Authors: Celia
Celia blushed, thankful once again that he could not see her face. “I suppose Tony told you about that,” she said in a small voice, the memory of that awful tumble still strong enough to embarrass her.
“He said he was totally captivated from that moment, and his feelings have not wavered since.”
Celia stood, suddenly uncomfortable listening to Wexford speak of Tony’s feelings for her.
When he heard her stand, he said, “Has our time passed already?”
“Not quite, but I must leave a bit early today. Miss Crowther and I plan to walk to the rectory with the socks we have finished. Mr. Browne visits the children this afternoon and will take them along. I will come tomorrow at the regular time.”
Nearly half an hour later, while Celia was changing from her dainty house slippers into serviceable walking shoes, there came a delicate scratching on her door. Emily Crowther entered carrying a small bandbox in one hand and her reticule in the other.
“Have you put your socks in there?” Celia asked, eyeing the bandbox.
“Yes. And there is still space if you should like to add the others you have.”
Emily placed the box on the bed, and Celia took off the lid. Inside were five pairs of beautifully knitted socks. “Oh, Emily,” Celia exclaimed. “These are lovely; you do such even work.”
Emily flushed at the praise. “I did a lot of knitting when I was younger, scarves for all my brothers. I have four—there are three younger than Todd at home. Actually, I think the quality of the wool has a lot to do with the finished product being so satisfactory. It is the finest I have ever seen.”
Now it was Celia’s turn to be pleased by the compliment. “When I next write my father, I will tell him what you said. It will delight him.”
The two young women walked together along the lane to the village. The road beneath their feet rustled with leaves from the half-bare oak trees. Along the hedgerows the bramble leaves had turned dark red, their bright green veins standing out in sharp contrast. Overhead a thrush sang its sweet song. The day was cool and gray, but the wind was gentle and the stroll pleasant.
Their walk of just under a mile brought them to the rectory, a large, comfortable lodging of local stone. Beyond the rectory lay the churchyard, and beyond that the church with its tall bell tower.
As they went through the yard gate and down the path toward the house, a young boy of nine or ten came out the front door and walked toward them. He was tall and fair, and, Celia thought, quite a handsome young man. He was dressed as any other boy from the village, but when they met on the path, Celia was surprised to see that he did not act as most village boys would have. Instead of looking down or away and mumbling some indistinguishable greeting, this lad looked both Celia and Emily straight in the face and smiled as he said, “Good morning, ladies,” and then “Excuse me” as he stepped off the path to let them go by.
Celia returned the greeting and the smile, and then turned to look after him with interest as he walked to the gate and through it. When she turned back, Ursula was at the door to greet them.
“What a personable lad,” Celia said. “Who is he?”
“Alan Drew,” Ursula answered as she held the door wide for her guests to enter. They were shown into the parlor, a comfortable room with flowered carpets, flowered pillows, and flowered curtains. Nothing seemed to match, and yet all went together to create a warm, welcoming atmosphere.
“Alan Drew? Mrs. Drew’s son? The one who lost his father?”
“Yes. He takes lessons from my father.”
“What kind of lessons?”
“Reading and writing, mathematics, history.”
Celia’s expression showed her surprise, and Ursula continued. “He looks like one of the village boys, I know. But his mother was gently born, the daughter of the squire of the district.”
“But Lord Wexford said the boy loves farming. How will his education benefit him as a farmer?”
“Wexford thinks he may have a future as an estate agent. For that occupation he will need his studies and farm experience, too.”
The rector joined them then, and Celia said no more, but she was intrigued by the Drew boy who had tragically lost his father but had apparently found a patron in Lord Wexford.
On the day of Lady Walsh’s party, Ursula rode her horse to the Priory in the afternoon and left him in the stables. Her dress and all she needed were carefully set aside in Celia’s room. She savored a wonderfully hot bath (those she enjoyed at home were most often of the lukewarm variety).
Later, Wylie carefully arranged both girls’ hair to their satisfaction. While they dressed, she flitted between the two, tying petticoat ribbons here, doing up hooks there, fastening the delicate clasps of jewelry, arranging a stray curl. When they were through, the maid was convinced that Ursula in her blue and Celia in her green would outshine all the other young ladies present that evening.
As they walked downstairs together before dinner, some of Ursula’s earlier excitement faded.
“I feel like a hypocrite,” she said.
“But why?”
“Because I always disparage gatherings like this, and here I am taking part in one.”
“You of all people deserve some entertainment, Ursula. You give so much of your time to others. Why should you not wear a lovely gown and dance the night away occasionally? It does no harm to enjoy oneself.”
“Perhaps not, but some make a career of enjoying themselves, and for that there can be no excuse.”
Celia and Ursula had been among the first to arrive in the drawing room, but within a few minutes John Hardy walked in. He was immaculate in a black evening coat and knee breeches, gray-striped waistcoat, and dazzling white linen. A single diamond sparkled within the folds of his intricately tied cravat. A large ruby glimmered on his left hand.
“Heavens above, he is handsome,” Ursula breathed. “How can a man be so handsome and yet have such a wicked tongue?”
“I think he takes you up because you give him the kind of verbal battle he most enjoys.” Celia shifted her gaze from Mr. Hardy to Ursula and said shrewdly, “You admire him a little, do you not?”
Ursula let out what Mrs. Demming would have called an unladylike snort. “When I was ten, I was passionately in love with him. I used to daydream about us: that I would grow up, that he would suddenly notice me and fall madly in love with me. But that was before I knew—”
“Before you knew what?”
“That was before I knew, before I understood what kind of man he is.”
“And what kind of man is he?”
“He drinks, he gambles.”
“But many gentlemen do the same.”
“He keeps an expensive mistress and flaunts her before society.”
“I think many gentlemen also indulge—”
“Don’t make excuses for him, Celia. Just because many do it, that does not make it right. He will willingly seduce any woman foolish enough to fall victim to his charms. But when the time comes to marry, with his wealth and his high connections, he will wed only the brightest and the best London society has to offer.”
Still in an effort to defend Mr. Hardy, a gentleman she had immediately taken a liking to, Celia said, “How do you know this about him?”
“I hear things.”
“Rumors, you mean. I cannot believe you listen to rumors. They may or may not be true.”
“Whether it is true of him or not, I have seen ample evidence of the evil caused by such liaisons. Maggie, the little girl you read the story to that first day at the home—her mother was a ‘kept woman’—a gentleman’s mistress. The child was an unwelcome complication, so she has no home now but the one we give her.”
Their conversation was interrupted as Anthony joined them and dinner was announced. As Celia took Tony’s arm she pondered Ursula’s remarks. She had always sensed the tension in the relationship between John and Ursula. She had never suspected the bitterness Ursula harbored for the gentleman. She wondered if Tony could confirm or deny the rumors Ursula had heard, but knew she could never raise such a subject with him.
The lavish three-course dinner passed without incident. Celia was seated between Lord Matlock and Trevor Farr and shared her time equally between the two gentlemen. Afterward the company was delighted when Wexford came downstairs, said he would join his mother to greet their friends and neighbors, but declined to take any part in the festivities to follow. He was dressed as the other gentlemen in dark evening clothes. His cravat was perfection, and Celia suspected Mr. Hardy was once again responsible. She turned to Tony, who stood beside her. “Wexford’s color is much better, don’t you think?”
“Definitely. He improves every day. His face is no longer so gaunt; he is finally gaining back some of the weight he lost.”
“And his limp is less pronounced, I think.”
“I agree. It warms my heart that he is willing to see people at last. Look at Mother. She is so delighted.”
Lady Walsh did indeed look pleased to have Wexford beside her. As the guests arrived in a steady stream, they exclaimed one and all over his safe return. Then, as they were introduced to Celia, they exclaimed once again at Anthony’s happy news and offered the couple felicitations.
Celia’s meeting with the Duchess of Multree came rather early in the evening. Celia was standing between Wexford and Tony when Tony made the introduction. The imposing matron scrutinized Celia from top to bottom before she said, “So you are the gel who tumbled down the stairs at Eugenia Rutledge’s soiree?”
Fighting down her inevitable embarrassment at this blunt remark, Celia caught Tony’s eye for quick encouragement and, remembering Wexford’s words, sank into a deep curtsy as she said very evenly, “Yes, Your Grace.”
The old lady snorted. “You have backbone as well as beauty, I see. You will do for Anthony, I have no doubt.”
When she was gone, Wexford leaned close to Celia and said, “You can stop worrying. She liked you.”
Celia smiled, took a deep breath, and knew that with this hurdle behind her, she could relax and enjoy the evening.
When the last of the guests had straggled in, Wexford took his departure. Seeing him leave unobtrusively, Celia hurried after him, catching up with him at the bottom of the stairway. “Must you go? Everyone would love it if you stayed.”
“I’m tired,” he said. “And I have created too much of a flurry already. It is your night; yours and Tony’s.”
“We are more than happy to share it with you.”
“I know you are. But go now and enjoy yourself. Tomorrow you can tell me all about it.”
Celia performed the opening waltz with Tony and felt light as air as he turned her gracefully in the dance. Later she took the floor with Mr. Hardy, Mr. Farr, Lord Matlock and, she believed, each and every one of the gentlemen present. Every time she looked for Ursula she found her dancing, too, much sought after as a partner and glowing with a beautiful smile on her face.
At one point, watching Ursula waltz with Tony, she saw that John Hardy was watching them, too. She made her way to his side. She suspected that he had a high regard for Ursula, despite their constant fencing with words. She could not understand the almost angry look she saw now on his unguarded face.
“Something displeases you, Mr. Hardy,” she said. As soon as she spoke the look disappeared, to be replaced by his polite society mask. “Not at all, Miss Demming.”
“Have you danced with Ursula tonight?”
“Not yet. She promised me a waltz after supper.”
“My mother is always fond of saying that one can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar,” she said rather cryptically.
He regarded her curiously for a moment before he replied, “But surely that is only true, Miss Demming, when the fly has not already been caught?”
Near midnight the guests wandered off by twos and threes to enjoy the fine supper laid out in the dining room. Later, when the band had resumed, Mr. Hardy sought out Ursula to claim the dance she had promised him.
As they took the floor together, he said, “You are looking particularly lovely tonight. I like the way you have done your hair.”
She looked up at him questioningly, as if she felt perhaps the compliment was not sincere, but she replied, “Thank you.”
“It occurs to me,” he continued, “that we have never danced together before.” His hand moved at her waist and drew her a fraction closer.
“No, of course not,” she replied. “There has never been an opportunity.”
“There has been no opportunity because you have always refused to come to these gatherings in the past. In fact, I was most certain you scorned them. Why did you come tonight?”
As always, her temper goaded by his inflammatory comments, she replied, “You can be certain it was not for the opportunity to add to my consequence by standing up with you.”
“Ah, but you never know,” he replied, unruffled. “Being noticed by me has been the making of more than one young lady, I promise you. Some say only Brummell’s approval, in his day, carried more weight.”
“What arrogance,” she said, then missed her step. When he nearly trod upon her foot, she stopped dancing. “I’m sorry. I have had enough for one night. I cannot stay longer.” And with nothing more than that, she turned and walked away leaving him in the middle of the dance floor.
For a moment he stood there in shock. Never in his life had a partner deserted him in the middle of a dance. Recovering quickly from his astonishment, he hurried after her, coming up with her in the deserted hall at the bottom of the stairs.
He caught her by the arm, and her momentum spun her around to face him. “What is it, Ursula? Where are you going?”
“I am going upstairs to get out of this dratted dress. And then I am going home.”
She pulled away from him and, lifting her skirts, hurried up the stairs. He stood watching her from the bottom of the stairway, but as soon as she disappeared from sight, he hurried after her again. She had gone to Celia’s room, and he followed her there. She had left the door to the hallway standing half open. He pushed it wide. She turned to glare at him when he entered, but continued to undo the tiny hooks that fastened her dress at the front.