A Spinster's Luck

by Rhonda Woodward

  They reached Celia’s chamber and Imogene pulled her friend down beside her on the bed. The duchess gazed sadly into Celia’s wide, frightened eyes.

  “There is no way to ease this blow, dear Celia.” She grasped her friend’s hands tightly. “I have just been informed that Miss Forbisher died the day before last. I am so very sorry, my dear,” she said gently.

  Celia stared a moment, then looked down at the letter in her lap. Edna could not be dead. She had just received a letter from her. It must be a mistake.

  “How do you know?” she asked in a very calm voice.

  “Her solicitor, a Mr. Whitely, arrived a short time ago. Porter wisely thought that I should be the one to tell you this sad news. I know how much you cared for her, Celia.”

  “I’ve just received a letter from her.” She picked up the missive and clutched it to her chest.

  “Are you all right, Celia, dear? Do you wish to be alone?” She noted that the color had completely drained from Celia’s face, and the fingers that held the letter trembled.

  “I’m quite fine. I just can’t comprehend that Edna is gone. How can she be?” There was a stricken look in her eyes.

  “I hate to ask it of you, dear, and I will ask Mr. Whitely to return in a few days if you aren’t up to it, but he is hoping to have a word with you now.”

  “Why, of course, I must thank him for bringing the news.” She stood, still clutching the letter from Edna.

  The duke and Mr. Whitely stood in the middle of the dark-paneled room, conversing quietly as the ladies entered. Mr. Whitely, a thin, bespectacled man in a dark brown woolen suit, turned toward the ladies as they entered. Celia vaguely thought he looked just as a solicitor should.

  “Celia, this is Mr. Whitely,” Imogene said.

  Mr. Whitely bowed deeply and looked at her with polite, yet saddened, brown eyes. “May I extend my deepest sympathy to you, Miss Langston. I sincerely apologize for imposing on you at this time. I hope you will understand after I have explained.”

  Celia inclined her head in understanding, not trusting her voice at the moment. It was all too real. Edna must, indeed, be dead. Even though Dr. Rayburn had prepared her, it still came as a shock. Celia and Imogene moved to sit on the settee; Mr. Whitely sat opposite and the duke stood by the fireplace, watching Celia’s pallid face closely.

  “Thank you for bringing me the news, Mr. Whitely,” Celia began, surprised that her voice sounded so clear. “May I ask the circumstances of Edna’s…?” Speech failed her then.

  The duke could see that Celia was deeply shocked. Going to the liquor cabinet, he poured Celia a snifter of brandy. She accepted it without a word, feeling his fingers warm upon hers for a moment. She barely noticed the heat that coursed down her throat at the first sip.

  “Matthews—her maid, I believe—entered Miss Forbisher’s room on Tuesday morning. May I say that Matthews imparted to me that Miss Forbisher had a very peaceful expression. I do not believe there was any pain involved,” he assured her kindly.

  Celia looked down at her hand, still clutching Edna’s letter.

  Mrs. Chambers entered with a tea tray and the duchess offered a cup to Mr. Whitely.

  “Thank you, your grace. Now, Miss Langston, there is the matter of the will and a letter that Miss Forbisher wished to be read immediately after her death.”

  He sifted through a sheaf of papers he had extracted from a leather portfolio.

  A will? Celia could think of nothing of worth that Edna owned. Harford Abbey, Celia assumed from things Edna had said on occasion, was entailed to a distant relative.

  “Ah, here is the letter. She wished me to read it before the will,” he said, glancing at Celia over his spectacles.

  “I beg your pardon. I must ask Miss Langston if she wouldn’t prefer to hear this privately,” the duke interrupted quietly.

  Celia lifted her head and met the duke’s enigmatic gaze.

  “I would rather that you and Imy stay, please,” she said simply, refusing to examine why she did not want him to leave. The duke inclined his head and she turned her attention back to the solicitor.

  Mr. Whitely cleared his voice. “The letter is dated February eighth, eighteen hundred and sixteen. It reads as follows.

  “My dear Celia. It is very strange to think that when you hear this I shall be dead. It is my request that Mr. Whitely read this to you. As I am sure your friend, the Duchess of Harbrooke, will also be present, I know you will not be able to ignore what I have to say.

  “First of all, I positively forbid you to wear black for me. I am not a relative and I believe the practice, except in the case of immediate family member, is unnecessary. I know, because of the friendship we have shared, that you shall grieve for me, and that is enough. Even in this, do not allow yourself to become maudlin.

  “Furthermore, I wish you to purchase a complete wardrobe immediately. You may think this is silly, but clothes give a woman confidence, and confidence is important.

  “Lastly, Celia, I encourage you to rely upon Mr. Whitely. I have known him for more than thirty years and have found him to be of impeccable character. I know he will be enormously helpful to you in the future.

  “You have been a delight to me these past years and I ask our Lord to watch over you and keep you. Sincerely, Edna Forbisher.

  “Postscript: From what I know of the duchess, I believe her to be a woman of intelligence and kindness. I feel confident that she will help guide you in the future. I regret that I never had the honor of meeting her, but if I had received the Duchess of Harbrooke, I would have had to receive the whole county. Please convey this to her grace.”

  Despite her shock, Celia could not help smiling at the last bit, it sounded so like Edna. Mr. Whitely folded the letter and handed it to Celia. She accepted it with trembling fingers. He then proceeded to the will. Celia absorbed only half of the words she heard as tears began to pool in her large eyes at the thought of never seeing her friend again. She sat there, slowly sipping the brandy the duke had given her, while Mr. Whitely’s correct voice flowed over her.

  An astonished gasp from Imogene pulled her from her reverie.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Whitely, I didn’t quite catch that. Could you repeat it, please?” she apologized after glancing at Imy’s wide eyes.

  Mr. Whitely, after many years of reading wills and dealing with grieving people, had grown accustomed to repeating himself.

  “I have just reached the main part of the will, Miss Langston. If you prefer, I shall dispense with legal terminology and explain it in lay terms.”

  He looked to see if this met with her approval, and continued. “Miss Forbisher has left you Harford Abbey and the forty-two acres it occupies. There is approximately thirty-five thousand pounds in capital at Coattes Bank that shall be transferred to you after I receive your signature on a few documents. There are various other stocks and investments that total approximately fifteen thousand pounds. Other real property, such as works of art and jewelry, are worth over twenty thousand pounds.”

  He paused to pick up a red leather box by his feet. “I have brought with me Miss Forbisher’s jewelry. She wished you to have it immediately,” he explained to a stunned Celia as he handed her the box. Imogene took the case as Celia made no move to take it from the gentleman.

  The duke stepped forward to rescue the crystal goblet in danger of slipping from Celia’s lax fingers. He frowningly scanned her pale face, fearing she was about to faint.

  Mr. Whitely continued, “I will not take much more of your time, Miss Langston. If you will be so good as to sign a few papers, I will leave a duplicate of the will and various other papers for you to review. When you are felling better, I hope I may explain everything in greater detail.”

  “Yes, of course,” Celia said faintly, finally able to move and take the papers he wished her to sign. The duke procured a quill and ink pot.

  “May I say, Miss Langston, that Miss Forbisher asked me to personally convey her wish that you enter Societ
y and not mourn her death unduly.”

  Celia closed her eyes. The world seemed to be whirling around her, and the piquant smell of the irises on the mantel suddenly seemed sickeningly sweet. After taking a few deep breaths, she managed to choke out a few words: “Thank you, Mr. Whitely, I am having difficulty comprehending all of this, but I’m sure I will have many questions.”

  “Yes, of course,” Mr. Whitely said, “there is no hurry, and I am at your service.”

  Imogene, unable to contain herself any longer, spoke up. “I just have to ask how Miss Forbisher managed all of this, Mr. Whitely. None of us had any idea that she was anything but an eccentric old lady.”

  Nodding his head in agreement, Mr. Whitely stated baldly, “Miss Forbisher was a miser. She had virtually given up on life in her youth, until she discovered some property and capital left to her by her father in a codicil to his will. Over the years, I believe that one of her few pleasures was seeing her wealth grow. I came to realize that it was almost like a game. She was not interested in the wealth, just the numbers. I grew to respect her business acumen greatly.”

  Celia looked up at Mr. Whitely then and examined his expression closely. She realized that the quiet solicitor was grieving for Edna, too. Celia was very glad to know that Edna had had another friend in the world.

  Mr. Whitely took his leave of them then, leaving his calling card for Celia. She thanked him, and the duke escorted him to the front door.

  Celia sat next to Imy on the settee, the small pile of papers in a neat stack on her lap. These and the red leather box were the only real evidence that this past half hour had not been a dream.

  “Oh, Celly, what a turn the day has taken,” Imogene said with a bemused shake of her head. With that, the floodgate opened and Celia burst into great, racking sobs.

  Chapter Seven

  Three days after receiving the news of Edna’s death, Imogene came to an important decision. After breakfast she went in search of her brother. A footman informed her that he was in his private study, going over estate business with his secretary. She tapped on the door lightly and poked her head into the wood-paneled room, requesting a few moments of his time when he was free.

  “Of course, Imy, I am just finishing now. Thank you, Hammond, that will be all for today.” Severly rose from his chair, dismissing the scholarly-looking young man. The duke directed Imy to a chair, reseated himself, leaned back, and gazed at his sister’s serious face.

  “What is amiss, my dear?” he asked after the door closed behind Hammond.

  The duchess plucked absentmindedly at the lace on the front of her morning gown as she wondered how best to approach him. Taking a deep breath, she plunged in before losing her nerve.

  “It is Celia. I am much concerned about her situation,” she began with a shake of her head. “I feel that I should launch her into Society. She is an enormously wealthy young lady, and I know that is what Miss Forbisher intended. I feel it is my duty to guide her. She is so terribly green, you know.”

  The duke gave his sister one of his rare smiles, thinking that Imogene was not very far from being green herself.

  She continued her speech, fortified by the fact that he was not scowling at her yet. “It will be most difficult to present a governess to the ton; I am hoping you will help. Drake, it would mean a great deal to me.” Her eyes were anxious as she watched for his reaction.

  Rising, the duke went to stand in front of a large window overlooking a small hedge maze in the garden. “It would not be difficult. It would be impossible. A governess would be cut dead if she showed herself in Society,” he informed his crestfallen sister.

  “But, Drake, we must try,” Imy urged. “After all, she is an heiress. Years ago, I wondered if I should be looking around for a young man for Celia. She is so pretty and intelligent. And she is the daughter of a gentleman. With no dowry and her being much too proud to accept a settlement from me, I never really pursued the matter. It is different now; she should be living the life of a lady.”

  “I agree. Celia is a lady. Under these unexpected circumstances, all should be done to help her in her new life. But if you go about saying she was a governess, you might as well quit before you start,” he said, turning from the window to give his sister a pointed look.

  Imogene jumped up with a cry of excitement. Running to the window, she threw her arms around her brother and hugged him effusively. “You will help! You are wonderful, and this will be such fun! I thought the ball you are giving for me would be an excellent opportunity to introduce her to the world, so to speak. What do you think?” She pulled back to assess his reaction.

  “It will serve. In the two weeks before then we must endeavor to prepare Miss Langston. However, it must not, under any circumstances, be known that she was a governess,” her brother said sternly. “I believe the best approach would be to say that Miss Langston has been a friend for many years, which she has, and stayed at Harbrooke because of being orphaned. The less said the better. If we pass Celia off as if it is the most natural thing in the world, this may not be as difficult as you think. After all, she has you and me to give her the proper consequence,” he said.

  Imogene wondered at the cynical tone in his voice.

  “I will explain the situation to Rotham,” he continued. “He will add to the credibility of our slight masquerade. Again—and I stress this, Imy—it must not be known that Miss Langston was in service to you.” His voice held a note that she could not ignore.

  “I never really thought of her as the governess,” Imogene said, “not after we became such good friends, anyway. I feel completely at ease now that you are in command, Drake, dear. I must run and tell Celia. Now that you will help, I know she will agree,” she said gaily, fairly skipping out of the room. She left her frowning brother to contemplate the changes that, no doubt, were bound to disrupt his well-ordered life.

  Celia had spent the first day after hearing the news of Edna’s death in her room, crying profusely into the silk coverlet on her bed. She had come down for breakfast the day after, but felt so bereft, she again returned to her room.

  Edna’s letter, received on the day Celia found out the sad news, had sat unopened on the little desk until the third day. Celia had not felt strong enough to read it until then. She met with Mr. Whitely that morning, who kindly explained in greater detail the circumstances of her inheritance. Upon his departure, he promised to follow her instructions on repairs and other improvements to Harford Abbey. After seeing him out, Celia went back to her room and picked up Edna’s letter.

  The scrawling handwriting had brought tears to her eyes. Sitting down in the high-backed chair before the fireplace, Celia finally opened the envelope. By the end of the missive she was laughing so that her sides hurt. She read the letter again.

  Dear Celia,

  I received your letter the day before last and enjoyed it immensely, and so did Matthews. But, my dear, you must endeavor to describe the people in greater detail. I have been to London before and I doubt the terrain has changed much. Haven’t you seen any of the fops or dandies we’ve heard so much about? I have also heard that some women (I do not call them ladies) have actually been seen riding horses astride in public! Have you seen anything so shocking? If so, write to me immediately.

  Perchance you have made the acquaintance of some worthy young men? I know that in your position this may be difficult, but do try.

  You have asked after my health, and I confess that I have been a bit poorly the last two days, but nothing to alarm yourself over. I would be quite upset if you let your stay in London be marred by any worry over me.

  All is well here at Harford Abbey. Though I did have to speak to Jarvis about trying to get a better price on our groceries. I so dislike to be overcharged.

  Write to me soon, Celia, and please endeavor to enjoy yourself.

  Sincerely,

  Edna Forbisher

  A better price on the groceries! All this time, Edna had possessed a huge fortune, and s
he quibbled about pennies. How shocked she was to hear about ladies riding astride, yet she wished to be informed the moment Celia witnessed such an event. Celia shook her head and reread the letter yet again. Edna had been such an eccentric old lady and she would always miss her, yet somehow having this last letter from her took away some of the pain.

  A tap on the door suddenly interrupted her musings.

  “May I speak to you, Celia?” Imogene asked upon entering.

  “Of course, Imy. I’ve just been trying to make sense of all this,” Celia said, gesturing to Edna’s letter and the papers Mr. Whitely had left for her to read.

  Imogene sat on the bed and looked at her friend’s pale face. “This is all so amazing, Celia. Do you realize that you are an heiress?”

  Celia shook her head. “No,” she said truthfully. “How could Edna have been so rich, yet lived in such penury?”

  “I do not know. But obviously she knew what she wanted, and because of that your life has vastly changed,” Imogene said seriously.

  “Yes, I realize that. I am at a loss as to what to do next,” Celia said, gathering the papers together and taking them to the secretary before reseating herself.

  “We shall honor Edna’s wishes and introduce you to Society,” Imy began. “Do not look at me that way. Drake already has it all in hand, so there is nothing to worry about.”

  Celia jumped up from her chair and stared at her friend with a horrified expression on her face.

  “Oh, no, Imy. You did not ask your brother to help!” she cried in alarm. “I do not even feel that I should be here now that all this has happened.”

  “Do not upset yourself, Celly. Drake has offered to help launch you into Society, which is very kind of him,” Imy stated practically. “We shall formally present you at the ball Drake is giving in two weeks. Before then, we shall follow Edna’s very express wishes and get you the most glorious wardrobe this side of the channel.”

  Celia looked at Imy helplessly, seeing that her friend was enjoying all the changes that Celia found so daunting. Sinking back into the chair, Celia said, “This whole situation seems incomprehensible to me, Imy. I don’t know how to be rich,” she finished plaintively.