Page 15 of The Spinster and Her Rakish Duke
Samantha’s gaze lifted to meet the Duke of Valemont. His attire was simple but impeccably tailored: a dark coat, crisply pressed, with a white cravat that spoke of understated elegance. His expression was composed, but there was something flickering in his eyes, something she could not quite pinpoint.
The duke extended his hand, and after a brief hesitation, Samantha placed hers in it.
And as Uncle William sat beside her sister Jane in the pews, the vicar began the ceremony.
Eventually, the vicar turned to the duke. “Do you, Ewan Wildingham, Duke of Valemont, take this woman to be your lawful wife, to live together in the estate of matrimony?”
The duke’s gaze did not waver from Samantha’s. “I do.”
Samantha swallowed the lump that rose in her throat, the words feeling foreign on her tongue, but she spoke clearly, “I do.”
The vicar recited the vows, words not penned by poet but necessity. There was no passion, only duty.
“With this ring …”
The duke took a simple gold band from the velvet cushion and slipped it onto Samantha’s finger. Her pulse fluttered unexpectedly at the cool metal against her skin.
“… I thee wed.”
She echoed the phrase, her voice steadier than she felt.
“You may now kiss the bride,” the vicar announced.
Samantha repeated the words when her turn came, her fingers sure as she placed the matching band on his hand.
There was no fanfare. No candles or poetry.
And yet, when the vicar said, “You may now kiss the bride,” her breath caught just for a moment.
The duke stepped closer. He did not rush. His gloved hand rested lightly against her elbow. Then, with the quiet dignity that marked every movement he made, he leaned in and pressed a single kiss on her lips.
It was formal. Chaste. Barely more than a brush of skin.
And yet?—
She felt it. She wasn’t sure exactly what. Just… something.
A flicker low in her stomach. A quiet ripple in still water.
She said nothing. Only turned with him as the vicar pronounced them man and wife.
Polite applause followed.
The duke offered his arm. She took it.
“You didn’t flinch,” he said softly, just beneath the sound of the organ.
“I don’t flinch,” she replied.
“Good,” he said. “You’ll need that skill.”
They stepped together through the chapel doors and into the pale sunlight, the future stretching out before them—formal, uncharted, and entirely real.
“Your Grace, you look absolutely radiant!”
Samantha turned from adjusting her simple white silk gown to find Lord Stonehall approaching, his boyish face beaming with what appeared to be genuine pleasure.
The small drawing room at Norfeld Hall had been hastily transformed for the wedding breakfast, though the intimate gathering could hardly be called elaborate.
