Page 19 of A Spinster for the Cold Duke

A small constellation of elegantly dressed ladies hovered nearby, each strategically positioned to catch his attention should he glance in their direction.

The spectacle was so predictable it bordered on comedic, and Annabelle found herself rolling her eyes before she could check the impulse.

“Your lack of subtlety does you no credit, my dear,” Lady Oakley observed dryly.

“I was merely observing the curious phenomenon of intelligent women reduced to simpering decoration in the presence of a title,” Annabelle replied, though she felt a peculiar twist of unpleasantness as one particularly beautiful young woman stepped closer to the Duke.

“Come,” her grandmother said, guiding her toward a cluster of ladies gathered near the refreshment table. “Let us make the rounds before the performance begins.”

Annabelle moved obediently through the social choreography of greetings and pleasantries. Her mind stayed only half-engaged until she found herself momentarily alone because her grandmother was drawn into conversation with an elderly countess some feet away.

“Miss Lytton,” came a voice like poisoned honey, and she turned to find herself facing Lady Harriet. “How surprising to see you here. I wouldn’t have thought these gatherings would interest you.”

“Lady Harriet,” Annabelle acknowledged with a precise curtsy, neither too deep nor too shallow. “I find beauty in many forms of artistic expression.”

“How progressive of you,” Lady Harriet replied, her smile not reaching her eyes. “Though I suppose when one’s social circle consists primarily of spinsters and widows, one must seek entertainment where it can be found.”

The women flanking her tittered dutifully. Their gazes were sharp with malice, poorly disguised as sympathy.

“I understand your little book club has become quite the talk of the county,” Lady Harriet continued, her voice pitched just loudly enough to carry to nearby ears. “So much reading. Though I suppose when one has resigned oneself to spinsterhood, vicarious experiences are all that remain.”

Annabelle felt her cheeks grow hot, but she maintained her composure by maintaining the dignity she had hard-won through years of similar encounters.

“The Athena Society values intellectual exploration,” she replied evenly with a tight smile. “Something I find infinitely more stimulating than gossip.”

Lady Harriet’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Is that what sustained you after your wedding day? When your fiancé?—”

“Harriet!” Lady Musgrave, Harriet’s mother, cut through the exchange like a chilling winter breeze. “There you are. Lord Thornfield is asking after your sister’s performance this evening.”

Lady Harriet’s mouth snapped shut.

“We mustn’t keep him waiting,” Lady Musgrave continued, casting an apologetic glance toward Annabelle before steering her daughter away.

Annabelle drew a steadying breath before smoothing her skirts with hands that trembled only slightly. Five years had passed, yet the wound still ached when prodded. It was a bruise that never quite healed.

“Annabelle, my dear,” Lady Oakley materialized at her side. Her keen eyes missed nothing. “Lord Hatley has been asking after you. Come.”

Her grandmother guided her across the room, taking her directly to where Lord Thornfield stood in conversation with the Duke of Marchwood.

Annabelle stilled for a moment.

“Ah, Lady Oakley, Miss Lytton,” Lord Thornfield exclaimed with genuine warmth. “How delightful to see you both. Your Grace, may I present the Dowager Viscountess Oakley and her granddaughter, Miss Annabelle Lytton?”

The Duke’s gaze found Annabelle’s, and she felt that now-familiar jolt of awareness course through her veins. It was an unwelcome reminder that her body seemed determined to betray her mind’s firm dislike of the man.

“We are already acquainted,” he said, his deep voice carrying that precise note of controlled courtesy that somehow managed to seem both impeccably polite and entirely aloof.

“Indeed,” Annabelle agreed, dropping into a curtsy. “Though under rather more contentious circumstances.”

A flicker of amusement passed across the Duke’s features before he schooled them back to their usual impassiveness.

“I trust Lady Celia’s lessons continue to progress satisfactorily?” he asked, his tone measured.

It was the first time he’d spoken to the dowager without his daughter present since they’d begun their lessons. An opportunity to hear an unvarnished opinion.

“Most satisfactorily,” Lady Oakley replied with a knowing smile. “Your daughter has a remarkably quick mind, Your Grace.”

“A quality that requires proper guidance,” he observed, his gaze sliding meaningfully to Annabelle.

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