It had been hard to make out anything much of what was said. The study door was thick and heavy and little sound filtered through. But she had heard the woman laughing, relieved that the addition of another mistress didn't mean she was out of a job, and promising to invite the other women to join her in entertaining Alex. Céleste's stomach roiled. Is that what he hoped for? Not only that she should share him with his other lovers, but that they would share him in the same bed?
She blinked back hot tears of humiliation. She had heard muttered words after that joyful utterance and had been consumed with jealousy. Quite unable to resist, she had cracked the door open, just a fraction, and seen Alex and the dark-haired beauty entwined in a passionate kiss. Quite unable to bear any more she had closed the door quickly and leaned against it until her knees gave out and she crumpled to the floor, where she still remained.
It was too much to endure, the knowledge that she was nothing more to him than a pleasant dalliance. She would need to join forces with other women to hold even that small amount of his attention. Well she would have given away her honour for him and him alone because she loved him beyond reason. But she wasn't so lacking in pride that she could bear that. So what now? Sindalton would call on her tomorrow and she was almost certain he would offer for her sooner or later. The on dit was that his family were putting pressure on him to marry before the year was out. But if she married the duke she would be committed to inhabit the same world as Alex. They would inevitably meet at the same events, and she would have to endure gossip about whatever mistress he had taken up with next and she didn't think she could endure that for any price.
Hearing sounds at the front of the house she stole over to the windows and peered through a tiny gap in the curtains. With her heart breaking she watched Alex walk down the steps and get into the carriage after his beautiful mistress and knew now where she was ranked in the order of his affections. That he would leave her this way, naked and alone in his study, to escort another woman home ...
With a cold, numb feeling stealing over her she knew that she could never accept that little from him. She couldn't marry someone else, but she'd not be a whore, not even for him. She needed to go away. Somewhere no one would find her. At least for a little while, until her broken heart could stand to return to people who had become so very dear to her. She wondered if the aunts would ever forgive her? They and Henri and Lawrence and sweet baby Elizabeth, and her dearest Aubrey; they had become her family and the loss of them was a bitter blow. But they had all been deceived as even Henri had believed he loved her at heart. He truly had been trying to be kind to her all this time, trying to make her understand that she could never be anything but a brief amusement for him, and she had been too foolish to heed his warning.
But going away and never seeing him again ... the pain of that was such that she could hardly draw breath. A knife blade to her heart could surely have hurt no less than this, and yet that at least would be swift and therefore kind. This pain would endure for the rest of her days.
But she had suffered loss before, she reasoned. When Papa had died she had thought his loss unbearable, and then Maman had taken her own life and Marie had left her finally alone. With each loss she had thought she would die of misery, and yet she had lived. Clinging to life with a grim determination to endure, despite the wretchedness of her circumstances. Well this time she would leave prepared. She would not starve again, nor put herself in the hands of men. Men were not to be trusted. If one she had put her faith in so entirely could let her down in such a way, then there was no hope for them. She would never trust another man as long as she lived.
She wiped her eyes and forced herself to her feet, reasoning that the house would fall quiet again soon. She ran to Alex's desk and the locked box where she knew he kept an amount of cash, having seen him handing his steward money earlier in the day. She also knew the key was in his waistcoat. She ran and searched the discarded article for the tiny inside pocket and palmed the key. Opening the box she took all the notes, counting out the grand sum of five hundred pounds. That would have to be enough, it was certainly more money than she could ever have dreamed of before she met Alex. Closing the box and returning the key to his heavy, silk waistcoat she took a moment to carefully fold it and slip his jacket from her shoulders. Shivering at the loss of it she held it to her nose and inhaled, imprinting the scent upon her memories, knowing it would be all she had left to her.
It didn't take long to pack her things. There was little point in trying to haul her beautiful dresses with her, and she'd have little use for such finery anymore. Instead she packed a few of her more practical dresses, including a simple dimity gown she used when she was playing with Bandit in the garden, and things that would keep her warm when the weather turned. The idea of being cold again was not something she could countenance. She swallowed hard at the idea of leaving Bandit behind but she didn't feel she could take the little dog from his home and the life he was used to, and she was sure baby Elizabeth would love him as her own as she grew. She tried to hold back the tears but they seemed to slide down her face no matter how hard she tried to stop them. She took with her the locket Alex had given her for her birthday and a number of small mementos, but left the silver-backed brushes that Aunt Seymour had given her that had been Alex's mother's. Writing a note to say goodbye to everyone was harder. She didn't want them to blame Alex for her departure, but she didn't want them to hate her and think her ungrateful for all the kindnesses they had shown her.
In the end there were two short notes that she hoped would serve. She placed them on her pillow and arranged some cushions beneath the covers to make it look as though she was sleeping in the bed before taking a last look around the pretty room that had been hers since they came to London. With tears now streaming down her face unchecked she closed the door quietly, and headed down the stairs.
Standing alone, in the dark, outside the grand London residence in Mayfair, Céleste was forcibly reminded of how very small and insignificant she was. It was a feeling she was familiar with, but at least in obscurity she would not know what was said about her and her scandalous departure.
Taking a breath she drew the hood of her cloak up over her head, picked up her bag and began to walk in the direction of town where she hoped to find a chaise for hire. From there she would go to catch the mail coach. She only hoped she hadn't missed it as it was growing late indeed. She paused before turning the corner and took one last look at the elegant façade of Alex's home, and then she walked away.
Chapter 30
"Wherein hearts are broken."
By the time Alex returned home he was exhausted. Fury at dealing with a woman he had always admired had left him drained and his nerves frayed. That woman had proved to be such a vindictive and spiteful creature, and on top of the tumult of emotions that had battered his heart and his body earlier in the evening. He entered the house with quiet trepidation and went straight to his study, hoping foolishly that Céleste might have waited for him. Of course she couldn't have done. If anyone had discovered her she would have been mortified. But now he was in a quandary.
He was desperate to see her, to explain why Lydia had come to the house and to tell her that she was quite wrong. He wouldn't and had never had the slightest intention of keeping her as his mistress. Far from it. He wanted to fall on his knees and beg her to marry him. To beg her to overlook all the scandal, to withstand the gossip that would always follow her, to take the risk of marrying a man who may one day be too old and dull to interest her at all and make him the happiest of men. For he knew now that without her he would never again know what that emotion meant.
He hesitated outside of her door and gave a soft knock.
"Céleste?" He waited with his heart beating too hard in his chest and then knocked once more. To his frustration there was no reply. Likely she was sleeping now, he imagined, at least he hoped it was that and not that she was angry with him. The blasted Morris woman had made one hell of a sce
ne and he needed to explain it all to her. But it would have to wait until the morning. He sighed and then smiled as an idea came to him.
He penned a short missive to his steward, instructing him that on rising he should go immediately to the proprietor of Rundell and Bridge, the jeweller at Thirty Two Ludgate Hill and instruct him that the Earl of Falmouth would be visiting at seven am sharp. He was also to make it clear Mr Rundell would be well compensated for the inconvenient hour of his visit. Satisfied that he had the very thing to hopefully smooth any ruffled feathers that Céleste might have, he took himself. Still, he prayed that his offer would meet with no objections once she understood his intentions.
***
The elegant Palladian style façade of Rundell and Bridge, jewellers to the crown, was emphasised by a grand entrance, flanked by Ionic columns. The interior, however, was sparse, if elegant, and served as a plain backdrop to display some of the most sumptuous and breathtaking jewellery ever made.
Mr Rundell greeted Alex with pleasure and lost no time at all in presenting him with the very best of his wares.
"I want something with sapphires," Alex said, casting a keen eye over silk-lined boxes and their array of dazzling treasure.
"Ah!" said Mr Rundell with an air of approval, disappearing to the back of the shop with a hurried step. "I have just the thing." He returned a moment later bearing a wide, deep blue leather box. "A very elegant piece," the man said with enthusiasm, opening it to reveal an exquisite necklace, nestled on a bed of ivory silk. "You see the flexible garland-like design? It is set with eleven cushion-cut emeralds weighing approximately twenty eight carats, spaced by scroll-work links, set with old mine and rose-cut diamonds also weighing approximately twenty eight carats, and mounted in silver and gold."
Alex nodded. "Yes, Mr Rundell, I concur, a very fine piece indeed. I will take it immediately. Would you also have three hair combs and a bracelet made to the same design please. I would like them delivered to me at your earliest convenience."
"Of course, my Lord! I felicitate you on your eye for beauty. I am sure the receiver of your gift will be quite overcome."
Alex smiled and touched a finger to a glittering stone that put him strongly in mind of a pair of wide blue eyes. "I do hope so," he said softly.
***
Returning home by half past ten, Alex was disappointed to discover that Céleste was apparently still abed, having left a note for her abigail that she was not to be disturbed before eleven. Eleven came and went. Although not unusual for her to sleep late after a night out, Alex demanded that the maid go and enquire if she was perhaps unwell.
A disquieting sense of unease had begun to slide under his skin and prickle the back of his neck. He hoped she had not taken to her bed in a fit of anger over what had happened last night, though he had to admit, she would be well within her rights to be furious with him and with Mrs Morris. Sitting in the bright drawing room, he smoothed his hand over the neat blue box and sighed.
He hoped he could convince her of the deep and heartfelt nature of both his apology and his ardent feelings for her. A scream from upstairs sent terror spiking through his veins and he leapt from his seat, taking the stairs three at a time until he stood in the doorway of Céleste's bedroom.
"What is it?" he demanded, taking in the sight of her abigail, white-faced and trembling and Henri with a letter in her hand and a look of devastation in her eyes.
"She's gone," Henri whispered, although she hardly dared to believe her own words.
"What?" Alex felt a rush of cold pouring over him like ice water as fear took a hold of him. He crossed the room and snatched a second letter addressed to him that Henri held out for him with shaking fingers.
Dearest Alex,
Please forgive my manner of leaving you, but I know if I were to stay we would both end our days unhappy. It's best that I go. I am sorry that I have run away, but it seems I am perhaps as young and childish as you first thought, for I cannot be one of many, Alex. I can't and I won't. I thought perhaps I could bear it, if I didn't know who they were or saw their faces. But I heard Mrs Morris speaking to you last night and I regret that the entertainments she spoke of were far too sophisticated for a country mouse such as I. I cannot share you, and never in so intimate a manner.
You have and will always hold my heart in its entirety, and so I could never consider marrying another. Please don't be angry with me and give my fondest love to everyone. I shall miss them all and will never forget everything they have done for me. But of course I shall miss you most of all, mon contrebandier.
Ever yours,
Mignonne.
P.S. I am afraid I have taken five hundred pounds from you, but I promise I will repay it, as soon as I am able to.
Alex let out a cry, a raw sound akin to a wounded creature and indeed he felt wounded, so grievously hurt and in pain he half expected to see blood pouring from some fatal wound.
"Oh, Alex, the poor child! Where would she go?"
He shook his head, trying to think past the shock. "Is there no clue in your letter?"
"No, nothing," she said, wiping her eyes. "She only says to forgive her and please to not think her ungrateful." She covered her mouth and sobbed. "Oh, Alex, we must find her!"
"Where's Lawrence?" he demanded.
"H-he ..." she stuttered. "He's taken the aunts to visit Aubrey."
"Find him," he said, trying desperately to keep a hold of his panic and think clearly. There was only one feasible way out of London, the Great North road. It was most likely she'd taken the Mail Coach. "We need to check all the coaching inns, see if she booked a passage and where to, and find out if Aubrey knows anything."
Henri nodded, sniffing. "I'll go right away and I'll instruct all the servants to hold their tongues. Not that they would talk. They all love her, everybody loves her so," she said, her voice breaking. "Does she not know this? Oh and there will be such a scandal if this gets out."
"It won't," Alex said, his voice certain. "She will be back here before anyone knows she's been gone."
"Yes," Henri reached out and grasped his arm. "Yes, you will bring her home, I know you will, but ... but why did she go, Alex?"
That question struck at his heart and the pain of it was so intense he didn't know if he could form an answer. "I discovered last night that she believed I only meant to take her as my mistress," he said, the words bitter in his mouth. "Before I could tell her I intended no such thing, that I love her and I wanted to marry her ... Mrs Morris ..." He could say no more and indeed needed to be away from here. He could waste no more time while his foolish, sweet Céleste was God knew where. And in whose company? He turned and strode from the room as Henri's words followed him out of the door.
"Oh, Alex, I am so very sorry."
He ran down the stairs, barking commands to his steward and yelling for his horse to readied immediately. He would find her, he swore to himself. He would find her safe and well before night fall, for if he didn't he would never forgive himself.
***
Céleste closed her eyes and endured the interminable jolting of the mail coach. She allowed her mind to take her back to another coach journey, with Alex sat beside her in the cramped Diligence as they left Madame Maxime's, heading to his brother's house at Bordeaux. So much had happened since then, she reflected. Her life had changed in ways she could never have conceived, and yet all the time she had been grasping at dreams. A dream that had been lovely and dreadfully beautiful, but as insubstantial as a cobweb, for when she had tried to take a hold of it she had found it without substance, too fragile to survive in a world she knew only too well was callous and cruel.
And so she would go back to where she came from. There at least she knew the place and the people, but none knew of her failed aspirations. She knew what to expect from a much smaller, simpler life, and hopefully with the money she had borrowed she could find a way to make a place for herself. There was enough to buy a house and live carefully for some considerable time i
f she was careful, and then she would need to consider how to earn a living. She determined to find Mimi and offer him a home with her if he would take it. At least then she would have a friendly face and someone to discourage the inevitable male visitors who would gather if they knew there was a single woman living alone and without protection.
She wouldn't allow herself to cry. She had already attracted the scandalised notice of the middle-aged couple on the seat opposite. The woman had just sniffed at her in disgust and turned her head away when she realised she was travelling unaccompanied, but the man's gaze had been rather more consistent and unpleasantly predictable.
By the time the coach drew up at The Red Lion in Dorset, she was stiff and tired, and heart sick. She wondered what was happening back home. Did Alex know she was gone? She wondered if he would come after her and knew that he would. He was too honourable to let her run away in such a fashion and do nothing about it. The idea made her chest tighten with anxiety. She couldn't let him find her. If he found her he would no doubt persuade her to come back home.
If she wouldn't be his mistress then he would find a suitable husband for her as he'd promised in the first place. But she wouldn't have it. She wouldn't have a man she didn't love have any say in her life, and she couldn't live in England with the ever present possibility, no matter how small, that she might one day stumble into Alex's path again and make a fool of herself. It was better to make a clean break. She'd give herself to no one and make her own way as best she could.
The Earl's Temptation Page 25