by Janet Woods
‘James Kent is a fine gentleman,’ Harriet said with a faint smile.
‘I think he’s attracted to you, too,’ Celia teased, which earned her a reproving look.
‘I did not say I was attracted to him, Celia.’
‘But you are, aren’t you?’
‘I refuse to answer that.’ Harriet laughed and threw a cushion at her.
The three of them went down together, and James introduced them. There were magistrates and churchmen present, including a bishop. And there was a younger man – a man who made Celia’s heart thud with sudden alarm.
‘This is my partner, Charles Curtis. Chas, may I introduce Miss Harriet Price and Miss Celia Laws from Hanbury Cross.’
‘My pleasure, ladies.’
Charles Curtis was tall, taller than Celia remembered, and more handsome. The youthfulness he’d displayed the last time they’d met had been honed into an interestingly angled, and manly face. His eyes were still as black as night, his hair a dark torrent and his mouth . . . her own tingled and flamed into life as the kiss was remembered in all its glory to crowd into her senses. How could the effects of a kiss, even one so potent as the one they’d exchanged, last such an annoyingly long time?
She felt herself fall apart. The effect he had on her was catastrophic, especially when she gazed into his eyes. The least of that problem was that he might recognize her. She was a crumble of shards . . . a small pile of rubble at his feet, waiting to be rebuilt.
Then she remembered she’d used the name of Lizzie Carter and began to breathe easier.
‘Ah . . .’ he said, as though he’d just tasted something that had given him much pleasure, and his smile became, all at once, ironic. ‘I understand you’re to be part of the entertainment for the evening, Miss Laws. A little romantic story for our delight, no doubt.’
How patronizing of him to assume such a thing. ‘Please feel free to leave if something as mundane as romance displeases you, but preferably not when I’m reading. If you do I shall take off my shoe and throw it at your retreating back.’
He chuckled at that. ‘I shall make a point of staying if it will make you happy.’
‘I shall try to contain my delirium at the notion.’
His eyes suddenly impaled her. ‘Have we met before, Miss Laws? I feel as though I should know you.’
He didn’t recognize her! She drew her defences around her. She would get through this with as much coolness as she could muster. Her nerves cemented themselves together again and she said, ‘We may have, though I can’t remember you.’
He raised an eyebrow and chuckled. ‘How crushing it is not to be remembered . . . or is this a defensive stance you’re taking because we danced together at Mrs Maybury’s summer ball and I trod all over your toes?’
A huff of spontaneous laughter escaped her. Although fascinating, he had a streak of arrogance that pleased her. ‘Yes, I agree, it is crushing not to be remembered. As for Mrs Maybury’s ball . . . now let me see,’ she teased, and took a moment to appear to think about it. ‘No, I didn’t attend it, so it must have been another unfortunate woman’s toes you stomped on.’
He wouldn’t be put off. ‘Still, I’m sure we’ve met before. London comes to mind, a social gathering of some sort. There can’t be another woman on earth who has eyes of such a deep and beguiling blue.’
She blinkered them with her eyelids and gazed at the toes of his highly polished black evening shoes. ‘I haven’t been to London for some time.’
‘Neither have I. Don’t sound piqued because I can’t quite remember you, Miss Laws. It will come to me eventually.’
Celia hoped not, but she felt relieved rather than miffed, and hoped he’d never recall the occasion. Enough people knew her secret, and if he did remember she’d have to lie her way out of it . . . and just as she was making a habit of being honest! Damn him for turning up again in her life. ‘I’m not at all piqued.’
‘I don’t mind you admiring my guests, Chas, but your approach is embarrassing to Celia, I believe.’
‘So speaks a man who hasn’t courted a woman in years.’
‘All that could change,’ and James turned his smile on Harriet, who promptly blushed.
Celia raised an eyebrow as she exchanged a glance with Charles Curtis, who grinned. ‘Ah . . . so that’s the way the wind blows, is it?’ He shrugged, and a smile spread across his face, altogether warm and genuine as he kissed Harriet’s hand. ‘Well, I can only admire your taste, James. What do you expect from me when you bring two perfectly exquisite females to dinner and keep them both for yourself? You would have more than your share with only one of them on your arm.’
While Celia was admiring a small scimitar of dark hair that curled against Charles’ ear, his glance unexpectedly shifted back to her, something she wasn’t quick enough to avoid. ‘I’m looking forward to hearing you read your work, Miss Laws. Forgive me if I embarrassed you in any way.’ He inclined his head as they moved away.
Her breath exhaled in an exasperated rush, something that drew a smile from James. ‘He’s a disarming young man, isn’t he? And very good at his profession.’
Harriet appeared a little flustered as they moved on to the next person, and so she should, Celia thought with a grin, for James had made his intentions towards her perfectly clear.
Thank goodness she wasn’t seated next to Charles, Celia thought a little later, giving the bishop – who had been seated next to her – a beaming smile.
‘Has Reverend Hambert seated us together so you can keep me in order, my Lord Bishop,’ she whispered to him.
‘I do believe it might be the other way round. He thinks very highly of you.’
‘Then I’ll be sure to keep a close eye on you.’
They dined at a long table set with polished silver and decorated with flower arrangements. The candlelight sparkled on the crystal glasses. Charles was close enough to send her a smile now and again.
If only you could see me now, Ma, she thought, but knew deep in her heart that she’d swap everything and go back to famine and rags if that would bring her mother back. To be brought down so low after being raised in such a comfortable environment must have been hard to endure.
They moved to the drawing room, where three rows of chairs were set out. One of the women played the piano and sang a duet with her husband. When they had finished, Thomas recited a poem about the River Thames. It had several verses, and she admired his stillness, the emotion coming from his quiet reading of it, which had just enough rise and fall to keep the audience interested.
He beckoned to her afterwards, and she took her place next to him when he introduced her. Beyond the circle of light she saw Charles Curtis. Seated on the back of a couch, one long leg dangling, he had a damnable superior smile on his face.
So, Charles was expecting a romance, was he? There was one in the book, a tragic love story, where the soldier hero returned from war to discover his true love married to his enemy. That was not the story she was going to read tonight, though.
She picked up her book, opening it to where the red ribbon marked it. This one is for you, Ma, she thought as she drew in a calming breath. Be proud of me.
She was well rehearsed. Harriet had listened to her read the story over-and-over, advising her on where to pause, and helping her to modify her tendency to talk too fast or overdramatize. She waited until her audience settled, then gazed around at their expectant faces in the moment it took her to get into her narrative role.
The child couldn’t have been more than four years. Her name was Sarah. Barefoot, covered in sores, and with only a flannel smock to cover her shivering body, she wandered the filthy alleyways, calling out fitfully, Mamma, where are you? I’m hungry!
A muffled sob came from somewhere in the audience, then another as the story progressed. The story ended up in the same river Thomas had written about, unhappily, as most true stories about the London slums did. She admired Thomas Hambert for drawing attention to the plight of the poor t
here, even knowing improvement wouldn’t happen in his own lifetime.
When she finished there were a few moments of silence, in which she looked over the heads of the audience to where Charles was seated alone. His enigmatic smile was now laced with wryness at the discovery of his own mistaken assumption. The women were dabbing at their eyes with lace-edged handkerchiefs, trying to compose themselves. Men spoke gruffly in case emotion got the better of them; a couple applied handkerchiefs to their noses and honked like geese.
Charles’ eyes shone with moisture. He smiled ruefully at her and blew her a kiss. Then he began to clap. Others joined in and there were shouts of ‘Well read, Miss Laws,’ and ‘Encore.’
Celia stood there while the applause circled around her like a storm, certain she was grinning inanely and not quite knowing whether to take her seat or stay where she was.
Thomas joined her. Beaming a proud smile all round, he said, ‘I’m sorry ladies and gentlemen, no encore. We can only offer you a small taste, otherwise you won’t buy the book. I do happen to have a few leather special editions for sale amongst the cloth-bound ones tonight.’
‘How fortunate, Thomas, since most of us collect leather-bound first editions,’ the Bishop said drily.
‘I hadn’t realized, my Lord,’ Thomas said, looking so innocent that everyone laughed. ‘As you all know, a proportion of each sale will go to a good cause. After the concert, Miss Laws, or myself, or both, will personally sign each copy bought tonight.’
‘No doubt,’ James said softly.
To more applause, Thomas presented her with a posy of flowers and led her back to her seat.
It wasn’t until Harriet took her hand and gently squeezed it, that Celia discovered she was trembling all over.
Twelve
The next morning, beyond Brownsea Island, where the horizon of dark, foam-lashed water met the pale sky, a thick scribble of charcoal clouds had begun to gather.
Mrs Emery displayed agitation at the sight, and her husband declared their intention to leave earlier than they’d intended, lest it rain and the road became a mire.
A breakfast of oatmeal was quickly consumed and Harriet and Celia readied themselves for the journey.
Saying goodbye to Thomas Hambert, Abigail Kent and James, who expressed his disappointment that they were leaving so early, they were soon on the road, the pair of horses clip-clopping along at a steady pace.
There had been no sign of Charles Curtis at breakfast. ‘He rose early to return to his lodgings,’ James told them. ‘He begged me to pass on that he enjoyed the short time he spent with you ladies, and he hopes to renew the acquaintance at the earliest opportunity.’
The thought of meeting him again aroused a tug of annoyance in Celia, but mixed in with it was a strong thrust of anticipation. She would have to be careful of what she said around him.
‘Do you have far to travel after you drop us off?’ Harriet asked the Emerys.
‘Only to Blandford,’ Reverend Emery told them, and he smiled benevolently at Harriet. ‘We so enjoyed your performance, Miss Laws. Your voice carries clearly and well, doesn’t it, Annie.’
‘Indeed. I was quite enthralled by the performance. How clever of you to write those stories. You have such a lively imagination, and we wouldn’t have missed it for the world.’
Celia was about to tell her that they were true stories when Harriet’s fingers squeezed hers. ‘Thank you, Mrs Emery,’ she said instead.
‘It must be wonderful to have a natural talent for reading aloud, so the characters’ voices come easily to the tongue. They sounded so real. I’m afraid that I frequently stumble over words when I read aloud.’
Celia exchanged a rueful smile with Harriet, both of them remembering the hours of practice she’d put in.
‘I’m sure you are being too modest, Mrs Emery. My niece is going to read the lesson of the three wise men at the Christmas Day morning service at Hanbury Cross church. I’m so looking forward to it.’
‘Indeed . . . then we must attend the service, if the weather is clement.’
‘Do you have a family?’ Harriet asked them.
Where the Emery couple had been as silent as the grave on the way in, now they were as voluble as a couple of gobbling geese as they talked of their seven children and their growing number of grandchildren.
‘It’s so jolly at Christmastide when we’re all together. There always seems to be an extra one each year. This year it is dear Bernard, who is three months old.’
By the time they reached Chaffinch House Celia seemed to have a thousand Emery names and occupations buzzing around her head, as though it were a hive of honey bees.
‘Oh, are we here already?’ Mrs Emery said with some disappointment. ‘I was just about to tell you about the Peircy family, who are part of the maternal side. I was one of twelve children, you know.’
‘Oh, I’m so sorry we haven’t more time to spend together then,’ Celia said, keeping a straight face. ‘I found your relatives so interesting.’
‘Another time perhaps, Miss Laws.’ She gazed out of the window, a frown appearing on her face. ‘I do hope we miss that storm. I’m sure it was just behind us.’
‘Nonsense, dear, we have plenty of time in which to get home,’ her husband said, as the coachman helped his guests out of the carriage.
They’d hardly waved the pair goodbye when Lottie came hurtling down the path, a big smile on her face. ‘Major escaped from the stable. I chased after him and got his bridle on, but he wouldn’t move. Mr Hardy came out of his house. He said it was the time of the full moon, and Major was having one of his moments. He stung him with a twig,’ Lottie said with a giggle, ‘and that made Major move. He gave a loud hee-haw and trotted all the way home by himself.’
Harriet smiled. ‘Perhaps the coming storm has unsettled him. We must make sure his stable is secure.’
‘Mr Hardy said the gate had dropped and needed a new hinge. He sent Jed round to fix it for you, and Millie paid him sixpence.’
‘That was nice of him.’
A scatter of dried leaves rattled along the road, pushed by a gust of wind.
‘I’ll see to Major.’ Celia hoped Reverend Emery and his wife arrived home safely before the storm broke as she made her way round to the stable. They’d been a nice couple and good company on the whole.
She filled Major’s oat box and his water trough and picked up the brush, as she did most afternoons. She’d discovered that brushing him relaxed the donkey when he was in a fractious mood.
‘I understand you misbehaved in our absence, Major.’
Major whuffled and closed his eyes as the brush smoothed long strokes over him.
‘You know, Major . . . you’re such a handsome donkey with that pale muzzle and pretty mane.’
Celia drifted off into her thoughts as she continued brushing – and those thoughts inevitably went to Charles Curtis. There was something about him that made her feel aware of herself.
‘Do you know what it feels like to be in love, Major?’ Then she giggled as she remembered the donkey had been gelded. ‘Of course you don’t. But then . . . perhaps love and lust isn’t the same thing.’
Charles Curtis had felt lust towards her the first time they’d met. He’d been willing to pay a fortune to satisfy that lust, even though she’d been dirty and ragged.
What was worse, he’d made her feel the same way. She’d never forgotten the kiss he’d demanded of her. She touched a finger against her mouth. How would his kiss feel against her mouth, now he was fully a man – and an experienced one at that, she thought?
She jumped when rain splattered against the roof of the stable. It was a solid building, built of stone that had withstood the onslaught of many storms. She made sure that the windows were secure and the doors were bolted on the way out.
Her dress flattened against her body as she pushed into the wind to make her way back to the house. The sky was dark, almost as black as night, and the house was filled with gloom.
Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled. Lottie came to where she sat. ‘Storms make me feel scared, Celia.’
Sliding her arm around the girl Celia held her close. ‘The storm will soon pass over, my love.’
‘You smell like Major. Tell me about the social evening. You said you would. Did you get to dance with the handsome prince, like Cinderella did in my book of fairy tales?’
‘It wasn’t a ball. It was dinner and a social performance. I didn’t meet a prince . . . well not a real one, but there were some nice people there, don’t you think so, Aunt Harriet?’
But Harriet was staring into space with a soft smile.
Celia laughed. ‘It looks as though Aunt Harriet met a handsome prince though.’
‘Yes . . . James is handsome, isn’t he?’ Her eyes came back to the present, and sharpened. ‘What were we talking about?’
‘Lottie and I were discussing Cinderella and her handsome prince, and you were discussing . . . James Kent.’
‘Oh.’ Harriet grinned self-consciously, then said again, ‘Oh!’ and a blush touched her cheeks as she busied herself with the teapot.
‘What do you think of Celia Laws now, James?’ Thomas asked his nephew the following day.
‘The girl has turned my original opinion of her on its head. She is still outspoken, but interestingly so. She’s also quick to learn. She worries me though.’
‘Why, James, when you can see for yourself that she told the truth and her background is sound?’
‘I think Chas Curtis is taking an interest in her.’
Gazing at him, Thomas said, ‘Is that such a bad thing? Celia has grown into a beautiful and lively young woman, and her aunt has turned her into a lady. The difference is remarkable.’