Chapter 5
Celeste had spent the previous day pacing the floor of her sitting room, waiting and hoping for some word from the duke. Even though their parting had not given her cause to believe he would agree to helping with her charity, she’d held out hope that he might reconsider.
By nightfall, she had accepted that his answer was no. Dispirited, she had stayed in for the evening and was surprised to fall into a deep, exhausted sleep. All of her energy of late had gone toward fulfilling her father’s last request of her, and she had failed.
The next morning, she revealed what she’d done to her twin, Georgiana, confessing that she had finagled a meeting with the duke at the Jensen ball. They had both not yet gone down to break their fast.
“The Duke of Salcombe was my last hope. He is the only one with the courage to flout Lady Redhill. If he were willing to support my charity, I would have heard from him by now.”
“Only a day has passed. He might still be thinking about the matter,” George, Celeste’s nickname for her twin, said sympathetically.
Celeste shook her head. “He is a suspicious man. He thought I was attempting to trap him into marriage—as if I would marry such an arrogant beast.”
“Wait, why would he think you had set up a marriage trap? We don’t even know him.”
“It is Lady Redhill’s fault. She interrupted us while I was asking for his help so he jumped to the conclusion that I had orchestrated some scheme.”
George drew in her breath with alarm. “What did she say? Are you a scandal?”
“No, because he kissed me and—”
“What? Wait. Hold right here. You were kissed by the Dragon?” George didn’t hide her incredulity.
“It wasn’t anything special,” Celeste claimed with a dismissive wave.
“He was trying to protect my identity from Lady Redhill. And he took the correct action. She has no idea I was the woman in the library with him. Except once she left, he accused me of trying to entrap him into marriage. I informed him I only wished him to be the lead patron of my charity, but he ran off without a word—”
“Stop.” George raised her palms. “Or at least take a breath.”
Celeste recognized her sister’s good advice. She did need to breathe. She and George were not identical twins. They didn’t even think alike. But she trusted George more than any other person in the world, save for Beatrice.
Into the sudden void, George said, “Here is the important fact. The Dragon of London kissed you.”
“He had no choice. I told you, he was trying to protect my identity from Lady Redhill.”
George’s eyes narrowed. “And kissing you accomplished exactly what, Cece?”
Celeste made an impatient sound. “It created a good reason for why he was in a dark library, alone with a woman. It wasn’t a kiss that he meant.”
George considered this. “He couldn’t just shove you behind a chair or a curtain?”
“There wasn’t time. But it was all for naught because he isn’t interested in supporting my charity.”
“Enough about your charity,” George answered. “Is he a good kisser?”
Now, that was a question. There had been moments since the ball when the memory of that kiss threatened Celeste’s sanity, but she wasn’t about to confess that to her sister.
“It was meaningless,” she informed George primly.
“What concerns me is that I will not be able to honor Father’s last request. He believed I could do this, and instead, I’ve failed"
A knock on their bedroom door interrupted them. Rodman, their butler, announced, “The Duke of Salcombe is here to see you, Lady Celeste.”
George’s eyes widened in amazement. “Never see him again? And this is early for a call.”
“I have no idea why he is here.”
Another knock. “Lady Celeste?”
“Please tell him I shall be down momentarily,” Celeste said calmly, but inside, panic seized her. She turned to the looking glass. She appeared pale. And should she change from the simple blue day dress she was wearing? Or pin up her hair?
George rose from the bed and crossed the bedroom to open the door.
“Where are you going?” Celeste asked.
“One of us should greet him. Besides, you will need a chaperone.”
Her words were the impetus Celeste needed to move. “No, I don’t,” she informed her twin as she hurried to beat her down the hall to the staircase. “He is calling on a matter of business importance. This isn’t a social call."
“No one will believe that,” George tossed over her shoulder as she bounced down the steps.
Celeste kept pace with her. “He isn’t interested in me.”
“He kissed you.”
“He was forced to.”
“Cece, no one forces a man to kiss a woman.”
“It wasn’t his choice.”
“Mm-hmm,” her twin answered as they turned on the last landing before the entrance hall, and then they both came to a halt.
No duke cooled his heels in their foyer. He must be in the receiving room. In silent agreement, they lifted their chins and then regally took the last steps side-by-side, like the gentlewomen they were. They moved to the door of the receiving room.
Still no duke.
“Where did he go?” George whispered.
And then Celeste heard a low-throated sound of masculine appreciation coming from the direction of the family breakfast room. The scent of beef and ham wafted down the hall toward them, a beaconing if ever there was one. Her brother was not in residence. It could be a servant, but she thought not.
She marched down the hall, George at her heels, and strode into the private room to see the Duke of Salcombe opening the covers to the array of breakfast dishes on the sideboard and helping himself to small nibbles with his ungloved fingers.
He looked more handsome than ever in the room’s late morning sun, his blue-black hair ruffled into wild curls as if he’d just been out riding.
He smiled in greeting, brushing off his fingers, as if he was very pleased to see her. It was a good smile. A winsome one.
Under her breath, George whispered, “Oh, my.”
Oh, my, indeed.
Celeste struggled not to show how happy she was to see him, or to recall how she had enjoyed being pressed against his chest the other night.
Even from where she stood, she caught the hint of sandalwood and soap.
She gathered her wits and asked, “Does this mean you will be my charity’s lead patron? ”
“Absolutely,” he said, and in that moment, Celeste felt as if the heavens had opened and the angels were singing. He was going to help her. She was going to succeed, and she was humbly grateful. In fact, she was so appreciative, she was in danger of weeping with relief.
Rodman entered through the pantry with a tankard of ale for the duke. Salcombe smiled at the offering. “Your chef is excellent,” he said. “I’ve never tasted beef with such flavor. And it is tender. I like tender beef.”
Celeste covertly caught a tear before it escaped and embarrassed her. “I shall tell Cook. She will be flattered.” She turned to her sister. “I’m certain you have something you should be doing, George?” It was a pointed hint.
“Nothing is more important than chaperoning you, dear sister.” George walked up to the duke, who was hovering around a dish of bacon. “I’m Lady Georgiana. However, please, call me George, and did you really kiss my twin last night?”
“George.” Celeste could have happily murdered her sister, especially when the duke ducked his head as if to hide his embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Your Grace. George has terrible manners.”
“The better to chaperone you, Cece,” George replied, unrepentant.
“I don’t need a chaperone.”
“Obviously, you do if you are kissing a duke at a ball,” George whispered brightly.
The duke made a humming sound as he piled a plate high with bacon and beef. “Did you tell her all of it?” He carried his food over to the table where he’d set his tankard. “Including Lady Redhill?”
“I did. But Georgiana is a troublemaker.”
“That is what sisters are for,” George assured her blithely.
“Well, you needn’t worry, and please, leave us. His Grace and I have much to discuss.”
“Yes, about Our Brave Soldiers.”
Celeste frowned, confused. “Our what?”
“Our Brave Soldiers. It’s the name I’ve given to the charity.
I had my man Peters send out announcements of my patronage to all the papers.
We needed a name, and I like the sound of that one.
Would you ladies like to sit?” He asked because he was obviously ready to enjoy his breakfast but wished to be a gentleman.
George took a seat at the far end of the table, the lift of her brow a sign that she found this conversation quite entertaining.
Celeste shook her head. She wasn’t ready to sit. “But that isn’t the name of the charity.”
Having done his gentlemanly duty, Salcombe took his chair. “It must be now. It is in all the morning papers. It will be in the evening ones as well.” He drained the tankard of ale. “That is good. Your man says you brew it yourselves.”
“Yes, we do,” Celeste said absently, her mind roiling with his impertinence.
He had renamed her charity, and without a word to her.
She had wanted to call it Heroes of the War.
Our Brave Soldiers was not terrible... but it wasn’t her idea.
“You do remember that my late father tasked me with establishing a charity?”
“I do.” He picked up a knife and fork and plunged into his food.
Celeste drew in a deep breath and decided the duke’s choice of name was not so bad. “Very well. Our Brave Soldiers. And you have already sent out notices to the papers?”
“My man Peters took care of the matter yesterday.”
He’d known he was going to help her yesterday? But he had not thought to say one word to her?
“Oh,” was all Celeste could think to reply without losing her temper and shouting. She had toyed with the wording of several notices for the newspapers but had, of course, been waiting until she had acquired a lead patron. “Well,” she managed, “another task done.”
“We will hold a subscription ball,” the duke informed her as if she’d asked. “I shall host it. I don’t often entertain at Salcombe House. Peters and the staff are excited about this endeavor. He has made a guest list that includes everyone of importance. We should do very well.”
A subscription ball was a must. It was the way most charities funded themselves.
Celeste had been concerned that, since the London house was her mother’s territory, a ball might be difficult to accomplish.
Her mother could be very particular. She was also a friend of Lady Redhill’s.
If Lady Redhill disapproved, her mother would have rejected Celeste’s request. So, the offer of his hospitality was indeed appreciated, although Celeste thought it would have been nice if he even pretended to consult her wishes.
From the other end of the table, George smiled, the expression that of a cat who drank the cream. She knew exactly what Celeste was thinking, especially as the duke when on about his ideas and his plans and his thoughts.
The longer he talked, the more Celeste felt a strong desire to take one of the silver domed covers on the dishes and clang him over the head with it.
Finally, finished with his meal and soliloquy, Salcombe wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood, assuring her, “We will be the talk of the Town.”
“You mean, my charity will be the talk of the Town.”
“Of course.” He strode out into the hall, and Celeste hopped up and hurried to follow him out. George trailed behind them at a more leisurely pace.
“Tell your brewer he is an artist,” the duke said. “I enjoy a hoppy ale.”
“I shall pass that on,” Celeste replied tightly.
“Oh,” he said as he took his hat from the footman. “Will you be at the Deveraux affair tomorrow?”
“We were not sent an invitation.” Lord Deveraux and his wife fancied themselves the cream of society and enjoyed wielding their high opinion of themselves like a cudgel. They liked letting people know through their invitations when they did not meet their inflated standards.
“I’ll change that. You need to be seen so you can answer questions about Our Brave Soldiers.
” He grinned. “We will need to think about what to do with the men once they are off the streets. I already have our first soldier. You were right about their companion animals. His is a mixed-breed, little hellion named Pistol. We will have to move them soon because Pistol has been chasing the stable cats. My grooms are annoyed. Apparently, they considered those cats to be their pets.” He shook his head as if he didn’t understand their attitude at all.
Then, with a final nod, he was out the front door.
Celeste watched him mount his horse and trot off without so much as a backward wave—and then she allowed the full weight of his call sink in. He’d known he was going to support her yesterday . . . but couldn’t be bothered to say anything? Not even pen a quick note?
And then her twin spoke. “It seems, Cece, you have caught a Dragon by the tail.” George could barely able to contain her mirth.
Celeste’s answer was to march off to the garden, her heels clicking on the wood floor. She took five turns around the various flower beds before she could think reasonably. She should be happy. The charity would be a success—that is, if she didn’t murder Salcombe first.
And that was becoming a very big “if.”
An hour later, a servant knocked on their door with an invitation to the Deveraux affair for not only all of the Harrington sisters and their mother—who had dearly wished for an invite—but for Dame Beatrice as well.
Because, apparently, the Duke of Salcombe had thought of everything.