Chapter Thirty-Nine
The events of the night before had shaken Céleste, and she’d struggled to think and speak and, in the end, even to sleep. But the long waking hours had brought some clarity and, eventually, a return of her determination.
She’d sent a footman to Norwood Manor requesting Crofton call on her but had done so with instructions that the footman remain and accompany him to Eu Plate. Word had only just reached her that the new Duke of Hartley had arrived.
Céleste sat in the formal drawing room. Julia remained in the room, as she was the one amongst the ladies with enough standing in Society to render Crofton unwilling to dismiss her entirely.
Céleste smoothed the skirts of the dress she’d borrowed from Violet, she being the closest in size to her.
Mrs. Sommers had come to stay at Eu Plate and had shown herself a remarkably good coiffeuse.
Céleste looked like a proper lady of Paris Society, the daughter of a fine family, and, she hoped, a lady not to be underestimated.
Crofton stepped into the room, looking entirely sure of himself, even a little smug. “Miss Fortier.” He offered an abbreviated bow. Turning to Julia, he added a little more deference to his next bow and acknowledgment. “Lady Lampton.”
They returned his greeting with curtsies before resuming their seats.
“Please, sit.” Céleste motioned to a chair facing hers.
Crofton lowered himself. He was clearly curious as to the reason for his summons but didn’t ask any questions.
It was just as well. Céleste had already decided that an ambush was likely her best approach. “Are you aware of the fact, Your Grace, that your late father gave Lord Aldric the use of Norwood Manor after a conversation with my brother Henri?”
Crofton nodded. “I am.”
“And do you know what it was in that conversation that led to your father’s decision?”
“I have always suspected it was some form of extortion.” Crofton’s nose scrunched in distaste.
Céleste maintained a casual air. She needed him to know that she was not intimidated by him. “I prefer to think of it as encouragement. My family is exceptionally good at . . . encouragement.”
The miserable man eyed her through quickly narrowing eyes. “And are you hoping to encourage me?”
“Far more than hoping, Your Grace. Now listen closely.” She held his gaze, unflinching, unwavering.
Crofton Benick was a weasel. And he was about to discover that she had little patience with vermin.
“You have inherited a significant title and all that accompanies it, but you are not well liked. Indeed, there are many people who find you rather despicable.”
Crofton clearly meant to object, but she didn’t allow him the opportunity to do so.
“You need a connection to people who are liked and who are respected if you have any hope of tiptoeing closer to that yourself and gaining some of the standing and admiration that you crave. But part of the reason you are disliked is that you are a cruel, heartless, and unfeeling person.”
His eyes widened with shock. From her seat nearby, Julia covered her mouth with her hand, looking away, no doubt to hide her amusement.
“You are only currently tolerated in Society because you are a duke,” Céleste said. “But you have no actual acceptance or influence, because you are a horrid little rat.”
Céleste swore she heard the start of a tiny laugh from Julia.
“Any further evidence of the defects in your character would likely prove insurmountable, leaving you stuck forever being seen as who and what you are.” Céleste leaned forward a little, making certain she had his full attention. “And that terrifies you.”
Beneath the bravado Crofton was attempting was a very obvious worry. She hadn’t guessed wrong, then.
“Treat your brother like a pariah, like a piece of meat that’s gone off, and all of Society will see that as proof of what they already suspect you to be, and you will never gain the standing or respect you are looking for.”
“You are going to encourage me to be nice to my brother?”
She gave him a dry look. “That was just a bit of advice, Your Grace. The encouragement comes next.”
He was growing increasingly wary. “In what form?”
She let a smile slowly spread across her face, watching him start to squirm. “Your father was involved in some questionable business transactions with a certain Frenchman who was last night put into jail, charged with intending to commit murder.”
Crofton looked somehow both surprised and not the least confused. Word of Pierre’s arrest hadn’t reached him yet, apparently. But he did seem to know of the late duke’s connection to Pierre.
“These business dealings were not merely questionable,” Céleste continued.
“They were entirely illegal. My brother discovered that and gathered proof of it; proof that I have access to.” She didn’t directly have access, but she knew Henri would provide it if needed.
“Should the details of those dealings be brought to light, the English courts would need to decide which part of your inheritance was obtained through crimes and which would still rightly be yours. It could take years.” She hardened her gaze as she looked more fiercely at Crofton.
“Years of scandal, years of questions, years in which you might not even have access to your inheritance. Years, Your Grace.”
“And what is it you’re asking of me in exchange for not using this evidence to destroy me?” Crofton spoke through a tight jaw. Good. He understood the gravity of his situation.
And here was where she achieved her aims. She could likely resecure Norwood Manor, but the entailment meant it could never truly be Aldric’s. Céleste meant to see him entirely free of his brother’s control.
“Your son deserves to know his uncle,” Céleste said. “He deserves to spend time with his uncle away from you.”
“You hold in your hand the ability to ruin me and in exchange for not doing so you are asking that Roderick be permitted to spend time with his uncle?” Crofton scoffed.
“Oh, I intend to be far more specific than that.” Céleste stood, necessitating that Crofton do the same. “Your schools here in England adjourn for a month every year around Christmastime.”
Crofton nodded slowly, still eyeing her through narrowed eyes.
“Beginning this year and continuing until he is an adult, Roderick will spend those Christmastime holidays with his uncle Aldric. And you and your wife will not be there.”
“The boy should spend Christmas with his family,” Crofton scoffed.
“Lord Aldric is his family.”
“And where are they to spend these Christmases?” The arrogance returned to the duke’s expression. “Aldric doesn’t have a house.”
“I have complete faith that he will sort that out despite your efforts, which I will remind you would only further sink you in the eyes of Society.” She allowed a quick smile. “Regardless of where Lord Aldric and Lord Mowbary spend their Christmases, your son will benefit from the connection.”
“And why do you care so much?”
“The only matter of concern to you, Your Grace, is whether or not you wish to spend years in court. Decide now, literally in this instant, and then I will determine what happens next.”
Crofton eyed her up and down. “You will keep this ‘evidence’ to yourself in exchange for me sending Roderick away at Christmastime?”
She gave a single, slow nod.
His laugh was derisive. “You do know the boy would have spent those Christmases in the nursery regardless?”
This arrangement might just be what helped Roderick grow into a man far more like his uncle than his father.
“I know a great many people in this country,” she reminded Crofton, “people so closely connected to your brother that I will know if you break your word. Do not think for a moment that I would hesitate to destroy you. I would enjoy it, Your Grace.”
And in an admission she suspected he hadn’t meant to make, he said, “I believe you.”
“You’ve made your decision then?” she pressed. “Lord Mowbary will spend all his Christmas holidays with his uncle Aldric, free of you and your wife?”
“I agree.” He shrugged. “I am getting the far better bargain, truth be told.”
“Thank you for calling, Your Grace.” Céleste motioned to the drawing room door with a languid flick of her hand. “You may return to whatever you were filling your days with.”
“You are dismissing me?” The proud tip of his chin felt a little contrived. He was attempting to salvage some of his pride, having just been bested by someone he quite obviously considered below him.
So she didn’t answer but simply watched him with a patient and enigmatic expression. Crofton looked to Julia, who mirrored her expression. After a moment, the almost universally disliked duke offered a clipped bow.
“Ladies,” he said by way of farewell.
And he left.
Julia grinned at Céleste. In French, she declared, “That was remarkable.”
“Aldric’s mind and heart would never know any peace without some guarantee he would continue to have little Roderick in his life. I wasn’t going to rest so long as I could secure that.”
“I hope he knows how much you’ve done for him.” Julia made the pointed observation while looking at the far doorway. Following Julia’s gaze in that direction revealed why.
Aldric stood there, watching not the door his brother had exited through but Céleste.
He walked slowly toward her, not looking away, not deviating from his course.
The fierceness of him matched what she’d seen so many times over the past seven years, but the tenderness underlying his gaze had become every bit as familiar to her.
This remarkable man, with his many layers and complexities, no longer intimidated her. He was everything to her.
“You, Céleste Fortier, are astonishing.” He reached her and immediately pulled her into his arms. “My mother’s necklace, now Roderick’s childhood. When I think what you have saved and rescued—”
“My only aim has been giving you the happiness you deserve and the future that ought to have always been yours.”