A Spinster's Luck (5 page)

She lay there for a while, listening to the night sounds of the timeworn house, watching the strange shadows that lurked in the corners, and worrying about Edna. Edna was Celia's last link to her past. Some of her dearest memories were of visiting Harford Abbey as a small girl with her mother. And, despite Edna's ill temper, Celia had grown extremely fond of the old woman. Before she drifted off into slumber she sent up a fervent prayer that Edna would feel better soon.

When Celia entered Edna's room the next morning she found the old woman much improved. She had eaten all her breakfast, Matthews told her proudly, and was up, bathed, and seated in a chair by the fireplace in a faded yellow dressing down and tattered mobcap. She had even allowed Matthews to open the threadbare drapery and let the feeble sun shine in on all the dust and deterioration. Still, Celia frowned at how much weight her friend had lost.

“I trust you slept well, Celia,” Edna said. It was evident to Celia that the old lady's breathing had greatly improved since yesterday.

“Very, Miss Edna. I'm pleased to see you looking so well this morning,” she stated as Matthews set a tray of tea and toast before her. Princess Charlotte's wedding still occupied Edna's thoughts. Celia was glad Imogene had relayed the information, since it seemed to put Edna in better spirits.

“Did the duke say what her wedding robes will look like?”

“No.” Celia laughed. “I'm sure that is not something the duke would be interested in. Imy would have informed me if he had mentioned anything about her trousseau.” Celia smiled to herself at the thought of anyone so masculine as the Duke of Severly conversing about what Princess Charlotte would wear to her wedding.

“Shall the Princess of Wales be at the nuptials?” Edna queried.

“No, the duke does not believe so.” Even Edna had heard of the estrangement between the regent and his vitriolic wife.

Edna continued to speculate on the wedding clothes and the food at the receptions and balls that would be given in celebration of the happy event. After a few moments, she began a new train of thought.

“Have you ever given any thought to marriage?” she asked Celia pointedly, a keen look in her sharp old eyes.

Almost choking on a sip of bitter tea, Celia squeaked, “Me?” With a laugh she said, “I'm well past all that. I'm quite on the shelf, you know.” Celia thought this was an unusual subject for Edna to introduce, considering she was a spinster herself.

“Stuff and nonsense! You are a child! And a beautiful one at that. Believe one who has been old a very long time. It is too bad that we are so rural here. You should have a few young men to look over,” she said, pointing her bony finger at Celia for emphasis.

Celia threw her beautiful head of brown-gold hair back and gave in to deep, bubbling laughter.

“Even if Kent were teeming with eligible young men, why would anyone of them look at a spinster like me? I don't even have a dowry to tempt the least discerning man.”

Edna gave Celia an odd look and her bright blue eyes became troubled.

“You must listen to me, Celia,” she began earnestly, leaning forward in her chair, the ribbons of her mobcap swinging, the faint odor of mothballs surrounding her.

“I am old and have not long to live. Learn from me,
my dear. I have been too proud, too unwilling to forgive. You are young, beautiful, and have a warm and generous heart. Soon you will have many choices to make. Life will not always be this way for you. I was young once too, but spoiled and rather silly. I gave my heart to someone who was not worthy. If I had had any sense I would have had a good cry, then gotten angry and gone on with my life. But it took me many years to realize what a ninny I had been. By then, it was too late.”

The old woman sat back in her chair, exhausted by the unaccustomed emotions. Her eyes met Celia's, who sat motionless, listening to the sad voice of her old friend.

“You have a natural grace and good manners, but most important you are intelligent and have a virtuousness that will guide you even in the most difficult circumstances. You can bless your parents for that.” She nodded wisely, and Celia wondered why she was saying these things. It was unlike Edna to speak in riddles.

“Celia”—her tone was grave—”do not make the foolish mistakes I have made. Do not run from life, child. Do not run even from pain. I found out much too late that even through the worst pain, one can find a deeper joy.”

Celia still did not fully understand Edna's meaning, but she could see that this was most important to the old woman. Leaving her chair, she knelt by Edna and took her gnarled, blue-veined hand in hers. Celia's lovely brownish green eyes were unsettled, and her sweetly defined mouth trembled.

“You will remember what I have said, won't you, Celia?” Edna asked, looking down with affectionate eyes at her young friend.

“Yes, I will, always.” Her voice was choked, and for the first time in their long association they embraced.

T
he Duke of Severly lounged back with his long legs stretched comfortably before him in one of the overstuffed chairs in the library. Moments earlier, Grimes had brought him a stack of mail. He had sifted through most of the invitations and letters of business when a missive addressed by a familiar hand caught his eye.

After he'd read the note, a pleased expression crossed his face. He rose and went to the door, calling to his sister. Imogene entered the room a few seconds later. “My goodness, what has you in such a taking?” she questioned with a curious look.

“You will not believe who has tracked me down,” he said with an uncommon smile.

Imogene could not remember the last time she had seen Drake looking so pleased. Usually he wore an expression of disdain or, at the very least, boredom. Imogene felt she understood why her brother always seemed so ill-content. Drake was so handsome, wealthy, and had had so much excitement and danger during the war, regular life must be a bit tedious for him. Even as a little boy he had treasured only what had been most difficult to obtain.

“Well, who then?” she asked impatiently.

“David Rotham! He is back from Scotland, where he saw Westlake and asked him for my direction. From what I read in this letter, he shall be in Harford the day after tomorrow,” he informed her, glancing down at the letter again. “He apologizes to you in advance, Imy, for
descending upon us with so little notice, but I know you won't mind.”

The duchess, looking charming in a cream-colored morning gown, stared up at her brother in mild alarm. She knew Major David Rotham was one of her brother's closest friends. They had served together during the war, but more important to Imogene was the fact that fifteen years ago she had quite broken his heart.

Imogene had met him during the thrill and fuss of her first and only London Season. Even though she had been in love with her darling Philip for years, she and her parents had wanted her Season to be wonderful.

Her come-out had proved a wild success, and her father had received many offers for her. But David Rotham had been the most determined of her admirers. She admitted to herself now that she had been deeply flattered by his attention and had even encouraged him.

She remembered him as a tall, fair young man with an engaging grin and a confident manner. He was from a very good family, being the nephew of the Earl of Rotham. It was his confidence, though, that had both attracted her and made her a little unsure of herself.

He had been positive that he could win her affections, even when she had confessed to him her feelings for Philip. He had laughed and said it was just because she had known Philip all her life that she
thought
she loved him. That had made her angry, very angry, because for one swift, heart-rending moment she had wondered if he could be right.

So she had refused to see him. But after the announcement of her engagement had appeared in the newspapers, David had confronted her in an anteroom at Chesterfield House on the night of her last ball of the Season.

“I will never forget you, Imogene Severly”—his blue eyes were blazing and his voice was raw—“and you shall never forget me.” With that he left the room and she had not seen him since.

And even though Imogene had never regretted a moment with her darling Philip, she never had forgotten
David. Now her brother was saying that Major David Rotham would arrive at her home the day after tomorrow.

“Thursday?” she said faintly, grabbing the back of a red leather couch. “There is so much to do. Goodness, I don't know where to begin. Is Major Rotham married?”

“No, he hasn't been leg-shackled yet,” her brother stated with a quizzical glance to his sister's flushed cheeks. What the devil was wrong with her? he wondered with a frown. His sister was the most competent woman of his acquaintance. He could see nothing about one guest that would give her the vapors.

“Thank goodness Celia is returning this morning,” she stated in a distracted manner.

“So the old woman is improved then?”

“Celia says so in the note she sent over yesterday,” his sister confirmed.

“Fine, then the numbers shall be even when we dine Thursday,” the duke said emphatically.

Imogene turned to stare at her brother in surprise, completely taken aback by this statement.

“Drake, Celia will never agree to dine with us! Why, she would have my head if I even suggested it.”

“I don't see why.” Severly raised a dark brow in query. “I understand from the boys that Miss Langston always dines with you. Even when your mother-in-law is staying.”

“Well, yes, that is true,” Imy admitted reluctantly, “but I know she won't agree. Drake, there is something about you she doesn't like.”

“Yes, I had noticed,” he said dryly, “and I'm quite curious to know why.”

“So that explains this sudden interest in Celia!” she accused with narrowed eyes, placing her hands on her hips. “You are bored, and now you want to upset poor Celly. Well, I won't have it, Drake. Celia is not one of your worldly London ladies, you know.”

“Don't get yourself in such a state, Imy,” he soothed. “I merely see no cause for the girl's aversion to me and am curious to know the cause. Besides, you need not change your normal mode of doing things just because I am here.”

“Just so long as that's all,” she warned, her expression still suspicious.

He gave her the same smile that as children he had used to obtain her allegiance when he had gotten into a scrape.

“Of course that's all. Dash it, Imy. She's the governess,” came his innocent reply.

Henry and Peter ran down the garden steps when they espied Celia returning to Harbrooke later that morning.

“You've been gone four days,” Henry chastised as if she were a truant child.

Celia laughed and gave him a hug. Peter held on to her skirts and vied for her attention.

“We have missed you so much!” Peter was so mournful she felt as if she had been gone for a year.

She pulled them both to a nearby bench and listened as they told her of all they had been doing while she had been at Harford Abbey. Celia could not help smiling as they talked over themselves in their excitement. After four days of solemnity at Harford Abbey, the boys' exuberance was delightful.

“There you are, Celly!” Imogene called from the drawing room's French doors as she saw Celia in the garden. “I am so glad that you are home. Now I must speak to you privately. Children, run along and play. You can see Celly later,” she said, waving them off.

Celia looked at her friend in surprise. Imogene rarely allowed herself to become ruffled. Celia actually began to worry as Imogene tugged her into the house by the wrist.

Closing the French doors of the drawing room behind her, Imogene pulled Celia to a blue damask-covered settee.

“Celia, Major David Rotham is coming here the day after tomorrow!”

Evidently, by the look in Imogene's eyes, this caused much more than the distress of feeling unprepared for another guest, Celia concluded.

“Why are you upset, Imy? Is this Major Rotham a horrible person?”

“Oh, no, he is very nice. At least he was fifteen years ago. He is one of Drake's greatest friends. They served together. But I knew him also, years ago, during my come-out in London.”

Imogene looked away from her friend and bit her lip, feeling a little self-conscious at what she was going to say.

“You see, David was one of my admirers.”

Still somewhat confused, but trying to allay whatever fears Imy seemed to have, Celia said, “I'm sure you had legions of them, Imy.”

“He wasn't just a suitor, Celly. David was one of my particular beaux, and … well … you see, I believe it quite hurt him when I married Philip.”

Imogene's eyes looked to Celia's for understanding. Because of their years of friendship, Celia knew that Imogene must have cared for this man if the thought of hurting him still distressed her after so many years. Imogene had previously recounted her wonderful time in London and tales of her many beaux. She had even shown Celia some of the more flowery epistles she had received from admiring swains. But the descriptions had all been lighthearted, and Celia could not recall Imogene ever mentioning a David Rotham.

“I see,” she said with empathy. “You must feel rather awkward. One never knows how to handle these situations with urbanity. Surely, the years must have assuaged any pain he may have felt?”

“I'm sure you are right, and I know I'm being a silly goose. He has probably completely forgotten my existence by now.”

“I very much doubt that. But by now, he probably has forgiven you for marrying the man you loved,” Celia said reassuringly.

“I hope so.” She proceeded to tell Celia the whole story, ending with the scene at Chesterfield House.

Celia, who was very romantic underneath her veil of practicality, was enthralled by the tale. It sounded so heart-rending and exciting that her heart fairly broke for both of them. Secretly, she had never found Imogene's account of her romance with Philip very romantic. Of
course, she would never say so to Imy, and truly, Imy had loved Philip deeply.