by Regina Scott
Lord Banfield met her gaze, his brown eyes focused solely on her, as if he could read her thoughts. “Stanley doesn’t bark at night.”
Celia looked to Mrs. March for help, but the woman refused to make eye contact.
Why couldn’t Aunt Marianne be home now? Instead, Celia would have to live in this house with a new master, an old dog, and a traitorous housekeeper.
“When is the dinner hour?” Lord Banfield asked, effectively changing the subject.
Celia exhaled. Fine. They’d return to polite conversation. “Eight o’clock,” she told him.
“Very well,” he said. “I will see you then.”
Celia blinked. Had she been dismissed? Apparently so because he next asked Mrs. March to show him to his quarters. Celia watched as the two of them left the library, the scruffy dog following.
Who named a dog Stanley anyway?
Alone again, at least until dinner, Celia decided it would be the perfect time to work on her newest novel. With it raining outside, none of the staff would wonder why she was keeping to her room. As she started up the steps, Mrs. March was coming down them.
“Lady Celia,” Mrs. March said, pausing when they reached each other. “I would like to ask Kate if she’s available to come and serve as your companion.” She glanced up the staircase. “I did not know that Lord Banfield was so close to your age.”
“Neither did I,” Celia murmured. Mrs. March was right, although Celia would miss her relative freedom. As the vicar’s daughter, Kate had been Celia’s childhood friend, despite their age difference. But station had eventually created a distance between them.
Kate was nearly eighteen now, and most likely would marry within the coming year. Kate had a head full of blonde curls and a quick smile. She’d come to the house when Celia needed to get ready for an event, of which there had been very few lately due to her brother’s absence, and now his death.
“We don’t want gossip in the village,” Mrs. March continued.
“Of course not.” Celia nodded. “Yes, please send for Kate. If she arrives before dinner tonight, she can join us.”
Mrs. March agreed and continued down the stairs.
Once in her room, Celia located the locked box she kept in the wardrobe. Inside were her manuscript pages, which she kept hidden away from the world.
She sat at her vanity table and unstopped the inkwell, then dipped her quill inside the ink. She’d reached the part of the novel where it was time for the hero to kiss the heroine against a beautiful backdrop of a sunset in India. The only problem was that Celia had never been kissed before, so she couldn’t write with experience. So Celia would have to guess, especially since this kiss was an illicit kiss. One that took place before any sort of marriage proposal.
Since it was raining outside, she decided that the hero and heroine would also kiss in the rain. A very light summer rain in India, which she assumed would be warm. None of this cold winter rain.
Frederick looked deep into Lady Miriam’s eyes and only saw love. Love for him. He was sure of it. Ever so slowly, he drew her into his arms. She gasped at his boldness, but didn’t move out of his embrace. So Frederick kissed her. Lady Miriam wrapped her arms about his neck and kissed him back. That was when Frederick knew all was right with the world.
There. That would do. She reread the lines a few times, made one adjustment, then set the quill down. The rain was coming down in earnest now, and Celia wondered if Kate would be able to make it to the house tonight. Surely the mud puddles were growing.
Someone knocked at her door, and Celia called out, “Yes?”
Mrs. March spoke through the door. “Lord Banfield requests your presence in the library before dinner is served. Do you need help dressing?”
Celia looked at the clock and realized it was much later than she thought. When it was only her in the house, she didn’t bother changing for dinner.
“Yes, just a moment.” Celia put away the manuscript pages, locked the box, and set it in the wardrobe. Then she went to open the door to Mrs. March.
Chapter Four
Mrs. March had informed Aaron that they’d have a guest for dinner tonight, and Aaron could only agree. He knew enough about the elite to realize that they were big supporters of propriety. Kate Jones, the vicar’s daughter, would serve as companion to Lady Celia until she left Banfield Estate. Which was apparently in a few weeks’ time, he’d been informed by Mrs. March. For Lady Celia intended to stay through Christmas, then travel to her aunt’s home.
Aaron supposed he should feel guilty because he knew it was his inheritance, and his subsequent occupation of said inheritance, that was the reason for Lady Celia’s departure. Granted, the young woman had suffered much and the changes to her life were unfortunate. So Aaron would do his best to be kind and agreeable, apart from insisting that Stanley remain in the house.
Even so, Aaron requested that Lady Celia join him in the library so he could propose his idea to her before the evening was filled with another guest and resulting conversations.
Stanley perked up where he was sitting on the floor at Aaron’s feet. “Is she coming, old boy?”
Before Stanley could reply, the door to the library opened and in walked Lady Celia.
Her eyes were even more blue than he remembered, contrasting with the black gown she wore. Lady Celia’s hair had been artfully arranged atop her head and revealed the creamy expanse of her neck and sloping shoulders. Aaron knew he shouldn’t be noticing so many physical details about Lady Celia, but he could truthfully say that her coloring was the most unusual he’d ever encountered.
Yes, he’d seen red-haired women before, but Lady Celia was like a red posy on a bright summer day.
“What is the meaning of this?” she asked, closing the door behind her as if she didn’t want anyone to hear their conversation.
Something niggled in the back of his mind. If a companion had to be sent for, wasn’t it suspect to be alone in the library with Lady Celia? Should she have left the door open?
Aaron rose to his feet. “Thank you for coming.”
“This is very unusual.” She folded her arms.
“Please, have a seat.” Aaron gestured to one of the wingback chairs. “Mrs. March said that you’d be leaving after Christmas, and I’d like to discuss the arrangements before your friend Kate Jones arrives.”
Lady Celia hesitated, and Aaron wouldn’t have been entirely surprised if she refused. Finally she sat, looking down as she smoothed her dress over her lap.
When she looked up again, he saw that her eyes were wet. Blast. She was upset.
“I am sorry,” he said, not sure what exactly he was apologizing for. His existence?
Her mouth opened, then shut. She looked toward one of the bookcases. “You don’t need to apologize for anything. I mean, my brother’s death wasn’t your fault.”
Ah. She was mourning her brother. “I am sorry just the same,” he said in a quiet voice. “I wish I had known your brother and your father. It’s strange coming into the home of someone I didn’t know.”
She remained silent.
“I don’t know what their daily routines were, their likes, dislikes.” He moved to the chair across from her and sat down.
She glanced at him, then quickly away.
“I’d love to know the history of your family, Lady Celia,” he said. “I’d love to hear about your brother. This is a fine estate that I’m sure you’re proud of. I can tell you love this home, and I don’t want you to feel like I’m running you out.”
He leaned forward in his chair when she didn’t respond. “This is still your home, Lady Celia. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you wish, until your own marriage or some other interest takes you away.”
A tear fell down her cheek, and Aaron’s first instinct was to reach out and blot the tear. Instead, he fished for a handkerchief, located one in the pocket of his vest, and handed it over.
For a moment, she didn’t react. Then she took the handkerchief and
dabbed it at her face. When she next looked at him, she said in a trembling voice, “I’m sorry too.”
He waited for her to continue.
“I wished some terrible stuff upon you.” She twisted the handkerchief in her hands. It was just as well since he wasn’t expecting it back. “I guess it’s fortunate that I’m not a gypsy fortune teller, because none of it came true.”
Aaron leaned back in his chair, wondering if he should be amused or slightly terrified. “What sort of stuff did you wish?”
She lifted one of her delicate shoulders, keeping her gaze on that twisting handkerchief. “Carriage accident. Sudden heart attack. An accidental fall down the stairs. A rabid dog bite. The usual.”
Aaron laughed. “The usual?”
She looked up at him, surprise on her face. “Well, unusual would be things like drowning in your own soup or choking to death on the library dust.” She didn’t even crack a smile.
Aaron chuckled. “I suppose that would be unusual since there’s not a speck of dust in here. I checked.”
That earned him the smallest of smiles from Lady Celia, which in turn made something in his chest soften and warm.
“Aside from the death wishes, I am sincere in my desire to learn more about Banfield and to see it through your eyes.”
Lady Celia nodded, and Aaron took that as a positive step.
“Tomorrow morning we’ll start right after we break our fast,” Celia said, her voice more confident now. “If that’s all right with you?”
Her blue eyes connected with his, and Aaron thought of how her future husband would have trouble denying any of her requests. “Very well, I shall look forward to it. And I assume Miss Kate will accompany us?”
The faintest pink stained Lady Celia’s cheeks. “Yes.” She rose to her feet, the handkerchief still clutched in her hands. Aaron rose as well. She made no move to give the handkerchief back, and he made no move to retrieve it. “As to your offer of staying here past Christmas, until my marriage or some other event, I can assure you that I’ll never marry. So I will stick to my original plan of residing with Aunt Marianne. I cannot feel settled about living on your charity.”
Aaron opened his mouth to refute her answer as well as question her about why she was so convinced she would not marry, when a knock sounded at the door.
“Come in,” Aaron said, for what other choice did he have?
Mrs. March opened the door. “Dinner is ready, my lord.” She looked over at Lady Celia. “My lady.”
Chapter Five
Why did the new Lord Banfield have to be so pleasant? So generous? And handsome. If it weren’t for his grumpy dog, the man would be perfect. Even Kate had noticed Lord Banfield’s exceptional looks and manner. In fact, she was practically flirting with the man. Celia couldn’t entirely blame her friend because Celia also felt the rush of heat whenever Lord Banfield turned his warm brown eyes upon her. And the kind words he’d said to her in the library played over and over in her mind.
Kate was spending a great deal of time talking about her upbringing at the vicarage, and truthfully, Celia was feeling a bit envious as Kate talked about her multiple siblings and constant activity. She also took the opportunity to toss her blonde curls from time to time.
Celia tried not to be envious of her friend. After all, when had the daughter of an earl ever wished to step down a station? Still, Celia envied Kate’s youth and outlook on life, not to mention the fact that Lord Banfield seemed completely enamored of the conversation. Was he . . . interested in Kate? No, Celia decided. Yet stranger things had happened. Earls had married well beneath them before. It would create a scandal, yes, but Lord Banfield had no hovering parents or relatives marking his every move and decision.
Like her, Lord Banfield was quite on his own in this world.
Celia was no longer hungry, and even when dessert of her favorite chocolate custard was brought in, she turned it down. Yes, she’d invited Kate here, but Celia hadn’t meant for the woman to be so amiable toward Lord Banfield.
With dinner finished, the three of them went into the parlor. Stanley lifted his head from his umpteenth nap of the day as he lay before the hearth. Did the dog do nothing else but sleep?
Celia passed by the dog to sit in one of the armchairs, and the dog emitted a low growl.
“Stanley,” Lord Banfield warned. Then he proceeded to pour himself a brandy as if his growling dog was nothing out of the ordinary.
“Won’t you play for us?” Kate asked Celia.
Lord Banfield took a sip of his brandy and looked over at her. It was about time he paid her some attention. “Do you play the pianoforte, Lady Celia?” he asked.
His eyes had a completely innocent look in them.
“Passably,” she said. “Do you play, Lord Banfield?”
One of his dark eyebrows lifted. “I do, in fact. It’s been quite a while since I’ve had the pleasure though.”
Kate clapped her hands. “Oh, you must play for us then.”
Lord Banfield kept his gaze on Celia. “Only if the lady of the house agrees.”
Celia was no longer the lady of the house, and Lord Banfield knew it. But the way he kept his gaze on her made Celia feel like she’d just eaten the richest dessert. “We’d love you to refresh your talents tonight.”
One side of his mouth lifted into a smile, and Celia could well imagine the sound of his laughter. But he didn’t laugh. He took a final sip of the brandy, then set down the glass. He bowed to Celia, then to Kate, which made her giggle. He crossed to the pianoforte and took his place at the bench.
Celia noticed the seams of his coat had started to wear. He was similar in size to her brother, and there was no reason that he couldn’t wear Bart’s clothing until Lord Banfield could have his own wardrobe made up. Would she be betraying her brother if she made the offer?
Lord Banfield played a short song that Celia didn’t recognize. It was lively and playful, and when he finished she and Kate clapped.
“That was wonderful,” Kate said. “You are very talented.”
Lord Banfield laughed. “That was my warm-up song. It seems I still remember how to play.” He turned back to the pianoforte and picked out a melody with only his right hand.
Celia wondered if Lord Banfield had been a willing student of music or if his parents had insisted upon it. Whatever the case was, she soon forgot her questions when he played the first notes of a Haydn concerto.
Celia exhaled. The concerto had been her brother’s favorite, and he’d asked her to play it for him almost every night. Tears pricked her eyes as the melody continued, slow and methodical, each note bringing back memories of her brother. How he used to lounge across the settee with his eyes closed, and how as soon as she finished, he’d ask her to play it again.
Celia was well familiar with the song that she’d long ago memorized, yet listening to another person play made it feel different. Her chest felt like it had expanded, and her heart hurt. Hurt with the memories, hurt with how much she missed Bart. Hurt with how she had to live on without any of her family members.
The tears were impossible to stop now, and even if she’d had a dozen handkerchiefs, she couldn’t have soaked them up. She hiccupped a silent apology, then she rushed out of the room. She didn’t have a destination in mind, but she ended up in the cool, silent library. Celia pressed her back against the wall next to the door, trying to breathe. The notes of the concerto drifted through the house, still reaching Celia’s place of hiding.
The notes faded, then stopped, and Celia closed her eyes. Please don’t come find me. Just stay away. She didn’t know what was wrong with her. She hadn’t felt such intense grief since the early days after her brother’s death. She supposed having the new Lord Banfield arrive had made everything all the more permanent, and she now had to face changes in her life.
Conversation echoed down the hall—a man and a woman’s—Kate and Lord Banfield. Then footsteps, going up the stairs. Good, they’d look for her upstairs and hopefull
y give up soon. After all, she was a grown woman of twenty-three and didn’t have to be continually supervised.
“Lady Celia?” someone whispered.
Without opening her eyes, she knew it was him.
She’d tell him that she was tired and had a headache. Then she’d make her escape to her bedroom for the night. Tomorrow she’d once again be composed and would fulfill her promise of showing Lord Banfield the estate and telling him about her family history—
“Lady Celia?” His voice was low, soft.
He was standing right in front of her. She couldn’t open her eyes since she didn’t want him to offer her another handkerchief. He’d run out soon enough.
“Are you all right?” he asked, and she felt him watching her, waiting.
She kept her eyes closed, trying to steady her breath, so that when she explained, her words would be calm. “That concerto was my brother’s favorite song.”
Lord Banfield didn’t respond for a moment, and when he did it was unexpected. “My mother taught me to play. She said that music uplifts the heart and comforts the soul.”
Celia nodded, even though her eyes were still closed.
“Your brother had good taste in music.”
Celia nodded again as another round of tears started. Before she could swipe them away, Lord Banfield pressed a handkerchief against her cheeks, soaking up the tears for her.
She opened her eyes, but he didn’t move away, didn’t apologize for taking such liberties. In the dimness of the library, he continued to dab at her cheeks. He was so close, and he smelled of after-dinner brandy and musk.
She couldn’t exactly explain how it happened—if he stepped closer or if she leaned into him—but he pulled her into his arms. All she knew was that he was holding her. And even though she estimated he was a similar build to her brother, being in his arms was nothing like embracing her brother. Lord Banfield’s chest was warm, solid, breathing, and she felt the slow thud of his heartbeat against her own body. She slid her arms about his waist, and his arms tightened around her.
For the first time in a very long time, Celia didn’t feel alone.
