Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Celestina had her legs curled beneath her on the chair in the corner of her bedchambers, restitching the hem of a gown that was becoming threadbare. There had been a time when she would have handed the gown to a less fortunate soul and simply visited the modiste for another, but she now found herself rather enjoying the practice of repairing and reusing. The frugality of it made her feel as if she had accomplished something.

She hummed to herself, pushing the needle through the muslin, the repetitive motion soothing. It had been over a week since her afternoon in the library with Richard, and she had barely seen him since. If she had been avoiding him before, he was mostly avoiding her now. She couldn't decide whether that was a good or a bad thing.

With a sigh, she pulled the thread through the fabric and inserted the needle again, her focus on the fine work. Part of her secretly hoped that Richard would call her again, another important task at hand, though she doubted it from how she had run away last time.

That led her to her other thoughts. She was mortally embarrassed by everything that had happened. She had let down her guard, relaxing too much in his presence. Their conversation had been enjoyable, and being around him reminded her of why she had fallen in love with him all those years ago. But that was dangerous, and when their hands touched, she saw something in his eyes. Was it recognition? She wasn't sure.

She tied a knot in the thread and reached for her small, ornate sewing scissors—one of the few things she had left from her mother. She held the gown up in front of her, turning it this way and that to examine for more holes or slips of stitches. With a satisfied grin, she folded it and returned it to the armoire before picking up the next garment.

Being with Richard reminded her so much of being young, of days long passed. It had been another lifetime, one she remembered with bright fondness. But now that life seemed to spark here and there, lighting up her current path.

Making it bearable.

What pleased her most was that Richard was so unchanged. He was older, naturally, and a lot wiser. He was a duke with a significant wealth neither of them could have dreamed of as children.

And yet he was still the kind, funny, down-to-earth character she had known all those years ago. She should have known he would remain steadfast in his personality. Wealth and status would never be things that would change someone as strong and determined as Richard Kingsley.

Celestina jumped when a knock came on her door, and her heart began to pound.

Is it him?

She bit her lip, praying it was Richard behind the door. Praying it wasn't him, too. Surely the duke would not allow himself to be seen at her door, even if she was in the guest room. With a deep breath, she called, "Come in."

The door opened abruptly, and to her surprise, Celestina saw Lady Kingsley peering in at her, her lips pursed in that sour expression she always seemed to wear. She blinked in surprise, but when she opened her mouth to greet the woman, Richard's mother spoke first.

"Celestina, I have a task for you," she said, clearly in no mood for small talk.

"I shall be delighted to help you with whatever you require," Celestina replied, relieved that Richard's mother seemed finally to take an interest in her.

She had been hoping to perform some task for her so she could win her favour. It was quite obvious that the older lady did not approve of having Celestina in the house, and quite frankly, Celestina didn't blame her—not with her reputation.

"I hear your fingers are somewhat green," Lady Kingsley said. She stood in the doorway of her bedchamber, her hands clasped in front of her and her back perfectly straight, as prim as she could be.

"That's correct." Celestina looked up and smiled. "My husband gifted me an entire conservatory one year for my birthday, and I spent a great deal of time there, tending to the plants. He was a very generous man."

Lady Kingsley shifted her weight from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable by such talk. Whether it was the death of her husband or her sudden descent in status that bothered Lady Kingsley, Celestina wasn't certain.

"Well, that's … good," Lady Kingsley said. "Follow me."

She turned and marched away without waiting for an answer. Though it was technically her day off, Celestina didn't dare question the woman—and neither did she want to. She put her sewing down and followed, curious about where they were going.

They wound through corridors Celestina hadn't even known existed until they reached the entrance hall. Lady Kingsley walked so fast and with such determination that Celestina had to trot to keep up, but her thoughts whirred as she went. She was excited by the prospect of working with plants again, assuming that was what Lady Kingsley had meant when she asked about her green fingers.

"Come along," Lady Kingsley called over her shoulder. "Do keep up."

They left the house by the main entrance and then hurried across the gravel pathways. The sun was bright and warm, and Celestina raised her face to its rays.

When they arrived at the orangery, Lady Kingsley said, "I have a number of exotic plants in here."

"Goodness," Celestina replied. She tried to peer over the woman's shoulder into the open doorway, eager to see what plants she had.

"I rather had it in my head that I would tend them," Lady Kingsley said with a sigh. "But I'm afraid to say that I have not been touched with the skill of botany. It turns out that the practice of the matter is very different to the theory."

"Oh, I'm sure you're perfectly—"

"No," Lady Kingsley interrupted firmly. "I do not need your kind but false words. I need to take care of the plants I have come to love. I would like you to take personal charge of this matter. Is that something you can do?"

Celestina nodded eagerly. She had missed burying her fingers in the cool soil and tending to the soft, velvety petals.

"I am well versed in plants from all around the world," she said. "I will be sure to do a very good job for you, My Lady."

"Excellent." Lady Kingsley gave her a short, sharp nod. "Then I shall leave you to it. I trust you'll find everything you need inside, and if not, please ask one of the gardeners to direct you."

With that, she slipped away, leaving Celestina to gawp in surprise.

***

Over the following days, Celestina spent many hours in the orangery, growing acquainted with the plants. Lady Kingsley had indeed curated a wonderful and varied selection, and though some needed a little extra care and attention, on the whole, they were in good health.

Still, Celestina thoroughly enjoyed having such a task that she could throw herself into wholeheartedly, and there were moments when she could almost pretend that the previous months had not happened. That she was still in her own conservatory, enjoying being the lady of her own household, instead of a servant in someone else's.

Now, she dug her trowel into the soil, turning it in preparation for implanting some offcuts she'd taken from a particularly beautiful pale pink orchid. Her thoughts turned to Richard as they seemed to be more and more of late. She hadn't seen him for several days, not even her normal fleeting glances in the house hallways as they went about their work.

In many ways, she was relieved. Her strengthening feelings for him worried her. She didn't want to fall in love as she had all those years previously, not when she knew nothing could come of it. Even if Richard did reciprocate her feelings—which she was certain he did not—they could never act upon it. Not now, not after all this time, and certainly not now that she was an employee. As kind as he was, a duke could never lower himself in such a way.

"I see you're settling nicely into this new role Mother gave you."

Celestina jumped at the sound of his voice; her immediate thought was that she had imagined it. Richard was nothing but a mirage magicked out of her secret desire.

But as he approached from the door, her entire body came alive as if responding to his presence. She became acutely aware of every part of her—and every part of him—and she forced herself to smile through the emotions that crashed against the edges of her being.

"I have always loved working with plants," she said, the trowel hovering in the air between them.

She had stiffened at his presence and sensed that he felt equally awkward. The tension between them was thick and heavy from their last proper encounter.

"Yes, I remember," he said. He ran his fingers along the edges of the planters as he neared, winding his way between the rows of flowers.

Celestina put the trowel down and dipped her fingers into the bucket of cold water in the corner to wash off the remnants of soil. She moved across to the original orchid and picked up her shears, pruning it tenderly as Richard spoke to her.

"Er … how … how are you settling in?" he asked, the question seeming to be an attempt at conversation rather than a genuine request for information.

She looked up at him wryly from beneath her lashes. "I have been here several weeks now, Your Grace. And I don't doubt that you have received reports from Mrs Jones and the other members of the household."

His lips twitched into a smile. "That much is true, but the health and happiness of my employees is of great importance to me. I like to verify facts for myself."

"How very honourable of you, Your Grace," she said, cutting off a leaf that had begun to curl on itself. She slipped easily into the conversation, enjoying his presence no matter how dangerous it was.

"So …" He put a rose head between his fingers and raised it to his nose to sniff it, then returned his attention to her. "Mother tells me that you had a conservatory of your own. Did you collect exotic plants also?"

"We did," Celestina replied, picking at the damaged root in the soil. "David thought it an excellent hobby for a wife. It took me a while to learn, but our gardener was an excellent help."

At the mention of the gardener, Celestina felt a stab of pain. It was not often she felt the visceral loss of her old life, but when she did, it made her wince. She would far rather forget it all.

"It sounds like he was a good husband to you," Richard said.

Celestina stopped her pruning and looked up at him. "He was, in his way. He had his faults, but he loved me."

Richard cleared his throat, his gaze steadily capturing hers. "And you?" he asked.

Celestina lowered her eyes, staring down at the soil at her fingertips. "He was my husband," was all she could manage to say. She had loved him, too, though not in a way that David had wanted. But she didn't want to tell Richard any of that. It felt unfair to her husband, and she wasn't sure the duke would understand.

There was a tense pause between them, neither saying a word, nor looking at the other. Until finally, Richard broke it with a cheery tone.

"Anyhow, the plants are looking splendid! Did I hear right that Mother bought a pineapple plant?"

Celestina grinned at him, pleased to be on steadier ground. "I believe it was this poor thing of all of them, which was in the worst state when I arrived. Good job I did. I'd wager another few days, and it would not have been salvageable."

The ease between them returned, and Celestina found herself enjoying his company. She hoped he would visit her often as she tended the plants, for in the orangery, she could have him all to herself, their friendship blossoming as it had all those years ago. And here, away from the prying eyes of the Exeter household, she could pretend that all was well in the world again. She could pretend they had a chance. After all, he brought her a peace she had not experienced for a long time.

"May I see it?" he asked in a whisper as though to say the words out loud might break the magic of it. "Is it fruiting?"

Celestina nodded, then led him to the far corner of the orangery. "You mustn't touch it, though," she said. "It's still very fragile."

As he looked down at the plant, Celestina could see the awe in his eyes. It was, after all, such a rare thing in England.

"Do you think the fruit will be ready to display at our dinner party in a couple of weeks?"

Celestina nodded again. "I believe so," she said. "And what an excellent talking point it will make."