She went to the window and saw that it faced the back gardens. Flowers were in early bloom, and she noticed a fountain with several benches scattered around it. With a bemused shake of her head she decided that this must truly be an enchanted place.
Celia pressed her cheek against the cool glass and realized she was in complete confusion regarding the duke. She could still remember clearly that night, many years ago, when he had rebuked Imogene for taking her in. That episode had caused Celia many years of insecurity and nervousness, lest she do something to displease him. She recalled the many stories from Imy and her mother-in-law about his escapades and scrapes. Yet here he was, being so kind. It made little sense. It must be evidence of the regard he held for his sister to treat the governess whom she had befriended so hospitably, she reasoned before turning back to the room.
Feeling much too excited to rest, she decided to bathe in the dressing room and change from her traveling apparel into a new purplish pink tea gown. Afterward, she sat down at the little desk to write a long missive to Edna. She described everything in great detail and told of her surprise at being given such a lovely room. Smiling to herself, Celia could imagine the old lady excitedly reading the letter to Matthews.
When she made her way downstairs an hour later, she placed the letter on the entry table so it could go out in the morning post. A footman directed her to the stately, oak-paneled drawing room, where Imogene and the duke were already seated. The duke rose as she entered, and Celia saw him glance at her new gown. Remembering her mother’s old remade gown, Celia blushed deeply.
“Only you could look so well in that shade of amaranthus, Celly. Doesn’t she look pretty, Drake?” Imogene asked her brother as she directed Celia to sit next to her.
Mortification surged through Celia. Imy had practically asked the duke to compliment her! Almost against her will, Celia glanced at the duke to see his reaction. He caught her eye and gave her a rakish grin, causing a spark of anger in Celia that did much to dispel her embarrassment.
“There are no two arguments on the subject, Imy. Miss Langston owns that particular shade,” he drawled. “I trust you have everything you need, Miss Langston? If not, please don’t hesitate to inform Mrs. Chambers or myself.”
Celia still felt so overwhelmed and charmed by her room that she forgot to be intimidated. Leaning forward, her beautiful eyes wide, she said, “Indeed, your grace, I have more than I need. The room you appointed me is enchanting. May I ask, is that a Laguerre mural in the hall?”
“Yes, it is,” Severly said in some surprise. He had not expected her to recognize the mural or, more surprisingly, to speak more than three words to him.
“I would be happy to give you a tour of my house tomorrow, if you wouldn’t find it a bore,” he offered casually, reaching for another scone and watching the conflicting emotions play across her face.
Imogene looked from her brother’s nonchalant visage to Celia’s confused expression and took matters into her own hands.
“That would be delightful, Drake. It has been many years since I explored Severly House,” the duchess offered helpfully.
“Tomorrow, then, after breakfast, shall we say?” His glance went to Celia for confirmation.
“Thank you, your grace. That would be lovely,” Celia said to her teacup.
Chapter Six
The duke, as promised, gave Celia and Imogene a tour of the house the day after they had arrived. At first, Celia was so discomfited by the duke’s attention she could pay little heed to her surroundings. No matter how she tried to hang back and let Imogene and the duke stay a little ahead of her, he would pause and wait for her to catch up.
It was obvious that the duke had a great pride and interest in the history of his home. The two women laughed frequently, for he was most entertaining with his urbane and amusing stories about the previous occupants of Severly House. After a little while, Celia began to relax under the duke’s patient and engaging manner. The gallery had been particularly interesting to Celia, for all the portraits of the male members of the Severly family held a great resemblance to each other. Celia bit back a giggle when they came to the portrait of Severly’s great-grandfather. It looked for all the world like Severly in a great powdered wig and a frilly coat with lacy cuffs.
The duke caught her struggle, quirked a brow, and said pointedly, “Shall we leave the gallery and see what other amusements we can find?”
In that week, Celia had enjoyed walks in the fragrant garden, and helped the head gardener with pruning the profuse number of rosebushes. At first, the little man had been uncomfortable with a guest of the duke’s doing any kind of work, but after seeing how her pretty face glowed over an armful of flowers, he began to look forward to the congenial young lady’s company.
To her relief, she found the dinners at Severly House much less intimidating than she had expected. Sometimes Major Rotham joined them, and she surprised herself by contributing to the conversation with ease. The marvelous works of art around every corner continued to delight her, and, of course, the library held a wealth of wonder. All in all, Celia was thoroughly enjoying her stay in London.
Inevitably, the ton got wind that the beautiful Duchess of Harbrooke had come to town for the Season. And the fact that the duke, for some curious reason, had not given one dinner party or soiree since coming to town only whetted Society’s appetite more for the elusive duke’s company. The unflappable butler brought in dozens of invitations daily for the duke and Imogene, most of which the duke tossed out.
After much careful consideration, the duchess decided to reenter Society by attending a musical evening hosted by Princess Esterhazy.
Celia was quite excited when the night of Imogene’s “come-out,” as they had come to call it, arrived. Life at Harbrooke Hall had never been so exciting. To Celia’s delight, Imogene went to Celia’s room to show off her gown before leaving for the evening.
“How beautiful you are, Imy!” Celia exclaimed as she viewed her friend in a new golden gown of the finest silk. The color made works of art of her hazel eyes. Diamonds dripped from her ears, neck, and wrists. The duchess promenaded about the room displaying her finery.
“I hope I don’t make a cake of myself this evening. The ton is terribly censorious, and it has been fifteen years since I was last in Society.” She stopped pacing to stare critically at her reflection in the large mirror near the rosewood wardrobe.
“You don’t think I look like mutton dressed as lamb, do you?” she asked nervously, tugging up the front of her gown.
“You are a goose!” Celia laughed, stepping behind Imogene to look at her friend’s reflection.
“You look absurdly young to be the mother of two growing boys. No doubt you will be the loveliest, most elegant lady present!” Celia avowed. “Every other woman will be put in the shade next to you,” she predicted loyally.
Imogene looked doubtful. “At least Drake will be with me, and David.” She sighed with a last glance in the mirror. “I must be off, Celia. Wish me luck,” she said, and kissed Celia’s cheek.
“If you wish, you can wake me when you return. I’m sure you will be bursting to tell me of your triumphs,” Celia teased, and Imy brightened at the prospect.
“Wonderful! I will be able to tell you everything while it’s still fresh,” Imogene said excitedly.
She swept out of the room with a wave, and Celia settled into a deep, comfortable chair by the fireplace to pass the evening with a book. She wondered if there would be dancing at Princess Esterhazy’s party, and what it would be like to have someone as tall as the duke to guide her around the dance floor.
Despite spending a goodly amount of time in Celia’s room in the wee hours of the morning, Imogene was still full of last evening’s excitement at breakfast. As Celia predicted, she had been a success. The most illustrious members of the ton had sought out the beautiful duchess. And Imogene tasted, again, the heady feeling of being a rage in London.
The clock read past eleven o
’clock when Imogene and Celia finally made an appearance in the morning room. They found the duke lounging in his chair, reading the Times. He stood as they entered and bade them good morning.
By now, Celia felt comfortable enough in the duke’s presence to meet his glittering gaze, at least briefly, and return his salutation with sincerity.
“What a delightful time we had last evening, Drake!” Imogene sighed in pleasure as she sipped her chocolate. “Everyone was so kind and engaging, I have never enjoyed myself so thoroughly,” she expressed firmly.
An amused smile touched the duke’s lips as he glanced up from his paper. “A passable evening. Imy, you have been in the country too long,” he said dryly.
“Oh, you are so jaded,” she admonished, and turned to Celia, who promised to listen with rapt attention.
“You should have been there, Celly. The beautiful gowns, the jewels, the music!” she rhapsodized, waving her hands expressively.
“The princess was kindness itself, and her ensemble was breathtaking. The house smelled of lilacs and roses, and when we went in to supper, I thought the tables would collapse from the amount of food,” Imogene went on.
Celia’s eyes were wide with interest, for it sounded very grand.
Casting a sly glance at her brother, Imogene continued, “You should have seen all the unattached ladies fawning over Drake. I feared I’d choke with laughter when Lady Marsten presented her squinty daughter.” Imy laughed with delight at the memory. “Oh, Celly, you should have been there. It was a wonderful evening.”
The duke looked up from his paper and frowned at his sister, thinking her quite thoughtless to say that Celia should have been at last evening’s festivity. Imogene was more than aware that it would be impossible for a governess to enter society, unless of course she married a member of the ton.
Not that Celia displayed one whit of resentment; in fact, looking at her beautiful and attentive face, he felt confident that she was enjoying herself immensely.
Coming to a decision, the duke set his paper aside. “I had thought to go to the bookseller’s today. If you both can manage to be ready within the hour, I would be delighted with your company.”
Celia turned to stare at the duke in astonishment, her cup of tea poised halfway to her lips. To visit a bookstore in London would be an undreamed-of treat. She knew the duke to be a very busy man. He attended to all the business of running his various estates. He was often at his clubs, or the races, or visiting Gentleman Jackson’s.
He also made speeches in the House of Lords. Escorting his sister and a governess to the bookseller’s seemed too tame for the easily bored duke. But Celia was determined not to look this unexpected gift horse in the mouth and looked hopefully to Imy.
“What a famous idea, Drake, and of course we shall be ready within the hour.”
In three-quarters of an hour, Celia found herself in the duke’s high-perch phaeton with the red spokes. She wore a simple lavender-blue day dress and a new chip-straw bonnet. The duke had smiled at her shining, excited eyes as he handed her into the vehicle. Imogene sat between them and pointed out the sights of London to an enthralled Celia. To further the enjoyment of the outing, the duke took a meandering route to give Celia a chance to see some of the more spectacular homes of London. She had not thought there could be a house equal to Severly House, but Chesterfield House left her speechless, and moments later Holdernesse House in Park Lane caused her to gasp. London was so full of new sights and sounds, Celia feared her neck might get a crick because of twisting this way and that in an effort not to miss a thing. She thought, with awe, that London must be the most exciting and beautiful place on earth.
“Not Hatcherd’s, Drake. Celia and I wish to purchase books, not watch the beau monde strutting about,” Imogene said as her brother turned the horses onto Piccadilly.
The duke bowed to his sister’s wish and turned the phaeton toward Colburn’s, a very reputable but less fashionable establishment.
Having only ever been to the meager lending library in Harford, Celia could at first only walk through the aisles of Colburn’s, amazed at the plethora of books to be had.
Imogene settled herself into a chair with a copy of La Belle Assemblée and declared that Celia should browse at her leisure.
Curiously, no matter which aisle she entered, the duke was close at hand. But Celia felt too excited about the outing to be disconcerted. After a moment, the duke stepped forward, pointing out the different sections and topics available. Celia thanked him, again surprised at his solicitude.
Looking into her reticule, Celia found she still possessed a little money, left over from her last allowance. Since the next quarterly was due in another week or so, Celia felt easy about buying one or two books.
As these would be books she would be keeping for the rest of her life, she made very careful selections.
“If you are interested in explorations, here is a book on the wilds of the Colonies. There are some very interesting descriptions of the natives,” the duke offered after observing the books Celia seemed to find interesting.
Taking the book with some surprise, Celia glanced at its red leather cover. How very obliging of him, she thought. Her opinion of him had been undergoing a subtle change over the last week. Even though the duke could be autocratic and imposing, no one could say that he was not a gentleman. He never failed to be solicitous to any female, she had noticed.
The book promised to be intriguing, and Celia thanked him sincerely. After browsing a bit, she found a biography on the Plantagenets and took her treasures to the proprietor’s stand to pay. Gazing around, she noticed a table with an assortment of books at reduced prices. The title The Haunting of Henchley Manor caught her eye. Rechecking her funds, Celia decided there would be enough left to include the book in her purchases and set it on the table to be wrapped with the others.
“Ah, here is the gothic,” a teasing voice said behind her.
Celia turned to see the duke examining The Haunting of Henchley Manor with a raised brow.
She laughed, remembering the comment he had made the day they had walked home from the village. Celia forgot to look at the scar on his cheek and found herself smiling into his eyes. The duke held her magnificent gaze until it occurred to him that he could easily drown in their brownish green depths if he did not have a care.
Another moment passed and he decided to dismiss this unsettling notion.
“I confess to a penchant for melodrama on occasion. Miss Forbisher has me read them to her occasionally. She enjoys them so,” she explained as the proprietor handed her the package of books.
Celia had never spoken of herself in so personal a manner, and the duke pressed the advantage as he took the package from her.
“What a soothing way to spend an evening. I am sure you must have needed a brace of candles at night to keep the monsters at bay,” he said in his most engaging tone. They left the shop and stepped onto the busy sidewalk with Imogene trailing behind.
“Oh, no! Never leave light in the room when you are scared,” she admonished as if everyone knew this. “Monsters lurk in the shadows. If the room is pitch-black and you hide your head under the covers, the ghouls can’t find you,” she explained sagely, stepping lightly over a puddle.
The duke could picture Celia as a charming little girl afraid of ghosts, and her mama telling her they couldn’t find her in the dark. He was beginning to think that Miss Langston was not only beautiful, but also unique.
“How silly of me to think that you would be afraid of the dark.” The twinkle in his eye belied his serious tone.
Celia laughed as they walked along the crowded sidewalk to the awaiting phaeton. “Once, I was reading a particularly suspenseful passage to Miss Forbisher. The ghost was about to speak to the heroine. The ghosts always turn out to be smugglers or crazed aunts, you know. Anyway, as I was about to read what the ghost had to say, a log in the fireplace gave a deafening crack and Miss Forbisher and I jumped a yard and shrieked.
Matthews, her maid, ran in wielding a poker in our defense. We explained that all was well and she said, “Well, ye look as if ye’ve just seen a ghost!’ “
Imogene, walking behind them, observed her brother and her dearest friend. Drake’s dark head was thrown back in laughter, and Celia looked so happy and relaxed. A speculative light entered her eyes.
On the way back to Severly House, the duke and his sister chatted as Celia watched the fashionable people, crested carriages, and intriguing sights of London. She tried to absorb everything so that she could write of it to Edna. What an unexpectedly wonderful day, she thought with a contented sigh.
Porter, the duke’s very tall butler, opened the massive double doors as they walked up the steps and immediately asked for a word with her grace. With a surprised glance at Celia and Drake, Imogene obligingly stepped into the blue drawing room with the butler.
Shyly, Celia turned to the duke to thank him for the outing, but before she could begin he said, “Thank you, Miss Langston, for accompanying us today. Perhaps another day you and Imogene would be interested in one of London’s fine museums.”
Dumbfounded, Celia struggled with how to respond. “Why … thank you. How lovely … er …”
“Fine then. Now, if you will pardon me, I must attend to some business matters.”
She thanked the duke for a lovely outing and with a curtsy excused herself from him before walking across the foyer.
On the entry table, Celia noticed a letter addressed to her in Edna’s scrawling handwriting. Picking it up with an anticipatory smile, she started up the stairs, when Imogene emerged from the drawing room.
“Drake, will you please step in here for a moment?” she asked her brother quickly, walking toward Celia with outstretched arms. “Let us go up to your room, my dear.” Imogene grasped her surprised friend’s arm and ascended the stairs with her.
A horrible, frightening feeling swept over Celia. She glanced back to see the duke moving to the drawing room with his dark brows drawn together in a frown.
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