Page 49 of The Spinster and Her Rakish Duke (The Athena Society #3)
ONE YEAR LATER
“ I must confess, Mrs. Radcliffe’s latest work has quite exceeded my expectations,” Emma declared, setting her teacup down with a decisive clink. “Though I maintain the Gothic elements were somewhat overwrought in the final chapters.”
“Overwrought?” Annabelle’s eyebrows rose in elegant challenge. “I found them perfectly calibrated to the narrative tension. Wouldn’t you agree, Your Grace?”
Samantha smiled, her gaze sweeping over the circle of ladies gathered in Valemont Hall’s drawing room. The Athena Society had grown considerably in the year since she had first hosted them, the original members now joined by several local ladies of discerning literary taste.
“I find myself caught between two equally compelling interpretations,” she replied diplomatically. “Though I admit a particular fondness for the heroine’s decision to confront her fears rather than flee them. It speaks to a courage I find admirable.”
“Indeed,” Joanna agreed, her spectacles glinting in the afternoon light. “Far too many literary heroines spend their time swooning at the first sign of danger. A woman of genuine fortitude is refreshing.”
The conversation flowed comfortably around literary merits and shortcomings, the warmth of friendship evident in every exchange.
Ewan, pausing in the doorway on his way to the gardens, found himself momentarily transfixed by the sight of his wife in her element—confident, radiant, her auburn hair catching the sunlight as she leaned forward to make a point about thematic resonance.
“Your Grace,” Lady Harrington called, catching sight of him hovering at the threshold. “Come tell us if we have quite exhausted your patience with our literary debates. The gentlemen have been most forbearing while we commandeered the drawing room.”
“Not at all,” Ewan replied, stepping into the room with a smile that a year ago would have been unthinkable in such company. “I find the intellectual discourse invigorating, though I confess my understanding of Gothic conventions remains woefully inadequate.”
“A deficiency your wife has no doubt undertaken to remedy,” Annabelle observed with a knowing smile.
“Among many others,” Ewan agreed, his gaze meeting Samantha’s with a warmth that sent a becoming flush across her cheeks, despite a year of marriage.
“We have nearly concluded our discussion,” Samantha said, rising from her chair. “Though I believe we have one final matter to address before adjourning.”
“Indeed,” Lady Harrington nodded briskly. “The London chapter. With so many of our members dividing their time between country estates and town residences, it seems only practical to establish a formal branch in the city.”
“My niece, Lady Eleanor, has expressed considerable interest,” Lady Pennington added. “Though at two-and-twenty, she fears she may be too young for such distinguished company.”
“Nonsense,” Joanna declared. “A love of literature knows no age. We shall welcome her most heartily when the Season begins.”
The matter settled to everyone’s satisfaction, Samantha caught Ewan’s eye once more.
“Perhaps we might continue our discussions in the garden?” she suggested to the assembled ladies.
“I believe the gentlemen have organized a game of Pall Mall, and the afternoon is far too fine to spend entirely indoors.”
“An excellent suggestion,” Joanna agreed, gathering her shawl. “And perhaps afterward, we might visit the village schoolhouse? I’ve heard such wonderful reports of its progress and am most eager to see how the children fare under your nephew’s tutelage.”
“They flourish beyond all expectation,” Samantha replied, her voice warming with pride.
“Even Mr. Finchley, who was initially skeptical of educating tenant children so thoroughly, now sings their praises. Young William, who could scarcely write his name when we began, now composes the most charming letters.”
“The transformation has been remarkable,” Ewan added, offering his arm to his wife as they led the procession toward the garden. “Not merely in their academic achievements, but in their confidence, their sense of possibility.”
The schoolhouse, completed some six months prior, had indeed become the pride of Valemont village. What had begun as a dilapidated cottage by the millpond now stood as a handsome stone building with large, bright windows that flooded the interior with light.
The grounds, once overgrown and neglected, had been transformed into an orderly garden where the children cultivated vegetables and flowers under Miss Thornfield’s careful instruction.
More remarkable still was the change in the village itself.
Where once suspicion had greeted the Duke and Duchess’s presence, now genuine affection prevailed.
Samantha’s regular visits, her interest in the villagers’ welfare, and her practical approach to improving their circumstances had won their hearts completely.
“Heather showed me her slate just yesterday,” Samantha continued as they stepped into the sunshine.
“She has mastered her multiplication tables through twelve, and her penmanship would put many a London gentleman to shame. It truly warms my heart to see them thrive,” Samantha said, her eyes meeting Ewan’s with shared satisfaction.
“What began as a simple project has blossomed into something far more meaningful than we ever anticipated.”
Indeed, the schoolhouse had become not merely a place of learning but a center of community life. In the evenings, it served as a gathering place where villagers shared skills and stories.
On Sundays after church, children practiced their reading aloud to appreciative parents and grandparents. The walls, once bare stone, now displayed proudly the artistic efforts of pupils discovering their talents.
“I have heard such great reports from Lord Stonehall about how young William has shown particular aptitude for figures,” Joanna remarked as they reached the garden where the game of Pall Mall was underway.
“Indeed,” Ewan confirmed. “So much so that I’ve arranged for additional instruction in mathematics. The boy has a natural gift that deserves cultivation, regardless of his station.”
Such sentiment would have been unthinkable from the Duke of Valemont a year prior, and the transformation in him—from a man who held himself apart from those he considered beneath his notice to one who recognized and nurtured potential wherever it appeared—was perhaps the most profound change of all.
The scene that greeted them in the garden was one of animated good humor.
Percy, resplendent in a waistcoat of peacock blue, was engaged in heated debate with Lord Tenwick over the proper technique for striking the ball, while Uncle William offered contradictory advice from the sidelines.
Jane stood nearby, her fair beauty complemented by a gown of pale yellow, her laughter carrying across the lawn as Lord Tenwick demonstrated a particularly dramatic swing.
“I see the competition is already fierce,” Samantha observed as she joined them, Ewan’s hand coming to rest at the small of her back with familiar possessiveness.
“Fierce indeed,” Victor agreed, approaching with his wife, Emma, on his arm. “Though I fear young Lord Stonehall’s approach favors theatrical flourish over practical efficacy.”
“Poetry in motion requires no defense,” Percy declared, executing another extravagant swing that sent his ball veering wildly off course. “The journey matters more than the destination.”
“A philosophy that explains much about your current standing in the game,” Henry remarked dryly, earning a chorus of laughter from the assembled company.
As the ladies and gentlemen mingled, the conversation flowing easily between literary discussion and good-natured competition, Ewan found himself marveling at the transformation of Valemont Hall.
Once a place of shadows and solitude, it now hummed with life and laughter, a home in the truest sense of the word.
“You seem contemplative, husband,” Samantha murmured, her hand slipping into his as they watched Percy attempt to instruct Lady Pennington in the finer points of mallet handling.
“Merely appreciative,” Ewan replied, raising her fingers to his lips. “Of all that you have brought to Valemont. To me.”
Her smile, still capable of stopping his heart a year into their marriage, bloomed with genuine pleasure. “A mutual gift, I assure you.”
A commotion from the Pall Mall court drew their attention as Lord Tenwick cleared his throat with unusual formality, drawing Jane to his side with unmistakable tenderness.
“If I might have your attention,” he called, his usual sardonic manner giving way to evident nerves. “I have an announcement to make.”
A hush fell over the gathering, though knowing glances were exchanged among those who had observed the couple’s growing attachment over the past months.
“Lady Jane has done me the very great honor,” Lord Tenwick continued, his voice softening as he gazed down at her upturned face, “of accepting my proposal of marriage.”
A chorus of delighted exclamations erupted, with Uncle William looking particularly pleased as he stepped forward to clap Lord Tenwick on the shoulder. “About time, my boy! I was beginning to think you’d never work up the courage to ask properly.”
“Some treasures require patience in the seeking,” Lord Tenwick replied, his eyes never leaving Jane’s radiant face. “And are all the more precious for the waiting.”
As congratulations flowed around the newly engaged couple, Percy seized the moment to make his own announcement, his natural dramatic timing impeccable as always.
“While we are sharing joyous news,” he proclaimed, “I too have an exciting development to report. I shall be embarking on my Grand Tour next month! Italy, France, Greece—all the classical lands await my poetic sensibilities!”
“Heaven help the continent,” Ewan murmured, though his pride in Percy’s growing confidence was evident in his smile.