Lois Menzel (18 page)

“Do you truly think so?”

“I do. You are wise to trust your heart, for I think, more often than not, it gives us good counsel.”

“Thank you, Papa. It means a lot to me that you understand. I only wish I thought Mama would.”

“Don’t you worry about your mama. I will explain it all to her. She will not plague you with it.”

Celia was not convinced that her mother would be easily mollified. Mostly Papa left the rearing of the girls to his wife, but if he made a promise, he was a man of his word. The few times she had ever heard her parents argue, Papa had always prevailed. She took some comfort from this thought and tried to put the matter from her mind.

Celia had a letter from Emily Crowther saying that she and Kitty had started their lessons together and that they were progressing splendidly. Emily expressed her regret, in the most tactful way, that Celia and Anthony should not be wed after all, but no doubt they knew what was best.

Ursula wrote every week, regular as clockwork. Most of her news was of the children. The shooting party had broken up the week before Christmas, she said. All the guests had gone.

Then, in early January, she wrote to say that old Lord Walsh had died on the first day of the new year. He had gone quietly in his sleep. Lady Walsh was distraught and refused to leave her rooms.

When she received this news, Celia wrote to Lady Walsh expressing her condolences. She had always admired her ladyship’s strength and good sense, and pitied her for her months of hope in a recovery that had not materialized. Tony and Robert would be a great comfort to their mother, of that she was certain.

Mrs. Demming came home at the end of January, when she was satisfied that her daughter and her newest grandson were thriving. She had several lengthy discussions with her husband behind closed doors before she joined Celia one morning in the salon saying they must have a serious talk.

“Your father has put me in possession of the facts concerning your recent . . . your recent dissolution of your commitment to Mr. Graydon. He insists, and I agree, that there is little now that we can do to repair the harm that was done, so we will speak no more about it. There will be plenty of waspish tongues wagging once the Season starts, of that you can be sure. But if we hold to our story, that you and Mr. Graydon mutually decided that you would not suit, we should rub through well enough.”

“Were you planning to go to Town for the Season, Mama? You have only just come home.”

“Not me, miss. We. You and I.
We
are going to Town for the Season.”

“But I cannot, Mama. Not now. The last thing I want to do is go back to London.”

“It is not a question of what you wish to do, Celia, but rather what you must do. If you hide away here in the country, when everyone who is anyone has gone back to Town, people will think you have something to hide, something to be ashamed of.”

Celia shook her head in denial, but her mother continued undaunted, “You must be seen everywhere, sparkling, beautiful . . . and available. A bold front is the only thing that will serve us now.”

“Mama, please, can we not wait? Go in the autumn perhaps for the Little Season. That would be best, I am sure.”

“We leave in two weeks, Celia. I have already ordered the house opened. It is decided. Your papa and I agree. We do not intend to allow you to mope in the country.”

Nothing Celia could say would sway her parents from their decision. She thought about running away, but knew there was no place she could go. None of her sisters would shield her if it meant risking Mama’s wrath, and she had no other family or friends who would take her in.

The following week, Ursula’s letter contained the information that Anthony had taken Lady Walsh abroad for some months. They were to visit Italy and the Greek isles. She felt the change of scenery and sunnier climate would do much to lift Lady Walsh’s spirits, which had been quite low since the funeral.

There was a bit of luck for her, Celia thought. At least she would not have to worry about encountering Tony while she was on the Town being “sparkling, beautiful, and available.”

When Celia cast herself back into the stream of London society, her reappearance caused very few ripples. If there were those who thought she was quite mad for allowing Anthony Graydon to slip through her grasp, no one said as much to her face.

The timing of her return had also been fortuitous, for the very day that she attended her first public function of the Season, Marianna Otway eloped with Lord Sands, causing the Town to buzz and the ton to relegate the broken Demming/Graydon engagement to the category of old news.

Celia appeared at party after party. She was beautiful; there was no question that she was available. She said all that was polite, smiled and danced and dined—but the sparkle had gone from her.

One evening in early March, she finished a set of country-dances with Lord Trevanian. He had made it no secret that he was pleased to see her back in Town. He had been her most assiduous suitor during the past several weeks. He returned her, slightly breathless, to her mother’s side, where she unfurled her fan and stood for a moment catching her breath.

As her eyes casually swept the room, they stopped suddenly and came to rest on Robert Graydon, now the Earl of Walsh, standing not twenty feet from her. As she stared, for he was the last person she expected to see in a crowded London ballroom, she realized that he was staring back at her in the most unsettling way. Not only looking in her direction, but looking directly at her. Gone from his face was the blank indirect gaze of the past. She could hardly believe it to be true, but she thought he could actually see her. When he nodded slightly and smiled at her, she was certain.

Despite the strain of their last meeting, she could not hide her pleasure in his recovery, and she smiled and nodded in return.

Robert turned to address a comment to Mr. Hardy, who stood beside him. Clearly Mr. Hardy had pointed her out to his cousin.

Robert was much changed. He had gained weight and appeared now, she thought, much as he must have before he went away with the army. He wore a black coat that fitted his broad shoulders smoothly and certainly without the extra space that his clothing had shown in the past. His face had lost its weary hollows and worry lines. He looked healthy, younger, extremely handsome, and somewhat daunting.

She tried to remember the helpless man who had fallen and could not rise from the floor without assistance. He seemed to bear no relation to the self-assured gentleman who stood now at his ease in a crowded, noisy room.

Then before she had time for another thought, he came toward her, without aid or direction, and stood facing her with no more than two feet between them.

“You can see me,” she said.

“I can,” he whispered for her ears alone, “and you are even more lovely than I imagined.”

Choosing to ignore his last words, she asked, “How did you know me?”

“John saw you while you were dancing with Trevanian.”

When Mrs. Demming cleared her voice delicately, Celia said immediately, “Allow me, my lord, to introduce my mother, Mrs. Lavinia Demming. This is Lord Walsh, Mama.”

“How do you do, my lord,” Lavinia replied at her most charming.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Demming. Your daughter has spoken of you often,” Then turning back to Celia, he said, “John tells me that the next dance is a waltz you have promised to him. He agreed to let me take his place, if you have no objection.”

He raised his brows questioningly as Celia hesitated, then said, “I am not certain it would be wise, my lord—”

“She would be honored to dance with you, Lord Walsh,” Mrs. Demming interjected. “Go, Celia, enjoy yourself.”

When he offered his hand, Celia went with him to the edge of the floor where they stood for a moment waiting for the music to begin.

“You are anxious,” he said. “Why?”

“Will not people think it strange to see me stand up with you?”

“I don’t see why. You had an amicable split with Tony. What better than to be seen to be on good terms with his family? Would you rather I shun you and allow the world to think you have something to be ashamed of?”

“My mother said the same thing when I told her I had no wish to come to Town. She said I should not hide in the country as if I had done something wrong.”

“Especially since it was I who was the wrongdoer.”

He took her in his arms and turned her onto the floor as the dance began. “Please,” she said, “I do not wish to speak of that.” Then, adroitly changing the subject, she added, “We were sorry to hear about your father.”

“He had a long, full life,” he replied. “I saw the note you wrote Mother. That was kind of you.”

“Lady Walsh was always good to me. I feel for her in her loss. But tell me about your eyes. When did you regain your sight?”

“I already had light perception back in November during the house party. Images started returning after the new year began. There has been steady progress since then.”

“Ursula writes me often. She said nothing.”

“I did not tell anyone until recently. I wanted to be certain it was back to stay and not something temporary.”

“And how is your vision now?”

“As good as ever it was.”

She smiled. “I am pleased, so very happy for you. It would have been a tragedy indeed if your sight had never returned.”

“All in all,” he said, “I think it may have been a blessing in disguise. When you are forced to live without something you value, and then are lucky enough to get a second chance, you are not likely to take it for granted.”

Celia made no response to this comment, and they finished the dance in silence. As they walked back toward Mrs. Demming, he said he would give himself the pleasure of calling on Celia in a few days’ time.

“I would much rather you did not,” she said coolly. “I am pleased that your sight has returned, and I wish nothing but the best for you and your family, but I have no desire to renew my acquaintance with you, my lord. I thought you understood that.”

If Robert was offended by this rebuff, he showed no outward sign of it. He accepted her decree with apparent equanimity, saying only, “As you wish, Miss Demming. Good night.”

He bowed formally, then turned and disappeared into the crowd.

John Hardy maintained a comfortable bachelor dwelling in Duke Street, an address he had moved to four years earlier when the first of his three sisters had reached marriageable age. The eldest was now married, but the younger two and his energetic mother were ever present at his family’s Mount Street residence. John much preferred the quiet privacy of this dwelling.

John and Robert sat now in a comfortable salon on the first floor. A fire burned in the grate. Occasionally a carriage rattled by on the street outside. “Will you open your London house?” John asked as he poured brandy and handed it to his cousin.

“Not if you will have me here.”

“You are welcome for as long as you like.”

“It seems such a bother to have that barrack turned out for me alone. Maybe if Tony comes up later.”

“How long will he be on the Continent?”

“He and Mother plan to stay until the end of April.”

John leaned back in the chair opposite his cousin and propped his feet comfortably upon a footstool.

“Don’t you think it is time you told me, Rob, why it is you have come to Town?”

For the next week, Celia peered cautiously about the room at every ball or assembly she attended, but saw no sign of Lord Walsh. Then one day, while Mrs. Demming sat with her embroidery and Celia sat with the yarn and needles her mother deplored, a visitor was announced.

Mrs. Demming had discovered that no amount of cajoling would convince Celia to give over knitting socks. Each time a visitor was announced, Lavinia worried what people would think if the news spread about Town that Miss Demming spent her time knitting socks for orphans. Celia had firmly refused to give up this occupation, and Mrs. Demming was forced to wonder what had become of the quiet, biddable child she had sent away to Buckinghamshire a few short months before.

When the Demming butler announced Miss Ursula Browne, Celia leapt to her feet so quickly that her knitting tumbled to the floor unheeded.

“Ursula, what a wonderful surprise!” she exclaimed as she grasped her friend’s hand excitedly and led her forward to meet Mrs. Demming.

After the shortest of introductions, during which Mrs. Demming nevertheless was able to take in both the beauty of this young woman and her unfashionable dress, Celia plied Ursula with questions. “What are you doing in London? I had no idea you were coming. How long do you plan to be here? Where are you staying?”

Laughing at Celia’s all too obvious delight in seeing her, Ursula tried to answer all the questions at once. “I came to see you; I do not plan to be in London long, and I am staying at a hotel.”

“But you cannot stay at a hotel. You must come to us. Must she not, Mama?”

“Of course, Miss Browne, you must stay here. We shall send a note round to your hotel and have them send your things over straightaway. How many servants have you?”

“Only Millie, my mother’s parlormaid. Father refused to let me come alone, so I had to bring her.”

“And very right he was,” Lavinia concurred. “You would have been foolish indeed to travel alone.”

The next hour was consumed with moving Ursula’s belongings from the hotel and settling her in the Demming household. Then, while Lavinia stepped out to tea with one of her friends, Celia and Ursula shared theirs in the small back parlor, where they could chat and catch up on all that had happened while they had been apart.

When it came time for Celia to dress for the evening’s entertainment, a soiree in Grosvenor Square, she said she would not go. “I will send my excuses, say I have the headache.” She did not suggest that Ursula accompany her, for they both knew that none of Ursula’s gowns would be suitable for a London party.

“Nonsense,” Ursula replied. “I want you to go. I am tired from traveling, and I would like to retire early. We will talk tomorrow.”