Page 37 of A Spinster for the Cold Duke

The prospect of facing the Duke again after his admission had filled her with equal parts anticipation and dread, emotions she’d thought herself long above feeling.

“Indeed.” Lady Oakley placed the letter beside her plate with nonchalance. “However, this presents a rather fortuitous opportunity. I have been contemplating a brief sojourn to London myself. The timing seems propitious.”

“London?” Annabelle repeated, her brow furrowing as she set down her teacup. “Whatever for? The Season’s almost over.”

“Precisely why it’s the perfect moment,” her grandmother replied with the satisfied air of one revealing a particularly clever stratagem. “The crush has diminished, yet society remains sufficiently engaged to provide adequate observation opportunities for Lady Celia.”

“Lady Celia?” Annabelle’s confusion deepened, but then her eyes widened as she quickly caught on to her grandmother’s intentions. “But surely His Grace would never?—”

“His Grace,” Lady Oakley interrupted smoothly, “has already agreed. I shall escort Lady Celia to an intimate tea gathering hosted by the Dowager Countess of Harborough. A perfect rehearsal for her formal debut next year. The guest list is exceedingly select and impeccably proper, comprising only the most respected dowagers and their protégées.”

Annabelle stared at her grandmother with blatant astonishment. The Duke of Marchwood allowing his precious daughter to venture into the periphery of London society, even under Lady Oakley’s formidable chaperonage, seemed utterly contrary to everything she had observed of his controlling nature.

“And the Duke has consented to this arrangement? Willingly?”

“With predictable reluctance, but yes.” Lady Oakley’s smile held the satisfaction of a chess master who had successfully anticipated her opponent’s moves several plays in advance. “He can hardly object when he himself will be in London attending to his affairs. Besides, what better preparation for society than carefully supervised exposure to its most refined elements?The Dowager Countess has been shaping young ladies for advantageous matches for many years.”

“I see.” Annabelle returned her attention to her neglected breakfast and attempted to quell the sudden flutter of nerves in her stomach. “I wish you a pleasant journey, then.”

“Oh, my dear,” Lady Oakley said with a quiet laugh that immediately raised Annabelle’s suspicions like a warning flag, “surely you don’t imagine I intend to travel without you? You shall accompany me as my companion, naturally.”

The piece of toast Annabelle had been lifting to her lips paused midway. “Grandmama, I couldn’t possibly—the Athena Society is scheduled to meet, and I’ve promised Joanna that I would help with the children’s summer fête, and?—”

“The Athena Society shall survive your brief absence,” Lady Oakley declared with the unassailable authority that had cowed generations of footmen and even the occasional bishop. “As for Lady Knightley, I’ve already dispatched a note explaining that your presence is required in London. Besides, I require your assistance with the preparations for Lady Celia’s introduction to select society.”

“But—” Annabelle began, though she recognized the futility of her protest even as it formed on her lips.

When Lady Oakley adopted that particular tone, resistance became an exercise in futility.

“It is decided,” her grandmother pronounced with quiet finality. “We depart tomorrow morning. Do ensure the maid packs your blue silk for the Dowager Countess’s tea. The color brings out your eyes most advantageously.”

With that pronouncement, Lady Oakley rose from the table with the regal grace that belied her years, leaving Annabelle to contend with her own pounding heart and the insidiously persistent memory of the Duke’s words slithering about in her mind.

“Lady Celia carries herself remarkably well,” Lady Oakley observed with quiet approval as they watched the duke’s daughter navigate a conversation with the Dowager Marchioness of Westfield.

The Dowager Countess of Harborough’s drawing room exemplified the understated elegance that characterized London’s most exclusive social gatherings.

“One would scarcely believe this is her first formal introduction to London society.” She finished with a smile in her tone.

“She has natural grace,” Annabelle agreed as her gaze followed the young woman’s poised movements.

Despite her initial misgivings about the excursion, she found herself genuinely impressed by Celia’s composure. Thegirl had absorbed Lady Oakley’s lessons with remarkable aptitude, transforming into a poised young lady with seeming effortlessness.

In her elegant afternoon gown of pale rose silk and her dark hair arranged in a becoming style that emphasized her delicate features, Celia appeared every inch the well-bred daughter of a duke.

Yet Annabelle caught occasional glimpses of the spirited girl beneath the polished exterior. There was a certain animation in her expressions when particularly engaged, and a subtle quickness in her responses that suggested keen intelligence navigating the complex currents of social interaction.

“Nature refined by nurture,” Lady Oakley corrected gently. “The Duke has not been entirely remiss in her upbringing, despite your criticisms of his methods. I believe he truly does want a very good life for his daughter.”

Annabelle’s gaze shifted involuntarily to where the Duke of Marchwood stood conversing with Lord Harborough near the fireplace.

Even in these elegant surroundings, he still carried that distinctive aura of restrained power that distinguished him from other gentlemen. His dark coat highlighted the breadth of his shoulders and shielded a chest Annabelle did not want to admit she’d feasted upon countless times…in her dreams, of course.

As though sensing her regard, he glanced in her direction, and their eyes met across the crowded room. Annabelle’s cheeks warmed as his gaze lingered for a heartbeat longer than propriety dictated before he returned his attention to Lord Harborough.

“Ahem.” She coughed as demurely as she could manage into her handkerchief, hoping to use it as a prop to cover her burning cheeks.

Of course, she should not have expected it to escape her grandmother’s keen notice.

---