The Amorous Education of Celia Seaton

by Miranda Neville

“With someone else, perhaps. I thought all great ladies of the ton took lovers.”

  “It would need a very brave man to take her on.” He grew serious. “I don’t believe most ‘great’ ladies are faithless and if so I do not condone it. For myself I believe in fidelity after marriage.”

  “And before?”

  “As I believe I told you when I couldn’t even remember, I have had other women. It isn’t at all proper for me to discuss them with my future bride.”

  “It’s isn’t at all proper for us to be naked together in my bedchamber.” Celia couldn’t leave it alone. “Did you love them?”

  “I’ve never been in love, but I’ve never bedded a woman I didn’t like.”

  She was overcome with loathing for an unknown number of likable ladies and tortured herself by picturing them—beauties to a woman—with Tarquin. “Have you tried all the different things suggested in your books, apart from the horseback one?”

  “All of them! What an idea. Some of them sound downright painful, if not anatomically impossible. However, I’m always ready to experiment. And since it looks like you’re going to be my bed partner for the rest of my life, I’m delighted to find you equally adventurous.”

  Feeling much better, she decided to find out what it was like to bite his neck. Tasty.

  “Is there anything particular you’d like to try?” he asked.

  “Well, there’s this thing in a chair . . .”

  Chapter 32

  Money isn’t the most important thing in life, but large sums can be very nice.

  Tarquin left her room at first light, recommending she catch up on her sleep and remain in bed until noon. After a few short hours, wide awake, she joined the house party for the eleven o’clock breakfast. She saw by his absence he’d taken his own advice.

  This morning invisibility seemed a particularly desirable quality. She quietly sipped tea and stared at a plate heaped with ham and eggs and buttered muffins. Lovemaking had famished her but, after two bites, she found love had stolen her appetite. She both longed and dreaded to learn how the next days would play out.

  Her best hope was a happy wooing followed by a blissful betrothal. Yet the possibility remained that all the things that made her doubt her happiness as Tarquin’s wife would come flooding back. Naked he was loving, vulnerable, and entirely at her service. Clothed in the midst of the beau monde, he might revert to the terror of the ton. She reminded herself that more of life was spent clothed than naked, more of the day abroad than in bed.

  For the tenth time Celia checked the reticule hanging from her wrist. Carrying a ruby worth fifty thousand pounds tended to prey on her mind, but she dared not leave it upstairs. The sooner she handed it over the better.

  At each new arrival at the table she looked up. Longing for Tarquin, hoping for Julia, and dreading the Duchess of Amesbury, the guest who claimed her attention was Lord Hugo Hartley.

  She stood at the venerable old dandy’s approach.

  “Lord Hugo,” she said. “May I summon a footman to help you to a seat?”

  “Thank you, Miss Seaton, but I breakfasted in my rooms. I hoped for your company but I see you are still eating.”

  Apprehensive about his motive for seeking her out, she glanced at her plate. “I’ve had enough, thank you. I have little appetite this morning.”

  Might as well find out what he wanted and get it over. She prepared to be compared to a pair of pantaloons, or some other garment in dubious taste. Hosiery, perhaps this time.

  “Excellent. Perhaps you would join me for my morning constitutional. My doctor insists I exercise every day.”

  Lord Hugo refused to take her arm. He made his own way to the terrace, assisted by an ebony walking stick with a polished ivory handle. He kept up a steady stream of gossamer small talk and she couldn’t fault his courtesy, but in his company Celia was unable to appreciate the impeccable summer day. Despite his great height and erect posture, she worried the slender figure would be blown away in the light breeze. Taking tiny steps to match his slow ones, she watched him anxiously, ready to step in if he tottered.

  “Thank you for your forbearance,” he said. “It must be dull for such an active young lady to be restricted to an old man’s pace.”

  Somehow she didn’t feel complimented. She was not looking her best that morning. When Chantal complained her hair was uanageable she couldn’t offer the excuse of a busy night. Quite active come to think of it. She choked back a laugh that she would be quite unable to explain to Lord Hugo.

  “It’s a pleasure, my lord. I’ve heard much about you from Mr. Compton.”

  “And I heard of you before I came here.”

  “You surprise me, sir. I thought I was quite obscure.”

  “I’m acquainted with Lady Trumper,” he said. “In fact I saw her the day before I left London.”

  “I see.” She did indeed see. She had no doubt that her former chaperone had left Lord Hugo in full possession of every fact she knew about Celia’s history.

  He said nothing more on that head, but there was no need. “Has my great-nephew told you how we met?”

  The phrasing stuck her as odd. How did one meet ones relations? Of course, having none she wasn’t in a position to know. She shook her head.

  “He came to London as a boy, to live under the guardianship of my nephew, the Duke of Amesbury. Since I rarely set foot in Amesbury House, being unable to abide the duchess, I never saw Tarquin until he’d been there two years. A sadder sight I’d rarely encountered than the gawky beanpole of a lad, hunched in the corner of the duchess’s drawing room. He’d just finished his first half at Eton and he had no idea where to put his oversized feet. And naturally no notion of conversation. I don’t know why I noticed him, except he seemed to have attracted the especial venom of the duchess.”

  “I’ve met her,” Celia said.

  “So we understand each other completely. I have every confidence we shall continue to do so.” A hint of emotion rippled through Lord Hugo’s urbane tones. “I decided on a whim to do something about the boy, so I took him to be measured for a coat. Thinking back on it, taking an eleven-year-old to visit a tailor might not have been the greatest treat. I daresay he would have preferred a confectioner’s shop or a menagerie. But it was what occurred to me.” He paused and his face shone with affection.

  “I think it was very thoughtful of you,” Celia said. She felt a little choked up. “And Mr. Compton proved a worthy pupil.”

  “He is like a son to me. There is nothing I will not do to ensure his happiness.”

  And having thrown down this elegant gauntlet, Lord Hugo proceeded to the duel.

  “I’m a very old man, born the same year as the old king, you know. I’m over eighty and in my life I’ve known almost everyone.”

  Everyone from a certain stratum of society, he meant of course.

  “And though I’ve never married,” he continued, “I have observed numerous marriages. People wed for many different reasons. Often they are worldly goals: dynastic needs, money, or social advancement.” He’d reverted to his languid conversational style, as though his observations were no more momentous that a comment on the weather. “Then there are the marriages formed for reasons of sentiment: companionship, passion, or love. Not all marriages are successful.” He paused and looked at her.

  “I would imagine not,” she said, since he seemed to expect a reply.

  “I have given the matter a good deal of thought and I believe I know the most important ingredient of a happy lifelong union. It is certainly not passion, neither is it love. The most important thing is for a couple to understand one another. And understanding comes from a common background, an equality of position.”

  “Do you not believe in love, Lord Hugo?”

  He stopped walking and placed a hand on the stone balustrade. “Love matches can be the best of all, but not without that shared experience.” His eyes met hers, perceptive and not without sympathy. “I do not believe that a marriage betwe
en a prince and a beggar maid, however much they love each other, will succeed. I’ve seen too many unequal matches end in unhappiness to believe in fairy tales.”

  He looked out over the rolling parkland of Mandeville, then behind him to the soaring pillars of the mansion’s south front.

  “What a beautiful morning,” he said. “I very rarely leave London these days but this is a magnificent spot. I’m glad to see it again. Perhaps I should visit Amesbury Park again, too. I grew up there, you know. Very different from Mandeville, being Elizabethan. A shade smaller? Perhaps not.”

  And this, he meant but didn’t say, was Tarquin’s milieu. As a duke’s nephew he was miles above Celia Seaton.

  She had to hand it to Lord Hugo, in fifteen minutes of excruciatingly polite conversation he’d managed to enumerate every reason she was utterly unsuitable to be Tarquin Compton’s bride.

  He’d be gratified to know she agreed with him, or almost. She did not believe that she was unworthy. None of his reasons had anything to do with her character and her value as a person. But she was, by any worldly definition, unsuitable. Instinctively she knew Lord Hugo was right about a couple needing something in common besides love. He only repeated her own concerns.

  Tarquin might belong in a ducal mansion but she did not and she was leaving, that very morning. Leaving the field to Lord Hugo was a risk, but one she needed to take.

  Arriving at Wallop Hall in one of the Mandeville carriages, she was greeted with affectionate delight by Minerva and dragged off to the nursery to visit the baby, who was little changed. So much had happened since she last saw him, he might have grown old enough to be breeched. She duly admired him and agreed with his doting mother that he showed signs of uncommon precociousness. It might even be true, if a red face and lusty squall were indicators of intelligence.

  The Iverleys showed her the rattle Tarquin had broken into to retrieve the ruby.

  “We’ll have it repaired, of course,” Sebastian said. “And we’re anxious to know what happened.”

  At the end of the tale they all exclaimed and applauded her decision to give the jewel to Countess Czerny. “The Duchess of Amesbury is an impossible old harridan,” Diana crowed. “I wish I’d seen her face. And the countess sounds quite fascinating. I hope I’ll meet her sometime.”

  “You may get the chance this very day,” Celia said. “I haven’t had a chance to give her the jewel so I sent word that she could come here for it. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not in the least. Is she very beautiful?”

  “I think we’re about to find out.” Minerva spoke from the window embrasure. “There’s a lady in an absolutely gorgeous bonnet getting out of a carriage.”

  Celia and Diana joined her at the window. “Oh goodness,” said the latter. “Where did she find that pelisse with the ruffed collar? I’ve never seen anything so elegant.”

  “I’m told all her clothes come from Paris,” Celia said. “I suppose I’d better go down and see her.”

  She received Julia in the Montroses’ small morning room.

  “Here,” she said. “No, wait.”

  The box in which Tarquin had sent her the ruby, a simple affair of polished blue leather, rested on her palm. She carefully removed the lid, stamped in gilt with a crest and a curly letter C. The huge red stone sat in a nest of linen that emitted a faint hint of Tarquin’s unique scent. Celia inhaled appreciatively then extracted the jewel, held it up, letting it catch the sunlight pouring through the window.

  “I think I’ll keep the box,” she said and tossed the gem to the countess.

  “My God!” Julia cried, clutching it in her fist against her chest. “You almost gave me an apoplexy. Do you have any idea how valuable this little rock is?”

  “I know almost nothing about precious stones. A fact that strikes me as ironic since I gather my father was not so ignorant. Will you do something for me, Julia?”

  “Anything in my power. You could have sold the ruby to the duchess and I might have ended up dead like your father.”

  “Will you tell me what you know of my father? I’ve never understood why he decided to leave India.”

  “He was recommended to me as a man who could get things done. Unfortunately for me that wasn’t the whole story, or I would never have used him for this commission.” She paused at Celia’s flinch. “I’m sorry to have to say that about your father.”

  “It’s all right. I’d rather know the truth at last.”

  “From what I learned later,” Julia continued, “he’d offended too many powerful people and it was time to get out. He decided to use the gem to make a fresh start. In England I supposed, but who knows what he planned?”

  “Do you know what happened to the household?”

  “I’m going to speak bluntly. His bibi and children and their servants had already left the house when he was killed.”

  “Do you know where they went?”

  “I never learned that, but I gather he raised as much money as he could for them. When his killers searched his body he had almost nothing left. That’s why I was so certain you had the ruby.”

  “Were they safe?”

  “My informant believed that they were.”

  “Thank you. I’ve always wondered and worried about that. It means a great deal to me to know.”

  “Is there anything else I can tell you?”

  “What will you do now?”

  Julia gave a knowing little smile. “I haven’t quite decided what I shall do once I restore the ruby to the owner’s agent in London. As we discussed before, I’ve been considering marriage.”

  “You’re still interested, then?”

  “Perhaps. However, I’m not sure Mr. Compton is still interested in me. If that should change, who knows? He’s such a terribly intriguing man. What do you think?”

  “I have no opinion.”

  “If you say so, my dear Celia, of course I believe you. And what do you intend to do with yourself?”

  “If nothing better comes up, I expect I shall seek another position as a governess. But I fear the whole world is about to be privy to the fact that I spent my formative years living in the same house as my father’s mistress and my two Indian brothers.” Even if Lord Hugo kept quiet about the tale he’d heard from Lady Trumper, the Duchess of Amesbury must also know the truth.

  Julia nodded. “That kind of narrow-mindedness is one of the disadvantages of English life. You may be sure I will never mention it.”

  Celia believed her. Though she still had reasons to resent this woman, she also felt kinship with one who had an understanding of her own checkered experience. Unlike Lord Hugo who’d made no secret of his disgust with her background.

  “Others may not be as discreet—or forbearing,” she said. “I envy you. You seem to have found a way to make a life on your own. I wish I could do the same.”

  The countess tilted her head and looked at her for some little time, as though trying to come to a decision.

  “I have a better idea. When I hand this jewel over to its new owner I shall receive the final payment of ten thousand pounds. Since half of it was your father’s share of our profit, you shall have it.”

  “I don’t think he deserved it.”

  “No, but you do. And five thousand is not a great fortune, after all.”

  It sounded a vast sum to Celia. It represented her independence. “Can you afford it?” she asked.

  Julia waved aside her concern. “There’s always more money to be found. I spent most of my capital on my Paris wardrobe so I could present myself in London as a rich Hungarian widow. Not that I ever find it a sacrifice to spend money on clothes.”

  “Who are you, truly?”

  “I never tell unnecessary lies. I was born a Hartley and I am the widow of a Hungarian count, but not a rich one. Don’t worry about me. Five thousand pounds is ample to start me off on my next adventure.”

  “Then I accept your offer with gratitude. Thank you.” She held out her hand but ins
tead Julia gave her a quick embrace, saluting her on both cheeks. “Do you think you will remain in England?”

  Julia laughed. “Why of course? How else am I to marry Mr. Compton?”

  The door opened to admit William Montrose. “Celia,” he said. “Min told me you’d come back to us.”

  He strode across the room toward her then stopped dead. His welcoming smile froze and his blue eyes grew wide. “And who is this?”

  “Allow me to present Countess Czerny. Julia, this is Mr. William Montrose.”

  William looked as though he’d been hit over the head with a large blunt object. “Countess,” he gasped and took her hand. “I am honored to make your acquaintance.” He kissed her hand.

  “I am happy to make yours, Mr. Montrose. I was just leaving.”

  “I’ll see you to your carriage.”

  Without another glance at Celia, he took the countess’s arm.

  “Tell me,” she heard Julia say as they left the room. “Are you related to Rufus Montrose? I met him in Athens once . . .”

  Good thing about the five thousand, Celia thought. Marriage to Will Montrose was clearly no longer an option. Much as she liked Julia, it might be better if she did leave the country.

  The lovely adventuress was not, however, going to take Tarquin from her. Not if Celia had anything to do with it. On the other hand, it was time to put Tarquin in possession of the unvarnished truth. She sat down at the writing desk and found pen, paper, and ink.

  Chapter 33

  Those who have your best interests at heart may not be right.

  “What have you done with Celia?”

  “Good afternoon, my dear boy. Yes, thank you, I am very well today.”

  Since Hugo set great store by polite forms, Tarquin would not normally burst into his uncle’s chamber without ceremony. He bit back his impatience. “I beg your pardon, Uncle. I understand you walked with Miss Seaton after breakfast.”

  “Do sit down. May I point out that the symmetry of your neck cloth is off by a few degrees.” Hugo was more than usually languid, but Tarquin, who knew him very well, detected an undercurrent of unease. He was in no mood to investigate the cause.