It took her two years to realize that her love for Bertie had never been as strong as on that day, when she accepted him. Celia had always believed in true love at first sight. It hadn’t bothered her that she had known Bertie only two months before they were married. It had never occurred to her that while it might be enough time to fall in love, it was not quite enough time to really know someone. Foolishly, she had assumed they could spend the rest of their life together getting to know each other. Instead, it seemed that she and Bertie never really knew each other at all.
Only on looking back did Celia realize that Bertie’s merry laugh rang out more often in crowds. He didn’t like solitary pursuits, and while one person’s company could be sufficient to entertain him, that person had better be an extraordinarily interesting person. Celia, it turned out, had not been interesting enough. If Bertie had to choose between a quiet evening home alone with his wife and a night of drinking with strangers at the local pub, he would choose the pub every time. Celia had still tried to be a good wife to him. She just didn’t like him as much as she had thought.
But that was her fault. No one had forced her to choose Bertie, and she had tried to make the best of things. The best just hadn’t been very good.
His father’s demand that they live in the country in anticipation of a child, a son and heir, had only worsened the situation. Perhaps in town, Celia thought, there would have been enough happening around them to carry both of them through. If they had been in the midst of entertaining society, they might not have noticed, or perhaps not cared, that they were unsuited to each other. She found Bertie tiresome, and she suspected he found her dull. Soon enough there was little reason to anticipate a child of any gender, but Lord Lansborough insisted they remain. He controlled the funds, so they had remained.
She wondered if Lord Lansborough had known Bertie’s true nature. Perhaps he thought that forcing Bertie to stay at Kenlington would eventually overcome his son’s desire for society and entertainment. He had been so displeased with Bertie’s lack of interest in running the estate, and yet Celia couldn’t help noticing that Lord Lansborough had been very particular about matters. The few times Bertie had done something, Lord Lansborough had always taken him to task over it. In fairness to Bertie, he must have thought he could never please his father.
And that had left her stuck in the middle. She knew Lord Lansborough had hounded Bertie mercilessly about producing an heir. Celia truly hoped that, and not her own person, was behind Bertie’s lack of interest in making love to her. She had quite liked that part of marriage, but her interest in lovemaking had dwindled with her affection for Bertie. Certainly after the affair in York, Bertie had never again come to her bed.
She was still sitting there, thinking, when her mother found her. “There you are,” cried Rosalind. She swept Celia into an embrace, pressing her cheek to Celia’s. “You weren’t at breakfast, and Agnes said she didn’t bring a tray. Are you feeling ill?”
“No, Mama.” Just a little heartsick. She forced a smile. “I am out of sorts from the journey still.”
Her mother’s blue eyes scrutinized her face. “You must eat, dearest. You’re much too thin as it is. Shall I have Cook prepare some currant buns?”
“No, Mama.”
“Some scones? Crumpets? Some lovely fresh strawberries with cream, perhaps?”
“No, Mama,” Celia repeated.
Her mother’s forehead creased, but she abandoned the topic. “What would you like to do today? I sent for Madame Lescaut, but perhaps you would rather go walking or visit Bond Street. And you must be quite anxious to see your friends again.”
Celia sighed. None of it sounded very appealing. “I don’t know, Mama. I was just enjoying the garden this morning.” Rosalind bit her lip, a gesture that betrayed her anxiety. Celia felt awful for causing her mother such distress. “Perhaps a drive, later today?” she suggested.
Rosalind beamed. “Yes, of course!” She clasped Celia’s hand. “I shall order the carriage this afternoon.” She hesitated. “Shall I send Madame Lescaut away as well?”
Celia sighed. She didn’t feel like being fitted, but she did need new clothing. She had done too little lately, perhaps. “No.”
Her mother’s relief was almost palpable. “I shall tell her to be brief,” she promised with another dazzling smile. “We mustn’t overtire you.”
She managed a wry smile at that. How could someone who did almost nothing feel tired? Even Celia didn’t understand why she had so little interest in everything around her. She must force herself to do more and hope that the actions would help raise her interest.
“Will you come back to the house with me? There is still plenty of breakfast to be had. A cup of tea, perhaps?” Rosalind looked at her hopefully.
Celia took a deep breath. She really wasn’t hungry. “Not yet. I think I shall sit here awhile. The garden at Kenlington wasn’t half so lovely. I have missed this garden.”
It was clear Rosalind was disappointed, but she only nodded. With one more fond touch on Celia’s cheek, she left, walking back to the house.
Celia turned her face to the sky and closed her eyes, letting the sun warm her skin. It was nice to be in London, she thought to herself; the sun wasn’t warm this early in the day in Cumberland. And she did love the Exeter garden. She remembered playing hide and seek around the fountain with her father, long, long ago. He was only a dim figure in her memory, having died when she was only eight, and he hadn’t been much inclined to play with children. It had been a rare day that he chased her around the fountain. She remembered him mostly as a presence, a force that sent the servants running and seemed to make the air hum with energy. Rather like Marcus, although she could never picture her father carrying a child on his shoulders as Marcus had done last night.
The crunch of footsteps interrupted her reverie. She opened her eyes and saw Molly, just turning to creep away. “Molly,” she said with a genuine spark of pleasure. “Don’t go.”
Molly faced her again. “I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she said, sounding so grown up Celia could hardly believe it. “You looked so peaceful.”
Celia smiled. “I was just enjoying the sun. It seems warmer in the south.”
The girl came up beside her. “Does it? What is it like in Cumberland?”
She made a face and shook her head. “Darker. Colder. But beautiful in its own way.” She patted the bench beside her. “Come sit with me.”
Molly sat. She held a drawing case in her arms, which she put on the ground at her feet. “I am supposed to be finding new specimens to sketch,” she explained. “Mr. Griggs knows everything about every plant in the world, I think.”
“Your work is lovely.”
Molly sighed. “Thank you. But I would rather not work on it today.”
“No?”
The girl shook her head. “I would rather ride. Mr. Beecham comes twice a week to give me riding lessons. He’s such a marvelous rider. He can do all sorts of things, like a performer at Astley’s. I asked Mama to have him come three times a week, but she said no. I must study French, and soon dancing.”
Celia had to smile at Molly’s grimace. “You might like dancing.”
“Perhaps,” Molly grudgingly allowed. “But I shall never like French.”
It made her want to laugh out loud. “I remember you used to like catching tadpoles in the pond,” she said on impulse. “Your interests change.”
A guilty look came over Molly’s face. “I’m not supposed to catch frogs anymore,” she whispered. “Mama told me. Young ladies don’t go in the pond.” She sighed darkly. “I expect she’ll allow the boys to go in the pond, though.”
“Ah. And how do you like having brothers?”
Molly made another face. “They’re an awful bother. Edward is very sweet, but Thomas is a terror. He’s forever getting away from his nurse and running after me. He grabs at everything. Once he spilled a bottle of ink on my drawings!”
Celia smiled, a little sadly.
“I always wished to have a sister, you know. It was lonely with only my mother for company. When your mother married my brother, I was so pleased. It was almost like I got two sisters: your mother and you.”
Molly looked up shyly. “Really? I wasn’t a bother?”
Celia shook her head. “Not in the least.”
Molly’s smile grew. “I am so glad to hear that.” She put her head to one side and thought a moment. “Boys must be different, I believe. At times I overhear Her Grace telling Mama tales of Uncle Reece, and he was even worse than Thomas, it seems.”
“Well, my mother did not know David until he was almost ten years old,” Celia told her. “So yes, I am certain he was a great deal more trouble than Thomas could possibly be yet.”
“He’ll get worse?” Molly heaved a tragic sigh, and Celia did laugh this time. Just a chuckle, but more than she had laughed in months. She ought to spend more time with Molly, she told herself. Celia had had a deep affection for Molly as a small child, and now the girl was apparently the only person in the house who wasn’t watching Celia’s every move with worry and despair.
“Shall we walk to the pond?” she asked on impulse.
Molly’s face brightened. “Oh, yes!”
“Perhaps we shall catch a frog or two,” Celia added, although she hadn’t the slightest idea how one would catch a frog.
Molly looked at her warily. “For…Thomas?”
“Precisely. Someone must teach him these things so he can torment his tutors some day.” She smiled, and Molly giggled.
“Yes, let’s!” She pushed the drawing case under the bench and they went off together.
“Lovely legs.”
“And a beautiful mouth; nice and soft.”
“Hmm. How is she to ride?”
For an answer, David Reece beckoned, and the female in question obligingly trotted over. Her rider swung down. “Mr. Hamilton will take a ride, Simon,” he said.
The young man nodded, handing the reins of the tall chestnut mare to Anthony. “She’s as smooth as can be,” he said.
Anthony mounted. The horse stood calmly as he adjusted things and took his bearings. She was an exceptionally handsome horse, good blood and better training. David’s stable produced fine horses, but the young head groom, Mr. Beecham, turned them into excellent ones.
Normally Anthony wouldn’t purchase a mare to ride himself, but David had sworn this was the best horse he’d ever bred, gentle but spirited, beautifully elegant in every line but sturdy, and virtually unspookable. He wheeled the horse around and circled the small space in the mews. A fine gait, and very smooth indeed. At a nod from David, he took the horse out into the street, watching her closely but finding no fault. When they reached the park, Anthony gave the mare her head, and her trot flowed easily into a canter, then a gallop. She turned at the slightest touch and obeyed his every command almost the instant he gave it.
He rode back to his house and dismounted. “Mr. Beecham, that is one well-trained animal.”
The young man’s eyes brightened with pride. “Thank you, sir.”
“Reece, you’ve finally won me over. She’s all you said, and I have no choice but to buy her.”
David grinned triumphantly. He had been after Anthony for more than three years to buy a horse from him. “Excellent. I knew I had you with this one. Simon, take her home, will you? Mr. Hamilton and I shall make the arrangements.”
“Yes, sir.” Mr. Beecham took the reins once more, stroking the horse’s muzzle. As he swung into the saddle and rode off, Anthony led his old friend into his house.
“A fine head groom you’ve got,” he said.
David grinned again. “Yes, haven’t I? Bloody brilliant stroke of luck. Vivian wanted the boy to be a butcher, can you imagine?”
Anthony raised one eyebrow as they went inside. “A butcher?”
“Something like it. Something honest, she insisted.”
“He would have been wasted as a butcher. Perhaps I shall steal him away from you, too.”
David snorted. “You couldn’t. He’s only got one sister, and I’ve already married her. He’s my family, and he’s my head groom. Sorry, old chap.”
Anthony chuckled. He led the way through the hall and into his library. He preferred to work in here instead of set up another room as his study. The library was a large, bright room with tall windows in between the shelves. The library was the reason he had bought the house two years ago, in fact. “Coffee?” he asked his guest. It was still early morning, much too early for anything stronger.
“Thank you.”
Anthony rang for coffee, and they had settled on a price for the mare by the time the servant brought it. “A pleasure doing business with you at last,” David told him as he accepted his cup.
He waved one hand. “The pleasure is mine.”
“Simon will bring her over tomorrow.” Anthony nodded, sipping. “It’s a good time to move her,” David went on. “We’re all off to the country shortly, and I should hate to leave her here.”
“Back to Blessing Hill?” Anthony asked, naming the country farm where David bred and raised his horses.
His friend shook his head. “Ainsley Park.”
“Ah.” The family estate. “It’s a fine time to go to the country. I was to go see Pease’s new railway undertaking in Durham, but he’s put me off.”
“Then come to Kent instead.”
Anthony leaned back in his chair. “Whatever for?”
“My stepmother is having a house party.”
“I doubt she would welcome me.” Anthony smiled wryly. “But thank you for the suggestion.”
“But the party is in Celia’s honor,” said David. “Or rather, for her benefit. She’s back in town, you know, and we hardly knew her when she arrived.” Anthony’s cup paused in midair. “Bertram turned out to be a sad excuse for a husband—not that I’m happy to say it, but neither am I surprised.”
“It was the match of the Season,” murmured Anthony, staring into his coffee. “A love match. She seemed quite happy.”
“I don’t think it lasted long. The blighter got bored in Cumberland, no doubt. I can hardly blame him for that, but I’ve never seen my sister so quiet. It’s unnatural.” David got to his feet. “She’s bloody miserable, and Rosalind’s gone and invited several of her friends to Ainsley for a month. She’s so determined to see Celia cheerful again.”
“And you fear a party of her friends will fail to restore her?”
“She always liked you,” said David. “I’m certain she would rather see you than a dozen gossiping, prying women. The poor girl’s going to be pursued through the halls by people wanting to know every wretched detail of Bertram’s incompetence as a husband, and I can’t think that will help her much.”
“I don’t want to intrude on Lady Bertram’s grief,” Anthony demurred. The last thing he wanted to see was Celia, sad and mourning. Celia, vulnerable and brokenhearted over her late husband.
“Someone needs to,” said David bluntly. “She’s been marooned in it for over a year. If she’s not shaken out of it soon, she may suffocate under it.”
Anthony hesitated. “I’ve not received an invitation.” His coffee had grown cold. Anthony carefully reached out and replaced it on the desk.
“The devil you haven’t,” David declared. “I issued one just a moment ago. In fact, consider it a plea. I shall surely go mad without a friendly face about.” Anthony gave him an aggrieved look. David laughed. “You’ll have it by tomorrow. But after I go to the trouble of getting Hannah to send one, you’d best swear to attend.”
“I shall consider it,” Anthony said, avoiding a real answer.
“Consider it imperative, for an old friend.” David let himself out without waiting for a reply. Anthony inhaled and let the breath out slowly. He really ought not to go. He had other business to attend to, and there was nothing to gain by going to Kent for a day, let alone for a month. Lady Bertram couldn’t possibly wish to see him, not if her spirits wer
e as low as her brother said. David Reece had always been somewhat cavalier with the truth, inclined to exaggerate when it suited him. Any recent widow might be considered quiet and subdued. And the dowager duchess would rather see an American savage at her house party than Anthony Hamilton, bastard heir of the earl of Lynley. No, he certainly would not go.
But an invitation arrived that afternoon, delivered by an Exeter footman in immaculate livery. Anthony stared at the neat lines of the duchess’s script. He really ought not to go.
Unfortunately, David’s words rang in his mind. A sad excuse for a husband, he had called Bertram. Celia had been marooned in grief for a year. Had it really been a year? He remembered hearing news of Bertram’s death. The name, of course, had caught his attention. He had listened carefully for any word of Bertram’s widow; was she well? Had she caught whatever illness killed Bertram? No one ever hinted at such, but he still wondered. The chance to answer all his wondering lay before him on the desk, in elegant lines. A month in Kent, for the express purpose of cheering Celia out of her mourning.
He shoved himself away from his desk and paced to the windows. There was no good reason for him even to consider this. It had been a strange infatuation of his, a flight of fancy, that made him consider courting Celia Reece in the first place. Once he had gotten past the disappointment, he had seen it was clearly best that he had not courted her, let alone married her. His financial affairs had worsened that year, and only through some frantic bargaining and a few loans had he stayed afloat at all. The next year the Cornish tin mines had boomed, and he’d spent most of the year in Cornwall, living above the yawning pits in a mining town. It had made him fairly wealthy, and even more important, it had demanded every minute of his waking attention. He never could have done that with a wife, especially not if that wife had been Celia.
Of course…if he’d had a wife, a wife like Celia, he wouldn’t have been almost bankrupted by his money troubles, and he could have hired someone to safeguard his interests in Cornwall. His hand curled unconsciously into a fist, braced against the windowsill, as he thought what it would have been like if he had married Celia four years ago.
A Rake’s Guide to Seduction Page 7