"Wait!"
Celestine paused, but did not turn back.
"My . . . my apologies." Lady St. Claire's voice was frigid with the effort of making an apology, something she rarely saw the need to do. "Occasionally my temper is too hasty. I would not have you carry tales of ill treatment back to my brother-in-law. I will assume you have not lain with him. I believe you to be of good character, and Emily vouches for you."
Still Celestine did not turn back. Her anger burned cold and dark, and she was grateful for it, as it gave her strength. She stared at the door and waited. Lady St. Claire was clearly not finished.
"I . . . we do not wish to lose you, Miss Simons. The children are sincerely attached to you, and you have done wonders with them. Also, I am very fond of your aunt, and would not wish to hurt her in any way. My solution to our little problem is this. You must go away. Just until Justin is gone, and he will return to London. He may fancy himself in love with you at this moment, but he has never stayed that way for long.
"I have spoken with Emily already, and she is prepared to take you back to Yorkshire with her and keep you there until we send for you again. I am not asking you to do this." Her voice was steely, like a knife pressed to Celestine's back. "It is the only way you can retain your position with us," she continued. "Also, you must tell Justin neither that you are going nor where."
And so that was that. She could keep her position if she allowed herself to be sent away like a recalcitrant schoolgirl. Her voice surprisingly even, she glanced back at Lady St. Claire and said, "I shall consider what you have told me and my options. I shall tell you in the morning. We are having the puppet play tomorrow. I would hope your ladyship will at least allow me to stay to handle that. The girls have been looking forward to it for some time."
"Of course," Lady St. Claire said.
Celestine turned back and walked quietly to the door. She stopped and looked back at the marchioness. With her chin lifted slightly, she said, "I never gave him reason to feel compelled to ask me to marry him. I would have you know that." She walked out and closed the door behind her.
Seventeen
Emily was outside the library when Celestine emerged. She saw her niece's white, shocked face, and her heart sank. Ever since she had known her, Elizabeth had had a hasty temper and tactless way of dealing with people. Down deep there was a good heart, but it was buried in so much awareness of her elevated rank, conceit for her own pretty looks, familial pride in her historic name, and an acerbic tongue and acid personality that sometimes Emily wondered how they had become friends and stayed that way over the years.
And now she had likely put things all wrong to Celestine. It was a simple matter of protecting Celestine's good name and peace of mind, but who could tell how Elizabeth had broached the subject?
"My dear," Emily said, touching her niece's arm. "May we talk? I feel I should perhaps explain what Lizbet was trying to say."
Celestine turned tragic, gray eyes to her, and murmured, "She accused me of lying with Justin to entrap him into marriage."
Emily clenched her fists to her sides and cursed her childhood friend. Of all the stupid, idiotic, hurtful things to say, and to someone like Celestine—chaste, sweet, and utterly without deviousness or malice! She wanted to march into the library and demand an apology to Celestine from her supposed friend.
Instead, knowing it would not do one iota of good, she put her arm around the younger woman's shoulders as the Misses Stimson entered the hallway from a walk in the winter air. The girls greeted them and chattered about the fine day, and whether it would snow again before Christmas while footmen circled and abigails flew down the stairs to retrieve bonnets and muffs and heavy cloaks.
Emily sighed and guided Celestine over to the stairs. "We need to talk, and we cannot do it in the drawing room or parlor. Those chatterboxes will never leave us alone."
After arranging with one of the hovering footmen for tea to be brought up to them, she led Celestine to her room and settled her in a cozy armchair near the window. She took the matching chair and waited while a maid, who entered not long after, set a tray on the table between them.
She had a comfortable room with a view down the valley. She was almost as fond of Cumbria as she was of Yorkshire. She loved the wildness of the scenery, but realized it was starting to wear on her after two years with little change. Baxter, her estranged husband, was gallivanting over the continent, or so Dodo told her from family news in letters. Dodo was his aunt, and so corresponded with some of the family—at least the ones to whom she was still speaking.
Maybe they should go to London for the coming Season—open Delafont House and see the sights. She would love most of all to take Celestine with her to the routs and balls, the theater and the opera . . . but there was time enough to think about that. Right now she must deal with the situation her beloved niece found herself in.
She poured tea and handed a cup to Celestine, watching carefully as the shock eased from her narrow, pale face. That paleness and the fineness of her other features made her niece's eyes seem huge, she thought. She was like porcelain, except for the spray of freckles across her delicate nose that had not faded as she reached maturity.
What could she say to make things better for a niece she loved like a little sister?
"Sometimes I wonder how I managed to stay friends with Elizabeth those years at school and then in London when we were both married."
"She has a nasty streak," Celestine said, warming her hands around the delicate china cup.
Emily sighed. "She was not supposed to insult you like that."
Celestine looked up sharply over the rim of her cup. "You knew she was talking to me? And about what?"
"I knew she was talking to you. I know what she was supposed to say to you. I wanted to speak to you myself, but she insisted it must come from her. I have the feeling she did not adhere to the strict instructions I gave her."
"Did you tell her to threaten my job?" Celestine said, dryly.
"Threaten your job?"
"I am to go back to Yorkshire with you if I want to retain my position at Ladymead."
"Oh, Lord, I never suggested that! That is Lizbet; a hammer blow where a light tap would suffice." Emily reached across the table and laid her plump hand over her niece's. "No, my dear. There is no question of you losing your job. We all know there is no fault to be found in you. We just felt, and I agreed to this, that it might be more comfortable for you to be out of Justin's way while he is here. I suggested you come back to Yorkshire for a while to visit me and Dodo, and then return in a month. He is to think you have decided to take a new position somewhere else. We will say you did not tell anyone where."
Celestine grew quiet.
"I have not pried, dear, because your life is your own. You are of age, and as sensible a woman as I have ever met. But even the most sensible of women fall for cads."
"Are you speaking from personal experience, Aunt?"
"No. Or not exactly. But let me ask you this: I have heard Justin has asked you to marry him. Is that true?"
"He did. I assume it is another step in his campaign to seduce me or to win me over from an attachment he believes I have formed." Celestine put her cup down on the tray with a clatter. "I ... I cannot believe he told his brother and sister-in-law about it! What does that mean?"
Emily considered that point. He had never come so far with any lady; she knew that of a certainty. Was he finally telling the truth, or was it as Celestine suspected, a ruse to lull her into believing in him to further his seduction? But surely, to tell his brother . . .
"Has he made . . . improper suggestions or advances on you, my dear?" she asked finally.
Celestine flushed and stared down at the floor, tracing a pink rosette in the cream and misty green pattern with the toe of her shoe. "Improper?"
"Yes. Don't go missish on me, Celestine. Did he suggest a liaison? Or did he touch you improperly?" Emily gazed at her, watching t
he flickering play of emotions over her niece's delicate face.
"Aunt! Now you are as bad as Lady St. Claire! She accused me of lying with him to entrap him."
"Oh, Lord, I don't believe she really thinks that! No! Never say that." She paused and sipped her tea. This was a delicate subject, made more so by Lizbet's ham-handed interference. She must not offend her niece, or suggest she had done anything improper. She would start fresh, from the beginning.
"What is your opinion of why he asked you to marry him and followed up by telling his brother about it? In most men, I would say that indicates sincerity and determination—perhaps even love."
Celestine still gazed down at the floor. She shook her head and said softly, "Oh, no. I do not claim he is in love with me. It cannot be." She looked up, and her gray eyes were sad, though her agitation was calmed. "What could a man like Justin St. Claire see in a poor, plain governess?"
"Careful my dear. That sounds like bitterness or self-pity."
"I am bitter! And self-pitying! It is the outside of enough that a man I have fallen in love with has told me he loves me and asked me to marry him, and I cannot believe him or say yes! Does that not seem ludicrous? Bizarre? And yet I cannot believe him sincere. Everyone around me says it is impossible, and you all know him so much better than I." Celestine sighed, put her teacup down, and covered her face with her gnarled hands. "It is too much," she said, her voice muffled.
Emily was worried for her niece. Celestine had been through tragedy in her life, but she had always met it with equanimity. This affair had been harder on her, it seemed, than even the death of her father. Emily supposed that was because, no matter how sad, the death of her father had been long expected. But Celestine had probably never expected to fall in love, and for it to happen with a man so much above her social position!
Celestine uncovered her face, and a rueful smile lifted her lips. "I am not really bitter. I am confused. He has kissed me. He has held me. He found me crying over my pain and he comforted me. He ordered a hot bath for me every morning, knowing it would cure some of my aches." Her expression softened. "I would like to think he was in love with me"—her tone was wistful, full of longing—"but I cannot believe it possible. I don't know what this all means. But I have been mulling it over, and I can only believe the marriage proposal was spurred on by a sense of competition."
"Competition?" Emily was startled. It seemed an unlikely spur to a marriage proposal from a renowned rake.
"I . . ." Celestine looked away. "I may have led him to believe I had agreed to an offer from Mr. Foster—the offer of marriage I told you about, and that I rejected. I believed it would end his pursuit of me."
"Instead it just made him want you the more, as you were someone else's." Emily mused for a minute. It didn't seem quite right. Justin would not enter into a competition with a vicar. Betrothal to another beau usually ended his attentions to a particular girl. But what other explanation was there? Sometimes men were unaccountable— her own husband, Baxter, was a perfect example of that.
"What say you to going with me to Yorkshire?"
"Do I have any choice?"
Emily cursed Elizabeth's clumsiness. Celestine felt backed into a corner, and nothing Emily could say would make her believe there was no threat of her losing her job if she did not comply.
"There is always a choice. I know you still believe your job to be in danger. And I understand if you feel stubborn, loath to let Elizabeth treat you this way. But do not make the mistake of staying here to spite her. If you come with me, do it for the right reasons. You will not be running away, just avoiding a potentially embarrassing situation."
"And how does that differ from running away?"
Emily shrugged.
"Are you giving me the advice you wish you had given yourself before marrying Uncle Baxter? Should you have run away from him?"
Emily gazed over at her niece. Celestine knew she was separated, and knew some of the reasons, but not all. "The circumstances are considerably different, as you must know."
"But you were an impecunious maiden, and there was some family opposition to your marriage, is that not so?"
"Yes, but we were in love." Emily gazed off into the distance. "So in love. I fell in love the moment I saw him. He kissed me just moments after we met, you know." Her cheeks grew rosy.
"You never told me that, Aunt." Celestine gazed at her in wonder. "How did that happen?"
"He took me for a dairymaid or a farmer's daughter." She chuckled, a throaty sound. "I was wading across a stream with my skirts pulled up and my feet bare, leading a great, ugly, stubborn beast of a horse. Baxter rode up on a handsome stallion and helped me up the other side, subduing my obstinate animal. Then he demanded a kiss as payment." She stared at the wall, remembering the moment her future husband's lips had first touched hers, the shock of awareness that that was it for her; it was love. She shook herself out of her memory to find Celestine watching her, a smile on her rose-pink lips.
"Tell me." Emily leaned forward in her chair and gazed into Celestine's eyes, the thick gray color of them like slate. "How did it feel when Justin kissed you?"
Celestine's expression became misty and abstracted. "It was ... I felt like a fire had been started in my heart. I felt like it was spring all of a sudden, and there must be a thousand flowers around me. I wanted to dance and cry and sing. I felt ... I wanted it to never stop."
Emily watched her shrewdly. "And how did he act?"
"The first time? Like a practiced rogue. But then . . ." Celestine told her aunt about his holding her as she wept and cradling her while she slept in his arms and about her impression he had been murmuring he would take care of her always.
"Is that so?" Emily pursed her lips and her fine, arched brows drew down. She made a decision in that moment she hoped she would not live to regret. She was going to irk a few people, perhaps alienate a lifelong friend. "Is that so? Celestine, we must go. I think it is for the best if we leave the day after tomorrow, very early in the morning. Surely you see the wisdom of this?"
Celestine nodded, her pale, freckled face downcast. "I think you may be right, Aunt. I think I need to get away from him or I will be tempted to actions I may regret later."
She was just nervous, Celestine thought, as she listened to the excited chatter of Gus and Lottie behind the makeshift puppet stage the next afternoon. Somehow it had been arranged that all the company would be in the drawing room to see the play, and more from the village. Miss Hay, the village schoolmistress, had been asked to bring her class.
It was to be a rare treat for the children, with cakes and sweets in the dining room after. Very generous of Lady St. Claire, Celestine had thought with some surprise, but the additional people had made a fun Christmas project into a much bigger event. A week before, Gus had been dragooned into playing the part of Prince Aurelius, while Lottie was to play Princess Calista. Gwen was going to make appropriate animal noises—dogs, cats, and sheep—and Celestine was left to play all the other parts.
Until Justin insisted on playing the part of the ugly girl, Hepzibah.
She refused to think that was why she was more nervous, but it didn't help. She peeked out from behind the stage at the rows of seats. The children were filing in at that moment, their faces bright with anticipation, some of them hopping on one foot, one little boy pulling a girl's braids. They chattered and giggled, eyes big and round as they examined the puppet theater, which, thanks to Gus's startling artistic ability, was quite beautiful.
Miss Hay lined them up to sit on the floor in front of the stage, and the adults drifted in, in groups and singly. Lady Grishelda was watching Miss Hay and the children, but the Stimsons were giggling together as they sat with a young man who had come to visit for the day from the next village. He was the squire's eldest son, and had been smitten by both girls equally when he had come for the Christmas party. He was nice-looking in a florid, beefy way. Both girls competed for his attention, laughing an
d touching his arm.
Justin darted behind the stage. His blue eyes shone with glee and he rubbed his hands together. He was impossibly handsome in buff breeches and a dark blue, perfectly fitted jacket with gold buttons. "I cannot believe how much I am looking forward to this!" He grabbed the Hepzibah puppet and fitted it over his large hand, then gestured with it and squawked, "And me, too! I'm going to catch me that handsome Prince Aurelius if I have to hunt him down with my little bow and arrow!"
Lottie giggled and was shushed by her infinitely superior brother, Gus. Celestine swallowed hard and tried to ignore Justin's closeness. She felt a little faint, even more so because it was her responsibility to go out and announce the play. It had not seemed such a big chore when it was just going to be Lord and Lady St. Claire and maybe a few others. Now she was terrified.
The chatter from the other side of the stage reached a crescendo and then calmed. Celestine heard the footmen close the door. Everyone must be there. It was time.
She stepped out from behind the stage, hands clasped behind her back, and faced the crowd.
"Ladies and gentlemen—and children, too, of course." She smiled down at the rows of shining clean faces turned up to her. One little boy was scratching at a scab on his hand and one girl looked frightened, not quite sure what to make of the stage and what was about to happen.
Concentrate on the children, she thought. That might help. "Today, we are going on a journey to a forest—an enchanted forest in a land of magic." She scanned the faces of the children, their pink cheeks and round eyes signaling their excitement. "Do you all believe in magic?" She watched the children nod and she lowered her voice almost to a whisper. "You will meet a prince there—a very handsome prince who longs for love! And you will meet his family. There is a princess in the story, too, and this is where the magic comes in, for the princess is very special. You see, all the animals speak to her in a language only she understands. I hope you enjoy our little play, and remember. Root for the prince and princess!"
Lord St.Claire's Angel Page 20