Lois Menzel (8 page)

When she arrived at her room, Wylie had a message for her from Lord Wexford. “His lordship sent his man to ask if you could spare a moment when you returned from your drive, Miss Celia.”

“Did he say what his lordship wanted?”

“No, miss. Only that he wishes to speak with you, if it is convenient.”

“Where might I find him, Wylie?”

“He said he would be in the book room, miss. On this floor, first door to the right in the west wing.”

“Very well. I will go now. I should like a bath before dinner, Wylie.”

“I will see to having the water carried up directly, Miss Celia.”

Celia left her room and moved toward the west wing with some trepidation. Her last meeting with Wexford had not been a pleasant one. She could not imagine why he would want to speak with her, but she decided that she would take the opportunity to make the apology she had wished to make earlier.

She knocked firmly and was told to enter. She stopped inside the door. The room was dark-paneled with a plush carpet on the floor. It reminded her forcibly of her father’s book room at her home in Yorkshire.

A huge desk stood to her right, the wall behind it covered from floor to ceiling with bookshelves. To her left several comfortable-looking chairs stood before the hearth where a large fire blazed. The dark blue velvet curtains were drawn tightly closed against the chill November evening, keeping the room deliciously warm.

Wexford rose from one of the chairs before the fire and turned to face the door. “Is that you, Miss Demming?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Won’t you please come in?”

As she hesitated by the door, wondering whether to close it for privacy or leave it open for propriety, he said, “Close the door, if you would. I should like to hold the heat.”

As the door clicked shut, he said, “Please, come and sit here by me, Miss Demming. I know you must dress for dinner; I promise not to keep you long.”

She moved to the chair across from him and sat down tentatively. As he reseated himself, she said, “My lord, before you say whatever it is you wish to say, I should like to apologize for my behavior this morning. Indeed, I tried to find you earlier to tell you how sorry I am—”

She stopped speaking suddenly as he raised one of his hands with the palm toward her, as if he would ward off her words. There was a crooked smile on his thin face. When she was silent, he said, “Excuse me for stopping you, Miss Demming, but the truth is, I asked you here so that
I
could apologize to
you
. I am afraid that having been away from society for many months, I have lost the skill of making polite conversation. I beg you to forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive, my lord. I spoke inadvisedly on a subject that is none of my concern.”

“But I asked for your opinion, Miss Demming, and having done so, had no right to take umbrage at your answer. You are Tony’s betrothed and will in due course be my sister-in-law. I do not wish to begin our relationship with a misunderstanding. Could we start again, do you think?”

Celia smiled a smile he could not see, one that said she appreciated his apology, pitied him for the hardships he had endured, and wanted more than anything to be on good terms with the brother Anthony loved. When she answered, the warmth of her smile was reflected in her voice. “I should like that above all things, my lord.”

“Good. This morning, you offered to read to me.”

“Yes, certainly. Should you like me to?”

“I would. And perhaps write a few things. But only when you can spare the time. You and Tony will be entertaining friends and will have many demands placed upon you. Even now, I fear you should be dressing for dinner.”

“Yes. I must go. But I can come for an hour or more in the morning, when Anthony goes riding.”

“I shall expect you then. Good night, Miss Demming.”

“Good night, my lord.”

The following morning at breakfast Anthony raised the subject of Celia’s reading to his brother.

“It was generous of you to offer. I know he feels cut off from everything and everyone.”

“I cannot imagine how he gets through even one day,” Celia agreed. “He cannot do any of the things he is accustomed to doing, not ride, nor drive, nor even walk about without someone to accompany him.”

“He had taken over the management of the estate since my father’s illness,” Tony added. “That will be difficult for him now. I offered to help, but he assured me that he will deal with it.”

“Is Lord Walsh’s agent trustworthy?”

“He is, but an agent cannot be indefinitely on his own. Which reminds me—I have spoken to the head groom and have set up a carriage for your use: a phaeton and a pair of bays.” As Celia’s face broke into a pleased smile, he added provocatively, “You may take me for a drive, and I shall decide whether or not you may be trusted with them.”

Answering in the same teasing tone, she said, “Only two horses? I would ever so much more impress the neighbors with a team of four.”

“When I am convinced that your mother was not exaggerating your abilities, I will let you try your hand with my curricle team.”

Impulsively she leaned forward and grasped his hand where it lay on the table. “Thank you so much, Tony. It will be wonderful having a carriage. I will take your mother to the village. She said she so enjoys an open-air drive. And perhaps even Lord Wexford might like to get out—”

Anthony laughed, at the same time leaning forward to take her chin in his hand. “Easy there, my girl. Not so fast. First you will drive me, then perhaps Mother. Don’t count on Robert, though. To my knowledge he has never in his life been driven by a female.”

His hand slid down to the side of her neck, while his thumb traced the line of her jaw. The laughter died from his voice, and his words were soft, “You are sweet, you know, truly sweet, and ever so easy to please.” He leaned forward to kiss her, his lips warm and tantalizing.

At first embarrassed by her lack of skill in kissing, Celia was slowly gaining confidence. Now she responded readily, for each kiss had been more exciting than the last. She suspected that her tutelage by Anthony held great promise for the future.

When Anthony left to go riding, Celia made her way to the book room. Wexford was seated near the fire in company with Lady Aylesbury. Both rose as Celia entered.

“And here is Miss Demming, Wexford, precisely on schedule. I will leave you to your tasks.”

“You need not go, my lady,” Celia protested. “I can come another time.”

“No, no, my dear. As you can see, Wexford has a rather formidable stack of correspondence on the desk. I will not keep him from his responsibilities. Adieu.” With no more than that, she departed.

“I did not mean to drive her away,” Celia said quietly.

“Nor did you,” Wexford responded. “She does exactly as she pleases and always has.”

When he said nothing more, she moved toward the desk. “Did you indeed wish me to aid you with the post?”

“Yes, but before we start that, there is something else that I should like you to do for me.”

He paused, and she said nothing, only stood regarding him, waiting for him to continue.

“Tony has the casualty lists from Waterloo. The ones he perused so diligently looking for some hint of my fate. They are on the table near the windows.” Celia glanced in the direction of the table and saw there the pile of papers he described. “I should like you to read me the officers’ casualty lists.”

Celia inhaled quickly at this request, her face puckering in a troubled frown as she protested, “Are you quite certain, my lord? You have only just come home, and you are not strong. Surely it can wait a few days.”

In a patient voice, almost as if he had expected this objection from her, he said, “I need to know which of my friends are dead, and which have survived. Not knowing plagues me continuously, and I cannot put my mind to other matters. If it is too onerous a task for you, I could ask Tony—”

“No. You need not ask him. I will read the lists to you. It is only that I—” She broke off, unable to say what she was thinking—that she did not wish to cause him more pain when he had been through so much already.

“Please, my lord, won’t you sit.”

He reseated himself in the chair near the fire while she retrieved the lists from the table and came to sit near him. A glance at his face told her he was settled to listen, so she started at the beginning of a list of officers. She read slowly, often glancing up to gauge Wexford’s response to what he was hearing. He said nothing, but strong emotion contorted his face: his jaw alternately contracted and relaxed, his brows wrinkled in sadness or disbelief, his unseeing eyes glistened. She knew he was remembering the faces, young or old, that went with the names she read.

“Captain Sir William Hyatt—”

“Not William.” Celia broke off abruptly as this quiet near moan issued from his lordship. She looked up to see that he had bowed his head, covering his eyes with one hand.

She leaned forward compassionately and placed her hand tentatively on his knee. “My lord, please, surely we have done enough for today?”

He lifted his head and patted her hand, then picked it up, gently pressed it, and held it in his own. “You are right. It is enough for now. We will do more tomorrow.”

“Sir William?” she asked.

“He was a close friend of Tony’s, twenty-five, perhaps twenty-six years of age. I spoke to him the morning of the battle. He was so keen for a fight. So eager to grasp glory.”

“And he did, my lord. As did all the men who served . . . or died.”

There was a pause before he replied, “Yes. Yes, of course they did.”

Celia spent the next twenty minutes opening and reading aloud Wexford’s correspondence, making appropriate notes on a separate sheet when he asked her to. It seemed to Celia that the large majority of the items were tradesmen’s bills.

This orderly disposal of the post was interrupted when the door burst open suddenly and a tall, dark-haired, and extremely handsome man stood upon the threshold. “My God,” he ejaculated. “It is true. Robert! It’s a bloody miracle!”

Wexford had come to his feet the moment he heard the man’s voice. Now he smiled broadly as the newcomer crossed the room in several giant strides and grasped the viscount first by the arm, then by the shoulders, as if by touching him he would be convinced that it was no ghost he saw.

“John!” Wexford replied. “You old reprobate. Mind your tongue. Can you not see there is a lady present?”

Celia had the pleasure of seeing the handsome stranger’s discomfiture as he turned to face her. “Indeed, ma’am, I sincerely apologize. I did not see you there. I had eyes only for my cousin.”

At this Wexford laughed aloud. “You sink deeper and deeper into shame, John. To tell a lovely lady that you did not notice her. What will you say next? Miss Demming, before he offends beyond forgiveness, allow me to present my cousin, John Hardy. John, this is Tony’s betrothed, Miss Celia Demming.”

Mr. Hardy took the hand Celia offered and gallantly raised it to his lips. “Your servant, ma’am. For the sake of our soon-to-be relationship, I beg you to forgive my earlier rudeness. I meant no offense.”

She smiled. “None was taken, sir. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Mr. Hardy turned his attention back to Wexford, seeming unable to believe the evidence of his own eyes. “Oh, Rob,” he said, “it is so good to have you back.”

At exactly ten minutes before two, Celia descended the wide stairway to the great hall. She wore a midnight blue riding habit of soft wool that accentuated the delicacy of her complexion. When she had traveled halfway down the final flight, Anthony appeared from the salon below. Seeing her, he crossed the hall to wait at the bottom of the stairs.

Celia stopped, a soft flush tingeing her face at the memory of her previous ill-fated descent to a waiting Anthony.

He held out a hand to her and smiled his most charming smile. “That night, I remember thinking no one could look lovelier,” he said. “I was wrong. You are lovelier now.”

Her flush deepened but she smiled, descending the final stairs to put her hand into his. “I cannot believe you ever wanted to see me again after the way I disgraced myself.”

“It was an accident; it could have happened to anyone.” He threaded her arm through his and walked with her across the hall to the front door. “You are riding to the children’s home with Ursula?”

“Yes. She promised I would be home in good time for dinner.”

As if on cue, Ursula appeared at that moment, trotting up the drive on her brown gelding. While the groom holding Celia’s horse helped her to mount, Anthony took hold of Ursula’s bridle. “Shale will ride with you,” he said, indicating the groom beyond his shoulder.

Ursula bristled visibly. “Come, Tony. We do not need a groom to ride two miles.”

“It would please me, Ursula, if you would take him along.”

Looking far from pleased at the prospect, Ursula nevertheless capitulated. “Very well, we will take him.” Then, lowering her voice so that only Anthony could hear, she said, “I know how precious Miss Demming is to you, Tony. Do you think I would let any harm come to her?”

“No, I know you would not.” He released her bridle and stepped back as the groom mounted. Celia turned to smile at Tony, and he raised his hand in farewell as the three set off down the drive.

Celia and Ursula rode side by side along the same track Celia and Anthony had taken the day he proposed to her. Layers of fallen yellow elm leaves lay thick on the road beneath them.

Ursula spoke of the home in response to Celia’s questions. “Lord Walsh bought the property when it came on the market many years ago and donated it for the home. It is a small manor house tucked into a wooded valley. There is an excellent garden plot nearby, and Lord Walsh never minded if the children explored his woodland or fished in the streams.”

“Will Wexford be as generous when the land belongs to him?”

Ursula gave Celia a long considering look. “I have no reason to believe he won’t be. I know that Lady Walsh believes her husband will recover, but the truth is that the doctor says he is very weak and may not last the month.”