Magical Weddings (3 page)

Mrs. Overton sank onto a settee, gasping for air and fanning herself. “Oh, Celia, my pet, what were you thinking?”

“I’m so sorry, Mama. I know better than to let Simon get my goat.”

“I wasn’t speaking of Simon. Oh, it’s true that teasing you with a foolish wager was not well-done of him, but he’s a harmless boy, really. It’s your Uncle Rupert who worries me. Speaking to him that way… Celia, my dear, if he were to disown you—”

“Don’t be absurd, Mama. If I should return home betrothed to a titled gentleman, Uncle Rupert would immediately find a way to turn the connection to his advantage. And if I don’t–well, he’d hardly throw me out of the house, for he’d find too much enjoyment in reminding me how I’d failed.”

“But Celia, you can’t simply disobey him!” Mrs. Overton’s voice cracked. “He might truly disown you, and then what about me? To your uncle, I’ve always been just the inconvenient widow of his nephew. He tolerates me only for your sake.”

“Nonsense, Mama. What would he do without you to run his house?”

“Hire a housekeeper,” Mrs. Overton said tartly.

“I’m persuaded he would not part with the coin to do so.”

But Mrs. Overton was not mollified. “I feel shame to admit it, but I have always relied on your prospects, Celia. It has been a comfort to know that when your uncle goes, you will be well-enough provided for that I could have a cottage somewhere and...”

“Of course I will look after you, Mama.” Celia stopped abruptly. How many times over the years had she made that sort of blithe promise? But now…

“What if he refuses to allow you to attend this wedding?”

“Then I’ll go anyway–even if I have to sneak out.”

“Celia! If you defy his wishes—”

“Mama! Are you saying you believe I shouldn’t go after all?”

Mrs. Overton burst into tears. “If you displease him—”

“But Mama, if I surrender to this … this blackmail of his, there will be no end. Any time Uncle Rupert wished to bring me to heel, he would merely have to threaten to disown me–and what could I do? If I give up this opportunity and next week he once more determines that my cousin and I should be wed—”

“Well, if it comes to that, Simon would hardly be the
worst
…” Mrs. Overton gulped when Celia glared at her, and sputtered on. “But you know best, my dear, and if you truly believe that the two of you should not suit, then of course this wedding party is the most promising chance of making a suitable match. But what if you’re not successful there?”

Warily, Celia eyed her mother. “We’ll discuss it in the morning.” She rang the bell for her mother’s maid. “Perhaps an early bed tonight, Mama? Things will look better when the sun is shining.”

At least, she hoped so–but suddenly Simon’s wager of mere money was a trifling thing indeed, a mere distraction from the true issue. What Celia had really staked on this house party, it appeared, was her entire future–and her mother’s.

****

When Simon left Uncle Rupert to his account books and went to join the ladies, he found Celia sitting alone by the fire in the quiet drawing room. For a moment when Simon noted the droop of her shoulders, he felt almost sorry for her. She looked more like the child she’d once been–thin and small, with ordinary brown hair and dark blue eyes far too big for her face–than the young lady she’d grown into. The
prickly
young lady. That much was his fault, no doubt, because she’d always been far too much fun to tease. Not that she hadn’t repaid the favor from time to time.

She sat up straight as he came in. “I’ll ring for the coffee tray.” She turned with a determined smile which lasted only a moment. “Oh. It’s only you.”

“No coffee for me, thank you. I came in to tell you Uncle Rupert has gone to his book room to finish up paperwork.”

“And Mother’s gone to bed.” She nibbled her lower lip. “Tell me honestly, Simon. Do you think I should give up the house party? Send my regrets to Lady Stone and miss the wedding?”

“Hell, no.”

“Don’t pussyfoot about hurting my feelings!” She shuddered. “I’m afraid if I don’t stand up to Uncle on this matter, we’re likely to find ourselves at the altar before Christmas.”

“He seems to have entirely forgotten that he was initially opposed to your going.”

“Really?” Her eyes brightened. “He won’t stand in my way?”

“It seems not. It was brilliant of you to make it a sporting event.”

“I can hardly take credit for you proposing a wager–but if it accomplishes my purpose, I suppose I must be grateful for your suggestion.”

“That reminds, me, Silly–we never set the stakes.”

She shrugged. “Fifty guineas?”

“That’s hardly worth the bother. What happened to your confidence? Of course, you’re putting a lot of faith in this so-called fairy godmother. What if she turns out to be a witch instead?”

She tipped her head to one side. “You should want me to win, Simon, because my victory will set you free too. If I lose, Uncle Rupert will redouble his efforts to marry us off to each other. Very well–let’s make it five hundred. That’s a small price to pay for your freedom.”

“That sum should be enough to keep your mind focused,” he said dryly. “Done.”

She held out her hand. “And don’t forget the public apology.”

“I said I’d consider it. The real prize you stand to win isn’t my money, anyway. It’s a title and a country estate and a life of ease. And the gentleman who provides all of those things. We must hope you can find one who retains his hair and a reasonable number of teeth.” He felt unholy glee at the way her eyes sparked; it was a good thing his cravat wasn’t flammable, or her gaze would have set him afire.

She rose stiffly. “I will retire now, as I have to finish packing.”

“Uncle Rupert has agreed to send you in the carriage tomorrow, by the way, instead of making you pay for a post-chaise out of your pin money.” Simon shot a sideways look at her and added airily, “He insists that I go with you.”

Her fingers trembled, reminding him that he was still holding her hand. “What? Why?”

“To protect you on the road, he said, but I think his real intention is for me to get a look at your prospective suitors and report back to him. I must be off to my lodgings. We will need to make an early start of it.”

He couldn’t help whistling as he left the room–because the expression on her face really was priceless.

Though Uncle Rupert’s carriage was nothing fancy to look at, it was well-sprung and the horses Simon selected at the various coaching inns were mostly lively. The roads had been baked hard by the summer’s heat, and autumn rains would not begin for another month at least. So they arrived at Lady Stone’s country home, a sprawling Jacobean manor located on a hilltop overlooking a Derbyshire valley, in good time.

“Lady Stone is in the drawing room,” the butler intoned, showing them the way.

A beady-eyed old woman, tall and thin and with a nose which would have looked right at home on a hunting hawk, was drinking port by the fire. She waved them into the room. “Welcome to Rockhill House. Not my idea to name it that, of course–some fool in a previous generation of Stones enjoyed puns.”

Celia had all she could do not to look at Simon, but she was fairly sure seeing the gleam of appreciation in his eyes would set her off into uncontrollable giggles. Then she remembered she was still annoyed at him, so she concentrated on their hostess instead. “It’s a lovely house, Lady Stone. But if you dislike the name, why have you not changed it?”

“My stubborn fool of a husband refused, because it had been in his family for three hundred years. Now his nephew–the current Lord Stone–turns out to be just as set in his ways as the last earl ever was.” Lady Stone eyed Simon with appreciation, sparing barely a glance at Celia. “Tell me, Celia dear–who is this delectable young man you’ve brought?”

Delectable
? Celia almost turned her head to check whether someone had swapped out Simon for another male while she wasn’t watching. “My mother felt it necessary to remain with my uncle, and my cousin was dispatched to make certain all was well on the road. May I present Simon Montrose?”

Simon bowed gracefully. “I am honored, my lady–and devastated that I missed meeting you last year at Tunbridge Wells. With my uncle gone to take the waters for his health, I was needed to run his business.”

“Montrose,” Lady Stone mused. “I used to know a family of that name, long ago. Or perhaps I’m thinking of a title. My lamentable memory.”

“It was both, I believe,” Simon murmured. “Regrettably, I’m only a distant cousin of those Montroses, ma’am.”

Lady Stone’s beady gaze swept him from head to foot once more. “Of course you’ll stay for the house party, Mr. Montrose. You have arrived just as I realized I need an extra man, and when fate presents such a modest and charming individual, I cannot resist. Also, I’m afraid the young ladies would have my ears if I allowed you to leave.”

Modest
?
Charming
? Celia wanted to growl, but she kept her voice level. “Simon can’t possibly remain, my lady, for he’s far too busy with his responsibilities. At least to hear him tell it, our Uncle Rupert could not get through a day without him.”

Lady Stone hadn’t taken her gaze off Simon. “That would be Mr. Rupert Overton? I believe when we first met, Celia told me he’s in the cloth-manufacturing business.”

“He used to be,” Simon said easily. “Now he’s more involved in arranging capital for people who wish to be in the cloth-manufacturing business. I help him decide which investments are most worthwhile, and match those who have money to invest with those who have plans.”

“So in effect you’re a banker? Some of my favorite acquaintances are bankers. Just think of how you could expand Mr. Overton’s business among the people you’ll meet here. There’s my own nephew, for instance–my late husband left him swimming in lard and without any idea of what to do with it all. His idea of investing is simply medieval. You’ll meet him at dinner, Celia dear.”

Celia, who had felt almost invisible for the last few minutes, stumbled over her answer.

“And my niece’s betrothed, Lord Tavish, is full of juice as well, though he may not be quite in the mood to discuss investments this week.” Lady Stone reached for a bell on the table beside her and rang it sharply. “My companion will take you to your rooms and get you settled. Oh, where is that girl? Jane!”

A moment later, a young woman in a plain dark blue dress came into the room.

As Lady Stone began to give instructions, Celia leaned toward Simon. “You
can’t
stay.”

“Why shouldn’t I? My pedigree is every bit as good as yours. Or as bad, depending on how you look at it.”

Until Lady Stone’s vague recollection of a title, Celia had almost forgotten that Simon’s great-grandfather–or was it two greats?–had been a viscount. Like the baron who was technically Celia’s grandfather, that particular long-dead ancestor had never been a subject for discussion in the Overton household. She had no trouble believing Simon’s genealogy right now, however, for he wore an expression as arrogant as any earl or duke could command.

Celia tried again. “Last night you made it quite clear you’re not putting yourself in parson’s mousetrap anytime soon.”

“But how often will I get such a wonderful opportunity–fairy godmother and all?”

She could hardly argue that point when she was pinning her own hopes on these few days, so Celia cast round for other objections. “You haven’t any suitable clothes with you.”

“I brought a few things so I could go on to Bradford to complete some business. It’s a small matter to dispatch a messenger for what I’ll need.”

“But you must be anxious to get home.”
To Hester,
she almost added.

He smiled. “If you’re enjoying the thought of a few days away from Uncle Rupert, imagine my relief at having such a wonderful excuse to stay away.”

“Excuse? You’re never going to tell him you seized the chance to find a titled bride!”

“Oh, no. Uncle will agree with Lady Stone about the contacts I could make here–so long as he doesn’t realize it was her idea.”

In desperation, Celia played her last card. “Surely Lady Hester would not be pleased to hear that you leaped at the chance to attend a house party full of young ladies.”
And she’ll find out, even if I have to tell her myself.

“You assured me last night Lady Hester is a waste of my time, and I could not possibly ignore your sage advice. I’m looking forward to meeting the young ladies.”

That was a clanker, but clearly Celia had lost this round. She smiled and murmured, “I shall make certain to give you every assistance in that regard.”

Lady Stone said, “Jane, dear, instruct the housekeeper that Mr. Montrose is to be added to the party. She can put him in the green room.” She turned around. “Celia, did I hear you mention Lady Hester Billings?”

Embarrassed at having been caught whispering behind their hostess’s back, Celia reluctantly admitted, “Yes, ma’am.”

“What a lovely happenstance, for she’s one of the bridesmaids. I’m sure she’ll be delighted to see you again–both of you.” Lady Stone smiled broadly.

Simon looked disconcerted at that news, and Celia made a mental note to pay particular attention when the two came face to face.

Lady Stone’s companion was a pleasant, businesslike young woman only a couple of years older than Celia, and she didn’t even give a long-suffering sigh over her assignment. Perhaps, Celia thought, that was because Jane was busy admiring Simon’s profile–and his other assets–as she took them through the manor house and up the stairs. The companion paused at the intersection of two long corridors and indicated a door.

“Here is the green room, Mr. Montrose. I’m certain Miss Overton’s trunks have already been brought upstairs, but I’ll check on your luggage.”

“I stuffed a few things in my saddlebags,” Simon said carelessly. “Perhaps I can get the bootboy to run to the stables and retrieve them for me.”

Celia thought the companion had to suppress a shudder at the idea of a gentleman’s clothing being so carelessly handled. “I shall arrange for one of the footmen to act as your valet, sir.” Jane took a step back and ran her gaze over him–with perhaps not quite so much admiration as she’d displayed earlier, Celia noted. “Thomas may be able to arrange a loan of the things you’ll need.”