Chapter 5
“Are you going to have a bit of fun with him?” Emilia asked as she began to put out the candles in their bedroom. Dawn would touch the windows at any moment, but it was still dark with the last shadows of night after their return from the ball to Heron House.
Celia and Emilia had shared a chamber for years.
They had shared everything, really, since they were children.
Well, of course, not everything, but most things.
They certainly shared all of their hopes, dreams, and desires.
They shared all of their stories and all of their adventures, and Celia was not about to start hiding anything from Emilia now.
Most definitely not.
“There will be no fun between myself and that man.”
“Why not?” Emilia protested, her cinnamon curls dancing as she turned and propped a hand on her night rail–clad hip. “He looks like a fantastic bit of fun.”
Celia snorted. “He looks like too much fun.”
“Too much fun is a problem?” Emilia asked as she headed to the tray of treats their maid had left out for them, meant to satisfy the ravenous hunger that could occur after such a long night.
Easily, she poured out two glasses of lemonade and handed one to Celia.
One might think that after a long night at a ball, coming home well after the sun had gone to bed was an indication to have a nice nightcap.
But the truth was one was so entirely parched that the only thing that would do was lemonade.
The tartness of it was the perfect refreshing thing when one climbed into their bed, their feet aching, their bodies vibrating from so much spent effort.
“No, no,” Celia assured as she sipped the perfectly sugared beverage. “That sort of drama is not for me.”
Emilia laughed and plunked herself into the bed beside her. “I think a good bit of drama might be just the thing. Perhaps you and I are falling into a rut.”
“How can you say so?” Celia demanded, lowering her lemonade with horror. “I would never say such a thing to you.”
“Then you are telling me lies,” Emilia said, leaning back on one hand and dangling her pale leg over the side of the bed.
“And we cannot have that. Are we not meant to be honest and truthful with each other?” Emilia gave a nod.
“I can see it. We do the same thing every day, and whilst it’s incredibly important, you know as well as I that it is important to have a respite from time to time.
Otherwise, we shall get run down and be terrible at what we do. ”
Emilia narrowed her eyes. “You wouldn’t want to be terrible at what you do, would you?”
Celia groaned. “No, of course not,” she said, balancing her lemonade in her hand before flinging herself back on the plush pillow and staring up at the ceiling.
It was a very beautiful ceiling. They had a mural painted on it. She loved the Greek goddess Artemis, who had most notably remained single, loved her dogs, hunted, and had a particular liking for the moon.
Celia also had a particular liking for the moon, she also loved dogs, and she definitely liked being alone.
Well, with her family. But Roseford had been rather remarkable.
His kiss had been rather remarkable. He was rather remarkable, and she knew for certain she should stay away from him, and so she would.
Emilia tapped her leg. “Are you falling in love with him?”
She jolted upright again, nearly sloshing her lemonade all over her bed. “Look at what you nearly did.”
“I did not do that,” Emilia said, her eyes dancing. “You did. And that makes me think that, yes, you are falling in love with him. Is he the one?”
“No,” Celia said abruptly, “he is most definitely not the one. I simply felt sorry for him. You should have seen him when he thundered into the room where I was reading, taking my turn away from the ball. The poor thing looked completely and totally lost, like a puppy that had been kicked.”
Emilia snorted. “I don’t see how he could look like a puppy. He’s rather large. If anything, he’s like a mastiff or a Great Dane or a wolfhound.”
A wolfhound? Yes, Celia could see that comparison.
My God, her fellow did look quite fit. Her fellow? He was not her fellow, and she would not start thinking of him as such.
Celia swallowed. “I do not think we should talk about him anymore.”
Emilia’s face softened. “I think you saying that means we should talk about him a great deal more. The two of you looked perfectly splendid dancing together, and you know that you’re going to be seeing a great deal of him now that you’ve introduced him to the family.
Why would you do that if you did not wish to have fun with him?
The family will be pushing you two together at every possible opportunity.
I wouldn’t even be surprised if he came to stay with us. ”
“No, don’t say that,” protested Celia, her jaw all but dropping. “That’s not possible. He’s a duke. Why would he come stay with us?”
Emilia rolled her eyes. “You know our family, and you know once Grandmama gets wind of this—”
“Grandmama has never once tried to get us married,” she cut in.
Emilia’s lips twitched with amusement. “I have not yet once said the word married. I have not said marriage. I have not said wedding. You are the one to do so.”
“Oh, dear God, you do think I think he’s the one,” Celia gasped, a wave of horror crashing over her.
“No, no, I don’t,” Emilia rushed, grabbing her hand.
“Grandmama would simply make it possible for you to have a bit of fun with him. You know Grandmama thinks that you and I should live our lives and not be restricted by the ridiculous rules that seem to be ever encroaching upon society each year. We are all getting too stern,” Emilia said.
The Briarwoods believed they should all live loudly and without apology. And their grandmama, the dowager duchess, did not believe it was any different for Celia and Emilia. It was just a tad trickier because they didn’t have the protection of marriage to shelter them from scandal.
But the truth was Celia and Emilia had had their fun over the years because they were perfectly healthy young women. They had not advertised those moments because, well, society had a way of judging unmarried women in ways that it did not judge married women. It was deuced unfair. But there it was.
“Then I don’t see what the problem would be with having fun with him or him staying here,” Emilia said, confused.
“I don’t want to encourage him,” Celia breathed. “He might be looking for a wife, and it’s not me.”
“You could help him find a wife,” Emilia supplied.
Celia plunked her lemonade down on the table beside her bed and buried her face in her hands. “That sounds like the plot of a very terrible novel. I am not about to have a good bit of fun with him and help him find a wife. We’re not French.”
Emilia nodded. “I suppose you’re right. Sorry. Badly done of me.”
“Thank you,” she said, dropping her hands to the cool linen covering the bed.
Emilia hesitated, then ventured, “It just seems that a fellow like that needs someone like you right now, and I think maybe you need him.”
“Are you suggesting that I am unhappy?” Celia whispered as a snake of shock went through her frame. “I am most happy with you. With my life.”
Emilia frowned. “No, of course not. You’re not unhappy, and I’m not unhappy, but we both know it’s important to do new and different things. You must admit we have been doing too much of the same thing as of late. We shall grow stale, and that will help no one.”
Celia hated to hear this. She was content in her routine. Or at least she thought she was. A disgruntled note blurted past her lips.
“Exactly,” said Emilia.
“You think that I should have an affair with him?” Celia asked.
Emilia shrugged. “I don’t see why not. He clearly desires you, and I’m fairly certain from the way you looked at him that you feel the same. Go have fun and live your life, and I will be waiting for you.”
Celia frowned. “I don’t know. He seems…”
“What?” Emilia asked, genuinely curious as she leaned forward.
“Dangerous,” Celia whispered.
Emilia scoffed. “I thought you said he was a puppy. Puppies are not dangerous.”
She bit the inside of her cheek as she tried to decide how to explain the war inside her. “No, there’s something about him that makes me think that I…”
“Oh, dear,” Emilia gasped. “You actually could fall in love with him. That’s why you’re pushing him away like this.”
“No,” Celia declared again, perhaps too forcefully. “Stop that.”
Emilia drew in a breath, reached across the space between them, and took Celia’s hands. “Well, then prove me wrong.”
Celia pulled back her hands and arched an incredulous brow. “You want me to have an affair with him to prove that I am not interested in him?”
Emilia waggled her own brows. “It’s as good a reason as any.”
“No, it’s not,” Celia said, picking up a pillow and throwing it at her sister.
Emilia grabbed it and hugged the snowy down-filled thing. “You’re making me have to come up with excuses for you to have a delightful time with that delicious fellow.”
“He seems complicated, and complicated people should not be messed with. He may not know who he is—”
“That one knows exactly who he is,” Emilia cut in. “I could see it on his face. I think that he’s indulging you.”
“What?” Celia challenged indignantly. “Indulging me? What could you possibly mean by that?”
Emilia worried her lower lip. “He seemed to be amused by what you were doing.”
“What?” she bit out, horrified yet again.
She grabbed her lemonade, took a fortifying swig, and then scowled.
Emilia gave her a tentative look, then rushed, “Yes, he seemed to think it quite endearing that you were taking care of him.”
“Endearing?” echoed Celia.
Emilia nodded.
“He seemed to really need help,” Celia insisted, wondering if she was a fool.
“Well, perhaps he does, but it does seem to me that he’s far more capable than you think he is,” Emilia said ruefully.
Celia shook her head, certain that she had not misread him. “He seemed wounded—”
“Perhaps he is wounded,” Emilia ventured gently, “but he seemed to think you most delightful. And yet he seemed as if he ruled the room when he walked in, hardly a man who needs the sort of help you seemed to think he does.”
“All right, fine. Fine,” Celia groused. “You think that he was merely being polite to me?”
“Polite?” queried Emilia. “Oh, no, I think he wanted to be with you at any cost, and so he was willing to go along with whatever you put about.”
Celia tossed back the covers of her bed, threw her feet over the side, thrust them into her slippers, and crossed to the windows.
Utterly dismayed, she threw them open and drank in the summer air.
Finally, it was truly warm in England, and she needed a good breath. The scent of the flowers in the garden wafted up towards her, and she stared out at the stars.
“Well, he’s going to get a very big surprise,” she said at last, more to the moon than her sister.
“And what is that?” Emilia asked.
“I have no interest in him.”
Emilia let out a bleat of alarm. “That’s a lie. I thought we weren’t going to lie.”
“Then I shall make certain that I have no interest in him,” Celia declared, grabbing hold of the windowsill and all but vowing to herself.
She had to be careful, lest she be swept away.
For a man like that? She could get lost in his current.
And she would not be lost for anyone or anything.
She’d worked too hard to be herself. “I will not spend any time with him. I don’t want to be with someone who indulges me. I am not a pet Pomeranian.”
Emilia let a laugh. “No, no one could possibly accuse you of being a pet Pomeranian.”
“I wanted to help him find people that he could belong to, because he certainly doesn’t belong in the ton. He…”
Her voice died off as she thought of how he’d been alone with her. Lost. Grandiose and clever, yes, but he had seemed so alone.
“Yes?” Emilia prompted.
“He’s different.” She glanced back over her shoulder. “And you know how dangerous that can be in our society.”
Emilia nodded. “Yes, of course. How very kind of you. But perhaps there’s something more.”
She turned back to the stars, back to the moon.
No, there was nothing more. There was never going to be anything more.
She would not be tempted by a handsome face and a growling voice and an adventurous personality.
She had no desire for adventures. She had adventures enough of her own in a small part of the city where people depended on her every day, where children depended on her, and she was not about to give that up.
Any other sort of adventure? She could find those in books or in the stories that her family told. Or in the theater. She did not need the adventures the Duke of Roseford might bring.
She never had, and she never would.