A Spinster's Luck (11 page)

Mr. Whitely took his leave of them then, leaving his calling card for Celia. She thanked him, and the duke escorted him to the front door.

Celia sat next to Imy on the settee, the small pile of
papers in a neat stack on her lap. These and the red leather box were the only real evidence that this past half hour had not been a dream.

“Oh, Celly, what a turn the day has taken,” Imogene said with a bemused shake of her head. With that, the floodgate opened and Celia burst into great, racking sobs.

T
hree days after receiving the news of Edna's death, Imogene came to an important decision. After breakfast she went in search of her brother. A footman informed her that he was in his private study, going over estate business with his secretary. She tapped on the door lightly and poked her head into the wood-paneled room, requesting a few moments of his time when he was free.

“Of course, Imy, I am just finishing now. Thank you, Hammond, that will be all for today.” Severly rose from his chair, dismissing the scholarly-looking young man. The duke directed Imy to a chair, reseated himself, leaned back, and gazed at his sister's serious face.

“What is amiss, my dear?” he asked after the door closed behind Hammond.

The duchess plucked absentmindedly at the lace on the front of her morning gown as she wondered how best to approach him. Taking a deep breath, she plunged in before losing her nerve.

“It is Celia. I am much concerned about her situation,” she began with a shake of her head. “I feel that I should launch her into Society. She is an enormously wealthy young lady, and I know that is what Miss Forbisher intended. I feel it is my duty to guide her. She is so terribly green, you know.”

The duke gave his sister one of his rare smiles, thinking that Imogene was not very far from being green herself.

She continued her speech, fortified by the fact that he
was not scowling at her yet. “It will be most difficult to present a governess to the
ton;
I am hoping you will help. Drake, it would mean a great deal to me.” Her eyes were anxious as she watched for his reaction.

Rising, the duke went to stand in front of a large window overlooking a small hedge maze in the garden. “It would not be difficult. It would be impossible. A governess would be cut dead if she showed herself in Society,” he informed his crestfallen sister.

“But, Drake, we must try,” Imy urged. “After all, she is an heiress. Years ago, I wondered if I should be looking around for a young man for Celia. She is so pretty and intelligent. And she is the daughter of a gentleman. With no dowry and her being much too proud to accept a settlement from me, I never really pursued the matter. It is different now; she should be living the life of a lady.”

“I agree. Celia is a lady. Under these unexpected circumstances, all should be done to help her in her new life. But if you go about saying she was a governess, you might as well quit before you start,” he said, turning from the window to give his sister a pointed look.

Imogene jumped up with a cry of excitement. Running to the window, she threw her arms around her brother and hugged him effusively. “You will help! You are wonderful, and this will be such fun! I thought the ball you are giving for me would be an excellent opportunity to introduce her to the world, so to speak. What do you think?” She pulled back to assess his reaction.

“It will serve. In the two weeks before then we must endeavor to prepare Miss Langston. However, it must not, under any circumstances, be known that she was a governess,” her brother said sternly. “I believe the best approach would be to say that Miss Langston has been a friend for many years, which she has, and stayed at Harbrooke because of being orphaned. The less said the better. If we pass Celia off as if it is the most natural thing in the world, this may not be as difficult as you think. After all, she has you and me to give her the proper consequence,” he said.

Imogene wondered at the cynical tone in his voice.

“I will explain the situation to Rotham,” he continued. “He will add to the credibility of our slight masquerade. Again—and I stress this, Imy—it must not be known that Miss Langston was in service to you.” His voice held a note that she could not ignore.

“I never really thought of her as the governess,” Imogene said, “not after we became such good friends, anyway. I feel completely at ease now that you are in command, Drake, dear. I must run and tell Celia. Now that you will help, I know she will agree,” she said gaily, fairly skipping out of the room. She left her frowning brother to contemplate the changes that, no doubt, were bound to disrupt his well-ordered life.

Celia had spent the first day after hearing the news of Edna's death in her room, crying profusely into the silk coverlet on her bed. She had come down for breakfast the day after, but felt so bereft, she again returned to her room.

Edna's letter, received on the day Celia found out the sad news, had sat unopened on the little desk until the third day. Celia had not felt strong enough to read it until then. She met with Mr. Whitely that morning, who kindly explained in greater detail the circumstances of her inheritance. Upon his departure, he promised to follow her instructions on repairs and other improvements to Harford Abbey. After seeing him out, Celia went back to her room and picked up Edna's letter.

The scrawling handwriting had brought tears to her eyes. Sitting down in the high-backed chair before the fireplace, Celia finally opened the envelope. By the end of the missive she was laughing so that her sides hurt. She read the letter again.

A better price on the groceries! All this time, Edna had possessed a huge fortune, and she quibbled about pennies. How shocked she was to hear about ladies riding astride, yet she wished to be informed the moment Celia witnessed such an event. Celia shook her head and reread the letter yet again. Edna had been such an eccentric old lady and she would always miss her, yet somehow having this last letter from her took away some of the pain.

A tap on the door suddenly interrupted her musings.

“May I speak to you, Celia?” Imogene asked upon entering.

“Of course, Imy. I've just been trying to make sense of all this,” Celia said, gesturing to Edna's letter and the papers Mr. Whitely had left for her to read.

Imogene sat on the bed and looked at her friend's pale face. “This is all so amazing, Celia. Do you realize that you are an heiress?”

Celia shook her head. “No,” she said truthfully. “How could Edna have been so rich, yet lived in such penury?”

“I do not know. But obviously she knew what she wanted, and because of that your life has vastly changed,” Imogene said seriously.

“Yes, I realize that. I am at a loss as to what to do next,” Celia said, gathering the papers together and taking them to the secretary before reseating herself.

“We shall honor Edna's wishes and introduce you to Society,” Imy began. “Do not look at me that way. Drake already has it all in hand, so there is nothing to worry about.”

Celia jumped up from her chair and stared at her friend with a horrified expression on her face.

“Oh, no, Imy. You did not ask your brother to help!” she cried in alarm. “I do not even feel that I should be here now that all this has happened.”

“Do not upset yourself, Celly. Drake has offered to help launch you into Society, which is very kind of him,” Imy stated practically. “We shall formally present you at the ball Drake is giving in two weeks. Before then, we shall follow Edna's very express wishes and get you the most glorious wardrobe this side of the channel.”

Celia looked at Imy helplessly, seeing that her friend was enjoying all the changes that Celia found so daunting. Sinking back into the chair, Celia said, “This whole situation seems incomprehensible to me, Imy. I don't know how to be rich,” she finished plaintively.

“Of course you do. You've been around me all these years, haven't you?” Imy demanded archly, bringing a wry smile to Celia's lips.

“I know you are right about what Edna wanted. We had a conversation shortly before I came to London. She told me I would soon have many choices. Now I understand her words.” Sadness colored Celia's voice. “I shall miss her very much.”

“I know you will, my dear,” Imy replied, going over to lay a supportive hand on her friend's shoulder. “I regret that I never had the honor of meeting her. But from her letter, it is clear that her fondest wish would
be for you to jump into your new life. And I think you should begin tomorrow by going shopping with me,” Imogene finished hopefully.

Celia hesitated. “Well … let's see what tomorrow brings.”

Imogene, well pleased with this morning's work, decided not to press her friend. After placing a kiss on Celia's forehead, she went to the door.

“Rest this afternoon; it will help you get over the shock. Remember, Edna is at peace, and she gave you a wonderful opportunity for a new life.”

Celia slept the afternoon away. Awakening after the sun had set gave her a strange, disoriented feeling. Turning her head to glance at the clock, she saw that she had only an hour to dress before dinner.

After bathing, she donned the new umber-colored gown that Imy had given her. Celia smiled when it suddenly occurred to her that she could now return the generosity. Coiling her thick hair onto the back of her head, Celia frowned at the reflection of her pale face. After tucking a stray hair away, she gave herself one last look, shrugged, and left the room.

She found the duke alone in the salon, staring into the fire with his hands clasped behind his back. He looked up at her entry and she curtsied.

“I have not had the chance to offer my condolences, Miss Langston,” he offered as he turned away from the mantel and approached her. “You have my deepest sympathy at the loss of your friend. She seemed a fascinating person.”

Celia looked up at his somber, handsome face and saw that he meant the words. Lowering her eyes, she admitted to herself reluctantly that his kindness touched her heart.

“I thank you, your grace. I confess that I have been overset by the news.”

“Most certainly. You must give yourself time to become accustomed to your new situation. Of course, you shall remain here as my guest and follow Miss Forbisher's instructions,” he remarked agreeably, as if it were all very natural.

Celia's surprise was so great, she could not bring herself to respond.

The duke did not seem to expect her to say anything and walked over to the liquor cabinet. He offered her a glass of sherry, which she gratefully accepted.

To Celia's relief, Imogene burst into the room in a flurry of deep blue silk, babbling about how late she was for dinner.

Just then Porter opened the double mahogany doors leading to the dining room.

“Dinner is served, your grace,” he stated, bowing slowly.

The duke stepped forward and offered both ladies an arm, saying with a slight smile, “Shall we?”

Imogene took her brother's arm and smiled happily at Celia, delighted with her brother's gallantry.

Despite her long-standing friendship with Imogene, Celia did not feel comfortable placing herself as a social equal. Since coming to Severly House she had always followed Imy and the duke into supper. So she hesitated before them now, looking lovely and confused, frowning slightly as she looked from Imy to the duke.

Disengaging his right arm from Imy's, Severly reached over, took Celia's hand, and gently pulled it through his left arm. Celia felt a tingle through her fingers as she gazed down at his warm, long-fingered hand touching hers.

Severly turned to his sister again, offered her his right arm, and said, “Cook will be angry if we let his efforts get cold.”

As they all walked arm in arm into the dining room, it suddenly struck Celia how profoundly her life had changed.

The next morning, Imogene would hear none of Celia's protests and bustled her out of the house and into a waiting carriage to go shopping. By the time they had been conveyed to Knightsbridge, some of Imogene's chattering excitement had transferred itself to Celia.

Imogene had informed Celia that Mrs. Triaud of Bolton
Street was a very fashionable and creative modiste. They arrived at the elegant little shop, only to be informed that Mrs. Triaud would be much too busy to assist them, for she was in the midst of working on Princess Charlotte's trousseau.

Celia didn't know if she was on her head or heels. How Edna would have loved this! For a moment Celia thought about writing to Edna, until she remembered that Edna was gone. But Celia would never have had the chance to be in this place if Edna were still alive. It was all very sad and ironic, she thought, gazing about the opulent little shop.