Page 66 of A Spinster for the Cold Duke

“Come now, my little scholars.” Knightley addressed his children and clapped his hands together. “I believe the garden is callingfor your attention. The sun is particularly fine today, and I have it on good authority that Cook has prepared some rather special biscuits for your outdoor adventure.”

“Biscuits!” Rose exclaimed.

“And jam?” Clara added hopefully.

“And jam,” their father confirmed, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Off with you all. Your Aunt Annabelle and your mama have grown-up matters to discuss.”

As the children scampered away, their voices fading into the cheerful chaos of play, Annabelle found herself alone with Joanna in the morning room.

“Tea?” Joanna offered, already moving toward the service that had been arranged on the small table between them.

“Please.” Annabelle settled into one of the chairs, arranging her skirts with automatic precision while her mind wrestled with the weight of what she had come here to discuss.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” she began, accepting the delicate porcelain cup, “about this Athena Society business. Who has taken charge of organizing our literary endeavors?”

Joanna’s lips curved in what could only be described as a knowing smile. “Lady Witherspoon. You know how she is quite opinionated about the direction our discussions should take.”

“Ah,” Annabelle nodded sagely, “then I know the club is in formidable hands!” She laughed. “The ladies will tear through more than half of all the banned books before we get back.”

“Precisely.” Joanna’s laugh was bright.

Annabelle’s mind soon wandered after that, practically hauling her back to the night of Lord Southall’s ball. And instantly, color flooded her cheeks.

Joanna’s sharp eyes didn’t miss the reaction. “Annabelle.” Her voice carried that particular tone that told her she had no choice but to reveal all. “What has happened?”

Annabelle set down her teacup with unnecessary slowness, buying herself a moment to gather her courage.

“I kissed him,” she said finally. The words emerged in a rush. “Rather, he kissed me. Last night, after the ball. In the Southall’s anteroom, of all places.”

“The Duke of Marchwood,” Joanna said, and it wasn’t a question.

“Yes.” Annabelle’s voice was barely above a whisper. “And it was… it was not merely a kiss.”

At that, Joanna’s interest was piqued. “Oh, do tell!” She leaned forward in her seat.

After telling Joanna the essence of what had happened between her and Henry, she threw her hands over her face to cover her eyes.

For goodness’ sake, she’d never thought she would be one to feel so embarrassed about something like this, given how open she was about her reading preferences and just how explicit they were. Still, experiencing it was terribly different from merely reading about it.

“Goodness!” Joanna was not satisfied with that alone. “Do tell more.”

“I… I mean… I can barely wrap my head around it myself, Joanna.” She defended herself while her cheeks still scorched. “You…you weren’t there. You didn’t see the way he looked at me… didn’t hear the things he said?—”

“Ha!” Joanna laughed then and leaned back in her chair. When Annabelle looked at her askance, she supplied, “It’s always the repressed ones who end up being rather enthusiastic.”

“Joanna!” Annabelle’s voice rose slightly with indignation.

“What? It’s true!” Joanna defended, although she was laughing. “My dear friend, I have been watching you both for weeks now. I am surprised only that it took this long for something to occur.”

“That is hardly comforting,” Annabelle muttered.

“Tell me,” Joanna continued, her tone serious now, “how do you feel about what happened?”

The question pierced through all her carefully constructed defenses, leaving her exposed and uncertain. How did she feel? The emotions churned within her like a tempest, defying easy categorization.

“Confused,” she admitted finally. “Terrified. Exhilarated.” She paused, then added in a voice so quiet it was almost lost, “Wanting more.”

“And the Duke?”

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