Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Celestina spun around, her eyes wide in shock. Richard almost laughed at the expression. It reminded him so much of when they were children, and she always wore that innocent yet fascinated expression.

"Richard!"

"Good afternoon, Celestina. And Mr …?"

"Willoughby, Your Grace."

Richard looked him up and down with a note of distaste. The man seemed grubby at best; the type one saw at the bookkeeper placing a bet on the next ‘sure thing'. Richard wagered that the man hadn't seen a clean and honest deal in his entire life, though he wasn't certain how he could read all that from his face alone.

He turned back to Celestina and offered her his warmest smile, pleased he could interrupt whatever this was before it got out of hand.

"I am delighted you have decided to accept my offer. There is something satisfying about being able to help an old friend."

"Yes," Celestina replied, though her voice faltered. "Thank you ever so much, Richard." She turned and glanced awkwardly at the man who hovered in her hallway. "Have you met my husband's business partner?"

"I can't say I've had the pleasure," Richard said, turning back to the unpleasant man. To his great delight, he looked uncomfortable.

"I, on the other, do know you—or at least know of you, Your Grace," he said. "I make it my business to know who's who in the ton . Your reputation precedes you as an excellent duke."

Richard stood a little taller at the compliment. "Thank you. I appreciate you saying that. I do try my best."

"I am, however," he continued, "rather surprised to discover you are friends with Mrs Courtenay." He turned to Celestina. "You didn't tell me you had friends in such high places, Celestina."

"Childhood friend, Mr Willoughby."

His expression darkened at the use of the formality, but he forced himself to smile. "Well, I see you have no chaperone, and therefore, it is rather inappropriate that I am here at all," Edward said, his gaze darting from Celestina to Richard himself. "I'll see myself out. Good day to you both."

Richard didn't take his eyes off Celestina as the irritating man disappeared down the pathway and onto the main London street. She looked tired and vulnerable, and he wished he could take her in his arms once more, as he had done just a few days previously, and make all her problems go away.

"I am over the moon, in fact," he said as soon as he knew they were alone. "I've been terribly worried that you would say no to my offer. I do remember how stubborn you always used to be."

He chuckled, hoping to show her he meant no harm in his comment. Celestina, though, spun around and marched back into the house. Richard quickly closed the door and followed her, thrilled at her trusting and welcoming nature. It felt in many ways as it had when they were children. As if they belonged together. As if being in the same room was simply right.

"Are you sure you want me to come?" he asked, completely surprised. She was, after all, unaccompanied, but if she allowed, his heart would not be able to refuse it.

She sighed heavily. "I no longer have the energy to stand at the door. And besides, you've been like a brother to me my entire life. Anyone who cares that much can find that out for themselves."

The excitement Richard felt at the invitation inside died away quickly. Like a brother? The words stabbed at his chest. Though he no longer had romantic feelings for Celestina, to hear that she'd only ever considered him a sibling hurt.

Still, he followed her through the heavily decorated hallway, his shoes clipping on the polished stone floor.

"I am sorry you overheard what I said to Edward," she called over her shoulder. "But I'm afraid to say it wasn't true. It was a ruse to get rid of Edward. He is rather persistent."

Richard's heart sank even further. He'd been so happy to hear her say those words, and now she snatched them cruelly away from him. How could he get her to see sense?

"Yes. I must say, I don't like him. I know I only met him briefly, and I am sorry if he is a friend, but—"

"He's not a friend," Celestina said as she rounded the corner into the dining room. "He worked with my husband. Nothing more."

Richard followed but stopped aghast when he reached the doorway. The cupboards were all open, and Celestina's belongings were scattered on every surface possible, a lifetime pulled out from its hiding place for examination.

"Ignore the mess," she said, sensing his hesitancy. "I'm in the process of sorting out what I can keep and what I can't."

All the more reason to let me help.

He decided not to say as such right away. Instead, he would skirt around the conversation and come back to that later on.

"About Mr Willoughby. I don't trust him," he said.

"Neither do I," Celestina replied. She sat in a silk-upholstered dining chair, crossed her legs, and looked up at him. "That's why I had to lie to him."

"I'm serious," Richard said. He dashed over to her, pulling out the chair next to her and sitting in it. Her eyes followed him every step of the way. "Persistent was the correct word. I'd wager he's the type of man who doesn't stop at anything to get what he wants."

"I agree," Celestina replied with a curt nod. "But you can rest assured, Richard. He most definitely will not get what he wants."

"That's excellent." Richard beamed, thrilled to see his old friend's tenacity returning.

She looked at him from under her lashes. "That doesn't mean you're getting what you want, though."

"Oh."

"I am sorry, Richard. I know how much you want to help, and I genuinely appreciate it. But I'm afraid I simply cannot accept it. What I said last time stands. Would you like some tea?"

She got up and went to the kitchen without waiting for his answer. Richard followed. There was already a pot of water on the stove. She reached for a teapot, stuffed it with tea leaves, then filled it with the already hot water. She fitted the lid to it, then left it to steep, turning to face him while leaning on the counter.

"But whyever not?" he asked. "We're old friends. And besides, I wouldn't expect anything in return. Not like your friend Mr Willoughby."

"He is not a friend," she repeated, eyeing him before turning to get the cups down from the shelf. "We have no milk, I'm afraid."

"Goodness, things must be bad," Richard muttered, though Celestina chose to ignore it. "Isn't this lovely, though?" he said. "It's like old times. I don't know about you, but I feel tremendously comfortable in your company."

She threw him a wry smile, but she straightened herself as if putting herself on guard. His words had not had the desired effect. Quite the opposite, clearly.

Richard huffed. "Listen, I will put this as plainly as I know how. Given how long we've been friends, you deserve as much. I know about your financial hardship. Everyone knows. I also know that you are downplaying how distressing it is for you. No one could blame you for being worried, Celestina."

"I'm not wo—"

"Let me finish. I appreciate that you are a proud woman. You always have been, and it's one of the reasons I lo … liked you so much. But sometimes, we must let go of our pride and let our friends help us. Surely accepting help from a friend is better than being at the mercy of certain others."

"Such as?" she said, though the dim light in her eyes told him she already knew.

"Mr Willoughby is a case in point, as you well know. I'd advise you to avoid being alone with him."

"Yes, thank you, I'm quite aware."

She turned with pursed lips and poured the tea. He sensed rather than saw her irritation and knew he had made yet another mistake. It pained him quite literally. Not being in her favour made him feel like a complete failure, no taller than a thimble.

"Celestina," he said softly. He'd forgotten how sweet her name was upon his lips. So sweet he said it again. "Celestina, we are friends, aren't we?"

She must have sensed his uncertainty, for when she turned back to look him, her expression had softened. Her eyes reflected memories of their past, of the emotions they'd shared and the moments they'd given one another.

"Of course, we're friends, Richard. I didn't mean to suggest …"

She trailed off with a sigh, and Richard swallowed. He'd forgotten the way she made him feel. Like anything was possible as long as she was around. But as though he lived on a knife's edge, and she had hold of the handle. His desire to please her was unbounded, but he knew it for what it was—nostalgia, history, nothing more.

"It is precisely because we are friends that I cannot accept your offer of help," she said, her smile returned to her. "I cannot take advantage of our old friendship. You are not obligated to help me."

"Not obligated, no," he said quickly, latching onto her words and running with them. "But I want to, precisely because of our friendship."

With a cool smile, she handed him a teacup and saucer. He took it gratefully, then followed her as she returned to the dining room.

"What do you intend to do if not accept my assistance?" he asked. "Do you have other means?"

They arrived in the dining room, and Celestina returned to the seat she occupied earlier. She put her teacup onto the mahogany table and sighed, looking around at her scattered belongings. Richard equally eyed them.

"I will sell my possessions. Thanks to David's habit of collecting antiques, I have a large number of valuables that will help. Then I suppose I will take up employment somewhere. Perhaps as a governess or a companion."

No.

Richard's heart cried out for her. To take up employment after so many years in her position would be heartbreaking. He looked around at the mess of things on the table, then had an idea.

He reached forward and picked up a plate, pretending to examine it with interest. "How much for this dinner service?" he asked. "It's perfect for my dining room."

"Richard," she said, raising an eyebrow at him.

"No, I'm serious. These plates are just … why, they're …" He chuckled. "I'll offer you ￡2 per plate!"

"￡2 per plate?" She laughed out loud, the sound bright against the room's tension. "Honestly, Richard. Only a fool would pay such an amount for old, scratched porcelain."

"Or a friend trying to help," he muttered, placing the plate back on the table. She was right; they were old and scratched, but he would have taken every single one of them home if she had accepted the money.

"I really do appreciate everything you're trying to do," she said, and he could see in her eyes that she did. "But honestly, I can handle this situation myself, and I'd rather do it that way than rely on anyone else."

"You can pay me back," he replied quickly. "We'll even set a contract if you really want to. I can lend you the money, and then you can pay me back when your financial situation is improved. Simple." He grinned as if he'd found the answer, but Celestina merely shook her head again.

"And how will I ever find the means to do that? Unless I marry again, I have no hope of gaining that wealth."

At the mention of marriage, their gazes locked. It was brief, barely more than a second, but there seemed so much unsaid in that look. Once again, Richard found himself wondering how life would be different if he had refused his father's advice and stopped Celestina's marriage to David.

"You seem rather intent on finding problems rather than solutions," he muttered, purposely avoiding her gaze. He kept his eyes lowered, wishing he could find the words to convince her.

She leaned forward and touched his hand. It was featherlight, barely there, but it sent tingling through him. He glanced at where her fingers hovered just above his knuckles and watched intently. Celestina seemed to notice what she had done, and though she didn't touch him again, neither did she pull her hand away.

"I am truly touched that you are so worried about me after all this time. But I cannot—and I will not—accept handouts. We are not family, Richard, and we have been out of communication for many years now. Even if I was the type to accept handouts, which I'm sure you know I am not, then how would it look to others? My accepting your financial assistance? People would wonder about our relationship."

Richard hadn't thought of that, and he, of all people, knew how important appearances were, especially if one wanted to maintain one's position within the ton .

"I don't care what other people say," he replied. It was a lie, for the most part, except when it came to Celestina. Seeing her safe and happy was far more important, and it was one of the few times he felt comfortable enough to say so.

Celestina snorted. "Of course you do," she replied. "Everybody does. I am a destitute widow and apparently a social pariah. Associating yourself with me could besmirch your good name. I will not be the cause of a stain upon your house, Richard. And certainly not when I have other options."

I will happily take the stain , he thought. He said, "Taking employment is hardly another option."

She laughed again, shaking her head. "Of course it is. You forget how adaptable I am, Richard. If anyone can survive this, I am certain I can."

But I'm not sure I can.

He stared at her, drinking in the sight of her. Everything felt exactly as it did when they were children, sitting on the floor and pretending to drink tea with their toys. And yet everything was so different. Celestina had fine lines around the corners of her mouth, and her eyes told of a life too lived. One of pain and sadness. How could he make it all better?

He almost blurted out that he cared for her but bit his tongue just in time. Such announcements would do neither of them any good.

She broke the moment first, pulling her eyes away from him and biting her bottom lip. He worried that he had annoyed her and she would refuse to see him again, but he pushed on regardless.

"I understand all of your reasons quite plainly," Richard said, refusing to give up on her. "But I don't agree with them. A little loan between friends is nothing—and we can keep it a secret. No one needs know."

Celestina barked with laughter once more. "Richard, the only way I will ever accept your money is by wage. The only form of assistance I will accept is that one: employment."

Richard laughed, throwing his head back as if she'd made some witty comment or other. But when he returned his gaze to her, he could see that she was perfectly serious. His bottom jaw dropped open.

Surely not?

He scoffed, shaking his head. "I could never make you my servant , Celestina. Goodness me! What a thought!"

"Those are my terms," she said simply, doubling down on her idea. "If you want to help me, that is the only way, Richard."

"Please, Celestina. Reconsider. What you're saying is sheer nonsense. I cannot employ my oldest and dearest friend!"

"Very well," she said. She rose from her chair and collected the cups from the table. "Now, if you don't mind, Your Grace, I have rather a lot to catch up on—and it is somewhat inappropriate that you are here."