Page 8 of A Spinster for the Cold Duke

It had been some time since anyone dared speak to him with such frankness.

“Miss Lytton,” he said, his voice dropping, “if this society of yours cannot control who attends its gatherings, then perhaps it has no business continuing at all.”

The ladies gasped in unison. Several clutched their novels to their bosoms as though he might snatch them away.

Miss Lytton’s eyes narrowed at his words, but there was no sign that his words had any effect on her.

“In fact,” Henry continued, his gaze sweeping the assembled women, “I wonder what the other respectable families of the county might think of such literary pursuits.”

Miss Lytton scoffed at him. One finely groomed brow arched in arrogant challenge.

“Bold of you to assume, Your Grace--” She bit his title back at him as though it were a curse word. “That I care a wit about whatother respectable families think. If I did, then I would not have founded this club now, would I?”

Indeed, he’d never had any woman speak to him quite like this one. He didn’t quite know whether to be impressed or irritated. From the way she challenged him so openly, he was leaning towards irritated.

“Perhaps the local vicar should be informed of what transpires in these meetings,” he stated snidely.

The silence that followed was absolute. The older women exchanged horrified glances, while Miss Lytton’s expression hardened into something fierce. She opened her mouth to respond?—

“Well. This is unexpected,” the voice of an elderly woman came from behind Henry.

As he turned around, he saw the woman standing at the threshold.

“I believe,” she said, her voice carrying the refined accent of an earlier era, “that you are threatening my guests, Your Grace. A rather unusual approach to afternoon calls, even for a duke.”

Henry recognized the Dowager Viscountess Oakley at once.

“Lady Oakley,” he acknowledged with a slight bow. “I apologize for the disruption, but I’ve come to retrieve my daughter, who intruded upon your home uninvited.”

“So I gather,” the Dowager replied, her shrewd eyes taking in the scene. She turned to the assembled ladies with a gracious smile. “My dears, I believe we should adjourn for today. Richards will see you out.”

The women needed no further encouragement. They gathered their belongings with remarkable speed.

Within moments, the room had cleared, leaving only Henry, Celia, Miss Lytton, and the Dowager Viscountess.

“Tea, Your Grace?” Lady Oakley inquired placidly, as though they were engaged in a perfectly ordinary social call.

“I think not,” Henry replied curtly. “Your granddaughter, my lady, is encouraging my daughter to participate in readings of a salacious nature.”

Miss Lytton bristled visibly. “The Athena Society is a literary club, not a den of iniquity. We read novels that explore the complexities of human emotion and experience?—”

“Including content unsuitable for unmarried ladies, judging by the books I see before me,” Henry interrupted.

“I’m hardly a child,” Celia protested. “I’m debuting next year, Father.”

Henry turned his gaze on his daughter. “Your behavior has been entirely unacceptable, Celia. You’ve abandoned your lessons, deceived our staff, and fallen woefully behind in your studies. This reckless escapade merely confirms my growing concerns about your readiness for society.”

“I’ve gone over the same lessons a thousand times,” Celia replied with a groan. “Latin conjugations and embroidery stitches won’t prepare me for real life any more than Miss Harrington’s vapid platitudes.”

Henry felt his temper rising, and he was barely holding on by the skin of his teeth.

“We will discuss your punishment at home,” he said firmly, before turning back to Lady Oakley. “My lady, I expect you to discipline your granddaughter as well for encouraging this behavior. As for this club of hers, there will be consequences.”

Miss Lytton stepped forward, indignation clear in every line of her body, but Lady Oakley raised a hand, silencing her protest before it could begin.

“Your Grace,” the Dowager said with surprising diplomacy, “I understand entirely the pressures of preparing a daughter for her debut. It is a delicate time, fraught with anxieties for any parent.” She nodded toward Celia. “And yes, sneaking away is hardly appropriate behavior for a young lady of quality.”

At last, some reason, Henry thought.

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