Chapter 17

Chapter 17

"Where are you going?" Richard asked as he entered Celestina's room three days later.

She was packing a bag, throwing her belongings in with abandon.

"I need to work out what I'm going to do, Richard. And I cannot impinge on your hospitality for a moment longer."

He marched over to her and snatched a hairclip from her hand, returning it to its rightful place on the vanity.

"You're staying here," he said. "We agreed."

" You agreed," Celestina said. She picked up the hairclip once more and threw it into her bag. "And while I am endlessly grateful for all you've done, it really is time I found something more permanent."

"No," Richard repeated. " We agreed. You said, and I quote, I suppose I ought to pack then ."

She turned to face him. "Yes, but I very clearly wasn't in my right mind then, was I? A couple of hours later, I fainted."

"Please don't do this, Celestina," he said.

His gaze was piercing, and he spoke with such emotion that she felt herself waver. She had lain in bed fretting for days, thinking she'd made a terrible mistake. It had turned out just as she had suspected. Far from employed, she was abusing his hospitality, and she wouldn't allow herself to do it for another second.

"I agreed to come and work for you, Richard. Not to lie in your bed and become friends with those in your household."

"And work you will," he retorted. "But you were sick, and I needed to make sure you were better before you could begin your employment. Your help is very much needed around here."

Celestina's lips twitched into a smile at his firmness, and she realized she rather liked it when he took control. There was something sweet in it. It showed how much he cared, and yet it demonstrated his strength.

Richard sighed when she didn't answer. "I didn't want to say this as it seems unnecessarily cruel, but you don't have a great deal of options left to you, Celestina. If you don't accept my help—with the terms that we agreed—then I genuinely fear for you."

Celestina pushed her lips together and looked away. She didn't want to cry again. She had cried too much of late. But he was right. She had no choice left, and his kindness almost broke her entirely. She nodded, though she still didn't look at him.

"All right," she said in a croaky voice. "But I will earn my keep, Richard. I refuse to be a charity case."

"And I refuse to treat you as one," he said. "Come along if you're ready. I'll introduce you to Mrs Jones, who will walk you through your new responsibilities."

He marched out of the room, officious and determined. Celestina blinked and hesitated, surprised at this new Richard appearing more and more. Still, she smiled to herself. This was exactly what she had wanted, and she was awash with relief that she and Sylvia would be safe.

As if reading her mind, he said over his shoulder, "Miss Taylor has been given the position of your assistant. You are to plan the social events in the house—balls and luncheons and such like—and help Mrs Jones when her responsibilities get too much."

"All things to which I am accustomed," she said cheerily as she trotted to keep up with him. Truthfully, she had worried a little about how working for a living would affect her. She knew she didn't have it in her to be a maid or the like, but planning social events was something she had done on many occasions—and something she would have liked to do more had David allowed it.

Richard wound his way around the house, following a complicated system of corridors and hallways. Celestina tried to imprint the layout in her mind, but she suspected it would take her some time to get used to it. Still, the idea of a challenge had reinvigorated her, and she suddenly felt more positive than she had done in a very long while.

"The kitchens are that way," he said, throwing his right arm out towards a corridor. "My study and the library are that way." His left arm flew out this time.

"And the staff quarters?" she asked, feeling herself settle into the role as if they were still children playing games. "When will I get my new room?"

Richard stopped walking so suddenly that Celestina almost walked into him. When he looked at her, it was with a stern furrow to his brow. "You have already been assigned a room, and Miss Taylor has taken the one next door to yours."

"But it's a guest room," she replied. "And I am not—"

"I suspected this would be an argument with you," he interrupted. "But I won't have it, do you hear me? This is one matter upon which I will not be swayed."

A laugh bubbled up from between Celestina's lips. "Are you always this stern in your own house?"

To her surprise and endless endearment, Richard blushed and looked away, his cheeks covered in a light dusting of pink.

"You seem to forget that I am a duke now, Celestina," he said without looking at her. "It is my job to be stern. A lot has changed since we were children."

"And all for the better," she said softly.

He looked at her again, and this time, their gazes caught. That second they stared into each other's eyes felt like a wondrous eternity. Emotion swirled in Celestina's chest, feelings she thought she had forgotten, thought she'd put to bed. And yet, when he broke that connection, she felt lost again. She blinked, forcing the feelings away.

"This way," he said, turning on his heels and marching away again.

***

Richard found the following week almost impossible. Seeing Celestina around the house filled him both with joy and sadness. Her company reminded him so much of the good times they'd shared as children, yet though she was within reach, he never could have her company. She was always busy working, an employee now rather than a friend. A servant, God forbid! The very idea irritated him, seeing her so lowered in status a stab to his heart, though at least he knew she was safe.

He'd eaten quickly that morning, not wanting to listen to his mother's mewling yet again, and now dashed through the corridors hoping to find refuge in his study. He'd seen glimpses of Celestina around the house, deep in conversation with the housekeeper or carrying great garlands of flowers to decorate the hall.

But it all felt so fleeting, so intangible, and he wanted to hide in his study to lick his wounds. When he'd invited her here, he'd hoped for so much more. He should have known she would be too stubborn to allow it.

He turned the corner, head lowered as thoughts raced through his mind, and marched on. But rather than making progress, he hit something head-on, only for the air to be filled with a yelp. His head shot up, and he discovered Celestina herself, hopping around on one foot.

"Goodness," he said, blinking in surprise at the sight. "What happened?"

"You stood on my toe," she said, looking at him and wincing.

"I am dreadfully sorry," he said, far too much emotion rushing through his chest for such a small event. "I didn't mean to!"

She stopped hopping and smiled at him. It lit up her entire face, the crinkle of fine lines around her eyes somehow softening her even further. As if compelled, her smile made him smile.

"Of course you didn't, Your Grace," she said.

Her voice was as smooth as silk, the sound of angels in his ears. He shook his head, annoyed at himself for even thinking such ridiculous things.

"I do wish you'd stop calling me Your Grace."

She nodded demurely, choosing to ignore his comment. "I have arranged for a magnificent little trio of musicians to play at next week's ball," she said instead. "And Sylvia has popped out to discuss the service order with them."

"Excellent," he replied with a short, sharp nod, wishing she would talk to him about anything other than her responsibilities.

"And now I ought to get on. Good day, Your Grace."

She walked past him with her head held high, and Richard couldn't stop himself from following her with his gaze, turning slowly on his heels as she went. It amazed him how easily she had slipped into her new role. Indeed, she even seemed to be enjoying it. It made little sense to him. She was a woman of the aristocracy, after all. But then, she always had a strength he admired, a resilience that made her adaptable and able to handle anything life threw at her.

And life has thrown her plenty.

He sighed, wondering whether he would ever get through to her, then turned to go to the study. He supposed he had to be happy enough that she was here at all. At least she was safe. And for now, at least, he had plenty of other things to keep himself occupied. There were ledgers to fill, tenants to visit, and of course, his mother was still determined to find him a wife.

He opened his study door and went straight to the drinks cabinet. He had an afternoon tea date with Lady Rebecca that day and had to admit he wasn't looking forward to it. She was a sweet girl, and he liked her enough.

But it all felt a bit too much at the moment. He wanted to focus on helping Celestina, and where before he would have been looking forward to spending time with Lady Rebecca, now … Well, now he supposed she simply paled in comparison.

"But I shall try," he muttered, taking his drink and wandering over to his desk. He sat down, and as he did so, the housekeeper walked past the open door.

"Ah, Mrs Jones?" he called. "A word, if you please."

She was a tall, thin woman with a permanently sour expression. But despite how she looked, she was warm and friendly, and Richard liked her. She entered the room and stood in front of his desk, her hands clasped neatly in front of her.

"Yes, Your Grace?"

"I just wanted to ask about Celestina—I mean, Mrs Courtenay. How is she getting along?"

"Oh, she's wonderful," Mrs Jones said with a beam. "I must admit, the entire staff was a little concerned when you first told us your plans. She has not had the same upbringing as the rest of us, and I know some of the maids, in particular, were worried that she would be spoiled or lazy."

Richard suppressed a smirk. Spoiled and lazy were not words he would ever use to describe Celestina, but he supposed they weren't to know.

"But she hasn't been either of those things?" he confirmed.

"Goodness, no," she said with a firm shake of her head. "She is a harder worker than many of my girls and fits in so wonderfully. She has made a friend of everyone."

Richard clasped his hands over his stomach and leaned back in his chair, awash with satisfaction.

"I'm very pleased to hear that," he said. "Please don't hesitate to come to me if there are issues at all."

"Of course, Your Grace."

When the housekeeper left, Richard found he couldn't focus on his work at all. Instead, he pictured Celestina breaking bread with the maids around the kitchen table, regaling them with tales of the ton.

She would naturally be humble and amusing, and he could see why the staff would like her so much. She could connect to people no matter their position, and he had no doubt that had served her well throughout her life. Naturally, he would far rather she was at his table, regaling him with tales, but he knew he could not have that, and so he settled for what he could have.

With a little chuckle at the memory of who she had once been, Richard sat up straight, picked up his quill, and began to work. He wanted their friendship back, their closeness, but he knew that she would never cross the line between employer and employee—a line that he'd had no choice but to agree to.

He smiled to himself as he worked, thoughts of her running through his mind. She as a child, as a young lady. Thoughts of her now, as she was today. How different she was and yet how exactly the same. Her being so close reminded him of why he fell in love with her all those years ago. She was such a special woman, like no one he'd ever encountered since.

He frowned, silently filling in the numbers on his ledger, his figures small and neat. He shouldn't have been thinking in such a way. It was not right, and he cautioned his own heart against giving in to these memories and the feelings they revived. Life was different now. They were different. And love was not something that could ever be on the cards for them again.

He stared down at the ledger, the numbers beginning to swim in front of his eyes. He was tired of it all. Of pretending he didn't want to sit down and talk with her like the old friends they were. Of pretending she was nothing but an employee.

He put his quill down, a decision made, and went to find her. If she wouldn't join him for tea without provocation, then he needed to take control of the situation. He needed to arrange it so they ended up in the same room together for longer than a few wonderful but fleeting seconds.