Page 35 of The Spinster and Her Rakish Duke
The village of Valemont proved to be everything Mary had promised and more. Nestled in a valley between rolling hills, it consisted of neat stone cottages with thatched roofs, a bustling market square, and an ancient church whose bells chimed the hour with melodious precision. The morning air was crisp and clean, scented with the promise of autumn and the lingering fragrance of late-blooming roses.
Samantha found herself drawn to a small bookshop tucked between a milliner displaying fashionable bonnets and a bakerywhose windows were fogged with warmth and filled with golden loaves.
The shop was small but perfectly organized, with towering shelves that reached nearly to the ceiling and cozy reading nooks tucked into every available corner. Sunlight streamed through diamond-paned windows, illuminating motes of dust that danced in the air like tiny golden fairies.
“Good morning, Your Grace,” the shopkeeper greeted her as she stepped inside. He was an elderly gentleman with kind eyes behind wire-rimmed spectacles and ink-stained fingers that spoke of a man who truly loved his trade. “What an unexpected honor to have you visit our humble establishment.”
“The honor is entirely mine,” Samantha replied, immediately feeling more at ease as she breathed in the familiar scent of leather bindings and aged paper. “You have a wonderful selection here.”
“His Grace has been most generous in his patronage over the years,” the man said proudly, gesturing toward a shelf that held newer volumes. “He often orders books for the local school, ensures the children have access to proper literature and educational materials. Not many of the nobility take such interest in the education of common folk.”
The unexpected revelation about Ewan’s charitable nature added another intriguing layer to the mystery of her husband.
How many facets of his character remained hidden from her? How much kindness and consideration did he show to others while maintaining that careful distance from her?
“That’s very generous of him,” she murmured, selecting several volumes that caught her interest.
A collection of poetry, a novel by a popular author, and a treatise on gardening that she thought might help her feel more connected to her new home.
After making her purchases, Samantha and Mary made their way to a small tea shop where they could rest and refresh themselves. The proprietress, a plump woman with flour-dusted aprons and rosy cheeks, approached their table with obvious delight and barely contained excitement.
“Your Grace!” she exclaimed, bobbing a curtsy. “How wonderful to finally meet you properly. I’m Mrs. Hartwell, and this is my establishment. We’re all so honored to have you visit.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Hartwell. Everything looks delicious.”
“We’re all so pleased that His Grace has finally settled down,” the woman continued, her eyes twinkling with genuine warmth. “He’s been solitary for far too long, if you don’t mind me saying. A man like that needs a good woman to share his life with.”
Samantha felt her cheeks warm at the woman’s frank assessment. “That’s very kind of you to say.”
“Oh, it’s nothing but the truth, Your Grace. He’s been a blessing to this village, truly. Far better than the old duke or his brother ever were. Night and day difference, if you ask me.”
Samantha’s curiosity sparked immediately. “His brother?”
Mrs. Hartwell’s expression grew more serious, and she glanced around as if to ensure they wouldn’t be overheard. “Lord Benedict, he was… well, perhaps it’s not my place to speak ill of the dead, but he was not a kind man. Cruel, that one. He really was. Had a temper on him, something fierce, and he took pleasure in causing pain to those weaker than himself. The servants, the tenants, even the animals weren’t safe from his rages.”
“But His Grace,” she continued, her voice warming again, “he’s nothing like that. Kind to everyone, generous with his time and money. When my husband broke his leg last winter and couldn’t work, His Grace made sure we had everything we needed. Didn’t make a show of it, mind you, and didn’t ask for anything in return. Just quietly saw that we were taken care of.”
Before Samantha could ask more questions about Ewan’s family history, another villager approached their table, looking flustered and desperate.
“Mrs. Hartwell!” the young woman called out. “Your Grace, forgive the intrusion, but might we trouble you for assistance?”
“Of course,” Samantha replied immediately, rising from her chair. “What’s the matter?”
“It’s our young Tommy, Your Grace. He’s taken terribly ill with a fever, and his mother needs help getting him to the doctor in the next village. Our cart’s broken down, the wheel came clean off, and we’ve no other way to transport the child. Dr. Morrison is away, and the fever’s getting worse by the minute.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Samantha turned to Mary. “Have our carriage brought around immediately. We’ll take the child ourselves.”
“Your Grace, are you certain?” Mary asked, though she was already moving toward the door. “The child might be contagious.”
“I’m quite certain,” Samantha replied firmly. “A child’s welfare is far more important than any risk to ourselves.”
Within minutes, she found herself holding a feverish, semiconscious boy while directing the coachman toward the neighboring village. The child’s mother, barely more than a girl herself, wept silently in the corner of the carriage.
“He’ll be all right,” Samantha murmured, smoothing the boy’s damp hair from his forehead. “Dr. Patterson is an excellent physician. Tommy will be running about again before you know it.”
The trip to the doctor and back took the better part of two hours. By the time they returned to Valemont village, Samantha was severely fatigued, but she did not mind it one bit.
“We’re taking Christiana and her dear boy home,” Samantha had told the coach, and were on their way there, when suddenly they came face to face with a crowd, waiting outside eagerly.
