Chapter 13
The Trouble With Happy Ever After
“Will you stop fidgeting? You’re worse than Hetty, and she’s dreadful,” Celia complained, glaring at him around the side of her easel.
She had chosen a location in the music room, which had excellent light, as the terrace was off limits.
The morning had begun with a dismal grey sky, which had quickly delivered the rain it promised.
The temperature had plummeted, and so a cheerful fire burned in the grate.
It was cosy and intimate, and he was losing his mind.
Damian sighed and resigned himself to another half hour of Celia’s scrutiny. It was making him horribly uncomfortable. He had the disquieting notion she saw him far too clearly as it was; allowing her to capture all that in paint seemed a terrible idea, yet he’d not been able to deny her.
He had slain a dragon this morning or at least put her dragon of a grandmother in her place and done so without ruffling the old bird’s feathers. Celia had been so very delighted, and so full of praise for his deft way of managing her, that she had somehow flattered him into sitting for a portrait.
He needed to remember this, he thought darkly. Heaven only knew what she would persuade him into if he didn’t have a care.
“Your father is gone, then?” he asked, observing her reaction. She always put on a brave face when he mentioned the duke, but he suspected her father’s rejection hurt her more deeply than she let on.
The man was an idiot. He had three wonderful children— No, two, well, one child.
Hart was an overbearing oaf and Hetty was enough to make any father tear out his hair, but what on earth could the fellow find to complain about in Celia?
She was damn near perfect. Indeed, it was only her association with him that made her less than perfection, but desperation made women do reckless things.
If Damian had a daughter like that, he’d—
The thought stopped him in his tracks, and he let out an unsteady breath.
“Did you swallow a fly?”
Damian shook himself, turning back to Celia, who was watching him uncertainly.
“Sorry?”
“I just wondered if you’d swallowed a fly. Hetty did once when I was painting her and she had just that look of shocked surprise on her face.”
He laughed but could not shake the sensation that the ground was not as steady as it had been a moment ago.
Everything was shifting, things that had seemed so clear just days ago could no longer be viewed with such clarity, and it was all her fault, damn her.
He wanted to be furious with her, to deny her his smiles and his company, but he couldn’t because he didn’t want to.
It was ridiculous and dangerous, and he was going to get them both in a tangle there was no getting out of if he didn’t get a grip on the situation.
The murmur of voices reached them, and a moment later there was a knock at the door. Howard appeared and opened his mouth, but Hetty barged in before he could speak.
“Don’t bother, Howard, my sister knows me and loves me, and even Damian has come to… tolerate me, but neither would throw me out.”
The butler grinned, the foolish fellow clearly besotted with both sisters.
“Yes, my lady. Shall I order tea?” he asked as Hetty hurried over to Celia.
“Oh, yes, please, and may we have some of Alphonse’s delicious macarons? I’ve missed them terribly.”
“Certainly, my lady. I shall see to it,” Howard said with a smile.
Hetty bent to hug her sister and then stood, regarding the portrait Celia was working on with a frown.
“Lady Henrietta thinks you should paint in horns and a tail, my dear,” Damian remarked dryly, though he could not help but feel a little exposed, wondering how Celia really saw him and what, precisely, she might paint. What was it that made Hetty look so anxious?
“Not at all. I am giving you the benefit of the doubt,” Hetty replied magnanimously, though she was still staring at the portrait. “Because Gideon has promised me you are really a decent fellow who will try his best to make my sister happy.”
“And if I don’t?” Damian pressed, certain there would be more to the arrangement than blind faith on her part.
She looked up, her expression mischievous but with an unmistakable hint of warning. “He’ll not interfere with my campaign to make your life hell on earth,” Hetty replied, and so sweetly Damian could not help but laugh. He regarded his brother suspiciously.
“Do you sleep with one eye open?”
Deon laughed. “No, I just don’t put a foot wrong. It’s safer that way.”
“Oh, what a beautiful brooch! Is it new, Cilly?”
“It is. Damian bought it for me.”
Damian stiffened. Hetty bent to get a better look at the piece as Celia lifted her chin.
She’d not taken the blasted thing off once, wearing it with every outfit.
He almost regretted buying the wretched thing, and yet how could he when it had made her so happy?
If only buying her the odd bit of jewellery would be enough to satisfy her in years to come.
Damian watched, increasingly uptight, as his brother crossed the room to admire the piece too.
“It’s lovely,” Deon said, glancing at him with interest.
Damian concentrated on a piece of lint stuck to his trousers and made a meal of picking it off.
“How it brings out the colour in your eyes, Cilly!” Hetty exclaimed with admiration. “Well, it is a lovely gift indeed, and most thoughtful. Well done, Damian. Where did you find such a lovely piece?”
Damian glowered, feeling increasingly like he’d been cornered and had no escape.
“In Tunbridge Wells,” Celia replied when he didn’t answer. “We went to the Pantiles after visiting Lady Rivington.”
There was a fraught silence during which Celia avoided his eye, the coward. Not that he could entirely blame her, as he avoided looking at Deon. He could feel his brother staring at him, though.
“You went to visit Mama?” Deon’s sounded incredulous, as well he might. “With Cecilia?”
“That was… very brave,” Hetty said softly, though he could not tell if she was talking to Celia or him.
Well, her sister obviously, but anyone with sense would realise it had been a risk for him too.
Damian decided avoiding everyone’s eye was for the best now, so he maintained his pose and used that to deflect Deon’s astonishment. “Well, Celia is so very determined to be a part of the family,” he remarked, though he did not hide the edge to his words, which everyone would well understand.
He glanced up at Celia to see if she was cross with him, but she merely quirked an eyebrow and smiled, which made him even more unsettled.
Assuming the day had gone to hell and was going to stay there, he glanced at Deon to judge his reaction.
His brother was staring at him with a puzzled expression.
Previously he’d had to beg and plead and blackmail Damian into visiting the blasted woman, and now he’d voluntarily taken Celia. No wonder the man looked shocked.
“You really visited her?” Hetty sounded stunned.
“I did,” Celia replied calmly. “It was good to meet her. I promised to go again soon too, as she seemed to like me.”
“Well, any choice of Damian’s is bound to find favour,” Deon remarked with a bitter smile.
Damian winced inwardly. He did not know if all parents had favourites, but he suspected most did not try to murder the one they didn’t like so well.
“Heavens.” Hetty sat down, her gaze ricocheting from Damian to Celia to Gideon and back again. “I’ve not yet done so, though I am not expecting to, either.”
“There’s hardly any point. It makes her furious and now I know we’re not even related—”
Damian shot his brother a warning glance, but Deon heeded it too late.
“Not related?” Celia set down her brush, looking between them. “But what do you mean?”
Deon sent his brother an apologetic shrug. “Sorry, I didn’t realise you’d not explained, but we may as well. I cannot imagine Lady Cecilia will hold my illegitimacy against me.”
Damian watched Celia as the information sank in, watched her make sense of things. “No, of course I would not. I simply did not know. Thank you for telling me,” she said quietly, picking up her brush again.
Damian’s heart sank. There had been a reproachful note there, he was certain.
One meant for him. But explaining Gideon’s past would have reopened that conversation, the one about Mama, about his tainted blood and…
and his refusal to risk another generation of misery and he did not wish to speak of it again, ever if he could help it.
Yet she would view it differently, assuming he did not trust her enough to tell her.
“To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?” Damian asked, eager to move past the current awkwardness. Though he didn’t look at her, he was aware of Celia picking up her paintbrush again, her attention focusing upon him once more.
He resumed his pose, the sudden sense he was acting a part in a play—a farce, no doubt, though better that than a tragedy—nagging at the edges of his mind.
Hetty, detecting some unspoken tension, took a seat, smiling at him, and for once, with no warning glint in her eyes.
“Well, you’re getting married the day after tomorrow, and the last I heard, Grandmama was determined to make it a lavish affair.
I assumed you’d need us, so I dragged poor Gideon away from his mistress—I mean, his hotel—and here we are.
” Hetty grinned at Deon to ensure everyone knew she was teasing before turning to Celia. “What do you need us to do?”
“Not a thing,” Celia said with a smile that looked just a little stiff around the edges.
“Damian had a word and all my original plans stand. It’s just us, Gee-Gee, Hawkney, and Sheringham too, as he’s still here.
I think Gee-Gee wishes to invite Colonel Hamilton, as he’s an old friend of the family, but that’s all. ”
“Oh.” Hetty looked a little deflated, and then turned to Damian with a confused expression. “What on earth did you say to her?”