A Spinster's Luck (4 page)

Severly nodded and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Yes, I can see why someone with a surfeit of pride and weak lungs would find the humiliation intolerable. Especially in the country, where a sad love affair would be gossip fodder for years.”

Celia gave him a surprised smile, startled at the duke's understanding, “Yes. That is exactly the situation. Edna is far too sensitive and proud, but one can understand her feelings.”

“Quite,” Severly replied, irritated with himself for feeling so pleased with the dazzling smile she had bestowed upon him.

After a moment, Celia excused herself, promising Imogene she would speak to Cook about the basket to take along with her. She then dropped a quick curtsy before swiftly taking her leave.

Severly rose and watched her slim figure as she left the room. After reseating himself, Severly cast an accusing eye to his sister. “The two of you are bosom bows,” he charged.

The duchess looked at him with startled eyes very much like his own. “Rather,” she admitted. “We have so much in common, you know.”

“No, I didn't know,” he pointed out dryly.

Imogene frowned in agreement. “It is odd, but she has always disappeared whenever you come to Harbrooke. The boys were just commenting on it yesterday.”

“Why?” demanded her affronted brother. “I don't recall exchanging a word with the girl.”

Imogene shrugged and placed the delicate cup back in its saucer. “Celia is a bit shy. To a simple country lass, someone like you might be too formidable.”

The duke frowned, ill-pleased with her answer. He bit into a peach as his sister picked up his discarded paper.

“What did she mean when she said her quarterly had arrived?” he asked after recalling the comment.

“Oh, that.” Imogene waved the paper dismissively. “She receives a stipend from the vicarage for being an orphan. It affords her enough to buy the occasional book and fabric for a new gown. Celia is too proud to take
anything from me, and says food and shelter are more than enough. Of course, the money would cease if she ever married.”

“Is that likely to happen?” Severly quizzed.

“Well, Celia is almost six and twenty, which is pretty well on the shelf,” she stated as a matter of fact. “But Squire Marchman has been calf-eyed over her for years. Stares at the back of her head the whole while we're at church every Sunday,” she offered helpfully.

Severly recalled a bovine farmer living a few miles east of Harbrooke and immediately felt offended for Celia. He shook his head, disgusted that such a ham-fist had the effrontery to aspire to someone like her.

“I believe I shall give Blackwind some exercise.” He rose and gave his sister a kiss on the cheek. “Willow is a lovely shade on you, my dear.”

Imogene watched her brother with a perplexed expression as he strode from the room.

As she trudged through yet another sodden field, Celia wondered if she had made the wisest choice in declining Imy's offer of the carriage.

A recent thaw had caused the ground to run muddy in places. Celia grimaced at the muck splattering on the hem of her gown with every step, knowing Edna would be quite irked if she arrived in this state. The old lady had little tolerance for anything she considered unladylike.

Stopping at the top of a knoll, Celia set her basket down on the stump of a tree and turned back to look at Harbrooke Hall. A picturesque view of sloping farmland, parkland, and extensive gardens met her gaze. With her heart swelling at the sight of the struggling late-winter sun shining on the hall's mellow golden spires, Celia found it difficult to comprehend that she actually lived in such a lovely place.

She was fully aware of how fortunate she was, and never ceased to give thanks. Within days of the horrible tragedy that had caused her parents' deaths, Imogene, the recently widowed Duchess of Harbrooke, had rolled
up to the vicarage in her smart carriage and asked Celia to stay at Harbrooke Hall and help take care of her little boys.

Through this beginning and the tragic deaths of their loved ones, a deep bond developed between the two young women that transcended the difference in their ages and stations in life.

It would have been more than enough to have a roof over her head, but Celia had also been accepted as one of the family. Life was very good, and she dearly loved Imogene and the boys. The only fly in the ointment was a very small one indeed: the occasional visits by the insufferable Duke of Severly.
How could someone as sweet as Imy have such an odious brother?
Celia wondered with a bemused shake of her head.

Frowning, she recalled her encounter last night with the duke. She must somehow have been careless, she decided, for never before had she been caught so unexpectedly by him. And also at breakfast this morning. Never before had he lingered so long at the morning meal. She would have to be more careful in the future.

Resuming her walk, Celia continued to contemplate her life. Of late, she had been having thoughts that made her feel ashamed of herself. It wasn't that she was discontent, but sometimes she could not help wondering what it would be like to be married and to have her own family and home.

Elizabeth Tichley, the miller's daughter and a friend of Celia's, had been married last fall. Celia and Elizabeth often spoke after church services, and Celia found herself becoming wistful after listening to Elizabeth's accounts of domestic bliss.

Recalling how happy her parents had been made this avenue of thought even more painful. Once, when Celia was about twelve years old, her mother said, “One day you will fall in love, and if he is as wonderful as your papa you will be blessed indeed.”

There is little chance of that happening. I am firmly on the shelf now
, she thought wryly. There was always Squire Marchman, she reluctantly conceded, but he
thought of nothing but farming and read only the almanacs.

Pushing back her shoulders and lifting her chin, Celia scolded herself: “You ungrateful wretch,” she spoke aloud. “Here you are, crying for the moon when you have the most wonderful friends and are living in one of the most beautiful homes in all of England. For shame!” She nodded her head sharply, as if to put a stop to her wayward thoughts, and continued on.

Moments later, a small, gentle voice seemed to whisper to her heart that there really was nothing wrong with wondering what it was like to love and be loved. Giving in with a shrug, she allowed herself to daydream about Sir Galahad. As she walked on, dodging the mud as best she could, the light morning breeze teased golden brown tendrils from her neat bun.

Jarvis must have been watching out one of the grimy windows for her because the door stood open as she came up the overgrown drive a little while later.

“Oh, Miss Celia!” The old man seemed unusually distressed, and Celia hurried up the drive, a shock of fear coursing through her body. Edna must be in a bad way for Jarvis to be so discomposed.

“She is very poorly, miss. The doctor be with her now. She as been asking for ye all morn,” he told her as he ushered her into the dismal foyer and took her cloak and basket.

“May I go to her?” she asked, moving swiftly toward the staircase.

“Yes, miss. They be waiting for ye.”

Celia raced up the dusty, creaking staircase to Edna's rooms. The door stood ajar, and she could hear the low voice of Dr. Rayburn. Old Miss Forbisher was lying in a very large four-poster bed, its moth-eaten canopy long since discarded. A vase of dogwood sat on her bedside table, evidencing the fact that Edna's rooms were the only ones in the house that received any kind of attention.

“Where can she be? I'm sure she should have been here by now,” came Edna's voice, a hoarse and distressed
whisper. Celia felt a stab of guilt. If she had taken the carriage she would have arrived much sooner. Celia pushed the door open. The old lady looked ghastly, withered and pale. Celia could hear her labored breathing from where she stood.

“I am here, Edna. I'm so sorry I am late,” she said sincerely as she approached the bed. Edna appeared to have lost even more weight in the few days since Celia had last visited her.

“There you are, Celia!” A gnarled hand reached out. Celia took it in hers and turned concerned and questioning eyes to the doctor. He gave her a slight frown with his faded blue eyes.

“Now, Edna, the tonic I gave you will help you rest. Miss Langston has arrived and I wish to have a word with her,” he said in his benign bedside manner.

“You may as well speak in front of me. You will not say anything that will jolt me. I know I am dying.” Her voice was clear despite its weakness.

“Do not say that, Edna! You will soon feel better.” Celia squeezed the old woman's hand and looked to the doctor to confirm her words. He hesitated, gathering up his medical items and placing them in his black leather bag before answering her unspoken question.

“Who is to say? All are in the Lord's care. Miss Forbisher may have a week, a month, or years. She is dying, but I cannot speculate as to when.”

Strangely, the words comforted Celia. It was not hopeless. She would not lose her friend this day.

“I will see you out, Dr. Rayburn. I will be only a moment, Edna. Please rest.” She gave her friend a reassuring smile.

“Don't be long,” the old woman ordered imperiously.

Celia followed the doctor out of the room to the top of the staircase.

“No need to come any further, Miss Langston. I will see myself out,” he said kindly.

“Is there anything I should do, any instructions that need to be followed?” she asked in a troubled voice. An anxious frown creased her forehead.

“Matthews, her maid, has all the instructions. Her lungs are bad. The best thing for her is rest and quiet.”

Celia nodded and thanked the doctor for coming such a long way. He would be back the day after tomorrow to check on Edna. If she should take another bad turn Celia should send Jarvis for him, he instructed as he pulled on a pair of gloves. Celia thanked him again and he took his leave.

By midafternoon, Celia realized that she would have to stay the night with Edna. She was much too ill for Matthews, her elderly maid, to care for by herself. Edna did not help the already difficult situation by being irritable. It had been almost impossible to persuade her to have some soup and the few drops of laudanum the doctor had prescribed.

“That doctor is a charlatan. He has never helped me,” she had pronounced unfairly, and not for the first time. Her wrinkled face screwed up in defiance as she turned away from the offending spoon. The two women finally cajoled her into taking half a dosage of the laudanum.

Celia then went downstairs to ask Jarvis if he would ride over to Harbrooke and explain the situation to the duchess and return with a small satchel of necessities.

Celia stayed with Edna as the old lady tried to rest. After some time, Jarvis returned with the bag and gave Celia a note from the duchess expressing her concern and sympathy. She encouraged Celia to stay as long as need be and to send Jarvis if the duchess could be of any help. Celia admitted to herself that though she was deeply concerned for Edna, it would be a relief to be free of the duke's unexpected presence.

Edna napped a few hours in the late afternoon, but by evening she began making demands and ordering everyone about.

“Matthews, you may retire. Miss Celia shall sit with me.”

“Very good, ma'am.” Matthews gave Celia a look that said,
Good luck
, and left the room after stoking the fire.

“So, Celia, tell me of the goings-on at Harbrooke.”
The invalid felt restless and bored and wished for Celia to entertain her.

Celia told her of some of the silly pranks the boys had been up to, trying to make the intrigues as lively as possible to divert Edna's attention away from her misery. She told her of Imogene's plans to drain the south field, and how the Dowager Duchess of Harbrooke was expected to visit soon.

Edna paid close attention and asked many questions, but Celia had been saving the best for last. When she had run out of domestic topics to prattle on about, she stated casually, “Oh, and the Duke of Severly has been visiting. The boys have been excessively excited about it.”

The old woman propped herself further up on her pillows and looked at Celia with a keen eye.

“Does the duke bring any news from London?” Even though she hadn't left her own yard in more than thirty years, Edna still found gossip, especially of London, distracting.

“A little. The poor king is still quite mad. And the regent, it is rumored, is in enormous debt and does not care a fig.”

Celia paused to refill her cup with weak tea and settle more comfortably in her chair before continuing with her news. Edna's face wore an avid expression as she waited impatiently for Celia to go on.

“It has been announced that Princess Charlotte will indeed marry Prince Leopold. There is some surprise because the Chapel Royal at St. James will not be used for the nuptials. Everyone in the
ton
is having eruptions from worry lest they are not invited to the grand reception the regent is giving.”

“Where will the wedding take place then?” Edna demanded to know, all agog at the abundant news Celia had brought with her.

“The duke told Imogene it is to take place at Carlton House sometime in May. Isn't it exciting to have a royal wedding after so many years of the horrible war?”

“Yes, indeed. And it's also very important that the old
king's grandchild should marry. The regent isn't likely to have another child, and we need a male heir,” Edna opined.

They continued in this fashion until Edna began to nod off. After carefully pulling another blanket over the frail old woman, Celia tiptoed to the little dressing room next door to prepare for bed. Matthews had thoughtfully provided a pitcher of water and a basin. But the room was so chilly Celia shivered. The only source of heat was the meager fire in Edna's room. Hastily, she bathed, then donned her old flannel nightgown and jumped into the little bed before her toes could get too cold.