A Spinster's Luck (15 page)

He had taken the dance floor only three times so far, Celia noted. He had danced first with his beturbaned hostess, who had been effusive in her delight at his appearance at her little ball, then with his sister, and finally with a stunning blond woman in emerald green. Celia had been informed that she was Lady Kendall, the elderly Earl of Kendall's much younger wife. Celia recalled Dora saying that her cousin was in service to Lady Kendall.

Celia wondered if—nay, secretly hoped—the duke would ask her to dance. She was an honest girl and could do nothing but admit to herself that her feelings for the enigmatic duke had undergone a complete change. He was so manly and handsome and kind. His kindness had completely surprised her, for she had always thought him such an ogre, but he had treated her as a welcome guest from the moment she came to London.

How foolish she felt for such thoughts, but she could not help it. Just the sight of his square jaw and even the scar on his cheek sent a frisson of awareness up her spine. One dance would be more than wonderful. Other men had complimented her this evening, she told herself, so maybe he would find her attractive enough to dance with.

As if he heard her thoughts, Severly turned at that moment and met her gaze across the room. The smile faded from his lips, and Celia held his piercing glance for a second before turning away, mortified that he had caught her staring at him like a silly girl. The tempo of her fanning quickened, and Imogene turned from her conversation with Countess Lieven to ask quietly if all was well. Before she could respond, Celia heard a familiar, deep voice requesting her hand.

Several of the young men surrounding her protested that Miss Langston had only just been returned to them, that it was too bad of him to whisk her away in this manner.

“You may trust me to return Miss Langston to you safely,” Severly drawled with dry amusement as he drew her to the parquet.

The meter of this waltz was slightly slower than the previous one, and Celia became acutely conscious of how close her body was to the duke's. Again, she noted the many curious eyes upon them and felt a blush rising to her cheeks as she tried to focus on anything but the duke.

“I believe you are enjoying yourself, Miss Langston,” his deep voice rumbled above her shyly bent head.

“Yes, your grace. It has all been wonderful,” she said with forced composure, trying to hold fast to her newfound confidence.

“Excellent. I confess that I am curious as to how you learned to waltz so gracefully. I know you had few opportunities to enjoy Society at Harbrooke Hall,” he said diplomatically.

A dimple appeared at the corner of Celia's mouth. “I could say that your grace instructed me.”

“How so?” His tone held surprised curiosity.

Celia took a moment to gather her thoughts. She felt intensely aware of his strong arm around her waist and her hand engulfed by his as he expertly led her through the steps of the waltz. A shameless yearning to feel him pull her closer coursed through her body, and Celia took a deep breath to calm herself.

“On a previous visit to the hall, you taught Imy how to waltz,” she began. “She was so enchanted that she purchased sheet music, and I played the piano while she showed Henry the steps. When he became proficient, Imy played while Henry and I danced. So, since you instructed Imy and she instructed Henry, in a roundabout way one could say that you taught me, your grace.”

Severly laughed outright at this deduction, and the assembled guests goggled. No one could recall his giving such marked attention to an unmarried woman. Yet here he was, hanging on the lovely Miss Langston's every word. A few dandies wondered if it would be too early to lay a wager.

Severly still had a smile on his lips when he asked how they had persuaded Henry to go along with the scheme.

“He kicked up a fuss at first, but when we explained that you were a very good dancer he agreed to try. The boys try to emulate your grace in every way.”

“I shall have to commend Henry on his excellent tutelage,” he said in his deep voice as he swung her around the polished floor.

The rest of the waltz passed in a haze for Celia. She couldn't help recalling the look in his eyes as they had stood on the stairs earlier in the evening, and again she felt that odd sensation in her chest. When the lilting strains of the waltz faded away, the duke returned her to his sister instead of her little group of swains. When
he bowed over her hand, she felt hers tremble slightly in his strong grasp; then he excused himself. She watched his tall frame disappear into one of the faro rooms.

I have thoroughly misjudged him
, she told herself.
He really is a gentleman, and not the rake everyone reputes him to be.
For a reason she refused to examine, her heart felt very light to realize this.

She was pulled from these musings when Imogene took her arm and turned to Major Rotham. “David, would you mind terribly obtaining some champagne for us? I'm positively parched, and I'm sure Celia is too,” she requested of him with a sweet smile.

“Happy to, my dear, and it will give you and Miss Langston a chance to have a private coze,” he teased with a bow.

Instead of being chagrined at his accurate deduction, Imogene just laughed and said, “How intuitive of you, David,” as she pulled Celia to a pair of chairs in a secluded alcove near the dais the dowagers occupied.

“Dear Celia, I'm so proud of you! You are a rousing success! By tomorrow you will be discussed in every drawing room from St. James to Park Lane. Why, even the old tabby dowagers approve of you.” She quickly cast a worried glance toward the dais in case she had spoken too loudly.

“I own my dance card is full, but there are dozens of young ladies more popular. Besides, I'm a spinster, not a young miss. This is all quite lovely, but it doesn't really matter if I make a splash or not,” Celia explained with a wry smile to her friend.

“You a spinster? Don't be a goose. Not an hour ago Lady Sefton, one of the patronesses, said that not even Miss Corinna Sheffield, this Season's Incomparable, could compare to Miss Langston's beauty, easy charm, and artless wit. I do not want to hear any more talk of spinsters when you have such as the Earl of Chandley and Lord Mayhew dancing attendance,” Imy finished firmly, tapping Celia's knee with her ivory fan. Celia made no further arguments, for she was young enough to enjoy the heady feeling of being sought after.

Later in the evening, Celia stood conversing with a few of her new acquaintances, slightly amazed with her own confidence after being so terrified just a few hours earlier. Imogene approached with a very pretty, petite young woman with titian hair.

“Celia, dear, Miss Corinna Sheffield wishes to make your acquaintance. I am sure the two of you shall find much in common,” Imogene said, smiling encouragingly to both girls before sweeping off to dance with Lord Beresford.

“Indeed, Miss Langston, I did want to make your acquaintance. I have been admiring you. Your gown is so elegant and you dance so beautifully. My dear mama has been holding you up all evening as the example she wishes me to emulate,” Miss Sheffield said in a breathless, almost childlike voice.

Celia was rather taken by surprise by this onslaught of compliments. She almost laughed out loud at the thought of someone wanting to emulate her, but found herself instantly liking Miss Sheffield's unguarded pale blue eyes.

“How obliging you are, Miss Sheffield!” Celia began. “And I am very happy to meet you. Shall we take a turn about the room and visit?”

With that, the two young women curtsied to the gentlemen Celia had been conversing with and set out to get to know one another.

“Miss Langston, I must admit that I am quite envious of you,” Miss Sheffield stated baldly, but there was a smile in her voice.

“How so? Obviously you have no reason to envy anyone.”

“But I do!” she said in earnest as they strolled through the crowded room. “I am one and twenty. This is my first Season because I have been in mourning for a number of years due to the deaths of my grandfather and uncle. Yet now that I am finally here, my mother still insists that I dress as the other girls do, in these boring white gowns that do not flatter me. She does not seem to understand that I am no longer seventeen.”

Celia felt a brief pang of guilt at the mention of
mourning, because she was not properly mourning Edna. Instantly she dismissed the feeling because she knew Edna would have preferred her to attend a ball, instead of mourn her.

Tilting her head to the side, Celia paused to examine the petite girl from head to toe. She thought her very pretty, but had to agree that the white gown with its ruching and bows did look rather juvenile.

“I think you look delightful,” Celia said diplomatically.

Miss Sheffield stopped beneath a chandelier. “You are too kind, Miss Langston, but I know I look silly. Seeing you in your lovely violet gown has given me hope. Mama so approves of you, and how could she not, as a number of the most eligible gentlemen in London have partnered you this evening? Maybe she will bend a little and let me wear something with color.”

Though Celia blushed a little at the younger girl's frank manner, she found it refreshing and saw no harm in supporting Miss Sheffield in her desire. Resuming their walk, they continued to discuss clothes and dancing and other feminine things. They parted a little later after agreeing to call upon each other during the week. Celia was delighted to meet such an unaffected creature as Miss Sheffield.

Returning to Imogene and Major Rotham, Celia thanked them both for making her first ball such a wonderful experience.

“You did most of that on your own, my dear,” Imy said. “You have taken London by storm. Dozens of people have asked me about you.”

“I can't believe I am as popular as all that,” Celia demurred.

“You shall see; by the end of the week you will have so many invitations, your head will spin,” Imy vowed, and Major Rotham seconded her opinion.

Celia did not encounter the duke again for the remainder of the evening, though her eyes did scan the room occasionally. She told herself not to be silly and resolutely turned her attention to her little circle of beaux, who did their best to keep her attention on them.

Sometime after two in the morning, Severly emerged from the billiards room and requested the carriage, even though the ball showed no signs of slowing down. Celia did not mind a bit, because she was much too happy and, in truth, she was beginning to stifle a yawn or two.

As the footman handed her into the duke's town coach, Celia could not help but recall how, just a few hours ago, she had been terrified. Imy and the duke entered and settled back into the soft leather squabs as the coach moved forward.

“So, Miss Langston, did your first ball meet your expectations?” the duke questioned with an enigmatic smile.

Sighing with remembered pleasure, Celia looked directly at the duke. “Exceeded them, your grace.”

The morning after her first ball, Celia lingered in the cozy warmth of her pretty chamber long after Dora had opened the curtains to let in the spring sunshine. Stretching her arms over her head, she thought over last evening and savored the afterglow of the enchantment. Her first ball! She had actually attended a ball and danced with handsome gentlemen, and maybe even made a new friend in Corinna Sheffield. It was all rather wonderful, she thought, as she finally got out of bed.

After dallying over her toilette, she went downstairs for breakfast. At the bottom of the stairs, she gasped in astonishment at the veritable hothouse of floral arrangements that met her wondering gaze. The entire foyer was filled with bouquets, nosegays, and baskets of fruit and flowers of every description.

Almost hesitantly she stepped forward to touch an immense arrangement of roses and snapdragons. The envelope nestled among the green leaves bore her name. She read the brief missive and was enormously flattered that the sender was the Earl of Chandley. She checked other bouquets and discovered that many of the senders were gentlemen with whom she had not even danced. Celia marveled at the abundance of the blossoms and delighted
in their beauty and sweet scent, touched beyond reason that they were for her.

Severly came downstairs at that moment, dressed for riding and looking even more handsome than he had last evening. Celia's cheeks grew pink at being caught standing in the midst of all the flowers with her nose buried in a bunch of violets.

The duke took in the scene with a lazy eye and raised a brow. “It would seem, Miss Langston, that every buck who saw you last evening has sent you his garden.”

Surprised, Celia could not help laughing. “It does look as if someone has brought in the greenhouse.” Her shining eyes met his, until she remembered the moment on the staircase just before she had entered the ballroom.

Dropping her gaze, she self-consciously placed the violets on the entry table. “I hope we aren't so late that Imy must breakfast alone,” she said shyly. As she stepped past him, Celia quietly asked Porter if he would be so kind as to have the flowers removed to her room.

When they entered the sunny breakfast room they found Imogene full of last evening's merriment and plans for the day. “We must pay a call to Lady Pembrington; then we must call on Lady Cowper. I'm positive that she will give you your voucher to Almack's.” This was extremely exciting news, Imy informed Celia, since it would be impossible to be considered a true success if one did not have a voucher to attend the assembly at the much-vaunted Almack's.

The duke said very little over breakfast, but Celia often felt his eyes upon her. She refused to take notice, feeling too confused about her changed opinion of him to know how to behave.

Soon she was released from his nerve-racking presence as Imy bustled her from the room almost before she had completed her breakfast, admonishing her not to linger over dressing, as they did not have all day. Celia did glance back at the duke and wondered at the deep frown creasing his brow as he gazed down at his paper.