Lois Menzel (12 page)

“If
you
taught her?”

“Yes. Who else? If she could teach the others, that would free Mr. Browne and Ursula both to do other things. Then Kitty would be useful, and perhaps Mrs. Beebe would allow her to stay on at the home.”

“Don’t be so sure Ursula wants to be relieved of her duties.”

“I know she has no wish to be, but surely she will soon marry and have children of her own. She will have less time then to give to charitable work.”

“I think your idea is a good one,” he approved. “But I believe you should discuss it with Ursula before you do anything. She may see a problem you have not considered.”

“I will. I will speak with her first.”

When they arrived at the stable yard, they met Tony and John Hardy on their way to the house. As a groom took the leaders, Tony reached up to hand Celia out of the carriage. “Shale told us you had taken the curricle,” he said. “Did you have a good drive?”

“It was wonderful, Tony. They run like the wind. I had a delightful time.”

“I must say, Miss Demming,” John added, “that you are a most fortunate female. I would have wagered a monkey that Wexford would never let any woman handle his cattle.”

“Ah, but Celia is not just any woman,” Tony replied. “Is she, Robert?”

“Certainly not,” Wexford said. “She is an excellent whip. It is an honor to be driven by her.”

On Sunday Celia rose early to dress for church. She had promised to drive Lady Walsh again if there was no rain. She finished dressing in good time, dismissed Wylie, and then decided to wait for Lady Walsh downstairs. She collected her warm pelisse, picked up her driving gloves and reticule, and stepped quietly into the hall. The house was quiet; she suspected that most of the guests were still asleep.

She closed the door softly and had taken no more than two steps down the hall when a shattering crash echoed behind her. This was quickly followed by a muffled thump and a string of oaths. As there was no question that these sounds originated within Lord Wexford’s bedchamber, Celia anxiously stepped to his door, which stood slightly open, and knocked. “Lord Wexford? Gregson?”

When she received no answer, she pushed the door wider to call again and immediately saw the cause of the noise. Dropping her things near the door, she hurried across the room. Wexford was sitting on the floor in a puddle of water amid the broken shards of a large pitcher and basin. He was in his bare feet, wearing breeches but no shirt.

“Robert! What happened?” she cried, uncertain whether she should hurry to help him or turn her face away from his bare torso. When she saw that his wrist was bleeding, she made up her mind. She stepped carefully over the shards and bent to help him.

“I knocked over the damned ewer,” he said. “Then I slipped in the water and fell. This leg is so stiff; I cannot seem to get up.”

“I am not surprised,” she said, all business. “It is your wounded leg you have fallen on. It must hurt dreadfully. Shall I get Tony?”

“No. Don’t wake him. I feel a complete fool. If you will give me your arm, I think I can find my balance.”

She offered her arm, and he leaned on her heavily, managing to get to his feet.

“I am not hurting you?” he asked.

“No. But now that you are standing, you must not move. There is broken pottery all about your feet. Stand still until I pick it up.”

“You cannot do that. You will cut yourself.”

“Nonsense. They are large pieces.” She bent and quickly cleared a path between him and the bed.

As she took his arm and led him there, she noted that his limp was pronounced. “I think you have hurt yourself, and I believe I must call Anthony.”

“Please don’t, but if you see my dressing gown about, I should like to have that.”

This mention of his state of undress made her blush painfully. She was grateful he could not see her acute discomfort as she brought the gown to him and helped him into it. Never before in her life had she seen a man without his shirt. She felt ashamed to look, but could not tear her eyes away as he brought the ends of the gown together, tied the sash at his waist, then sat on the edge of the bed. Was Tony like that? All solid and muscular? She supposed he was. It made her shiver to think of it.

“Shall I ring for Gregson?” she asked. “You have a cut on your wrist.”

“Which?”

“The right one. Let me see it.”

He held out the arm, and she rolled back the long sleeve of the dressing gown to get a good look. “It is not too deep. I don’t think it will need to be sutured, but it definitely must be dressed. Who shall it be, Tony or Gregson?”

“Tony. Gregson fusses like a mother hen.”

“Stay where you are, then; I will be back in a moment.”

She hurried down to the far end of the corridor and knocked firmly on Anthony’s door. He opened it a few seconds later. He was dressed in breeches and a fine white cambric shirt, open at the throat. His hair was still tousled from sleep, and one lock fell over his forehead. It made him look boyish and wonderfully appealing.

“Well, good morning,” he said when he saw who stood there.

“Good morning, Tony,” she said, and smiled; then on impulse she rose on her tiptoes to kiss him on the mouth.

As the brief kiss ended, she said, “Wexford has fallen and hurt his leg. He also has a cut that needs dressing.”

He was through the door and closing it before she finished talking. As they walked together down the hallway, she quietly explained what had happened, leaving out the part about Wexford’s state of partial undress and ending with why she had come for him instead of ringing for Gregson.

When they got back to Wexford’s room, he was sitting where she had left him. As Tony examined the cut, she turned away, “I must go. I am driving Lady Walsh to church.”

“Celia.” Wexford’s voice stopped her and she turned back to find his hand held out toward her, palm up. She placed her own in it, and he curled his fingers gently around hers. “Thank you for hearing, and thank you for coming to help. I would still be sitting there on the floor if not for you.”

“I was happy to be of assistance. I only hope you have not re-injured your old wound.”

He released her hand, and she collected her things from the floor near the door. She cast a sympathetic look at Wexford, then glanced one final time at Tony. In his face she saw his unspoken thank-you, straight from the heart, so she smiled and then nodded and left.

When she arrived downstairs, Lady Walsh was not in evidence, nor had the coach been brought around to the drive. Celia decided to walk back to the stables to collect it herself. In the stable yard another carriage was ready and waiting. The driver appeared to be the man who had driven Lord Wexford to the Drew cottage the previous Sunday. Was that why Wexford had been up so early? Was he planning a drive again this morning? She wondered if he would still go after his mishap.

During the drive to church, Celia did not mention Wexford’s fall, for she saw no reason to worry the countess unnecessarily.

At the beginning of December, Lady Walsh planned to hold what she called an informal gathering to introduce Celia to the neighboring families. There would be dinner followed by an evening of dancing, with the traditional supper at midnight.

When Celia saw the length of the guest list and the costly delicacies on the menu, she voiced her concern to Tony.

“Could you not convince her to shorten the guest list?”

“I doubt it. I am sure she has invited everyone she feels she must, and would be appalled if I suggest eliminating even one person.”

“Then the menu—surely she could offer less lavish fare?”

“You are worried about the cost?”

“Yes. It would trouble Wexford, I know. And he does not need more worries on top of the problems he already has.”

“I could offer to pay for this little gathering myself,” Tony said, “but I think I know what he would say.” When the frown on her face deepened, he added, “I will talk to him. Maybe he will let me pay half, at least.”

In the end it turned out that Tony was right. When applied to, Wexford insisted that Tony bore no responsibility for Lady Walsh’s entertainments.

Having done all she could through Tony, Celia soon realized that she personally could do nothing further to curb Lady Walsh’s extravagance. Being young and a lover of parties, she was soon drawn into the excitement herself.

Several days later when they returned from the children’s home, Celia invited Ursula up to her room to continue a discussion they had started during their ride.

Soon, however, Celia’s thoughts turned to the party. “Help me to decide which gown I should wear,” she said, going to the wardrobe and extracting two gowns, both equally lovely. “At first I thought the blue would be best, but Tony loves this mint green.”

“I think the green is perfect, but I am not the one to advise you. I know nothing of fashion.”

“You know what you like, and that is good enough for me,” Celia responded. “What are you wearing?”

“I am not coming.”

Celia looked at her friend in surprise. “What do you mean you are not coming? You must come.”

Ursula shook her head. “Big, fancy parties are not for me. I would not be comfortable. I don’t fit in.”

“But that is nonsense. You are here nearly every night for dinner, and you fit in wonderfully.”

“That is different. I know the houseguests well. They have come every year since I was seventeen.”

“But you must come,” Celia persisted. “There will be wonderful music, and dancing, and delectable food. I will enjoy myself ever so much more if you are here.”

“You won’t even miss me. You will be having such a good time yourself.”

“And you would have a good time, too. I cannot believe that you don’t want to come.”

“Even if I did want to, I have nothing appropriate to wear. My gowns are too outmoded for such a gathering.”

“The blue gown you wore the other night would be perfect. I have a figured silk shawl I could lend you that would look very handsome with it, and we could have Wylie do your hair in a new way.”

Celia’s hopes started to rise as Ursula seemed to consider her suggestions. “I suppose the blue would do . . . but . . . I have no slippers for dancing—”

“I will lend you some,” Celia interrupted. “And gloves, too. And anything else you need. Please say you will come.”

Swept along by Celia’s enthusiasm, Ursula smiled resignedly and said, “All right. I will think about it.”

Later, when Wylie was applied to, she said she would be more than happy to dress Miss Browne’s hair several ways to see if she could hit upon one that the young lady fancied. Wylie also suggested that the blue gown in question might be made to look smarter if the old lace trim was removed and new lace applied, perhaps in a slightly different shade or even a contrasting color. Ursula was so delighted by this suggestion that she spent several hours painstakingly removing the old lace in preparation for attaching the new.

Three days before the proposed party, Celia was reading to Wexford in the book room when a footman interrupted to say that some goods had arrived from Yorkshire for Miss Demming, and Leech needed to know her wishes concerning their disposition.

“Please tell Leech I will be down directly,” she said, and then waited until the footman had gone before she spoke again. “I had planned to discuss this with you, Robert, but I forgot.”

“Tell me now.”

“One of the first times I spoke with Ursula, she said that Mrs. Forbes wanted to take in sewing. Then later, when I visited the children’s home, it occurred to me that if my father sent some bolts of wool, perhaps Mrs. Forbes could sew coats for the children and solve two problems at one time.”

“I remember Tony saying that your father produces excellent wool.”

“He does. I think it is the finest wool in Yorkshire. Some weeks ago, I had him send yarn, for I have been experimenting with making socks.”

“For the children at the home.”

“Yes. And Miss Crowther and your mother have been helping me. Even Lady Matlock has put aside her embroidery and is trying her hand at knitting.”

He smiled. “Now,
that
I would really love to see.”

“I should have asked you before I wrote to my father, but I did not know you well then, and I was not comfortable speaking about it.”

“There is no harm done. If the children need the clothing, then they should have it. Have your father send me an account—”

“Oh, no!” Celia interrupted. “He does not expect to be paid. I intend these goods to be a gift, from me and my family to the children. Everyone else gives something; I should like to do my part.”

“Very well. Then I thank you, as will Mrs. Beebe, Ursula and her father, and the children, too, when they are warm and comfortable this winter. You had best go. Leech will be pacing the hall wondering where you are.”

“I will be right back,” she said. “I want to finish reading the article I started.”

When she was gone, he turned his head and stared at the eastern-facing wall of the room. Celia had said the day was bright and sunny, and had asked permission to open the curtains for light to read by. As he gazed now at the wall, he had no difficulty distinguishing the slice of light entering at the window from the dark hangings flanking both sides. For nearly a week now, he had suspected that his light perception was improving. Now he was certain of it.

Celia soon returned and continued reading the paper. When she had finished, Wexford asked, “And how are preparations coming for the party? Is everything in readiness?”

“Everything seems ready but me. I find that the closer the day comes, the more nervous I grow.”

“I cannot see why. All those invited are friends and neighbors who wish you well.”

“The Duchess of Multree will be here. I must admit, I am very anxious about meeting her. Tony says I should call her Aunt, but I cannot see myself doing that. I would never have the courage.”

“She is my father’s sister, and Tony and I call her Aunt Louise, but I think perhaps it would be best for you to address her as Your Grace, at least until she invites you to use a more familiar form of address. She is not proud, but straitlaced—a stickler for proper decorum. It would be best not to fall down the stairs at her feet.”