Chapter 18 #3
Damian turned, a little startled to hear someone hailing him.
Not so long ago, someone yelling his name would have been the first sign of trouble, but those days were behind him now.
He raised his hat in thanks, wondering who on earth the fellow was, but whoever the man was, he just returned a friendly smile and strode on.
How extraordinary.
Smiling to himself, Damian made his way to the stables to hire a carriage for the morning. He should provide such things for Celia as soon as possible. He could not have his lady wife hiring carriages whenever she needed to go anywhere. A sweet-tempered mare too, so she could ride out.
A vision of the two of them riding together, out to visit Gideon and Hetty or to The Mermaid for ices, formed in his mind’s eye, and filled him with such longing that a tiny shard of terror pierced his heart. Could he really have this?
He had been certain for so long that such a life was beyond his reach, but Celia seemed to make all things possible.
Yet nothing had really changed. Had he been lulled into thinking the danger was not so grave as it truly was?
Or was this really his life now? It seemed too rare and wonderful to be true.
But then Celia was rare and wonderful, and by some miracle she belonged to him.
If she was brave enough to face whatever came without shrivelling up into a frightened little ball, then he could too.
He would live each day, accepting any blessings given him with the appreciation he felt, and if the worst happened, he knew Celia would not crumble, and that Gideon and Hetty would never let him hurt her.
It did not diminish his fear, but it made it feel manageable, like slowly chipping away at the trunk of a massive tree, not thinking about felling it, just the next blow and the next, until one day it tumbled to the ground.
Taking a moment, he turned, gazing out at the sea his wife loved so much and finding a little of the same peace she spoke of as the sun finally broke the clouds and sparkled upon the water.
Anything was possible.
Everything was possible with Celia.
“Are we nearly there yet?”
Damian hid an amused smile. It was at least the third time she’d asked, and Celia was fidgeting with anticipation, eager for her first glimpse of the house.
“Still, nearly, yes,” he said, shaking his head at her. Turning to look out of the window, he realised they actually were approaching the house now. “Come here, you impatient creature.”
Reaching for her, he hauled his wife onto his lap. She gave a little squeal of laughter as he settled her on his thighs, his arm snaking around her slim waist.
“Look there,” he said, pointing out of the window.
He heard her breath catch and knew at once he’d been right.
The moment he had seen the house, he had known Celia would adore it.
Of course, it was not nearly grand enough for a viscount and his lady, but Gideon had the talent and delicacy of touch to make it grander, losing none of the beauty that made it so very charming.
“Oh, Damian. It’s lovely.” Celia looked down at him, her eyes alight with anticipation. “Can we go in?”
Damian fished the key from his pocket and held it out to her. “We can.”
She took it from him with a smile and the carriage had barely halted before Celia had scrambled from his lap and stood gazing at the house.
“This side of the house is Tudor, I’m told.
It’s the oldest section,” Damian said, watching her reaction with interest as she took in the large casement windows with their traditional glazing bars, the steeply pitched roof flanked by gable ends and two prominent hipped dormers.
“Behind this ancient facade, you will find two parallel adjoining wings. These are much more recent and in excellent condition.”
Celia held out her hand to him and Damian took it, walking with her towards the two-storey porch which acted as the main focal point of the facade.
Celia turned the key in the lock, and they walked into a house that felt to Damian as if it had been waiting for them.
“It’s still furnished,” she said in surprise.
Damian nodded. “The family have taken their personal belongings but much of the furniture came with the estate, as I understand it. They came south for the mother’s health and a milder climate, as she was ailing, but it seems the sea air wrought such wonders that they are returning home to the Midlands.
They were homesick, if you can credit it,” he said, shaking his head.
“I cannot,” she exclaimed with delight as she pushed open a door that led into a wonderfully appointed drawing room with views over the lovely gardens, and on to the sea beyond. “Oh, how could anyone think of leaving such a place?”
Damian watched, an odd sensation somewhere between pride and happiness building in his chest as Celia ran from room to room, her excitement palpable.
“May we see upstairs?” she asked him, heading for the staircase.
“You may investigate every nook and cranny, love. I take it you like the place?”
“It’s marvellous!” she cried, rushing up the stairs. “It feels like home already. Can’t you feel it too? I can imagine waking here, oh, in this very room! Damian, have you seen the view from here?”
Damian laughed as he found her standing before the large windows in the master bedroom.
He joined her, sliding his arms around her and pulling her back against him.
“I felt certain you would love it the moment I saw it, but this view put any doubt out of my mind. I saw you standing in this very spot, gazing out at the sea every morning, just as you are now, and I knew I must buy it for you.”
She turned in his arms, her expression urgent now. “Oh, Damian, yes, we must. Who is selling it? We must speak to them at once before they sell it to someone else, I should be so devastated if we lost it. Might we go to them now?”
He returned a somewhat sheepish smile.
“Actually, love, I hope you will forgive my presumptuousness just this once, but I was so very certain… I already bought it. Welcome home, Celia,” he said softly.
Celia’s breath caught, her eyes filling with tears. Silently she flung her arms about his neck and held on tight. “Thank you,” she said, her voice rather thick and muffled against his coat. “Thank you, thank you.”
They stayed like that for a long moment, too content with each other to move, but finally her curiosity got the better of her, and they investigated the rest of the house.
Each room only delighted her more, and yet there was one which Damian wished he could guide her away from.
That would be a cowardly thing to do, however, and he could hardly keep her from it forever.
His heart beat hard and fast as she opened the door to the nursery and he felt the depth of sorrow that swept over her.
Words crowded his mind, suggestions that they make it a dressing room, or a room to store all the hats his fashionable wife would no doubt want, and yet he could not make light of it.
They had promised each other honesty, and if she could face life with him without children, the least he could do was endure the sorrow she felt at the prospect, even as the guilt of it ate away at his soul.
“I’m sorry,” he said, horribly aware that the words were inconsequential, but they needed speaking aloud.
She touched a hand to the beautifully carved cot that looked like it might be as old as the facade of the house. It swayed gently, and she turned away from it, moving towards the windows.
“I know.”
“Celia…” he began, not knowing what he might say, how he might make it better, but she shook her head.
“Don’t. Please.” She turned and smiled at him, but the smile was brave rather than happy and tore at his heart. “Come, I am longing to see the garden, but we had better hurry, I think those might be rain clouds on the horizon.”
Her words proved to be prophetic, and by the time they had viewed the gardens, they just made it to the carriage before the heavens opened.
Damian sat on the padded bench with Celia beside him, yet he felt a gulf had opened between them, and he did not know how to fill it.
The weight of remorse seemed a heavy burden indeed and the fear that she might forever hold it against him, might even come to hate him, was a shiver of fear down his spine.
And yet, even as the bleak imaginings began, Celia’s warm hand crept into his, her fingers holding tightly.
Damian turned to look at her, his heart in his throat, but she smiled, and it was such a sweet smile, soft and rueful and a little sad.
“I know it pains you too, Damian, and I shall never, ever resent you for it or regret our marriage. Just in case you were wondering.”
He made a choked sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob.
“My God, Celia. My God, I-I think you’ve learned to read my bloody mind.”
She shifted closer and laid her head on his shoulder. “No, Damian, not your mind, only your heart.”