A Spinster's Luck

by Rhonda Woodward

  The room suddenly seemed to spin around. Celia knew that her heart had been waiting all her life for this moment. Still, she could hardly allow herself to believe what she saw in his eyes.

  “You really admired me when I was a spinster?”

  Standing before her, motionless, Severly knew by her shy expression that she had placed her trust in him.

  The duke reached her in three strides, pulling her fiercely to his chest. As his hungry lips pressed against her pulsing neck, Celia was exquisitely aware of his muscular arms around her. Breathlessly, she marveled at the quick beat of his heart, matching hers.

  Pulling back, he looked deep into her eyes. His large hands came up to cup her beautiful face gently. Someday he would write an ode to the splendor of her eyes. Soon, he would compose a sonnet declaring the depth of his love.

  All that would come later. For now, he could only say, “Yes.”

  That one word, so huskily spoken, filled Celia with the deepest sense of wonder and joy she had ever known.

  As she leaned into his embrace, his lips took hers in a kiss that began gently, but soon held the promise of their passion.

  His arms tightened around her slim body, pulling her closer against him. This is not a dream, Celia thought to herself in a haze of growing desire. Severly was truly here, at Harford Abbey, and he had declared his love for her.

  Their kiss deepened, and with newfound confidence Celia’s hands stroked Severly’s chest before stealing up to his neck. She savored the new sensations coursing through her veins. Standing on her tiptoes, she pressed herself even closer against him, wanting to show him how much she loved him.

  After some time, Severly reluctantly pulled back, fearing for the first time since he’d been a lad that he would not be able to control the passion flaming through him.

  Standing in the middle of her library, still loosely encircled in his arms, Celia felt her face glow with a new inner light as she gazed up in wonder at the expression on Severly’s face. Never had she thought to see such tenderness and passion so plainly evident. All for her, she thought with humble amazement.

  “You have come all the way from London,” she marveled out loud.

  “To the ends of the earth, if need be, my darling torment,” he said with the slightest touch of a wicked grin. Her heart seemed to catch and stop for a moment. “Imy sends her love,” he continued. “She hopes you will send her and David your good wishes.”

  For a moment, Celia was too enthralled by his presence to fully take his meaning.

  “Drake!” she said in a dawning surprise at his words. “Are Imy and David betrothed?” This news would only make her happiness complete, Celia thought with delight.

  Severly, greatly pleased with Celia for saying his name so naturally, pulled her back into his arms. “Yes,” he murmured against her temple. “They shall be wed at Harbrooke Hall next month.”

  Celia snuggled her cheek against Severly’s shoulder. “Next month? So soon?” she said, wishing he would kiss her again.

  With a deep chuckle, Severly’s warm lips traveled down her cheek.

  “Soon, my love? It is my deepest desire to precede my sister to the altar.”

  As the revelation of his love coursed through her body, Celia raised her radiant face to his.

  “What a lovely idea, your grace,” she said as his lips captured hers once more.

  Epilogue

  Severly Park, the duke’s family home in Kent, was ablaze with lights as the numerous liveried footmen, maids, and kitchen staff scurried about in preparation for what promised to be the county’s most glittering social event in years.

  Despite the gloom of the late-fall weather every one of the ninety-odd guests to receive an invitation from the duke and the new duchess had accepted eagerly.

  A number of them, who were not actually staying at Severly Park, were now arriving at exactly seven o’clock.

  “How unfashionably prompt,” the duke remarked drolly to his new brother-in-law, David Rotham, as they strode through the wide hallway to the main salon. A footman opened the impressively wide double doors and the two men passed through them into a huge room with large mullioned windows that opened into the rose garden.

  “What do you expect?” David asked his friend. “Everyone is eager to meet your new bride.”

  More than two dozen guests immediately surrounded the duke, most from neighboring estates, who had not yet had the pleasure of meeting the new Duchess of Severly.

  Soon everyone was enjoying themselves, helped in part by the bounty produced from the duke’s excellent cellars.

  As guests continued to arrive, it became apparent that one very important ingredient seemed to be missing from the festivities—the Duchess of Severly.

  The duke continued to circulate among the colorful and increasingly curious revelers. He greeted old friends and distant relatives, all with one topic on their lips—his wife.

  As he directed a footman to bring Lord Graston another glass of champagne, Severly had to own that he found it amusing to know that the most recent rumor being spread about was that he and Celia had been secretly engaged for years before their marriage.

  He was looking forward to sharing this latest on dit with Celia. That was, if she ever came downstairs, he thought with wry tenderness toward his beloved’s tardiness.

  As more guests arrived, Severly caught sight of Alex, the Duke of Westlake, threading his way toward him through the crowd.

  “Westlake!” he greeted his old friend with pleasure. “Celia and I are well pleased that you will be staying this week. It has been too long since we have had your company.”

  Accepting a glass from a passing footman, Westlake gave his friend a knowing grin.

  “Sink me, Severly, if you hadn’t taken such a shockingly long honeymoon, you would have had my company long before this.”

  Severly laughed at his friend’s comment. He had been receiving much the same roasting from a number of his guests, and accepted the teasing good-naturedly. After all, he and Celia had not been home to anyone save Imy and David for more than four months.

  “My dear Severly,” Lady Ardale loudly interrupted the two gentlemen, “never tell me the duchess has taken ill?”

  Severly smiled fondly down at the petite Lady Ardale. Her family and his had been neighbors for generations, and she had been one of his mama’s dearest friends. Having no sons of her own, she had always taken a keen interest in the duke’s affairs.

  “Fear not, Lady Ardale; I have no doubt my wife shall be along presently. My bride has but one fault: She takes a prodigious time over her toilette,” he said with a slightly conspiratorial smile that set the old lady’s heart aflutter.

  “Oh, you,” she twittered, hiding her face behind her fan.

  The guests continued to stream in and yet there was still no sign of the duchess.

  Excusing herself from a group of old friends, Imogene made her way across the crowded room to her brother. Severly thought his sister looked magnificent in an evening dress of bishop’s blue.

  “Drake, I am going to see what’s keeping Celly,” she said with a mischievous smile. “You must stop purchasing her so many gowns. You know what a difficult time she has deciding what to wear.”

  Severly nodded his agreement, glad of his sister’s offer, before turning his attention to Lord and Lady Darnham. He wanted Celia next to him, for he was eager to show her off.

  It took Imy some minutes to make her way out of the salon and up the massive oak staircase of her childhood home.

  Upon reaching Celia and Drake’s suite, she lightly tapped on the door. A moment later, the door opened a fraction and Imy saw Dora’s blue eye peering at her.

  “Oh, it’s you, your grace,” the little maid said with a deep sigh of relief before stepping back and opening the door wide.

  “What on earth?” Imy said, wondering what could cause such odd behavior. Curiously, she looked around the beautiful room. It was decorated in shades of lilac and silver.
One of the many gifts her brother had bestowed upon his bride had been the pleasure of completely redecorating their private quarters.

  The yards and yards of sumptuous lilac and silver satin draping the large canopy bed must have cost Drake a small fortune, Imy thought. She could not help but admire her friend’s taste as she stepped farther into the exquisitely appointed room.

  “Celia?” Imy called, again looking around the room with a slight frown on her brow. Suddenly Dora rushed past the duchess, knelt, and crawled under the bed. This bizarre behavior caused Imy to lose her usual poise so much that she stared agape at Dora’s feet sticking out from under the bed.

  “What on earth?” Imy said again, as Celia emerged from a very large dressing room situated on the other side of the bedchamber.

  “Oh, Imy! Thank God it’s you,” Celia said with great relief. Imy saw that Celia was arrayed in the most beautifully designed gown Imogene had ever seen. The violet-blue velvet seemed to deepen the emerald green flecks in Celia’s eyes.

  Dora had obviously spent a considerable amount of time on her mistress’s hair arrangement, and Celia was wearing the magnificent Severly diamonds around her neck and wrists. Imogene thought she had never seen Celia looking more beautiful or regal—until she looked down and noticed that Celia’s stockinged feet were slipperless.

  “Celly! Your guests are waiting. I can understand your desire to make a grand entrance, but—”

  Imy was cut off abruptly when Dora emerged from under the bed with a cry of triumph.

  “Here they are, your grace,” she said with delight, holding up a muslin bag.

  “At last, Dora,” Celia said, relief plainly written on her face. “Imy, dear, I had no intention of being so late. I just wanted to surprise Drake,” she began as she moved to sit on a beautifully upholstered settee placed in a bay window that overlooked the formal gardens.

  Dora removed a pair of violet-blue slippers from the muslin bag and knelt to help her mistress put them on.

  “Surprise Drake?” Imy asked impatiently. “Why? How?”

  A smile began at the corners of Celia’s mouth as she looked up at her dearest friend.

  “You see, Imy, before Drake and I were married, before I knew about the inheritance, Drake bought this beautiful fabric because he knew I had admired it.” She looked down tenderly at the gown she wore and stroked the fabric lovingly.

  “So I sent the bolt off to Madame Triaud, without telling Drake” She continued her explanation as Dora finished tying the ribbons of her right shoe. “I wanted to have something very special for our first party. I didn’t want Drake to see what Madame Triaud had created so Dora and I hid everything weeks ago. Tonight we could not find the slippers Madame Triaud had sent with the gown. Dora and I have been rushing around like madwomen trying to locate them.” Celia ended her explanation on a laugh.

  “I know Drake will find you a vision well worth the wait,” Imy said loyally as she walked back toward the door. “But come now, before your guests think Drake’s marriage is a hoax.”

  Celia laughed again at her friend’s words as Dora finished tying the bow around her left ankle and the two friends left the room together.

  “I am so pleased you, David, and the boys are staying with us,” Celia said happily as they went down the staircase arm in arm. “You are stunning this evening, Imy. I have never seen you so radiant.”

  “Nor I you. Marriage obviously agrees with us.” Imy smiled and squeezed Celia’s arm in affection. “Let me go in first, Celly, so your grand entrance won’t be spoiled.”

  Celia hesitated on the last step, looking at Imy with a very faint frown marring her brow.

  “Imy, is she here?”

  They both knew who “she” was.

  “Yes, she is,” Imy said with disdain. “And so is the earl. You’ll finally make his acquaintance,” she said before nodding to a footman to open the door for her.

  Celia stood alone for a moment outside the grand salon, listening to the loud hum of voices coming from behind the closed doors.

  Tonight she really would be the Duchess of Severly, Celia thought with some trepidation.

  These last four months had been the most blissful of her life. Each day she had come to know her husband better, her love had grown deeper and stronger, until she now felt as if he were a part of her and she of him. She loved Severly Park. It already felt like home because Drake had gone to such lengths to make her feel as if she not only belonged at his side but that he valued her ideas and opinions on improvements he planned for the vast estate.

  Celia adored being Drake’s wife. But until now, she had not felt like a duchess. She wanted so badly to make him proud of her. But here she was, all flustered from being late, she thought with some anxiety as she checked her appearance one last time in a large hall mirror.

  Madame Triaud had included a note in the parcel when she sent the completed ensemble. The modiste wrote that she considered the violet-blue gown her greatest creation, even more magnificent than anything in Princess Charlotte’s trousseau. Celia had to agree.

  Lifting her chin, she turned back to the doors and nodded to the liveried footmen. As the doors opened, the merry noise coming from the mass of people seemed to assail her senses. She hesitated slightly as the doors closed behind her, trying to catch sight of Drake so that he would come to her side. She saw him immediately and, thank goodness, he was close by. She had not wanted to cross the packed room on her own.

  He was next to her instantly, his broad-shouldered presence giving her the confidence she suddenly lacked.

  Celia saw his eyes travel over her form, taking in the beautiful gown that had been created from his gift. She watched with shy pleasure as his slight look of surprise changed to that look of intimate admiration that had become so familiar to her in the last few months.

  “Here you are, my love.” He bowed formally over her hand, the look on his face revealing the pride and tenderness he felt for her.

  Celia did not notice that a hush had suddenly come over the assemblage as she smiled deeply into her husband’s eyes. “Forgive my lateness, darling, but I couldn’t find my slippers.”

  At the absurdity of this excuse, Drake threw back his head and laughed. Those nearest joined the duke, and as the comment was repeated throughout the room, soon everyone was laughing with him at the uncontrived wit of his beautiful wife.

  The duke spent the next half hour introducing Celia to those in the room she had not met before. Soon, any lingering trepidation at her first social appearance as Drake’s wife dissipated as everyone welcomed her warmly.

  “Ho, ho, young devil, I can see why you kept this beauty hidden all this time,” said the elderly Lord Layton, with a wink and a nudge to Drake’s ribs.

  “Why, I never thought to see young Severly so besotted with anyone, especially a wife,” Lord Kerwood said to his Lady Kerwood, his voice carrying across the room due to a bit of deafness.

  “Believe me, milord, neither did I,” the duke said with a self-deprecating smile that caused even more comment and laughter throughout the room.

  Drake continued to squire his wife among the guests, stopping here and there to chat with their guests. Celia decided she was beginning to enjoy herself, especially when she espied Corinna Sheffield and the earl of Chandley standing together on the other side of the room, deep in conversation. She had invited each of them to stay at Severly Park and was quite pleased when both accepted. Celia secretly hoped they would come to realize what she believed—that they were well matched.

  Celia was pulled from the contemplation of her friends’ potential romance when she heard the ever-so-slight change of tone in her husband’s deep voice.

  “My dear, allow me to make known to you Lord Kendall. You have met Lady Kendall, of course.”

  Celia paused a moment to gain her composure before turning to these guests. This was the moment she’d been dreading all day. Steeling herself for the inevitable meeting with Letty Kendall, Celia lifted her chin s
lightly. How like the beau monde, Celia thought with a wry smile touching her lips. It was the most urbane thing in the world to meet the husband of your husband’s former mistress.

  With a mental sigh, Celia knew it was best to just get it over with; to snub the Kendalls would only give credence to any lingering gossip about Drake and Lady Kendall. Celia had hoped that they would have the good graces to send their regrets, but her hopes were dashed when the butler had brought a stack of replies for her to review over breakfast last week. At the top of the pile was a note from Lady Kendall saying that she and the earl would be delighted to attend the Duke and Duchess of Severly.

  Celia hoped the smile she had so firmly planted on her lips appeared natural as she greeted Lord and Lady Kendall.

  But to her surprise, the Earl of Kendall was not at all what Celia had expected. The man before her was certainly not old. He was tall, fair, and very attractive, she observed as he made an elegant leg before her.

  Casting a quick look at the petite woman standing next to the earl, Celia saw that Letty Kendall looked like a porcelain doll in her pale blue gown. Except for the truculent expression marring her pretty face, Celia could not help thinking with some satisfaction.

  “Welcome to Severly Park, Lord and Lady Kendall. I hope this bad weather did not make your journey a chore?” Celia said, smiling at the earl and refusing to look at Letty again unless she was forced to.

  “Indeed not, your grace. Even if the weather had been far worse, it would not have stopped me from accepting an invitation to Severly Park. Everyone speaks of your grace’s beauty and charm. I had a desire to see for myself if the rumors were true. I can now attest that they are,” the earl drawled with what could only be characterized as an intimate smile.

  Celia’s beautiful eyes met Drake’s in a flashing moment of shared amusement. She was hard-put not to laugh, especially when she saw the effect Lord Kendall’s words had on his pouty wife. The petite woman’s head whipped up to stare at her husband in annoyed surprise at this compliment.