Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Celestina was in the great hall discussing the polishing of the floors with a maid. The shine was most definitely not to her standard, and she wanted it perfect for the weekend when half the ton were to descend on Exeter House.

"Mrs Courtenay?" Mrs Jones said, her shoes silent on the wooden floor as she entered behind them.

Celestina spun around and beamed a smile at the housekeeper. She had so much respect for the woman. Her job was a difficult one, and yet she handled it seamlessly. Celestina's own role was entirely unnecessary, but it seemed Mrs Jones liked having her around, and Celestina thought they would become great friends in time despite their different backgrounds.

"I've told you, please call me Celestina," she insisted. "I am under your command now, after all."

She could see Mrs Jones resisting the urge to roll her eyes. They both knew that, no matter the situation, Celestina would never truly be beneath the housekeeper, but keeping up the appearance was satisfying to them both. It helped ease the burden of Celestina's sudden tumble into the lower classes and took a weight from Mrs Jones' moral conscience.

"His Grace has requested your assistance with something in the library," Mrs Jones said, always one to get straight to the point.

"Oh?" Celestina's gut twisted, her instinct to be immediately suspicious. The library was not her responsibility, and she worried that Richard had some ulterior motive. She knew how difficult he found it treating her as an employee, but she simply couldn't countenance taking advantage of his good nature for a second longer.

And his mother certainly wouldn't approve.

"Yes," Mrs Jones said, her eyes skimming over the floor and frowning. When she looked back up at Celestina, she remembered to smile. "He said something about needing your expertise in organizing reference books. Is that a skill I did not know you had? You really do astound me on a daily basis, Mrs Courtenay."

Celestina opened her mouth to speak but then frowned. "I mean, I suppose," she replied. "David and I had a library at home, and I spent a lot of time there. But I'm not sure I'd go as far as to call it an expertise."

Mrs Jones tilted her head by way of a shrug. "His Grace seems to consider it so, and I do too. I wouldn't have the first clue where to begin. I'd have to call Beaumont in for reinforcements."

Celestina chuckled at the quip and then asked, "When does he need me?"

"Immediately, if you will. He seems incredibly eager to sort the books today."

Celestina sighed. She had been making good progress with the maid, and she had hoped to finish the great hall preparations before the decorators arrived the following day. But she supposed no employee ignored the requests of the duke, and that was her role now.

It didn't matter all that much, either. She was used to such considerations, always at the beck and call of her husband—and her parents before that. She had, in a way, been trained for this exact situation.

"Very well," she replied with a tight smile. "Are you all right here?"

"Quite," Mrs Jones replied. "I have been doing this job for many a year now, Mrs Courtenay."

"Of course," Celestina said with a chuckle. "I didn't mean to insinuate anything."

"It's quite all right. Now, off you go. We all know His Grace does not like to be kept waiting."

The library was only across the way from the great hall, and the door was as equally grand. The dark oak had been carved with hunting scenes, the brass doorknob polished to a high shine. It was closed now, and Celestina paused for a moment outside it, her hand raised and poised to knock.

She took a deep breath, preparing herself for what was to come. The truth of the matter was that she had been avoiding Richard. It wasn't that she didn't want to see him. No, it was quite the opposite. She wanted to see him a little too much. And if she had any hope of adapting to her new life—and any hope of him accepting her new position—she needed to stay well away.

Besides, every time she saw him, her stomach fluttered, making her feel like a young woman again. She was reminded of all those times when their eyes had met across ballrooms or dinner tables when she'd been unable to resist his smile. She had longed to hear him speak her name, for him to slip his hand into hers. She'd deluded herself with silly fairy tales of them together forever, true love overcoming everything.

How silly I had been.

Now, when those flutters began again, Celestina excused herself as quickly as she could, terrified that the same old feelings would bubble up again. It wasn't that she had any feelings for him, of course, nor that she ever would again. But she didn't want her emotions tainted by memory and nostalgia.

Finally, she knocked, then she turned the handle and opened the door slowly, peering around the edge as if fearful of what she might find.

"Your Grace?" she muttered.

When she stepped fully into the library, she saw it. Saw him. He stood behind the small desk in the corner, his arms held out in demonstration, a beam of a smile across his face. There he was, that rugged boy she had once known, now grown into a handsome, intelligent, and kind man. And a duke to boot!

She tensed, biting down on her bottom lip. She didn't want to see him like this, in only his shirt sleeves as if they were family, his raven-black hair flopping down over his forehead, his eyes sparkling with delight. With victory.

"It's tea," he said.

"I can see that," she replied, her gaze drifting down to the desk. There was everything one might want for afternoon tea.

"Is that …"

She stared at the pot in astonishment.

"The Wedgewood, yes." He grinned again. "When I heard you were selling it, I just couldn't resist. I've always wanted a Wedgewood tea service, and I thought you might like to use it again from time to time."

Celestina pursed her lips, swallowing back her feelings. It was such a kind, thoughtful thing to do, but why couldn't he see how hurtful this was? It was as if her old life collided with her new one, causing waves of emotion to crash inside her.

"But why would I use it?" she snapped. "Are your employees accustomed to using your expensive tea service or taking afternoon tea at all?"

Richard's grin slipped, his jaw bobbing up and down uncertainly. She felt instantly guilty for snapping at him, but the emotions coursing through her were far too strong to ignore.

"I … I'm sorry," he said. "But of course, you can take tea whenever you wish. You have my express permission to use the tea service at any time."

Celestina huffed, unable to stop herself, and she looked around at the books scattered in piles across the Turkish rug.

At least that much was true.

"Shall we start on the books?" she asked, eyeing the piles to carefully avoid Richard's gaze. Had she not, she might have fallen too deeply into the greyness, enveloped by the care and concern she saw there.

"But …" He hesitated, and she could feel his eyes boring into her. "We've got cucumber sandwiches. And macaroons!"

"My favourites," she muttered, still not looking at him. She couldn't bring herself to, overwhelmed by the fact that he had remembered after all these years.

"I know," he said, the words coming out almost as a whisper. "I have always known."

Finally, Celestina turned back to him and offered him a gentle smile. She really did appreciate all the trouble he had gone to, even if she couldn't accept it.

"Do you always make afternoon tea for your staff when you require their assistance?" she asked, hoping a little light flippancy would ease the tension.

"Only sometimes," he said, his lips twitching into a chuckle again.

"I'll try one macaroon," she said with a warning tone. "Since they are my favourites, but then we really ought to get to work."

"Don't I get a say in it?" he asked, his shoulders relaxing as she stepped forward and plucked a macaroon from the cake stand. "I thought I was the employer here."

She smirked at him, coy and amused. "No."

She slipped the macaroon into her mouth, and as she chewed, the pair gazed at one another. The flavour of almonds was heavenly on her tongue, and once again, she was transported to her childhood.

She remembered those quiet times she and Richard would sit on the low stone wall that ran between their estates, a plate of macaroons beside them. They'd eat in silence until every single one of them was gone, and then Richard would point out the birds that dipped and swam in the sky.

Soon, she swallowed, the remains of her single macaroon disappearing and, along with it, her allowance of this charade. "Now," she said, "I really ought to get to work." She pointed over to the piles of books. "I take it those are the books to be organized?"

Richard nodded reluctantly. "In alphabetical order, if you please," he said. "But you know I could ask any of the footmen to help me, don't you?"

Celestina shot him a warning look. She had already given in more than she had intended to. She needed to protect herself and him, and if he was going to help her by employing her, she would work as hard as any employee he had ever had.

Richard understood her meaning without her having to say it. He held his arms in the air in defeat. "Very well. But at least accept my help."

Celestina walked across to the books and clambered down onto her knees on the floor. She picked the first one up— History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire by Edward Gibbon. She placed it to one side and picked up another.

"What you do, Your Grace, is your own concern," she said without taking her eyes from the book. "It is not up to an assistant housekeeper to give you permission either way."

When he joined her on the rug, though, her heart flipped, and she had to press her lips together to hide her secret delight.

In silence, they began working through the piles, putting together the books with authors that began with the same letter. It was comfortable, natural, and Celestina felt herself relax. She appreciated having something to focus on, though she could admit that spending time with her dear old friend felt good.

"Goodness, Thomas Hobbes," Richard said with a snort of humour. He held up a battered old copy of Leviathan. "Now there's a book I'd rather forget."

Celestina recognized the book as soon as she saw it, and her eyes softened into a smile. Richard's father had been something of a philosopher, and he'd insisted that his son know all the greats back to front and inside out.

"I remember you reciting passages from that," she said.

Richard groaned, flicking through the pages. "I would have done anything to please my father, yet I don't think I ever did."

"Of course you did," Celestina said softly. "He admired you."

"He admired Hobbes," Richard retorted, holding the book aloft again.

Celestina giggled. "Do you remember any of it?"

"Hmmm, let me see." Richard put a finger to his chin and looked to the ceiling, recalling those long days of rote and recitation when he was home from Eton. "For such is the nature of man, that howsoever they may acknowledge many others to be more witty, or more eloquent, or more learned … Something like that, anyhow."

He looked at her and grinned, making her laugh. "And you always thought you learned it for nothing. Look at you now!"

"All right," he said, his lips twisting into a grin. "There's no need to mock, or I shall get you playing the pianoforte for all and sundry."

Celestina groaned. "Not only did I hate it, but I was absolutely terrible at it. My parents' friends were simply too polite to say anything."

Richard laughed. "Yes, you were pretty terrible at it," he agreed.

She cried out in mock offence. "After that remark," she teased, "I shall return to my sorting."

She threw him a smile to reassure him she was teasing, and then she reached forward to pick up the next book without taking her eyes off him. He did the same, reaching across without looking.

Her hand was around the book's spine when Celestina felt Richard's curl around hers. The intimacy of it shocked her at first. Neither wearing gloves, his hand was soft and warm against hers. It had been a long time since she had felt the touch of another person and even longer since she had felt so close to Richard.

She dropped her mouth open, wanting to tell him everything. She wanted to spill her emotions out for him, all those feelings she'd once had and how dangerous it now felt being so close to him. She wanted more than just a hand on her hand, too. David had been more like a brother than a husband to her, but she still missed having that connection with someone. She was, she supposed, still grieving.

"Celestina," he said in a low rasp.

She looked from his face down to their entwined hands, and that's when it hit her. What they were doing; why it was so dreadfully wrong. With a gasp, she snatched her hand from under his, and the book fell to the floor with a thud.

"Celestina," he said again, though quicker this time, with more urgency, more panic. "Please, I—"

"Do excuse me," she said, getting to her feet. Her eyes darted everywhere but at him. To look at him now would be too much. "I am sorry, but I … I forgot I have another engagement."