Page 7 of The Spinster and Her Rakish Duke (The Athena Society #3)

“ A re you ready, Samantha?” Uncle William’s voice was soft but steady, betraying only the faintest hint of nerves.

Samantha’s fingers trembled ever so slightly as she adjusted the folds of her ivory silk gown, smoothing the delicate lace at her wrist.

The chapel was modest, but its pale stone walls carried the quiet dignity such an occasion demanded. She stood behind the church’s threshold, only a few steps away from the aisle, her heart a steady drum beneath the weight of expectations.

Her uncle stood behind her a kind but measured expression. His silvered hair was neatly combed, and he wore the sober black coat befitting a man of his station.

She offered a small nod, fixing her gaze ahead toward the open doorway.

The murmurs of the few assembled guests hushed as the organist struck the first solemn notes of the processional.

Samantha’s breath caught, and her heart quickened. Not from hope, but from the stark reality of what was to come.

“Let us go, then.” Her uncle took her arm gently, guiding her forward.

They moved together down the aisle, measured steps on the worn stone floor, past the few familiar faces who had come to witness the arrangement more than the romance. The soft rustle of silk and the tap of polished shoes filled the quiet air.

At the altar, the vicar stood, a kindly man whose measured tone belied the gravity of the moment.

Uncle William turned to Samantha and gave a small, encouraging smile. “It is my honor to give you into the care of His Grace.”

Samantha’s gaze lifted to meet the Duke of Valemont.

His attire was simple but impeccably tailored: a dark coat, crisply pressed, with a white cravat that spoke of understated elegance.

His expression was composed, but there was something flickering in his eyes, something she could not quite pinpoint.

The duke extended his hand, and after a brief hesitation, Samantha placed hers in it.

And as Uncle William sat beside her sister Jane in the pews, the vicar began the ceremony.

Eventually, the vicar turned to the duke. “Do you, Ewan Wildingham, Duke of Valemont, take this woman to be your lawful wife, to live together in the estate of matrimony?”

The duke’s gaze did not waver from Samantha’s. “I do.”

Samantha swallowed the lump that rose in her throat, the words feeling foreign on her tongue, but she spoke clearly, “I do.”

The vicar recited the vows, words not penned by poet but necessity. There was no passion, only duty.

“With this ring …”

The duke took a simple gold band from the velvet cushion and slipped it onto Samantha’s finger. Her pulse fluttered unexpectedly at the cool metal against her skin.

“… I thee wed.”

She echoed the phrase, her voice steadier than she felt.

“You may now kiss the bride,” the vicar announced.

Samantha repeated the words when her turn came, her fingers sure as she placed the matching band on his hand.

There was no fanfare. No candles or poetry.

And yet, when the vicar said, “You may now kiss the bride,” her breath caught just for a moment.

The duke stepped closer. He did not rush. His gloved hand rested lightly against her elbow. Then, with the quiet dignity that marked every movement he made, he leaned in and pressed a single kiss on her lips.

It was formal. Chaste. Barely more than a brush of skin.

And yet?—

She felt it. She wasn’t sure exactly what. Just… something.

A flicker low in her stomach. A quiet ripple in still water.

She said nothing. Only turned with him as the vicar pronounced them man and wife.

Polite applause followed.

The duke offered his arm. She took it.

“You didn’t flinch,” he said softly, just beneath the sound of the organ.

“I don’t flinch,” she replied.

“Good,” he said. “You’ll need that skill.”

They stepped together through the chapel doors and into the pale sunlight, the future stretching out before them—formal, uncharted, and entirely real.

“Your Grace, you look absolutely radiant!”

Samantha turned from adjusting her simple white silk gown to find Lord Stonehall approaching, his boyish face beaming with what appeared to be genuine pleasure.

The small drawing room at Norfeld Hall had been hastily transformed for the wedding breakfast, though the intimate gathering could hardly be called elaborate.

“Well, thank you, Lord Stonehall.”

“Please, call me Percy.” He executed an exaggerated bow that made her lips twitch despite her nerves. “We’re family now, after all. And I must say, my uncle has gained a most formidable duchess.”

“I hardly think ‘formidable’ is the impression a new bride should make.”

“Oh, but it is precisely what this family needs.” Percy’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Uncle Ewan has been far too comfortable in his bachelor ways. A bit of feminine management will do him wonders.”

Samantha glanced across the room where her new husband stood in conversation with Lord Tenwick, his dark head bent attentively toward his friend. The sight sent an unwelcome flutter through her stomach.

“I confess,” Stonehall continued, following her gaze, “I am somewhat disappointed that I shall no longer be able to court Lady Jane properly. She possesses such grace, such gentle beauty. I hope I will be able to find someone as great as she …”

“There is no one quite like my sister,” Samantha said, her voice softening as she spotted Jane arranging flowers near the window.

Stonehall laughed, then he turned to her with a twinkle in his eye and said, “You know, you remind me of His Grace when he speaks of my father. He would say exactly the same thing, that there was no one quite like him in all the world.”

Samantha stared at him, something cold settling in her chest. “Your father?”

“Yes, my father, the late viscount. Uncle Ewan was devoted to him, you know. Always said?—”

“Lord Stonehall!” Lady Langston swept forward with the Dowager Viscountess, Lady Oakley, close behind. “How lovely to see you again. We were just telling Her Grace how delighted we are for her.”

The young viscount’s face brightened. “Lady Langston, Lady Oakley! How wonderful that you could attend on such short notice.” He bowed again, then glanced at Samantha. “If you’ll excuse me, I believe I’ll sample Cook’s excellent seed cake before Lord Tenwick claims it all.”

As Lord Stonehall retreated, Lady Langston grasped Samantha’s hands warmly. “My dear, you must tell us everything. The last we spoke at the club, you said you were but brief acquaintances!”

Right .

Lady Oakley chuckled. “I suppose that is fitting, then,” she said, “That they had a brief courtship.”

“Oh, uh, yes, the courtship was… rather swift,” Samantha managed, offering what she hoped was a convincing smile.

“Oh, the best ones always are,” Lady Oakley said with a knowing look. “One moment you’re convinced you’ll never marry, and the next you’re utterly besotted. My granddaughter was like that, and now she’s also a duchess.”

“Indeed,” Lady Langston agreed. “Though I must say, His Grace has been watching you most intently all morning. Quite the devoted bridegroom.”

Despite herself, Samantha’s gaze flickered toward her husband. Their eyes met across the room, and she felt heat rise in her cheeks. He regarded her with an intensity that made her pulse quicken, his green eyes unreadable. Then, as if caught in something improper, he turned back to Lord Tenwick.

“Has he mentioned his plans for the season?” Lady Langston asked. “Will you be residing primarily in London or at Valemont?”

“I… we haven’t discussed it at length,” Samantha said, grateful for the distraction. “I imagine we’ll divide our time between both residences.”

“How romantic,” Lady Witherspoon sighed. “A duke’s country estate is always so much more intimate than a London townhouse. Perfect for newlyweds.”

The word ‘intimate’ made Samantha’s stomach clench. She had been trying very hard not to think about what awaited her at Valemont Hall, about the expectations of marriage that she had agreed to fulfill.

“Your Grace,” Her uncle’s voice interrupted her increasingly frantic thoughts. “I believe your husband is ready to depart.”

Samantha turned to see the duke approaching, his expression formal and unreadable.

“Ladies,” he said, bowing to Lady Langston and Lady Oakley. “Thank you for honoring us with your presence.”

“The pleasure was entirely ours, Your Grace,” Lady Langston replied. “We were just telling Her Grace how perfectly suited you appear.”

“Indeed,” the duke said, his tone neutral. “If you’ll excuse us, we should begin our journey while the weather holds.”

The finality in his voice made Samantha’s chest tighten. This was it, then. The moment she would leave everything familiar behind and become truly bound to this man she barely knew.

“Of course,” she said, moving toward Jane, who had been quietly observing from near the window.

Her sister’s blue eyes were bright with unshed tears as Samantha approached. “Samantha …”

“Oh, Jane.” The words came out more broken than she intended, and suddenly her sister was in her arms, holding her tightly.

“I’ll visit very soon,” Samantha whispered against Jane’s golden hair. “I promise. Perhaps in a fortnight, once we’re settled.”

“I know you will.” Jane’s voice was muffled against her shoulder. “I just… I shall miss you terribly.”

“And I you.” Samantha pulled back to cup Jane’s face in her hands. “But you’ll be perfectly fine with Uncle William. And Lord Ashford seemed quite taken with you at the garden party.”

Jane’s cheeks pinked slightly. “He did ask Uncle William if he might call.”

“There, you see? You’ll hardly have time to miss me with all your suitors.”

But Jane held on when Samantha tried to step away, her fingers gripping Samantha’s arms. “Are you certain you’re happy? This all happened so quickly, and you seem …”

“I’m perfectly content,” Samantha said firmly, though the lie tasted bitter. “This is what’s best for everyone.”

Finally, Jane released her, though her eyes remained troubled. Uncle William approached, his own eyes suspiciously bright.