She curtseyed and ducked behind the curtain.
"Bravo, bellissima, "Justin said in an intimate tone, smiling into her gray eyes with his bright blue ones. He glanced around and, seeing that Gus was helping Lottie get up on the stool behind the puppet stage so she could hold up her Princess Calista puppet, continued, "That is what they say in Italy, you know. We could attend the theater there if you marry me. You would adore it. You could translate for me; my Italian is abysmal."
She flushed and turned away, angry that he would continue his nonsense knowing how nervous she must be. What did he think he was doing? She was confused beyond rational thought by his continued pursuit of her in the face of her rejection and his brother's disapproval. Her Aunt Emily was right. She must get away until he left for London. Still, the notion of leaving him caused an ache in her breast, a searing pain she had never experienced before.
She slipped the gaudily dressed Queen Parlia puppet on her hand and motioned for the others to come close, then signaled the footmen stationed on either side of the puppet theater to pull the curtains.
The play started. Justin's words, a little garbled sometimes when Lottie forgot where she was, tumbled forth, with Gwen's bleating and mewing coming at ill-timed intervals. The children laughed at Hepzibah's machinations to steal Aurelius away, and Celestine heard Caroline Stimson sigh over the prince's speech about true love and waiting forever until you found it.
Once they were caught up in it, Celestine found it a little easier to forget Justin was so close, close enough occasionally for his breath to touch the back of her neck, and his muscular thigh to brush hers. He mugged outrageously, improvising new and even sillier lines for Hepzibah—lines that had the audience, even the adults, roaring with laughter. It was a success, and all because of him!
It was a poignant reminder of the bright fire of Justin's star. Even if he was serious about marrying her, which she did not admit for a moment, he deserved a wife who could move comfortably among the other members of his social class. He was witty and brilliant and social. She was intelligent enough to match him any day, but she was quiet and introspective, awkward in elevated company.
They were winding down to the end. Aurelius and Calista had found each other and plighted their troth. Except for the occasional "It's your turn, stupid," from Gus when Lottie missed her cue, the end was touching and sweet, with Justin adding loud, rude kissing noises to their final embrace, sending the audience back into gales of laughter among the sweet sentiments. The puppets bowed and Celestine nodded for the footmen to draw the curtains.
Applause burst out, spontaneous and hearty.
"We are a success, my love," Justin whispered, grabbing her hand and pulling her out to the front of the stage, while he called to Gus, Lottie, and Gwen to follow.
They circled to the front, all except Gwen, Celestine blushingly aware of his strong hand holding hers. Lady St. Claire saw it, too, and frowned, digging her elbow into her husband's ribs. Emily watched her niece and her importunate suitor thoughtfully from her seat, and applauded with the rest.
The children jumped to their feet, led by Gus and his sisters, and headed for the dining room in a tumultuous tumble. Celestine pulled her hand out of Justin's and fled, to retreat to the quiet sanctuary of her room and the packing she had still to do. It was the last time she would see him, and she paused at the door, glancing back. He was watching her go with sadness in his beautiful eyes. Her own eyes filled with tears, and she hurried away before he could see the pain she was feeling, the utter loneliness of knowing they would be apart forever.
Eighteen
In the cold early dawn, Emily, Dodo, and Celestine trundled off in the carriage with the Delafont crest, down the sloping road, over icy ruts, and through the village. Faint light glowed in the windows and smoke curled from chimneys in homes where the man of the house was already out doing his duty to his family and where the woman was tending her household chores. Emily thought if her life had gone in a different direction, she would have been one of those women, married to a respectable but poor farmer or solicitor or shopkeeper. Instead she had met and married a distant, titled relation with whom she had fallen deeply in love and was now separated from for complex and varied reasons.
There was silence in the cozy, dim confines of the elegant traveling vehicle, made warmer by heated bricks buried in straw at their feet. Maybe, Emily thought, the other two were lost in their own contemplation, as she was. Or maybe they were just recovering from the scramble of leaving after a quick breakfast in the half-light of early morning.
The eldest lady of the three, Lady Dodo Delafont, yawned behind a gloved hand and eyed the uncurtained window with distaste. She preferred never to see the cruder side of nature, especially not early in the morning, but in deference to her niece-by-marriage, who enjoyed the scenery, she left the curtains drawn back. She was nominally Emily's companion, though she chose to live with her out of affection and not any need to have a place to stay. She was wealthy in her own right.
But when her nephew had separated from his wife, and her sister-in-law, the widow of the previous Marquess of Sedgeley, had demanded Emily leave the country estate of the marquess, Dodo had offered to go with her. Over two years ago they had removed to the Yorkshire estate Baxter Delafont had deeded to his wife free and clear in the separation settlement. It was the house where Baxter and Emily had first met and was precious to Emily for that reason.
"Why ever must all journeys begin so early in the morning?" Dodo asked, stifling another yawn.
It was an unanswerable question, and so the three continued gazing out their respective windows at the wintry landscape, the first glimmers of silvery morning light casting long shadows from the snow-coated fells into the valley, the shadows shortening as the day advanced. Emily glanced over at her niece from time to time, wondering if she was doing the right thing. She was interfering insufferably in what was essentially a private affair between Celestine and Lord St. Claire.
But it didn't seem to her there had been any real end to things between them. She had seen the tension on Celestine's face after the puppet show the previous day and how her niece had fled with one heartbreaking glance back at her love. Justin had watched her leave the room with unaccountably bleak eyes, and she just could not leave it that they should creep away.
Whatever would become of the two?
For her part, as the carriage trundled along the miles, Celestine was replaying every word, every look, every caress that had occurred between herself and the man she had come to adore. How had it happened? How had she fallen in love with a man so far above her touch as Justin St. Claire? It had taken place, she supposed, in imperceptible degrees, stealing over her like age, one moment at a time.
But it would not do. He could not possibly love her— not really. She had dismissed the competitive angle as unlikely, in light of Emily's doubt of that as a motive for offering for her. Perhaps his offer of marriage had been genuine, but surely what he felt for her was lust at worst, pity at best. Lust she could not understand, since he had at his disposal the luscious and voluptuous Lady van Hoffen, who cast him amorous glances whenever he entered a room. Surely any man with eyes in his head would prefer the beautiful and experienced widow to a plain, arthritic spinster.
So it must be pity. He was capable of great affection, she believed, having observed him with the children, whom he genuinely loved, and he had been gentle and caring toward her. He was, she suspected, a man with a large, untapped well of softer feelings: sympathy, compassion, pity.
He had spoken of taking care of her for the rest of her life, and so perhaps his offer of marriage was real, inspired by concern for her deteriorating health. Certainly that hypothesis was borne out by his solicitousness in ordering her a hot bath every morning.
Could a marriage based on pity thrive?
She gazed out the window at the harsh landscape and contemplated. At first, he would be all compassi
on for her affliction. It would be such a delicious feeling to be cared for by a man like Justin, especially since her love was real, based on his good qualities and sweetness of character.
But he was like a bright star on the horizon, dimming every other person when he was in the room. Women and men alike were drawn to him, to his energy and wit and fire. And all of that would be hers? Impossible. She could never match his boundless energy or blazing fire, and her wit seemed feeble compared to his. It would be like trying to hold quicksilver, making a marriage with a man like that.
After a while his compassion would remain, but he would tire of her limitations and long for love. He would still be kind to her, but always she would be the one who loved while he grew restless and regretted his benevolent impulse. Or maybe—ghastly thought!—he would find his true love, and yet be stuck with her for the rest of his natural life. Would he take mistresses? Probably. It would kill her if he did.
She would always know, always feel she had robbed him of something precious, the opportunity for real love. She loved him far too much for that. She wanted for him the rich, complex emotion she experienced whenever she thought of him, which was often.
She was physically affected by his nearness. He made her heart thud faster, her pulse race, and her blood heat. His lips on hers made her melt into a warm pool of desire. But more than that, she felt a tenderness toward him inspired by his sparkling personality and sweetness of temperament. She ached to give him love, unstinting and powerful, but feared she could serve him best by leaving him to find his true love, the woman who could capture his heart and his soul. It was better this way.
"What do you mean, Miss Simons is gone?" Justin stared at Gwen and Lottie's maid.
The girl wrung her hands together and said, with a plaintive whine, "It were ever so sudden, milord. It were decided yesterday, but I weren't told till this mornin', when Miss Simons came to bid the wee ones good-bye."
Justin swore fiercely and thrust his fingers through his hair. This was Elizabeth's doing, he would swear.
"Where has she gone?" His words were harsh with anger and the girl flinched. He softened his voice. "Please tell me."
Elise was gazing at him with awe and fear. She gaped like a fish and, impatient, he exclaimed, "If you do not know, girl, then perhaps Lady Delafont does."
He turned to go, but Elise called out, "She's gone, too, milord. This mornin' right early. Taking Miss Simons with her."
She had gone to Yorkshire; that must be it! He tore down the stairs, taking them two at a time, and flung himself into the breakfast room, where Elizabeth was seated with the Misses Stimson. He strode up to his sister-in-law and stood over her.
"You think you have ended it, Lizzie, but you haven't!" His voice rasped with anger, and she gazed up at him with a mixture of irritation and concern on her pretty, scheming face.
"Whatever do you mean, Justin? Please have a seat. Looking up that way gives me the headache."
"I don't have time to sit. I have a carriage to find! Which way did they go? Are they going straight to Yorkshire or are they heading south?"
"I won't pretend to misunderstand you, Justin," Elizabeth said, her voice cold and haughty. "I would wish you would offer more courtesy to my guests, but obviously you have taken leave of your senses."
The Stimson girls were watching and listening avidly, Caroline stifling a well-bred giggle behind her hand. Justin bowed to them impatiently, and then turned back to Elizabeth.
"Miss Simons has received the offer of another post," Elizabeth said. "She is off to take it this day. Emily is merely conveying her thence, so you need not badger me, Justin. I don't even know where it is. I merely agreed to release her from our employ."
"Threw her out on her ear is more like it," Justin ranted, pacing back and forth by the mahogany dining table. "You two just couldn't accept my choice, could you?" he said. He stopped and looked down at Elizabeth, who calmly tore a buttered muffin into pieces and ate it.
There was silence for a moment. The Stimson sisters' large, brown eyes gazed at him over the evergreen centerpiece as they waited for the final act of the drama. He mastered the overwhelming urge to throttle his sister-in-law, though he could almost feel the satisfaction of her soft flesh giving way under his strong grip as he choked the life out of her smug, self-satisfied meddling little body.
He was calmer when he finally spoke, having subdued his violent urges. "I meant what I said, you know. I will marry her. Somehow, after a life spent seducing and bedding bored wives and widows"—there were shocked gasps from the girls as he said that, and he was glad—"and breaking the hearts of silly little debutantes, I have found a woman of depth and . . . and sweetness. She is an angel, and far too good for me. In my whole conceited life I have never said anything like that, but it is true. Celestine Simons is an angel, and I mean to marry her."
Elizabeth's expression was frigid. Her next words dropped one by one from her pursed mouth like frozen shards of ice. "You are out of your mind!"
He slammed his fist on the table and the silver danced. The teapot lid jumped and settled back out of kilter, causing the Stimson girls to gasp and clutch each other, their eyes round and big as saucers. He leaned over and glared.
Elizabeth drew back at his ferocious expression. His hair was tousled and his cravat was askew.
"I am finally in my right mind. I love Celestine Simons, and I will find her and convince her to marry me if it is the last thing I do on this earth. She will have to take me without my family, though, for I have nothing more to say to you or to August."
He whirled on his boot heel and stormed from the room, shouting to Dobbs to find his valet and order him to start packing yet again. The portly butler glanced around with a strangely covert look, though, and whispered, "My lord, I have a letter for you!"
A thrill shot through Justin as he took the missive, addressed in a slanting, feminine hand. "From Miss Simons?" he said.
"No, my lord. From another lady." Dobbs bowed. "I will see to your valet."
Justin split the wax seal and scanned the letter. A sublime smile spread over his handsome features and he followed the butler up the stairs, passing him as he took the stairs two at a time. He was whistling a tune as he went. Dobbs smiled and nodded. Some gentlemen knew as to who was real gentility and who wasn't among the ladies in this household, Dobbs thought. And St. Claire was one of the smarter ones to have picked out Miss Simons, though he had never thought so before in his long years of service to the present marquess's family.
A day that had started out promising was now, in the early afternoon, closing in suddenly, as sometimes happened in the Pennines. The sky was a leaden gray and flakes of snow, first sparse and then thick, began to fall.
Emily gazed out at the sky with some trepidation. She had not counted on this, though she was about to ask the coachman to stop at an inn anyway, on the excuse she was tired and hungry. She then planned on coming down with some slight malady that would delay their departure until morning. But from the looks of the weather, they wouldn't be leaving anytime soon, regardless of her ruse.
Dodo gloomily stared out at the snow. "It never snows like this in London," she said in a sepulchral tone.
"Of course it does," Emily said. "You just can't tell because it turns mud-brown from soot before it makes it to the ground. Everyone thinks it is just an unusually heavy covering of ash."
"It's very beautiful," Celestine said. "But I daresay not too good for the poor coachman."
Emily nodded sharply. She let down the window and leaned out, shouting up to her driver. "Gorse, are we near an inn?"
The coachman answered in the affirmative, which Emily already knew from previous arrangement with him.
"Let us break our journey, then." She put the window back up and shivered.
Not more than half an hour later, they pulled into the courtyard of an inn in a small village.
"I had hoped to make Penrith before we broke for the n
ight," Emily sighed. Dodo glanced at her sharply.
"Surely if the weather clears we can continue on? It is no later than two in the afternoon," Celestine said. "It's a ways to Yorkshire, and I know you must be impatient to be home," she added.
Emily shook her head and gazed out at the thick shower of snowflakes that fluttered against the window. "I don't think we'll be going anywhere today."
The coachman, Gorse, opened the door and placed a step by it for the ladies to step down onto. One by one, they descended and hurried through the curtain of white into the inn, where welcome heat billowed at them from the noisy public dining room, which was open off the main entrance.
The landlord's wife, instantly assessing the costly garments Emily and Dodo wore, curtseyed and offered to show them into a private dining room where they could shed their cloaks. They followed her beyond the public room into a clean, large chamber where a huge fire blazed in the hearth. It was a low-beamed space, and so the heat stayed at body height. Celestine shed her snow-damp pelisse and moved over to the fire, where some chairs were set in a semicircle.
Emily paced over to a window and pulled back the curtain. "I don't think we will be able to go on tonight," she said. "We don't know how far back Agnes and Peter are following with the luggage." Agnes, the abigail, was traveling with Peter, Gorse's son, who drove the luggage carriage. "I don't want to get so far that the poor girl cannot catch up with us. Better to stay here and have attire to wear tonight and tomorrow morning than to lose my poor girl in the storm."
"Whatever you wish, Aunt," Celestine said over her shoulder.
Dodo had taken a spot by the fire and sighed as she eased off her damp boots. "That suits me just fine, my dears, for I hate long travel at the best of times, and this is not the best of times. At my time of life, a good fire and hot tea are much to be preferred over quick arrival at our destination."
Lord St.Claire's Angel Page 21