“I did need his cooperation and I do trust Jervis implicitly. Besides, as it turns out, Katherine has not endeared herself to the staff.”
“Imagine my surprise.” Gwen grinned. “My congratulations, Edward. Why, I almost believed you myself.”
“That’s good to know and I do thank you. But the more important question is—” he raised his glass “—did she?”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
IT WASN’T AS if this was her first ball. Celia had been to any number of balls before. Specifically, four such social events, which probably did not qualify as “any number.” One was even in London, although admittedly the rest were country affairs, as was the ball tonight. But this was given by an earl. Certainly Father was a viscount but there was a vast difference between a nearly impoverished viscount and a wealthy earl. In this ballroom, liveried footmen carried trays of champagne, and a constantly replenished refreshment table offered bowls of fresh berries and platters of cakes and all manner of sweets and savories. And it did seem most of the people here were Lord So-and-So and Lady Such-and-Such and Sir Whateverhisnamewas. It was a most imposing gathering.
Aunt Guinevere, Mrs. Higginbotham and Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore knew a startling number of people and were apparently quite well connected. Between introductions from the ladies and those made by Edward, Celia must have met nearly everyone at the gathering.
Still, it was not as enjoyable as it might have been under other circumstances. The underlying purpose of the evening, after all, was to celebrate the upcoming nuptials of Henry and Katherine.
And then there were the rumors Celia overheard in passing. The offhand remarks she caught all evening about Henry and Edward’s financial problems. She wondered if this was part of her aunt’s plan to stop the wedding but when Celia mentioned it, Aunt Guinevere said she had more pressing matters to attend to than gossip. Which did seem to indicate Aunt Guinevere had something else in mind and the talk might well be true. Poor Edward. He really did need a nice, rich heiress. Perhaps Aunt Guinevere and her friends could find him one.
Celia’s dance card had been given to her already filled with eligible men, as was Louise’s. As the bride, Katherine’s card was filled as well, mostly with older gentlemen, friends of Henry’s family and the like. Katherine did not look pleased. Indeed, she appeared less and less the blushing bride and more and more vexed as the night wore on. Perhaps she, too, was hearing the rumors. Regardless, she kept a perfect smile plastered on her face. No one who did not know her well would have suspected she was anything but blissfully happy.
“I believe this is my dance,” Henry said behind her.
Celia braced herself. She had noted Henry’s name on her dance card and had protested to Aunt Guinevere. In spite of agreeing to one dance with him, upon further consideration, she thought it would be best not to tempt fate. It was increasingly difficult to spend any time with him at all without wanting more. But her aunt had said it would be extremely odd if the bride’s sisters did not share a dance with the groom. Still, it did not strike Celia as a wise idea, although it did seem there was no choice. She adopted a polite expression and turned toward him.
Her smile faltered at the intense look in his eyes.
Henry nodded a bow. “You look lovely tonight, Celia.”
“Thank you, Henry.” Pleasure coursed through her. The pale blue gown—flounced satin with lace-trimmed bodice and short, puffed sleeves that revealed her shoulders—was her very best and she did look well in it. Still, it was lovely to hear. Especially from him.
“I was afraid you intended to avoid me.” He offered his arm.
She laid her hand lightly on his sleeve—steeling herself to the feel of his arm beneath her touch—and accompanied him onto the dance floor. “I did, but my aunt pointed out how curious it would appear if I did not share a dance with the man who will soon be my brother-in-law. I assume you are dancing with Louise, as well.”
“I already have. It was quite...enlightening.”
“Oh?”
“Apparently Louise is somewhat concerned as to my finances.” He took her right hand in his left; his other hand rested on the small of her back. A shiver ran through her. She swallowed hard and carefully placed her left hand on his shoulder.
“Should she be?” she said absently, amazed that she could manage to say anything at all.
“No.” Irritation sounded in his voice. “She mentioned hearing some sort of rumor.”
There was something so horribly right about being in his embrace. As if she were made to fit perfectly against him. As if his arms should always be around her. She wondered that she didn’t swoon at the feel of his body close to hers. Her heart fluttered hard in her chest.
“Have you heard anything?”
“What?” She stared up at him. “I am sorry. I’m obviously somewhat distracted and...well...”
“No, I’m the one who should apologize.” His expression softened. “I shouldn’t be talking about this. I daresay it’s probably of no real significance.”
“Goodness, Henry.” She forced a lighthearted note into her voice. “If we are to have only one dance together, I should hate to ruin it with talk of gossip.”
“You’re right of course.”
The music started and he gathered her a bit closer. Not so close as to violate the bounds of propriety but close enough that she could feel the heat of his body. See the rise and fall of his chest with every breath, smell the faint spicy scent of him. She’d never quite realized how terribly personal the simple act of sharing a waltz really was. This might be why it was once considered quite scandalous. Understandable, really, although the intimacy of it might well depend on with whom you were sharing that waltz.
Perhaps it was the strain of all that stretched between them, the weight of everything they would never say to each other. Everything they would never do. Perhaps it was the acknowledgment that this dance would be their first and their last. Or perhaps he was as afraid as she to say anything at all, afraid of what either of them might confess in an unguarded moment, but they danced together in silence. Silence heavy and fraught with longing and resignation. Apparently, if they weren’t going to talk about gossip or financial problems, they weren’t going to talk about anything at all.
“I am not an especially proficient dancer,” Henry said finally.
“I think you’re doing quite well.”
“Edward is much better. You should dance with him.”
“I believe his name is on my dance card,” she said and again silence fell between them. This was far worse than anything she could have imagined. And it was absurd.
“I really don’t think—” she began.
“This wasn’t at all—” he said at the same time.
Her gaze locked with his and for a long moment they stared into each other’s eyes. At last he grinned and she laughed.
“The last thing I expected was that this would be awkward.” Henry shook his head.
“As did I.” She paused. “Dare I ask what you did expect?”
“I don’t know, really. Perhaps I thought...” He sighed. “I thought if I danced with you once, it would be enough to sustain me. I would not have the need to dance with you again. Or hold you again in my arms or—”
“Henry.” She kept her voice light but her tone was firm. “This discussion does neither of us any good.” Still... “And were you right?”
“Apparently not.”
“Which only adds to the awkwardness,” she murmured. For the briefest of moments, the thought flashed through her mind that perhaps Aunt Guinevere was right. Perhaps the sanctity of one’s word could be sacrificed for the happiness of one’s future. But it did seem to Celia that was a decision one had to make for oneself, no matter how much someone else longed to do so. She drew a steadying breath. “Come now, Henry, we are made of ste
rner stuff than to moan about those things that cannot be changed. We have accepted our fate and that is the end of it.”
He studied her with amusement. “I suspect you would be a very good influence on me, Celia Bromley.”
“And I suspect you are the last person who needs a good influence.”
“I have been giving this, giving us—”
“There is no us.”
“I realize that. Nonetheless, even you have to admit there is something—”
“Henry—”
“Please, Celia, allow me to continue. As I was saying, I have given our circumstances a great deal of thought. Indeed, I’ve thought of little else.” He paused. “I think in the future it would be best if we avoided each other altogether, at least until whatever feelings we share have faded.”
And wasn’t that the saddest thing she’d ever heard? “I agree, although I should like to point out I was not the one who asked to dance with you.”
A corner of his mouth quirked upward in a wry half smile. “It appears I am not as strong as I would wish when it comes to you.”
The oddest lump formed in her throat.
“It shouldn’t be difficult, really,” he continued. “Katherine and I will either be in London or here at Danby Manor, whereas I imagine you will return to Bromwick Abbey.”
“Actually, I won’t be returning to the abbey. My aunt has invited me to come live with her in London and I think it’s time—past time, really—that I moved beyond the borders of my very narrow life to see what the rest of the world entails.”
His brow furrowed. “I see.”
“As Katherine and I have never been especially fond of each other, I daresay I won’t be invited to dinner regularly, if at all. And London is a very big place. I can’t imagine we will stumble upon one another unexpectedly. I do, however, intend to find a new bookstore to frequent,” she added quickly.
“That’s probably for the best.” He led her through an easy turn.
“I wish you would stop saying that,” she said without thinking.
“Saying what?”
“That it’s for the best.” Her tone rang sharper than she had intended. “I have done what’s for the best my entire life. But none of this feels for the best. In fact, it feels quite horrible.”
His hand tightened around hers. “And yet, we agree, we have no choice.”
“On the contrary, we have choices.” She blew a frustrated breath. “They are simply very bad choices. The kind of choices neither of us would be able to live with. The kind that would surely, eventually, destroy us.”
“As I said—” he smiled, a sad, wistful sort of smile “—we have no choice.”
They continued on in silence, moving to the music without conscious effort, in perfect step with each other. As if they had danced together always. As if whatever wicked gods ruled this sort of thing were pointing out just how much they were losing. And no doubt laughing. Would this dance never end?
“I find the silence between us to be worse than when we are saying things that we shouldn’t,” she said at last and summoned a brilliant smile. “The weather is delightful for this time of year. Don’t you agree?”
“I do indeed.” He chuckled. “But I daresay we can find something fairly innocent to talk about besides weather.” He paused. “Your aunt mentioned that your uncle is given to the pursuit of extraordinary adventures. If, as you said, you are to move beyond the borders of your life, do you foresee following your uncle’s example and having extraordinary adventures?”
“Now you’re teasing me.”
Henry gasped in feigned indignation. “Me? Never!”
She ignored him. “No, of course I can’t have extraordinary adventures like Uncle Charles. I am a woman, after all. I don’t imagine I shall be exploring the jungles of Africa or searching for the remains of lost civilizations.” She thought for a moment. “But I suspect if one seizes opportunities when they are presented, life itself can be an extraordinary adventure.”
“Your aunt also said going down the road of life hand in hand with the one you love is an extraordinary adventure.”
Celia stared up into his dark eyes. No matter how innocuous their conversations began, they always drifted into dangerous waters. “I imagine it is, Henry, I imagine it is.”
Mercifully, the music finally drew to a close. She wanted—no, needed—to put distance between them. She stepped out of his arms at once, ignoring how incredibly difficult it was to do so. And ignoring as well the aching sense of loss sweeping through her.
“Celia.” Her name was a plea on his lips. Or a prayer. A desperate sort of resignation shone in his eyes.
Her throat tightened. “I believe I see my next partner,” she lied, peering around him. She clenched her fists and dug her nails into her palms. Any minute now, she would lose whatever self-control she still managed to cling to and dissolve into a whimpering puddle of sorrow right here in the middle of the ballroom. She summoned a bright smile. “If you will excuse me, Henry.”
She nodded and started off, feeling his gaze following her every step. Hopefully, she would soon lose him in the crowd and the mild chaos that blossomed between every dance with couples either stepping off the floor or taking up new positions. Celia had no idea who her next partner was nor did she care. She had no desire to dance at the moment. She needed a few minutes of respite to compose herself.
And she needed air. She snapped open the fan that hung at her wrist. It was pointless. The room was overly hot and far too crowded and a feeble fan was of no good at all. Her blasted corset was probably too tight as well but then it always was. She made her way toward the terrace doors, propped open as a futile invitation to the fresh air outside.
She paused and looked back at the gathering. She didn’t see Henry, which hopefully meant he didn’t see her. She didn’t want him following her onto a darkened terrace. No, all she wanted was a moment to breathe. A moment alone to come to grips with the deep wrenching feel of sorrow and loss that wrapped around her very soul.
And shattered her heart.
CHAPTER TWELVE
EVEN AS CELIA disappeared into the milling crowd, Henry’s heart cracked with a pain that was almost physical. How could he let her walk away?
How could he do anything else?
He turned and wandered aimlessly through the crowd. He couldn’t go back on his word but perhaps there was another way out of this marriage. Maybe he should simply be honest with Katherine. They’d barely talked at all since her arrival at Danby, at least not privately. She and her aunt had been far too busy with preparations for the wedding and he’d been too busy realizing what a fool he’d been. But wasn’t it entirely possible that she, too, now understood what a mistake their marriage would be?
Henry spotted her about to dance with Mr. Jennings. Jennings owned a nearby estate and Henry had known the family all of his life. He made his way toward them.
“I beg your pardon, sir.” Henry smiled. “But I have not danced with my fiancée all night, so I was hoping—”
“Quite right, my boy.” The older man chuckled. “I am disappointed of course, but I know the way these things are.”
“I, too, am disappointed.” Katherine cast him a brilliant smile. “Another time perhaps.”
“I shall look forward to it. She is all yours, Henry. Miss Bromley.” Jennings nodded a bow to Katherine and took his leave.
“Thank God,” Katherine said with a sigh of relief. She stepped into his arms and they started into the dance. “I’m not sure I could take one more minute with yet another old letch who fancies himself a gift to women.”
“Mr. Jennings was a very good friend of my father’s,” Henry said mildly.
“Regardless, I found him—I find all of them—to be dreadfully unappealing.” She frowned and glanced around t
he ballroom. “There are a fair number of young suitable gentlemen here. Why is my dance card not filled with their names?”
“I have no idea, Katherine. I did not fill out your dance card, but perhaps it’s because you are to be a bride in a few days and their dances are reserved for the more eligible ladies.”
“I suppose.” She huffed.
“Katherine,” he began, “I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”
“About what, Henry?” she said absently, her gaze still scanning the ballroom.
“I think everything has happened too quickly.” He braced himself. “I think we should postpone the wedding.”
Her gaze snapped to his. “What?”
“I wish to be perfectly honest with you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Go on.”
“We barely know each other. And frankly, the more we are around one another, the more apparent it is that we do not suit.”
She frowned. “Don’t be absurd.”
“I think our marriage is a mistake.”
“Because we don’t know each other well?” She scoffed. “Good Lord, Henry. Getting to know each other is what marriage is all about. Why, most people scarcely know more than each other’s names when they marry.”
“Regardless, I think two people who are about to be wed should have something in common. And I get the distinct feeling you don’t particularly like me.”
“Nonsense, Henry, of course I like you.” She fluttered her lashes in a practiced manner. “Don’t you like me?”
“I don’t really know you.”
“We’re back to that again, are we?” She shrugged, managing to do so without so much as a tiny misstep. “I shall make you an excellent wife. You really don’t need to know more than that.”
“Even so—”
“You are everything I have ever wanted in a husband, Henry. Your family’s name and reputation are impeccable. Oh, certainly, Edward had a bit of fun in his youth but nothing society hasn’t already forgiven. Excellent breeding—quality—always shows. I couldn’t hope for more. Best of all, your brother is an earl and at the moment you are his only heir.”
The Lady Travelers Guide to Scoundrels and Other Gentlemen Page 42
