A Duke’s Overlooked Spinster (The Courting Season #1)

Chapter 12

“Oh! I do love a fine cup of tea!” Lady Marina gushed. Sarah, standing in the hallway, morning light shining down on her, tensed and instinctively moved closer to the wall. A party of guests were coming down the stairs, the sound of outdoor shoes loud on the marble-faced staircase. Lady Marina’s voice—cultured, affected—summed up what the entire group, excluding Lady Egerton and perhaps Lady Philipa, appeared to be like. They were creatures from another world—a privileged, elite world where etiquette ruled and life was a series of formalities and formalism with no substance. A refined, shallow world.

I have no place here, Sarah thought wildly. No place among these fashionable, well-to-do people.

The sound of excited chatter drew closer and Sarah opened the front door hastily, exiting as swiftly as possible out onto the front terrace. Her heart was thudding, her body filled with the urgent need for escape. The door swung shut, muffling the refined drawl of Lady Clairwood as she answered. Sarah breathed out in relief.

“I think I will spend the day sketching,” she murmured aloud to herself; a habit when she was tense. Caroline had told her that the guests would be making an outing to the Pump Rooms—an exclusive dining space where the curative waters that bubbled up from the earth at Bath were pumped and served to drink. The space was much more than another tea-house or coffee-house; it was the social heart of Bath where the local elite gathered to relax, see and be seen.

I will not feel welcome there, Sarah thought sadly as she rounded the corner, the gravel path crunching under her feet. When she had awoken, she had dressed in her best white muslin gown, embellished with lace, and styled her hair in a fashionable chignon. She had thought that she might feel sufficiently brave to join the others. But the moment she heard the guests—tittering and laughing like sparrows—enter the hallway, she decided against it. It was no place for someone like herself.

She gazed longingly over at the drive that led towards the tall wrought-iron gates. It would be grand, she thought sadly, to see the sights of the beautiful city for herself. But with guests like Lady Clairwood and her friends, she had no desire to venture far from the manor. The recollection of Lady Clairwood and how she had looked straight through her at the ball still stung, making her cheeks heat with shameful feelings.

The dance with the duke had been so beautiful, one of the most precious memories she had. And yet, Lady Clairwood’s angry glance had forcibly reminded her that he was not for her. That her dreams were not feasible. She was a spinster, the daughter of a well-off but unknown and certainly not wealthy baron. An heiress like Lady Marina was so much more suitable for the duke.

“Sarah? Sarah! Where are you going?” A voice called. Sarah spun round, spotting Caroline, dressed in a fashionable brocade gown in mulberry silk. “The coach will be here any moment,” Caroline continued. “Edward, you and I will go in the Averhill coach together.”

Sarah shook her head. The merest thought of joining the others made her feel nauseous.

“No, cousin. If you please, I would rather remain here to sketch,” Sarah said quickly. Her throat was tight and she coughed to clear it. Caroline frowned, her face a picture of concern.

“No, dear,” Caroline said gently. “Come with us. You are a part of the family. You cannot conceal yourself in the garden while the rest of us enjoy the town. I cannot let you.”

Sarah smiled, touched by her cousin’s gentle insistence.

“No, cousin,” she repeated. “You go and enjoy yourself. I will remain here. I wish to sketch the fountain. Your garden has some excellent views that I would like to capture on paper.”

“Sarah, I insist,” Caroline said firmly. Her hazel eyes held Sarah’s own, and the cheerful, coaxing note was absent from her voice. “You are my cousin and I will not have you hide away as though you were not one of us. Come, now. We will be in our own coach and we will keep ourselves to ourselves. I would much rather talk to you than to the likes of some of the guests we have here.” She blinked, a wry expression lifting the corners of her mouth.

Sarah smiled back. “You are kind, Caroline. But I feel...strange. I feel as though I do not belong.”

“That is why you belong absolutely,” Caroline said firmly. “You belong here more than anyone. You are polite and sensitive, or you would not pay any mind to the likes of Lady Clairwood and her rudeness. The merest fact that her behaviour harms you shows your graceful, refined nature. Lady Clairwood is so brazen that I doubt such rudeness would elicit anything but a fight.”

Sarah had to laugh at that remark. “Mayhap you are right, cousin.”

“I know I am,” Caroline said with just a hint of playful arrogance in her tone. Sarah giggled again.

“I cannot argue with my cousin,” she said lightly. “In this, I trust that you know best.”

“As you should,” Caroline said playfully.

They were both laughing as they walked to where the coach stood waiting, the Averhill badge picked out in gold-leaf on the door.

“Ladies! The coach is waiting,” Edward declaimed, giving a bow that would have graced a stage. Sarah giggled. “Allow me to assist. We shall depart hence and sample the delights of Bath.”

“So gentlemanly,” Caroline teased as Edward helped her into the coach. Her cheeks glowed with warmth; her face bright with a grin.

“Thank you,” Sarah said shyly as Edward helped her up. He beamed.

“My pleasure, dear lady! Now, be seated and enjoy the view. Before long, we shall be in the town.”

Sarah smiled at him, appreciating the way his clowning lightened her mood, relieving her fears. He would make a good friend, she thought warmly. She could see how the duke and himself had come to be so close while they were studying together.

Their coach departed the estate grounds, the first of a line of five coaches that would convey the guests to Bath. Sarah drew in a breath, anticipation, fear and delight a queasy mix in her stomach. The duke was somewhere in one of those coaches, and soon they would see Bath together.

The coach rattled down the road, following the slight incline that would lead them down towards the town. The buildings appeared briefly in the distance, the stonework gleaming in the morning light and Sarah’s stomach knotted with anticipation. It looked like a town from a storybook, full of magical vistas and promise.

Sooner than Sarah expected, they were rattling down a cobbled street. She held her breath, the excitement feverish as they passed ladies in long printed muslin dresses and gentlemen in top-hats. They drew to a halt outside a building with a wrought iron sign, the lettering painted in gold.

“The Pump Room,” she read aloud, feeling like she did when she was a child on an outing to the park—reading the signs aloud for the joy of hearing the names of new places.

“Quite so,” Edward replied, alighting swiftly from the coach. He beamed up at her, holding out his gloved hand to help her out. “That is our destination. The road is quite bumpy,” he added as she jumped down, wincing at the pain in her ankle.

“Yes, it is,” she agreed, giggling despite the brief stab of pain.

“Quite so,” Edward repeated. “Now, dear lady,” he added, reaching up to help Caroline down. “Proceed carefully, and we will go indoors. I trust the fellow has reserved us a place.”

“I am quite certain he has, dear,” Caroline teased. “You asked him to.”

“I did,” Edward replied.

They both smiled at Edward fondly and then they were all walking towards the Pump Room.

The rest of the guests had followed them down to the town, and soon all of them were thronging the pavement. Lady Clairwood had come, Sarah noticed, her stomach twisting with nerves, along with the parents of Lady Marina. She frowned, looking for the duke. She was relieved to spot him just behind, walking with Lord and Lady Egerton. He saw her and smiled.

Sarah blinked. She looked at Caroline, sure that the duke must be smiling at his host and hostess, but when she looked back at him, he was gazing straight at her. Her heart thudded in her chest as, utterly unexpectedly, he came over to stand beside her.

“Miss Brooke,” he greeted her warmly. “Have the buildings of Bath captured your artistic imaginings?”

Sarah giggled at his question. “Not yet, I am afraid to say,” she replied, gazing up at the white-painted building before them with its many long windows. “But this building, I must admit, has charm.”

“It does. It certainly does,” the duke agreed. “I believe that the waters we are to be served are especially restorative.”

“I have heard so,” Sarah agreed.

“I wonder about that,” Edward said, joining the conversation. “I think it’s just a good excuse for people to meet and mingle here.”

“Oh, Edward,” Caroline said teasingly, her eyes bright with affection. “You are spoiling the mystique of the place.”

“I apologise,” Edward replied, bowing, though his eyes sparkled devilishly, and Sarah had to laugh.

“He is not repentant at all,” the duke jested with Edward.

Sarah chuckled.

Edward stepped a little back and Sarah frowned, then noticed that Lady Clairwood was approaching.

“Shall we go in?” Edward asked. “I would observe the usual order of precedence, but I worry that our tables have not been reserved, so I would like to go first,” he added, loud enough for Lady Clairwood—who, as the highest-ranking woman among the guests, would usually go first—to hear him.

“Of course, dear,” Caroline replied firmly.

Sarah drew in a sharp breath as Edward and the duke stood back for Caroline and herself. She could almost hear the duchess suck in an angry breath, but propriety made it impossible for her to contradict her host, and so she stood back as Caroline went ahead, Sarah following. Edward and the duke stepped up neatly behind them, and they all went in through the dark wooden doorway.

“My lord? You requested a table for fifteen guests?” the proprietor was instantly by Edward’s side. Edward smiled and nodded.

“I did.”

“Very well, my lord. We have set the table there,” the proprietor informed him, gesturing to the back of the space. “If you will follow me?”

“Of course,” Edward replied. Again, he stood back for Caroline and Sarah to go ahead of him and Sarah held her breath, gazing in awe around the lovely space.

A crystal chandelier hung from the roof; the light of the candles magnified by the faceted stone. The walls were covered with textured silk wallpaper, the floor polished wood. Fine wooden tables stood around at regular intervals, accompanied by spindle-legged chairs that embodied modern decor. The counter behind which the proprietor stood was filled with delicacies and Sarah—who had eaten breakfast early to avoid the other guests—felt her stomach rumble. The other guests had come in behind them and Caroline gestured her to a seat. Sarah followed her, her stomach knotting up as the duke came to sit opposite and Edward right beside him.

“Lady Marina! Do, please, join me,” the duchess said in a drawling, authoritative tone. The pretty debutante came over to sit beside the duchess—who was beside Edward—and Sarah looked at her plate, feeling desperately uncomfortable. Everything the duchess did seemed to highlight that she considered Sarah not quite good enough.

“My lady? Should we bring the water now?” the proprietor asked, inclining his head politely to Caroline, who was seated beside Sarah.

“Yes. Thank you. And a selection of cakes?” Caroline asked.

“At once, my lady.” The proprietor bowed and withdrew. A minute later, liveried footmen were bringing glasses of water to the table. Sarah accepted one with thanks. Opposite her, the duke took one, shutting his eyes and sipping it.

“Most refreshing,” he declared.

Sarah smiled.

“It is definitely special,” the duke said, casting a sidelong glance at Edward. Edward laughed.

“I suppose it is,” he agreed, sipping his own.

“What do you think?” the duke asked Sarah, making her blink in surprise. Once they had taken their seats at the table, she expected that he would engage Edward and Caroline in conversation. But he was talking directly to her, his eyes holding her gaze as though she was the only person in the room, as they had when they had danced together just the previous night. Her cheeks reddened, her heart pounding at the look in his eyes.

“I...” Sarah paused. “I think there is definitely something special about it,” she said, thinking about her reply. “It does taste a little metallic. Does it not?” she asked, sipping the water again.

“It does,” the duke replied, sipping his own water. “Metallic and, well, like stone. That is the only description I can give.”

“I never thought about stone as a flavor,” Sarah said with a tilt of her head.

“Pray trust me, I am well acquainted with the flavour of stone,” the duke remarked with a grin. “For anyone who has suffered a riding mishap sufficient to nearly dislodge their teeth upon the gravel possesses an intimate knowledge of its taste.”

Sarah had to giggle. “When did you have such a bad accident?” she asked, interested.

“When I was sixteen,” the duke told her. “It was my own fault. I was quite certain I was the best rider and that I knew better than anyone, especially my riding instructor. One is like that, when one is sixteen.” He grinned.

“That is true,” Sarah replied. She laughed fondly at the thought of the duke as a sixteen-year-old.

“Quite so. Anyhow, I took my father’s hunting-stallion for a trot around the estate. He was much too strong for me, and I had been advised not to ride him. He had a nature to which my father was accustomed, but I—who had never ridden him before—did not know his temperament, and had no idea of what he might do or of what might frighten him. We were riding past a field where a farmer was sowing seed, and the movement of the fellow’s arm must have frightened the stallion. He took off.”

“No!” Sarah gasped, caught up in the tale. She could imagine the duke as a slim but sturdy sixteen-year-old, his slim face determined, his blonde hair tousled about his face as the stallion ran. She was sure that he had striven to hang onto the reins, his firm jaw clenched grimly as he hung onto the racing, scared creature.

“We ran back to the stables, rather faster than we had exited—I allow myself the small accolade that I managed to guide him just a little towards the path,” the duke added with a grin. “But the ride and the fear were too much for the fellow, and he bucked and threw me off as the gardener came up the drive. I skidded across the gravel and became acquainted with our garden at close quarters.”

Sarah giggled, delighted by the way he said it. “I am sorry to hear it, though,” she said even as she laughed. “You must have been badly injured.”

“Luckily not,” the duke replied, grinning. “Not nearly as bad as it might have been. As it was, though, I was more embarrassed than injured. I had a few scratches on my hands and face that took some weeks to heal. The lads I knew ragged me most mercilessly.” He chuckled, a rueful sound.

“I am sorry to hear it,” Sarah said gently.

“It was not so bad,” the duke said with a soft smile.

Her eyes held his across the table and he gazed into them, smiling at her as though they were the only two people in the room. Sarah’s heart pounded; her body flooded with heat. The rest of the room had receded, the only thing in her thoughts was his eyes and the warmth in his gaze.

“Cake, Your Grace?” the proprietor asked, appearing at the duke’s side. The duke looked at Sarah.

“Does anything tempt you?” he asked, gesturing at the platter that must have arrived on the table while they talked. Sarah blinked in surprise—she had not noticed at all when someone had brought it to them.

“I do fancy a slice of cake,” she replied, her stomach knotting at the thought. She gestured to a slice of what looked like cherry gateau, and the proprietor lifted it onto her plate. Sarah thanked him and lifted her cake-fork, waiting for Caroline to be served before she sampled the delicious cake.

The taste of the gateau was heavenly—thick cream was slathered onto the outside, and the fluffy, moist cake was replete with cherries. She bit into one, the juice running down her chin. Flustered, she lifted her napkin to wipe it. The duke smiled. His eyes sparkled and she blushed.

“Henry would love that,” he said a little ruefully.

“Where is he?” Sarah asked.

“Outside with his nursemaid. I was advised to let him walk about the town—the tedium of sitting in a tea-house is not the best for him.” He grinned.

“He is an exuberant boy,” Sarah agreed, though part of her wished the soft-hearted little boy was there. He lightened whatever gathering he attended.

They sat and talked and ate and Sarah’s hunger receded, aided by the delicious cake and the restorative water—which, she had to agree with the duke—was something special. After what felt like a few minutes, but which must have been at least two hours, perhaps more, Caroline leaned across to Sarah.

“We will depart now. Some of the guests wish to see the baths.”

“Of course,” Sarah replied.

The message was passed along and soon all the guests were standing to depart. This time, Caroline and Edward allowed the duchess to exit first, before Caroline and Sarah followed along with the other ladies. The guests moved out along the street, and as they did, Sarah saw a small presence running towards her. Behind him, a dark-clad nursemaid ran, doing her best to catch up with the small boy, frowning fearfully.

“Henry!” the woman called.

“Miss! Miss!” Henry declared, racing up to Sarah. “There you are. Look! I made you a present.”

Sarah’s eyes widened as the little boy thrust a piece of paper into her hand. She looked down, frowning, then her lips lifted in a smile. On the paper was drawn a dog, the sketch childlike but nonetheless somehow artistic, the tail sketched in with a flourishing hand.

“It’s beautiful!” she declared, holding it to her chest. “I will keep it forever.” She reached for her reticule, putting the sketch inside.

“It’s just for you! I made it yesterday,” the boy said. “Do you like dogs?”

“I love them,” Sarah declared.

“Henry! Come. Leave the lady in peace,” the nursemaid said, hurrying up and taking Henry’s hand. Sarah shook her head.

“He is welcome to bother me,” she told the nursemaid with a friendly smile. “He is no nuisance at all.”

“Henry! Son! Did you enjoy your walk?” the duke asked, coming up behind Sarah. He bent down, lifting the boy into his arms.

“Yes, Papa,” the boy said, nestling close to his father. “And did you like the tea?”

“We drank water,” the duke said with a grin, seeing the boy’s frown.

“Why?” Henry asked.

“Because that’s what people do in Bath,” the duke said, and squeezed his son in a hug. “Did you give Miss Brooke a present?”

“I did! I made a picture for her!”

“Good.” The duke smiled at Sarah, and she stood with him and, just for a moment, in the warmth of the duke’s eyes and Henry’s childish delight, she felt as though she was part of a family.

Then the duke turned to the coach, helping Henry up into it, and the feeling shifted.

Sarah stood where she was on the pavement, gazing at the duke as he retreated into the coach and wondering if she would see him later. She had so much she wished to say.