by Diane Gaston
Younie put her hands on her hips and frowned. ‘You are fatigued. You have nausea. Do you have any aches or pains?’
Celia coloured. ‘It might be shameful to say, but my breasts are sore. I’ve had aches with ague before, but never in such a part of me.’
Younie cocked her head. ‘When are your courses due?’
When were her courses due? She could not remember the last time she had bled. It must have been...several weeks ago. About the time she and Rhys—
She blanched. ‘Younie, you do not think?’
‘That you are increasing?’ Her maid lifted her brows.
Celia covered her mouth with her hand. ‘It is not possible!’
In all the time her husband tried to make her conceive a child, she’d failed. Failed. She was barren. Gale had called her barren. Even his physician had called her barren.
She hugged her abdomen. Could it be? Could she have a baby inside her? Rhys’s baby?
What a miracle! A blessing.
‘Younie! Could it be true? Could it really be true?’ Was she truly carrying Rhys’s child?
‘Time will tell, ma’am, but it is my guess.’
For a moment Celia felt like dancing, but only for a moment. Then the reality of her situation descended upon her.
She was a respectable baron’s widow and she was pregnant with her lover’s child.
‘Oh, Younie,’ she cried, ‘then what am I to do?’
Chapter Thirteen
Celia was too restless to remain in bed. She rose and dressed. The idea of a baby had firmly taken route and her head spun with wonder and fear.
Fear, because it could very well be that she merely suffered from some sort of stomach malady and her bleeding would start any day. She could so easily suffer a crushing disappointment.
But if it were true? She hugged herself in delight.
She would move to a place where no one knew her, a place where she could present the child as legitimate and no one would question it. Mentally she calculated how much money it would cost to give her child a trouble-free life—
She caught herself making plans and stopped herself. Patience, she cautioned herself. As Younie said, time will tell.
To keep her mind busy, she came downstairs to the small parlour where she kept her desk and papers. Her mother-in-law and Adele were out, so it was a good time to go through the bills that had arrived in the last few days. She counted what she owed and tallied her funds.
Being away from the Masquerade Club had hurt her finances. How could bills mount so swiftly?
She had reworked the figures for the third time when her butler knocked on the door.
‘A gentleman to see you,’ he announced.
She looked up in surprise. ‘To see me?’ Callers came to see her mother-in-law or Adele, but never Celia. ‘Who is it?’
‘Mr Rhysdale, ma’am,’ Tucker said.
Her face heated. ‘Is he waiting in the drawing room?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
Her heart beat faster. ‘I’ll go there directly. Bring some tea, though, will you?’
‘Immediately, ma’am.’ He bowed.
She took a breath and pressed her hands to her abdomen before rising from her chair.
As she approached the open door of the drawing room, he turned and her heart leapt in her chest.
She’d never seen him in daylight.
‘Celia.’ He crossed the room to her and he took her into his arms.
At the same instant, she closed the door behind her. ‘I have been worried over you.’ He let go to examine her. ‘You look pale. You are still ill. What can I do?’
He could hold her again. She’d desperately missed the comfort of his arms, the warmth of his concern.
Instead she smiled up at him. ‘I am better. Truly. It is an odd illness that comes and goes, but I think I am over the worst.’
His strong forehead creased. ‘What does the physician say?’
She glanced aside. ‘I did not consult a physician. It did not seem so serious.’
He surprised her by wrapping his arms around her and holding her close. The sheer glory of it made her want to weep.
A knock sounded and she pulled away. ‘Tea.’
Tucker entered and set the tea tray on the table.
When he left, Celia said, ‘Would you sit, Rhys? I’ll pour you tea.’
He hesitated, but lowered himself onto the sofa adjacent to her chair.
A glance at the biscuits Cook had provided and the scent of the tea made Celia queasy again, but she managed to pour for him and for herself.
She quickly took a bite of a biscuit and swallowed it. ‘You should not have come, Rhys.’
He frowned. ‘Do not say that. I had to see how you went on. There was no way I could ask anyone.’ He lifted the teacup, but set it down again without drinking. ‘I chose a time when you were unlikely to have other callers.’
She opened her mouth to ask him what he would have done if she’d been abed? Or if Adele had spoken to him? Or, worse, her mother-in-law? But she bit her tongue.
She was too glad to see him. ‘I am truly much better. I—I might even come to the club tonight.’ She needed to play cards. She needed money. ‘How are things there?’
‘The same.’ He shook his head. ‘Not the same. You are missed.’ He took her hand in his. ‘I have missed you.’
She warmed to his touch.
And thought of the baby inside her.
But it likely was not a baby inside her, but merely a fanciful dream.
His gaze seemed to caress her face and his hand warmed hers.
He stood again. ‘I should not stay long, I know.’
She rose, as well, and he reached out and touched her hair. ‘I needed to see you for myself and now that I have—’ He pulled her into an embrace and kissed her.
Passion rushed through her, demanding release. She hungrily kissed him back, wanting him inside her, wanting to be joined with him and together climb the heights of pleasure. He pressed her against him and she felt his male member from beneath his clothes.
Most of all, she wanted to be carrying his child inside her.
He broke off and leaned his forehead against hers. ‘Come tonight, but only if you are well enough.’
She nodded.
He stepped away and straightened his clothes. With a grin and another quick kiss, he walked out of the room. She ran to the window to watch him leave and catch the last glimpse of him.
To her horror, she saw her mother-in-law and Adele approaching.
The front door opened and Rhys walked out just as they reached the door. He tipped his hat to Adele and Lady Gale before turning in the other direction and striding away.
A moment later Celia heard her mother-in-law’s strident voice quizzing Tucker.
Celia walked to the drawing-room door. ‘Leave Tucker in peace, Lady Gale. If you have questions, ask me.’
Her mother-in-law marched directly to the drawing room. Celia retreated to the middle of the room and awaited the assault.
Her mother-in-law slammed the door behind her. ‘Was that Westleigh’s bastard son leaving our rooms?’
How detestable her mother-in-law was!
Celia straightened. ‘It was Mr Rhysdale.’
‘He had the gall to call upon us?’ Lady Gale looked completely affronted. ‘How dare he?’
Celia glared at her. ‘He did not call upon you. He called upon me.’
The older lady peered at her. Her mouth worked, but no words emerged. She jabbed her finger at Celia. ‘I see what it is,’ she finally managed. ‘He is the one.’
Celia lifted her chin.
Adele’s voice came from the doorway. ‘What do you mean, he is the one?’
Celia flashed her mother-in-law a warning look. Adele did not need to know this.
But Lady Gale swung around to her granddaughter. ‘He is the one she has been bedding! Imagine it, Adele. He is not only a bastard but a gambler, as well.’
�
��Lady Gale!’ Celia cried. ‘You will not speak that way in my presence. Leave the room this instant!’
The old woman tossed her head and in her outrage swirled around as nimble as a nymph. ‘That suits me perfectly. I cannot abide the sight of you.’ When she reached Adele, she said, ‘Come with me, Adele.’
Adele shook her head, instead entering the room. ‘What is she talking about, Celia? Is it true? Are you having a—a—liaison with Ned’s half-brother?’
Celia put her hand to her abdomen. ‘Listen to me, Adele—’
Lady Gale re-entered the room. ‘And this illness of yours. This vomiting and fatigue. I know what it is about!’
Celia raised a hand to halt her.
Her mother-in-law took no heed. ‘You are pretending to be with child, are you not? What a convincing act. What do you hope to accomplish from that, I wonder?’ She marched off again.
Adele stared at Celia, eyes wide, mouth agape. ‘Celia! Are you—?’
Celia turned to the girl. ‘I do not know why I am ill.’
‘You are increasing?’ Adele was not listening to her.
She tried again. ‘It is impossible—’
Adele covered her mouth with her hand. ‘You lied to me! You said you were gambling. But you were—were—engaging in lewd behaviour. Or were you doing both? Ned told me his half-brother runs a gambling place.’ She tore at her hair. ‘Oh! Ned! What will he think of me when he finds out? He will despise me. You have ruined everything! You have ruined my whole life!’
‘Adele!’ Celia raised her voice. ‘Stop this nonsense at once.’
Adele covered her ears. ‘I will not listen to you ever again!’ She ran out the door and her footsteps pounded up the stairs, accompanied by loud sobs.
Celia collapsed into a chair, clutching her stomach, trying to quiet the waves of nausea, rage and fear that swept through her.
* * *
When Ned pulled up to Adele’s rooms in his curricle, the door opened and she ran out to him. She climbed into the curricle before he could do more than extend his hand to assist her.
‘What is it, my darling?’ he asked her.
‘Oh, Ned!’ Tears poured from her beautiful eyes. ‘Please just drive. I wish to be away from here. Is there somewhere we might be alone? I do not wish to see another person.’
As a gentleman, he ought not be alone with her, but he could not resist indulging her every request.
‘We should walk, then.’ They could be more private on foot. ‘I can take the horses back to the stable if you wish.’
She threaded her arm through his and leaned against his shoulder.
When something troubled her, Ned wanted only to ease it, but he did not press her to tell him what distressed her. Better wait until they could be alone.
His horses were stabled at Brook’s Mews behind Brook Street. If the stablemen were surprised to see him return so soon, and in the company of a young lady, they gave no indication.
‘I will not need them the rest of the day,’ he told the men.
He jumped down and reached up to help Adele by placing his hands at her tiny waist and lifting her down. It was so close to an embrace that he felt the blood rush through his veins.
From the mews they walked to the park and found a path leading to a secluded bench overlooking the Serpentine.
‘No one will disturb us here, my love,’ Ned told her.
She flew into his arms and sobbed against his chest.
‘Tell me what is the matter?’ he begged, unable to bear this helpless feeling.
‘Oh, Ned!’ she cried. ‘It is all too wretched. I must tell you, because I would not hold back anything from you, not for the world. You must know all, even though—even though—’ She shuddered. ‘You will despise me and I know you will never want to marry me.’
He became very alarmed. ‘Come. Sit with me and tell me what it is.’
He led her to the bench. When they sat, he kept hold of both of her hands.
She took a deep breath. ‘I come from a wretched family.’
Was that all? No family member of hers could be more wretched than his father.
‘Today I discovered that my stepmother—although I never call her that—she is Celia to me. More like a sister, really, than a mother—’ She waved a hand in front of her mouth and was too overcome to speak.
He used a soothing voice. ‘I am sure it cannot be as bad as all that.’
She gulped. ‘It is worse. I discovered—I discovered today that dear Celia—although she cannot be dear to me now—not after this...’ She paused and held her hand against her chest. ‘Celia is having an affair with your brother.’
‘My brother!’ He gaped at her. ‘Hugh?’
‘Not Hugh,’ she snapped. ‘Rhysdale.’
‘Rhysdale?’ He could not wrap his mind around it. ‘But did they not just meet at the ball?’ Comprehension immediately dawned. ‘Oh, my God. She is...’ He could not say it.
‘She is gambling, as well. She goes out to gamble at night. I think that is how she met him.’ Her tone was so disdainful that he dared not tell her why he knew precisely how her stepmother knew Rhysdale.
He collected his wits. ‘Adele, this is not so dreadful. Surely Lady Gale has been discreet. And she is a widow. Widows are allowed some licence.’
She gazed at him with wonder. ‘Do you mean you will not despise me for this?’
He put his arm around her and held her close. ‘I could never despise you. It has nothing to do with you.’
‘Oh, you are too wonderful.’ She sighed against him and he revelled in the feel of her in his arms.
It almost made him forget the complications Rhys and her stepmother created.
‘Oh...’ She suddenly sounded more despairing. ‘But you have not heard the worst of it.’
It could get worse?
She pulled away. ‘Celia is going to have a baby.’
* * *
Celia returned to the Masquerade Club that night, but in turmoil, not anticipation. She felt more agitated than she’d been that night of the ball.
Adele refused to speak with her and Celia had been unable to explain to the girl that she could not be increasing. It was impossible. Wasn’t it?
Celia had absolutely no idea how to tell any of this to Rhys. How could she say anything until her fears were confirmed once more—that she did not and could never have a child growing inside her?
‘Good to see you, madam,’ Cummings greeted her as he took her wrap. It was the most he’d ever spoken to her.
‘I am pleased to be back.’ She hoped it was wise to have returned. Her spirits were extremely low and she was still very tired.
MacEvoy grinned when she entered the cashier room. ‘There she is at last. We’ve missed you, Madame Fortune.’
It touched her that her absence had been noticed, even in this devil’s den.
MacEvoy handed her the counters with a friendly wink. ‘I’ll expect more from you later.’
‘I will endeavour to please you, then.’ She smiled and dropped the counters in her reticule.
As she approached the door to the game room, she adjusted her mask. She was dressed as she’d been the very first night she’d come here. Only then she’d not known that her heart would leap for joy to catch sight of the man who ran the establishment and that sharing his bed had taught her more about pleasure than she’d ever dared imagine. How unfair of fate to pair him with all that was dark and painful in her life.
But, then, fate had never been kind to her.
She pressed her hand against her stomach and stepped across the threshold.
The noise in the room swirled around her. She scanned the room looking for Rhys, but all she saw were men with red faces and bulging eyes playing at the gaming tables, a few women, masked and otherwise, hanging on to them with every throw of the dice or play of a card. At the card tables players kept emotion out of their faces, but their postures were tense and she knew nerves were exploding inside them.
&nbs
p; There was nothing pleasant in view, nothing happy or peaceful. But as much as the scene revolted her sensitive stomach, another part of her was impatient to play.
A man broke away from the hazard table and approached her.
Lord Westleigh.
‘Madame Fortune!’ He seized her hand and kissed it. ‘You have returned! I’ve despaired of ever being in your company again. Come, play hazard with me.’
She was due for losing at this game; she just knew it. But there was little chance she could avoid it. Others joined him in begging her to roll the dice.
‘Very well,’ she said, feigning enjoyment.
Another man cried, ‘Madame Fortune is back! Quick. To the hazard table.’
The crowd around the hazard table grew larger as she walked closer.
‘Shall we allow Madame Fortune to roll next?’ Westleigh said loudly.
‘I’ll give it up.’ The man in possession of the dice dropped them into Westleigh’s hand.
Westleigh immediately gave the dice to Celia. ‘Roll and make us all rich, Madame.’
She rolled, calling out, ‘Six,’ but made seven. She rolled the second time and made seven again and won. The men and women around her cheered and a thrill rushed through her.
She continued to roll and to win more times than she lost. The betting was high and the winners feverish with excitement. Celia forgot she was tired, forgot that she loathed the sight and sound of gambling, forgot that she’d been looking for Rhys.
But soon it was as if a London fog parted and she suddenly saw him, watching her through the crowd like he’d watched her that first night.
She rolled a losing number.
Amidst the groans of defeat, she lifted her hands. ‘That is enough for me, gentlemen!’
Westleigh scooped up the dice. ‘One more roll, Madame. Have pity on us.’
She stepped away. ‘My luck is turned. It is time to stop.’ And time to see Rhys.
The players closed ranks around the hazard table and play continued without her. She backed away and felt a hand on her shoulder.
‘Celia.’ It was Rhys.
She turned to face him.
