A Spinster's Luck by Rhonda Woodward Read Free Book Online Page B

He glanced in the window and saw Celia, her lovely hair covered by a plain and rather bedraggled poke bonnet, stroking a bolt of violet-blue velvet. The proprietor lifted the bolt for her closer inspection. Celia pulled her hand away and smilingly shook her head and said something to the man. He put the bolt of velvet back and produced a bolt of dark green muslin.
    The duke continued on, entering the next shop to purchase a new tin of snuff. Emerging shortly thereafter, he signaled Johnny to bring the phaeton around. Stepping into the conveyance, he glanced back at the mantua maker’s shop before urging the horses to a light canter.
    A half an hour later, laden with her green muslin, Imogene’s magazine, and books from the lending library, Celia left the shop with a last, longing glance at the beautiful violet-blue velvet. It had felt as soft as rabbit fur, she observed wistfully. Finchley’s rarely carried such exquisite fabric, but it was far beyond Celia’s touch.
    Walking down the lane, Celia crossed Highstreet to enter the road that led home. A phaeton pulled up alongside her, and she quickly stepped off the road to let it pass.
    â€œGood afternoon, Miss Langston. I see you’ve been shopping. May I convey you home?” a deep voice asked, and lazy hazel eyes smiled down at her.
    Celia was speechless for a moment, completely startled by the duke’s abrupt appearance.
    â€œNo, thank you very much, your grace, I enjoy walking.” She curtsied quickly and lifted her skirt slightly to aid her quick escape.
    The duke stepped from the phaeton and gave his tiger a few instructions, then turned toward Celia as the phaeton left at a fast clip.
    Staring dumbfounded at the retreating vehicle, Celia wondered if the duke had taken leave of his senses. Glancing warily at his sparkling black Hessian boots and Skeffington brown coat, she wondered how he planned to get home.
    Giving her astonished face a devilish grin, he offered her his arm.
    â€œI too would enjoy a walk.”
    Celia almost broke out into a chorus of hallelujahs when the welcoming porticoes of Harbrooke Hall finally came into sight. The last half an hour had been agony for Celia, leaving her confused and even a little frightened.
    When the duke had offered her his arm and taken her packages, she had seen nothing else for it but to go with him. As they strolled along the road, the duke spoke to her in a deep, almost teasing voice. He asked after her purchases, and offered in a tone of old friendship that he hoped she had not spent all her money on fripperies. He examined with great interest her books from the lending library.
    â€œWhat, no gothics? I was under the impression that all young ladies read gothics voraciously,” he bantered, gazing down at her with an engaging smile.
    To each of these inroads, Celia had been as stoicaland brief in her responses as possible. She wished he would go away and not look at her as if he found her amusing.
    On his part, if Severly had not seen her behave in such a lively fashion with the boys and his sister, he would now be questioning her verbal capabilities.
    After a few more fruitless attempts at furthering the conversation, they fell silent for a time. The only sound was their shoes crunching along the path. The duke wondered, with some exasperation, what to say next. And Celia prayed that he would walk faster.
    â€œI am sure Imogene has told you that my friend, Major Rotham, will be arriving tomorrow?” Severly tried again.
    â€œYes, your grace.”
    â€œWe were in France and Spain together during the war. He took a lead ball in the leg and now walks with a bit of a limp. But for all that, no one rides to the hounds better than David.”
    â€œHe is very fortunate.”
    â€œThe last time I saw David was at his hunting box in Norfolk, over a year ago. Do you ever hunt or ride, Miss Langston?”
    â€œNo, your grace.”
    â€œI see … er … well, I