Chapter 2 #2
The door opened quite suddenly, and as a footman stood aside to usher them inside, James appeared in the doorway. Celia abandoned her brother, climbed the stairs quickly, clasping James’ hand in friendship, and then stepped back to drop into an obligatory curtsy.
“James,” she said with a bright smile. “It is so good to see you.”
“Why, Celia,” he responded gladly. “It has been far too long.”
“Of course,” she said. “What was it, a good two months ago that you were sitting at my father’s table telling us about your intentions regarding a certain Lady Cavendish?”
“I remember it as though it were yesterday,” he said, stepping aside so she could walk past him into the interior of the abbey.
He turned towards her father and brother, who had made the ascent with considerably more decorum.
“How wonderful it is to have you all here,” he said.
“Your presence makes the festivities seem that much more enjoyable.”
Andrew bowed in greeting, as did Malcolm, and the two proceeded inside. James caught up with Celia, standing still in the first hall, looking up at the crown moulding in quiet delight.
“Does it meet with your approval?” he teased.
She turned and smiled at him. “I feel like a royal walking through my castle,” she said glibly. “The space is enormous.”
“And you have only just begun to explore it,” he said. “Rebecca said it was almost too grand for her desires—she was quite overwhelmed with the Gothic hall.”
“That sounds ominous,” Celia said. “Where is your bride-to-be at present?”
“I believe she is in the staterooms at present,” he answered.
“I was going to take you there straightaway and make some introductions. There are quite a few people assembled here already. You are some of the last of the party to arrive.” He waved a finger at the footman standing just behind them, summoning the servant to his side.
“See that their things are taken up to their rooms if you will.”
The footman bowed wordlessly and left to complete the task. Celia walked at James’ side down a hall hung with expensive portraiture, her father and brother striding just behind. At the end of the hall, a grand door opened into the staterooms James had mentioned.
The ceiling rose high above them, moulded with intricate white texture, the walls painted with windows of maroon surrounding delicate landscapes. The entire affair was gilt in gold and made an impression on Celia despite herself.
She was not usually drawn to rich and elegant surroundings—too often they were associated with the sort of people who despised her—but there was something tasteful and elegant about Welbeck that nearly took her breath away.
A handful of people were in the room, each speaking in demure pockets of conversation. All looked towards the newcomers, but James chose the group gathered at the fireside to introduce first. He led his guests over and smiled at the slender wisp of a woman standing closest to him.
“My dear,” he said, “may I introduce you to my dear family friends? This is Lord Maynard, a close ally of my father’s before he passed away, and his son, Mr Andrew Maynard.
” Both bowed, and then James added with a note of tenderness, “And here is his daughter, Miss Celia Maynard. Celia, this is my fiancée, Lady Cavendish.”
Celia was gratified to see a hint of delight flash in Rebecca’s eyes, but she was a sophisticated woman and showed little other emotion. Instead, she extended a hand to Celia and pressed Celia’s gently in her own.
“I am glad you could make it,” she said warmly. “James speaks of you often.”
“I made his life rather difficult when we were children,” Celia answered archly. “Any mischief I pulled on my brother, I had to pull on our dear Lord Manvers here as well.” She raised her eyebrow in his direction. “And I will say that he can give as well as he can get.”
She realised too late that something she’d said was not quite proper.
Perhaps it was the reference to pranks of the past—perhaps it was the insinuation that Rebecca’s groom had mischief in his past—but for whatever reason, the other people in the circle seemed uncomfortable.
She wondered if her reputation had preceded her here, as it seemed to do everywhere she went.
James cleared his throat. “And also,” he went on, pointing to the others in the circle, “I ought to introduce you to Mr and MrsCranwell. They are of the London Cranwells—you may have heard about the stir he caused in the House of Commons last year.”
Rebecca laid a hand on her fiancé’s arm as though to discourage him from discussing politics.
Celia noticed the gesture but disregarded it, instead curtsying briefly to the elderly MrCranwell and saying, “I, for one, was impressed by the stand you took against the candle tax,” she said.
“I think it will do much to help with the plight of the downtrodden.”
MrCranwell smiled back at her uncomfortably, as though unsure how to interact with a woman discussing such matters, but his wife did not smile. She looked away, trying to distance herself from the conversation.
“You speak your opinion quite freely,” MrCranwell said.
“I would be interested in speaking further with you on the subject,” Celia said slowly, sensing that she was already stepping over the line, despite her best efforts not to embarrass her brother. “When you are able.”
“Perhaps,” MrCranwell answered in a voice that did not sound hopeful.
“Lastly,” James said, raising an eyebrow at Celia before turning to a tall gentleman standing at Rebecca’s other side, “is my dear fiancée’s cousin, Sir Richard Cavendish.”
Celia looked at Richard with mild interest. Dressed in a military uniform, heavy gold tassels on his shoulders, and a strap across his red coat, he was handsome and held himself well.
She had never met the man before, but there was something familiar about his name, though she could not remember exactly what.
“Sir Richard,” her father said, stepping forward and engaging the man with a smile. “I believe you are a guest of Bentinck’s, am I correct?”
“Yes, indeed,” Richard responded, drawing himself up a little straighter. “I am awaiting a higher officer’s commission. I could choose no better surroundings, I assure you. The abbey is a delightful place.”
“It is our first visit,” Andrew said. “We are looking forward to experiencing its charms.”
“Is there a library?” Celia asked. She ignored her brother’s intense stare and added, “One that is open to visitors?”
“There is a fine library,” Richard answered her kindly, “but I do not believe it has been opened for this fine occasion. The general sentiment was that party-goers would wish dancing and fine wine over the indulgence of reading and study.”
There was a hint of mirth in his gaze, as though he was teasing Celia for caring about books.
She pursed her lips in response but said nothing else. If she were to share her true sentiment—that dancing and fine wine held not a candle to William Blake and the new romantics—she feared she would only earn another scolding from her brother.
James bowed to the group. “Well,” he said. “We must pull ourselves away. We have not yet met the others.”
Celia caught sight of a familiar figure at the far end of the room, speaking with two other young women.
“Helena has already arrived,” she said with genuine delight. “I worried that she would not be able to leave London for a few days.” She turned to James in explanation. “She was staying with friends and was unsure if they would make the journey.”
“They could not,” James answered, “but she was able to travel with Sir Richard. He had gone to London to deliver a message for Bentinck and coordinated with my own Rebecca to pick her up. I had assumed she would be riding with you, actually. Are you not sisters of a sort?”
Celia smiled, catching Helena’s eye across the room, and nodding at her. “We are as close to sisters as two women can be without it actually being true,” she admitted. Helena was her cousin but orphaned at a young age had grown up in Celia’s home.
“Unfortunately,” she added, “Helena is better at navigating the wilds of society than I am and was already committed in London before we made our travel plans.”
“Well, Sir Richard was quite noble in his rescue,” James said. “So it is all well in the end.”
Celia frowned at the other two women standing with Helena. They contrasted strongly with her. Helena was a small girl with ink-black hair and a plump frame. She dressed simply as Celia often did and held herself slightly aloof from her companions.
The other two women looked to be about her age: one was quite tall, with a towering blonde hairstyle and an elaborate plum gown that trailed on the floor; the other, red-haired and wiry, was equally fashionable in a blue chiffon gown.
The shorter one moved like a bird, fluttering her arms, and laughing shrilly.
The taller one was a statue in comparison, seeming to watch everyone and everything around her.
James nodded at the taller one. “That is Lady Marie,” he said. “She is the second daughter of the Duke of Kingston. Beside her, you will see Lady Annabelle, the youngest daughter of the Duke of Norfolk.”
“Quite impressive personages,” Celia said, a little confused. “How do you know them?” she asked. “Are they friends of your bride, or are they merely here because they have dukes for fathers?”
“You are teasing,” he said in a low voice that only she could hear, “and so I will answer in kind. In truth, I am not entirely sure why they are here. They seem to be friends of the dowager duchess, although I’m not sure why.” He looked at her significantly, and she raised her eyebrows in response.
“You say that like someone who, in fact, has a guess as to ‘why,’” she pressed.
“I suspect they are interested in the dowager duchess’ son,” James said.
“Our host?” she asked, putting on a tone of mock deference. “The great and noble Bentinck of whom everyone speaks so highly?”