irritation in her eyes… maybe far more than he ought to.

“Indeed? And do you find that such breadth of knowledge serves you well in all your… various pursuits?”

The emphasis on ‘various pursuits’ was subtle but unmistakable. Clearly, the lady had heard rumors about his associations with women like Isabella.

“I’ve found that understanding human nature in all its complexities proves invaluable,” he said, holding her gaze. “Though I suspect you might disagree with my methods of study.”

Her cheeks flushed, eyes flashing. “I wouldn’t presume to judge another’s educational choices, Your Grace, though I do believe some subjects might be better studied in… private settings.”

“Samantha,” Jane whispered, tugging at her sister’s sleeve.

“Your Grace, pardon the interruption,” their host, Lord Worthington, appeared at Ewan’s elbow with impeccable timing. “Might I introduce tonight’s performer? Signora Marchetti has expressed a particular desire to make your acquaintance.”

Isabella approached with fluid grace, her smile warm but professionally calculated. “Your Grace,” she said, her accent lending music to the words, “it is such a pleasure to meet you properly.”

“The pleasure is entirely mine, Signora,” Ewan replied, bowing over her extended hand. “Your reputation as a performer precedes you.”

“How kind,” Isabella purred, her fingers lingering against his just a moment longer than propriety demanded. “I do hope you’ll find time to attend one of my performances while I’m in the area.”

From the corner of his eye, Ewan caught Lady Samantha’s expression. Despite her best efforts, she certainly did not think too highly of their exchange, and her blue eyes had taken on an even frostier quality as she watched the exchange.

He found her disapproval oddly gratifying.

“I shall certainly consider it,” he told Isabella, his voice carrying just enough warmth to maintain the pretense of polite interest.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Lord Worthington announced, clapping his hands for attention, “if you would be so kind as to take your seats, this evening’s performance will begin shortly.”

The guests began moving toward the chairs arranged in neat rows facing the small stage. Lady Samantha linked arms with Jane, preparing to follow their uncle to their assigned seats.

As she passed Ewan, she paused just long enough to murmur, “Do enjoy the performance, Your Grace. I’m certain you’ll find it… educational.”

Her tone was perfectly polite, but the challenge in her eyes was unmistakable.

“Stop jiggling your leg,” Jane whispered, settling into her chair beside Samantha.

Samantha immediately stilled the restless movement. “I’m perfectly composed.”

“You’re fidgeting like a child in church.”

Samantha forced herself to sit straighter, folding her hands in her lap with deliberate calm. She allowed her gaze to wander across the assembled crowd, noting the social hierarchies that governed every gathering.

Her eyes found the Duke of Valemont sitting three rows ahead, with Lord Stonehall beside him. As if sensing her attention, he turned, and their gazes met across the intervening space.

The connection lasted only a moment, but it sent an unwelcome flutter through her chest. She immediately looked away, focusing intently on the stage curtains.

The performance itself passed in a blur of Italian arias and dramatic gestures.

Signora Marchetti possessed undeniable talent, her voice soaring through the intimate space with impressive range.

Yet Samantha found herself distracted, her attention divided between the stage and the uncomfortable awareness of the duke’s presence nearby.

When the final notes faded and polite applause filled the room, Samantha felt only relief.

“Wasn’t she magnificent?” Jane sighed as they rose from their seats. “Such passion, such artistry!”

“I found her rather theatrical,” Samantha replied carefully as they made their way back toward the main drawing room where refreshments awaited.

“Theatrical? But she’s a performer!”

“There’s a difference between artistry and exhibition.”

Jane gave her a curious look but said nothing more as they rejoined the milling crowd. Uncle William had wandered off to speak with some business acquaintances, leaving the sisters to navigate the social currents alone.

Samantha’s gaze inevitably found the duke again, now standing near the refreshment table with Signora Marchetti at his side. The opera singer’s hand rested lightly on his arm as she spoke, her dark eyes bright with animation.

“Lady Jane?” the young Lord Ashford had approached Jane, his expression hopeful. “Might I request the honor of taking a turn about the room with you?”

Jane glanced at Samantha, who forced herself to smile and nod encouragingly. “Of course,” Jane said, accepting his offered arm. “I’d be delighted.”

Samantha watched them disappear into the crowd, then found herself alone. The solitude was short-lived.

“Lady Samantha,” came a sickeningly sweet voice behind her. “How lovely to see you again.”

Samantha turned to find Lady Foxdale approaching with two companions, their smiles sharp with malicious intent.

Oh, for Heaven’s sake, she thought.

“Lady Foxdale,” Samantha replied politely. “Good evening.”

“You must be so proud of your dear sister,” Lady Foxdale continued, her eyes scanning Samantha’s appearance with obvious calculation. “She’s quite the success this season. So charming, so young.”

“Jane is indeed wonderful,” Samantha replied, recognizing the trap but unable to avoid it.

“It must be difficult,” Lady Foxdale’s companion, Lady Willington, said with false sympathy, “watching her navigate the marriage mart so successfully when you… well, when your own debut was less… fruitful.”

“How fortunate that you have such a devoted sister,” the third woman added. “Though I imagine it must be rather painful, seeing her capture the attention of so many eligible gentlemen.”

They let the implication hang in the air, their expressions masks of concern that fooled no one.

“I find great joy in my sister’s happiness,” Samantha said, her voice steady despite the heat rising in her cheeks.

“Of course,” Lady Foxdale agreed with mock solemnity. “Though one does wonder what it must feel like to be… overlooked. Repeatedly.”

The women exchanged meaningful glances, clearly savoring Samantha’s discomfort.

“I appreciate your concern, but I believe this is my business, mine alone, and you ladies have much more important topics to discuss,” Samantha smiled, failing to rise to their bait.

Both women colored fiercely, bringing Samantha some satisfaction of her own as they grew bored and drifted away.

Samantha drew a shaky breath, composing herself before scanning the room for Jane. Lord Ashford approached from across the room, carrying two glasses of lemonade and wearing a confused expression.

“Lady Samantha,” he said, looking around uncertainly, “I seem to have lost track of your sister. She said she needed to refresh herself but that was some time ago.”

Samantha’s blood chilled. “How long ago?”

“Perhaps fifteen minutes? I thought perhaps she’d returned to you.”

She forced her expression to remain calm while her mind raced. “I’m certain she’ll return momentarily. Thank you for your concern, Lord Ashford.”

He nodded uncertainly and moved away, leaving Samantha to scan the room with growing alarm.

No sign of Jane anywhere.

She considered approaching her uncle, but he was deep in conversation and had never been particularly helpful in crisis situations.

A new worry struck her. She searched the crowd for Lord Stonehall and found no trace of him either.

Oh no.

The implications were immediate and devastating. If the impulsive young viscount had somehow managed to lure Jane away from the gathering… if he had compromised her reputation through some misguided romantic gesture …

The consequences would be disastrous.

Without another thought, Samantha abandoned all pretense of calm and swept toward the drawing room’s exit, her heart pounding with fear and fury.

If Lord Stonehall had endangered her sister’s reputation, she would make him deeply regret his very existence.

The corridors of Worthington House stretched before her, dimly lit and filled with shadows that seemed to harbor infinite possibilities for scandal.

But she was determined to find her sister before that could happen.