Once in bed, with only the glow from the coals in the grate to light the room, Celia was consumed by anguish. Hot tears wet her cheeks, grief for her parents and guilt for the treachery with which she returned her cousin’s affection. If only she dared confide in her, tell her what had happened so long ago. But she did not dare. And to learn that Jacqueline’s dearest friend was Lady Moreland—no, she would never understand or approve.
And I could not expect her to, Celia thought sadly. It was so unexpected that she would feel such affection for Jacqueline. It overshadowed everything.
Yet I cannot let it deter me from exacting justice on Moreland! she thought fiercely. Nor will I trust his son. Despite his invitation for an innocent ride in the park, Lord Northington was dangerous.
That was clear enough. She hadn’t expected him to be so determined, so forceful, on the terrace. Nor had she expected him to be aroused, but she had been well aware of his hard arousal pressing against her belly, the strength of it shocking. It had alarmed her, but even more alarming was her response to him. For a moment, just a brief instant, she had found herself kissing him back.
Dieu! But it had taken all her strength of will to walk away, to pretend a coolness and indifference she certainly had not felt at the moment. It was surprising he hadn’t seen through her effort, for she’d thought at any moment that her knees would buckle and she’d sink to the floor.
Yet she hadn’t.
And in a few days, she would be forced to spend time with him, to continue the deception. God, if only there was another way, but she saw none. What else could she do? It made her head hurt to even think of it anymore, to even try to form a cohesive plan. Putting her fingers to her temples, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut.
It was Northington’s father she wanted to ruin. If she had to use his son, she would. It might even be justice of a sort.
Why waste pity on a man who thought it appropriate to seduce young women on their very own terraces? If she had given him more encouragement, no doubt he would have lifted her skirts. No, she wouldn’t lose a moment’s sleep over either Northington, young or old.
Yet when she succumbed at last to sleep, it was a troubled slumber with vivid dreams and haunting images.
Jacqueline Leverton sat at her dressing table and frowned slightly at her reflection as the maid brushed out her hair. Celia seemed so…so grieved about something, but she could not learn what it might be. The poor child. Of course, with both her parents dead now she must feel terribly alone. At least when she and Léonie had fled France they’d had each other.
Now Celia was here, and she owed it to Léonie to do all she could for her daughter. They’d made a pact during those dark days, that they would always be there for each other. This was the only way she had now of keeping that pact with her cousin.
But even if she did not do it for any other reason, she would do it for Celia. There was a melancholy quality to her that exuded from every pore, sad lights in her eyes even when she laughed. Oh, to wipe away that sadness, to give Celia the happiness that Carolyn had, the same sense of safety and serenity she gave to her daughter.
Jules chose that moment to appear at her door, his brisk knock the usual signal.
Dismissing her maid with a wave of one hand, she turned with a smile as her husband entered the chamber and came straight to her.
“It was a brilliant success, my sweet, but then, your affairs always are.” He bent, his hand gentle on her shoulder as he pressed a kiss upon her cheek. He smelled faintly of tobacco and brandy. So familiar, so beloved. It was still a miracle to her that they were married, that he loved her after so many years.
“If they are a success,” she said lightly, “it is all due to you.”
“To me?” Jules feigned amazement, and they both laughed. “Why would you say that, my love?”
“Because it is due to your generosity and kindness that I am able to spend so lavishly.”
“My darling, I would give my entire fortune to make you happy, and would give dear Caro anything, as you well know.”
“Yes, and you are so generous to my beloved Léonie’s daughter, just as you are to our own. For that, I can never thank you enough.”
“My dearest wife, I would be generous to a dozen of your orphaned relatives if it pleased you, but I genuinely like Celia. She’s a lovely young woman, though very sad.”
“Oh, you see it, too!” Jacqueline stared up at him. Short and balding, with luxurious side whiskers that he thought made his face seem leaner, Jules Leverton seemed to some as a genial aristocrat, but in fact he was a shrewd judge of character and a canny businessman. He had rescued his family’s failing fortunes from calamity, and never failed to help those he could. He was, Jacqueline thought, the most wonderful man she had ever known.
“Of course I see it,” Jules said softly. “Celia bears a great weight on her young shoulders. There’s more than sadness in her eyes. There’s something akin to dread that I’ve glimpsed on occasion. Do what you can for her, my dearest.”
“I will,” Jacqueline promised. “I will.”
And she would. She would do her best to learn what lay in Celia’s past that could make her fear the future.
8
Hyde Park dipped in hills and greenswards that were still bright with fading summer flowers. Braving the capricious weather, open carriages took advantage of the sunny day to fill the park’s roads.
Celia St. Clair blinked against the press of light in her eyes, and tugged at the brim of her fashionable bonnet to shade her face. She wore a bonnet of green satin lined with white; a full plume of snowy ostrich feathers curled in graceful dips on the crown. As the gleaming curricle wheeled swiftly down the pathway, feathers fluttered as if about to take wing and fly.
Colter eyed them with a lifted brow. “Enjoy the sun’s warmth while you can,” he said to the lofty plumes that covered Celia’s head and part of her face. “It will disappear soon enough.”