A Spinster's Luck (22 page)

“What a delightful picture the two of you make,” Lady Kendall said in her high, sweet voice. “I was just saying so to Lady Baldridge, wasn't I?” She turned to her companion for confirmation, and the heavier woman nodded vigorously in agreement.

Before Celia or Corinna could respond to this unorthodox greeting, Lady Kendall looked straight at Celia and said, “May I please have a word with you, Miss Langston? Lady Baldridge, Miss Sheffield, you will pardon us for a few moments, won't you?”

“Of course we will, Lady Kendall,” Lady Baldridge said forcefully, drawing her arm through Corinna's and steering the young lady away. Corinna looked over her shoulder at Celia with a very surprised expression. Celia could do nothing but smile politely and wait for Lady Kendall to speak. She owned that she was very curious as to why Lady Kendall would seek her out so pointedly.

“Let us go over to that pretty little arbor and have a nice coze. We really must make an effort to know one another. After all, it's almost as if we were family.”

“Oh? How can that be?” Celia raised a brow and followed her into the arbor, seating herself next to the countess on a little stone bench. It was clear that she would not be able to get away until the countess had her say. “I am not related to the duke or his sister. Are you?”

“La, no.” Letty giggled. “What I mean to say is that you are so close to the duchess and I am so close to Severly.… Well, naturally, we should be friends. I do feel as if I know you because Drake has told me all about you,” she lied blatantly, irritated by Celia's cool, self-assured demeanor.

Celia stared at the pretty little blonde, and found herself speechless. For a split second Celia wished she were ill-mannered enough to get up and walk away. She had a very strong feeling that she did not want to hear anything else Lady Kendall had to say.

Lady Kendall continued.

“Anything that concerns Severly is very much a concern of mine. He has told you of how … special our relationship is?” she inquired, raising both brows in question.

“No, he has not.” Celia was surprised at her own calm reply.

“How like Drake.” Letty's laughter lasted a little too long to be natural. Sobering, she turned long-suffering blue eyes to Celia. “It is rather unconventional, I own, but can true love ever be denied? Should it be? Drake has loved me for years. Tragically, my parents forced me to marry a very old man. Drake was away because of the war, or he would have eloped with me.” She sighed poignantly, setting the artfully arranged golden ringlets of hair dancing beneath her bonnet. “He's the only reason I can bear to go on.”

The region around Celia's heart seemed to freeze. In her heart of hearts, she had hoped that his relationship with Lady Kendall was just a dalliance based on nothing more than mutual desire. But Lady Kendall's words changed all that. Drake was in love with his mistress, a woman he couldn't have. This explained why he hadn't married and why he made no effort to be discreet about their relationship. It explained the blatant look of passion she had seen on the duke's face when he danced with Lady Kendall.

Celia could not recall ever feeling so much pain in her heart. What a fool she had been not to accept what she had seen so plainly. She suddenly felt quite naive.

“If this is so, I see no reason why you would share this information with me.” Celia tried to keep all evidence of distress from her voice.

“Well …” Letty shifted on the stone bench and looked at Celia with a frown creasing her brow. “Drake is quite concerned about your growing feelings toward him. I thought it might help if I explained our unfortunate circumstances to you. Drake does not wish you to be embarrassed. You take my meaning, I'm sure.”

Celia could not believe her ears. Obviously, the duke
had told Lady Kendall that he believed Celia was in danger of making a cake of herself over him. Why else would the countess waylay her in this manner? How dared he, she fumed silently, feeling almost relieved at the surge of anger replacing the pain in her chest.

Letty watched the emotions play across Celia's face, and felt a sense of satisfaction at the angry, embarrassed flush that rose to her cheeks. So she had not been wrong to be suspicious yesterday at Chandley when Drake and the spinster had disappeared.

The countess had been in a panic ever since returning home from Chandley. In a frantic gamble, Letty had sent her lady's maid, Sophie, over to Severly House to see what she could learn. She had done this in the past, because Sophie's cousin was a belowstairs maid in the Severly household. Sophie had often come back with useful information, usually about the duke's plans and such. But never before had Letty needed to know what was going on at Severly House as badly as she needed to now.

Impatiently, she had waited all morning for Sophie to return. When Lady Baldridge had arrived at two o'clock, Letty had decided not to vex herself further by waiting. And so they had set out for Kensington Gardens. Letty thought it was the greatest good luck to spot Miss Langston, deciding almost instantly to have a private word with the older girl.

Now she felt she had played it perfectly. For certainly, if the spinster had been harboring any romantical ideas about Severly, she would now be too ashamed to make them known, Letty thought, continuing to watch closely the play of emotions across her rival's face.

Gathering the shreds of her torn feelings as best she could, Celia took a deep breath.

“I have no desire to be privy to such intimacies, Lady Kendall. I bid you good day.”

Without another word, Celia rose and walked out of the arbor. With difficulty she forced herself not to run through the beds as she spotted Corinna nearby.

Corinna came to her friend's side immediately, for she
did not have a good feeling about this meeting. Seeing Celia's composed, yet very pale face caused her further concern. She was too polite to ask what had transpired, but everyone knew that Letty Kendall was the Duke of Severly's paramour, and that he had been neglecting her of late. Corinna put her arm through her friend's, noted that it was trembling, and suggested that they return home.

Celia agreed at once.

P
orter opened the front doors to a weary-looking Celia. She wanted nothing more than to lie down and nurse her head. It was aching even worse than it had been this morning. She winced, putting a hand to her throbbing temple.

“Lord Pembrington is in the blue salon, miss. He insisted on waiting for your return.”

The butler's usually noncommittal voice seemed to hold a faint tone of disapproval, Celia noted as she looked up at him in surprise. What was Lord Pembrington doing here?

“Good lord, what next?” Celia said half under her breath as she untied the ribbons to her bonnet.

“I beg your pardon, miss?” Porter said as they walked toward the blue salon.

“Nothing, Porter.” Celia sighed. “May I give you my bonnet?”

“Of course, miss,” he said, before opening the salon door for her. “May I bring you a cup of tea?”

She smiled wearily at the butler. “Thank you, Porter. A cup of tea would be lovely,” she said before stepping into the blue salon.

Celia found Lord Pembrington pacing the floor and speaking. Curiously, Celia looked around the room to see if Imogene was waiting, too. Seeing no one else, Celia cleared her throat.

“Good afternoon, Lord Pembrington. You wished to see me?”

Pembrington stopped pacing at the sound of her voice, and blushed to the roots of his red hair at having been caught muttering to himself.

“Miss Langston! How good of you to come. I mean, that is, I see you have returned.”

A short silence fell as Celia tried to determine whether Lord Pembrington was foxed. Stepping farther into the room, she said, “Yes, I have returned. Porter said you wished to speak to me?” she repeated.

Moving to stand before her, Lord Pembrington nodded his head vigorously. “Quite so. But you see, when you first came in, I was not really talking to myself. I mean, of course I was speaking You heard me … just practicing. But that is of no import. I came here to talk to you about something else.”

“I gathered that.” Celia was becoming convinced that he truly was in his cups. He had probably wandered into the wrong house and did not know how to extricate himself, she surmised.

“Yes, very important You see, Miss Langston, ever since you came to town, you've been all the kick. That is to say …” He began pacing again.

Celia was beginning to feel slightly alarmed.

“What I mean to say …” He tried again. “You are beautiful. Chandley says you are the incomparable of incomparables. Since he feels that way, I thought I should toddle over here first, just in case.”

Celia's mouth was agape as Pembrington continued.

“And since one doesn't need to have Severly's permission … well, you take my meaning.” He stopped pacing the floor long enough to grin at her in a very self-satisfied way.

“I have no idea what you are prattling about, Lord Pembrington. And I am not sure I wish to know,” Celia took a few steps toward the door.

“I see that I have not made myself clear, Miss Langston. I feel … that is, I discussed it with my mother and she agrees that I should bestow … that is, ask for …” He quit speaking and suddenly lunged forward, grabbing her hands in his. “I want you for my wife, Miss Langston.”

Gasping with surprised indignation, Celia struggled to pull her hands free. If this was not the outside of enough! First the horrible scene with the duke this morning, then being forced to attend to Lady Kendall, and now this! She could hardly comprehend that Richard Pembrington was making a complete booby of himself in the middle of the duke's salon! She gritted her teeth and tugged harder.

“Miss Langston, say you will let me honor you-that is, please honor me with your hand.”

“Let go!” Celia was quivering with anger now. Mustering all her strength, she gave one last pull before resorting to kicking his shins. Her hands were suddenly free, and Pembrington stumbled forward, landing flat on his face on the Oriental carpet. Celia could only stare down at his prone figure in stunned silence.

“ 'Pon rep, Pembrington, I had no notion you were so interested in my rugs.”

Whirling around on her heel, Celia saw Severly and the Earl of Chandley standing in the doorway.

Frozen wide-eyed with mortification, Celia could only guess their thoughts by the expressions on their faces. Chandley's countenance was easily read, for he was staring down at Pembrington with angry disgust. The duke, leaning casually against the doorjamb, was not so easy to gauge. His expression, except for the slightest twist of a smile, was closed.

Of their own volition, Celia's hands flew to her flushed cheeks. Her eyes went from Pembrington, who had not moved from his place on the floor, to the two gentlemen sauntering into the room.

What in the world were they doing here? she wondered desperately. And how was this odd scene to be explained?

Pembrington slowly pushed himself up to his knees. He was scowling intensely, and Celia saw that his cheek was red from where his face had hit the floor.

“Zounds! Did you plant him a facer, Miss Langston?” asked Chandley with admiration, for he had also noted the red cheek.

Celia had the most overwhelming urge to laugh hysterically.
She could only shake her head, her hands still on her cheeks.

By now, Pembrington was on his feet. Glowering at Chandley, he said, “No, she did not hit me. I merely slipped and fell.” He straightened his jacket and began brushing off his knees.

Celia could feel the duke's eyes upon her. Desperately, she cast around for something to say, and could think of nothing. This ridiculous encounter had occurred so quickly, she wasn't even sure what exactly had happened.

Severly's languid gaze went to Pembrington. With a raised brow he waited for the young wastrel to give an account of himself.

Feeling like a butterfly pinned to a board, Pembrington cleared his throat several times before attempting to speak. “I was just asking … er … I wished to speak to Miss—”

At that moment, Porter entered the room carrying the tea service.

With relief flooding her heart, Celia finally found her voice. “Here is the tea! Porter, you may serve the gentlemen. I am sure they have much to say to each other, and as I am feeling rather fatigued I shall leave them in peace.”

Porter nodded his understanding to Miss Langston and wondered why she was saying all this to him.

With a shallow curtsy, Celia quickly left the room, not caring what any of them thought of her. She was halfway up the staircase when she heard Imogene call to her.

“Celia, what in the world is going on?” Imy called, walking up the stairs toward her friend.

“Oh, Imogene, I cannot begin to tell you how odious this day has been,” Celia began, as they continued to ascend the stairs.

Meanwhile, in the blue salon, Severly and Chandley were still eyeing Lord Pembrington. After throwing a harried glance to the butler, Pembrington gave up. With a churlish look to the other men he muttered, “I have nothing to say and will take my leave.”

Without another word he left Severly House before Porter could get the door.

“Well,” Chandley said, “that was devilish queer.”

“Indeed,” responded the duke coolly. “I wonder if the offense of being a ninny is enough cause to call him out.”

“In Pembrington's case, it is more than enough,” Chandley responded. Porter offered the gentlemen tea.

“May I offer you something stronger than tea, Chandley?” The duke gestured to his liquor cabinet.

“Yes, I believe I am in need,” Chandley replied.

Porter instantly procured a bottle of whiskey. The two gentlemen raised their glasses in a silent toast.

Severly had to own that young Chandley had certainly gone up in his estimation this afternoon. Earlier, while the duke was taking Blackwind for a bruising run through Regent's Park, he had scarcely noticed another rider bearing down upon him. It wasn't until the other horse was abreast of his that the duke slowed to a trot. Severly had been in no mood to talk, but his innate good manners made him rein in his horse and greet the Earl of Chandley.