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

owned absolutely nothing she could feel comfortable wearing to dinner, which was always a formal occasion at Harbrooke. She barely noticed when it was just Imy or the dowager duchess, but it was very lowering to be so dowdy when two men of fashion were present.
    The only possibility was an old gown that had belonged to her mother. A year ago, she had taken it apart and tried to resew the whole thing, using a plate from
La Belle Assemblée
as a model. Taking it from the armoire, she held the gown against herself and stared with critical eyes at her reflection in the mirror, twisting this way and that, hoping for some flattering angle to present itself.
    The dress was sadly out-of-date, but it was of a good silk, and she felt the color, a deep greenish blue, was flattering to the green flecks in her eyes. Laying the gown across her bed, she sighed dejectedly, knowing she really had no other choice. Seating herself at her dressing table, she proceeded to pile her hair on top of her head in an unfashionable, yet becoming twist. She grimaced at the mirror.
They will think I’m an antidote
, she thought, wondering if she could feign illness. She dismissed the thought, as she had already agreed to dine with them, and she never dissembled.
    The other problem that put a crease in her smooth brow was the thought of trying to make conversation. She had lived in the country all of her life, and though she was intelligent and well-read, she knew it would be difficult to converse on any subject that the major or the duke would find interesting. She had never had the chance to develop the fine art of chatting.
    After putting the final pin in her hair, Celia left herroom with one last critical glance at the mirror and made her way to the salon to await the appearance of the new guest. She found the duke and Imogene already there, sipping champagne and conversing quietly. Dressed in a stunning cranberry silk evening gown, Imogene had rarely been in better looks. Celia, who did not possess a jealous bone, for the first time in her life came close to envy.
    Compared to the magnificent beauty of Imogene’s Empire-style gown, Celia felt even drabber, if that were possible. A stab of anger toward the duke pierced her; she blamed him for her present state of discomfiture. If he hadn’t been so odiously insistent on her dining with them she would not now be looking like such a frump, Celia thought with an uncharacteristic flash of churlishness.
    The duke, of course, appeared the pinnacle of elegance, she noticed resentfully. His black coat and snowy white waistcoat fit to perfection, a large diamond stickpin sparkled in his intricately tied cravat, and his lean, chiseled face wore a slight frown as he observed her standing uncertainly in the doorway.
    â€œThere you are, Celly; don’t you look pretty,” Imogene called across the room, her tone overly cheerful. For the first time in their acquaintance, Imogene felt uneasy with her friend. She couldn’t even hazard a guess as to what Drake had said to persuade Celly to dine with them.
    Knowing Celia as she did, she could see that despite her composed expression, her friend was mortified at having to appear in her mother’s old, redone gown. Imogene was at a complete loss as to what to say to her and even began to feel guilty for dressing in her loveliest gown, since Celia’s gown looked even worse in comparison. To hide her discomfort she prattled on in a slightly shrill tone and busied herself with directing Grimes to pour Celia a glass of champagne.
    On his part, the duke felt an unexplainable anger. How was he to know that she would have nothing presentable to wear? And Imy should not have shown her up soobviously, either, he thought, frowning slightly at his sister’s elegant attire. But what he felt most was guilt. He had virtually forced her to dine with them when she had made it clear that she had no desire to do so, and now his manipulating had embarrassed