Page 5 of A Spinster for the Cold Duke

“Oh, but Charlotte,” Miss Banks protested, “that’s the beauty of the gothic romance! Love strikes like lightning: sudden, overwhelming, and completely transformative. Real love doesn’t follow the careful courtship rules our mothers taught us.”

“Real love,” Annabelle said, “is rather overrated, if you ask me. I much prefer the fictional variety. It’s far more reliable and significantly less likely to abandon you.”

An uncomfortable silence descended over the group. Though Annabelle typically spoke of her past with levity, these ladies knew better than to probe too deeply into old wounds.

“Well,” Lady Egerton said briskly, clearly intent on steering the conversation back to safer waters, “fictional or not, Lord Ashworth certainly knows his way around a love scene. The chapter where he and Miss Lewitt are caught in the rain?—”

Crash.

The ladies froze with teacups suspended halfway to their lips. All eyes turned toward the tall windows that opened onto the terrace from where the loud noise had come.

“Damn and drat it all!” a muffled hiss pierced through the windows.

Annabelle narrowed her eyes. She quickly rose from her chair, moving cautiously toward the French doors that stood partially open to admit the afternoon breeze.

The voice had come from the terrace, though she couldn’t imagine who might have caused such a disturbance. Her grandmother’s staff were far too well-trained to be clattering about in such a manner.

“Perhaps a cat knocked over one of the potted plants,” she suggested, though she wasn’t so sure of it at all.

Before anyone could respond, the sitting room door opened to admit Hodgins, one of her grandmother’s footmen, looking mortified.

“Begging your pardon, Miss Lytton,” he said, trying to sound neutral, “but there’s been a slight… incident on the terrace.”

“An incident?” Annabelle raised an eyebrow, and Hodgins’s gaze carefully avoided meeting hers directly. “What sort of incident, pray tell?”

The footman cleared his throat delicately. “It appears we have an uninvited guest. A young lady who seems to have been… well, that is to say…”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Hodgins,” Annabelle said with growing amusement, “just say what you mean. What young lady?”

As if summoned by her words, a figure appeared beside the flustered footman. There stood a girl of perhaps sixteen with dark hair falling in loose waves around her shoulders and the most striking blue-grey eyes Annabelle had ever seen.

The girl wore riding clothes that were clearly meant for a lady. Her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment and exertion, and she was breathing rather hard, as though she had been running.

The girl stepped forward and offered a curtsy that was both graceful and properly executed.

“Miss Lytton,” she said, her voice clear despite her evident nervousness, “I do apologize for the intrusion. I fear I’ve made rather a mess of things.”

The assembled ladies of the Athena Society stared in stunned silence at this unexpected visitor. Lady Egerton’s mouth had fallen open in a most unladylike manner, while Lady Witherspoon had dropped her teacup. Fortunately, it landed on the thick Persian carpet rather than the hardwood floor.

“And you are?” Annabelle inquired, though something about the girl’s striking features and imperious bearing suggested aristocratic breeding of the highest order.

“Oh, erm, pardon me. Lady Celia Blakesley,” the girl replied, “I’m afraid I was… that is, I didn’t mean to…”

“She was listening at the French doors, miss,” Hodgins cut in. “Knocked over the large planter when she tried to move closer.”

Lady Celia Blakesley was the daughter of the Duke of Marchwood, one of the most powerful and feared men in the county.

A collective gasp rose from the assembled ladies, though whether it was due to the impropriety of eavesdropping or the revelation of their uninvited guest’s identity was unclear.

What on earth was the daughter of a duke doing lurking about Oakley Hall?

“Lady Celia,” Annabelle said carefully, her mind racing as she tried to process this unexpected development, “might I ask whatbrings you to Oakley Hall? And what compelled you to sneak around like you have?”

The girl’s flush deepened, but she met Annabelle’s gaze directly.

“I wanted to hear about the book,” she said simply. “I’ve heard whispers about your club, about the sorts of novels you read, and I… I wanted to know what they were like.”

“Good heavens!” Lady Egerton exclaimed, fanning herself with renewed vigor. “A duke’s daughter, listening to our discussions of… of…” She gestured helplessly at the copy ofThe Duke’s Wicked Waysthat lay open on the table beside her chair.

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