Chapter 26

Chapter 26

Richard pushed the cue harder than he'd intended, sending the billiard ball ricocheting across the table, bouncing from the cushions with the force of his anger. He growled in frustration. Normally, he was good at billiards. Indeed, he was considered amongst the best at the gentlemen's club. But today, he hadn't managed to pocket a single ball.

With a huff, he lined up another shot. He struck, but the balls bounced around the table again, clanging together noisily. He threw his cue down onto the felt and sank into the chair behind him, head in his hands.

He had thought bringing Celestina to the house would be the perfect solution, but now everything seemed to be going wrong. He was angry at his mother and Rebecca. More than that, he was ashamed of the way they had behaved. His own mother! And Rebecca, the woman he had chosen to welcome into his home.

They had behaved appallingly, and that disappointed Richard. He always liked to think that those he associated with, including his own family, upheld the same values that he did.

And it had been poor Celestina to suffer. He had brought her here to protect her, but instead, she had been hurt under his own roof. He pursed his lips, feeling sick at the very thought. She had such a sweet nature. She had ever since she was a child. That's how he immediately knew that she was not at fault. She would never have insulted someone, and if she had, it would have been for a very good reason.

He rubbed his hands over his face and huffed. The truth was, he was as angry at himself as he was with his mother and Rebecca. It was his duty to look after Celestina. His duty was to ensure no harm came to her. Even if he was merely her employer, as she was so adamant that he was, he had a duty to her. But he wasn't merely an employer, no matter what she said.

He was her friend. And he loved her with all his heart. He could no longer deny it nor pretend it wasn't true. And he wanted more than anything to see her protected.

No. To see her happy.

His irritation swam around him, and the more he thought about it, the stronger it became. With a final growl, he threw himself out of the chair and stalked out of the room. He needed to feel the cool spring air on his face. A little fresh air just might help settle his thoughts.

He left the house and stepped into the gardens. They were pristine, as always, and he could see the gardeners on their hands and knees in the distance, pruning the lawn with a pair of shears. He admired their dedication, and part of him was jealous that he had nothing to throw himself into.

Richard inhaled the fresh green scent of recently cut grass, then began walking down the gravel path, his arms swinging by his sides. If billiards couldn't shake him from his foul temper, then perhaps a swift walk would. He strode around the house and out into the ornamental gardens.

They were his favourite part of the grounds. Concealed by high hedges and topiary, the gardens were hidden from the house. Stepping into them was like stepping into another world. The noise of daily life disappeared, settling into a calm silence. He often came in here to think. To admire the beauty of the gardens and consider whatever was on his mind. Indeed, he'd had several of his best ideas in those gardens.

Now, he ducked under the topiary archway, the house and his strife disappearing behind his back. And when he looked up, a sight made his heart leap into his mouth. He couldn't stop his smile from growing, and he stopped where he was, wanting to watch her from a distance. Not wanting to ruin the moment.

She was on the bench swing beneath the willow tree, swaying gently in the breeze. Her feet dangled just above the floor, her hand clasped around the chain, and she stared at the floor. Richard's heart broke all over again. She looked devastated. Hurt. And it had all been his fault. He swallowed, wishing he could make it better somehow.

Instead, he stepped forward, the twigs underfoot snapping beneath his weight. She looked up sharply, gasping at being discovered.

"I'm sorry to disturb you," he said softly. His anger and shame all melted away, replaced by a swelling heart for the beautiful woman who now gazed up at him. He wanted the world for her but knew he could not show her such.

"Oh!" She jumped off the swing. "Do excuse me, Your Grace. I ought to get back to work."

She threw him a smile and took a step forward, but Richard put an arm out to stop her. "No, please," he said, perhaps a touch too quickly. "Don't go."

She tilted her head, throwing him the sweet smile he loved. "I ought to get back to work."

"But I'd like your company," he said. "Please stay."

"I don't believe that is appropriate," she said softly. Her voice was like a balm for his painful thoughts. "Though I appreciate the invitation. I really ought to—"

Richard tutted loudly, interrupting her, and he once again put an arm out to stop her from leaving. "Honestly, Celestina," he said in his most dukely voice. "Any other staff members do as they are told, and if you truly wish to be a servant in the truest sense, then you will do as I ask. If you please, retake your seat."

She blinked at him, and though he could see she was surprised, her lips twisted into a grin.

"Very well," she replied, backing onto the swing again.

As she moved, she didn't once take her eyes from his, and he felt that connection strengthen further. No, he could never allow her to get hurt anymore, and certainly not by his own family. With his heart in his throat, he approached her and sat on the bench next to her. To be so close to her sent tingles through his body, but it also settled him further. The swing shifted as he sat, and she giggled.

"Thank you for humouring me," he said, glancing sideways at her once he'd righted it.

"As you say, I must do as my employer commands, or I would find myself out of a job."

Richard snorted with humour. That would never happen, no matter what she did. He wouldn't survive losing her a second time.

"I am glad you are getting into the spirit of it," he teased.

"It is you who has had trouble accepting your place, Your Grace," she said, bumping her shoulder against his.

He laughed again, the fist that had gripped his gut for so long finally easing. This was what life was about. This was all he had ever wanted. This. Her.

"That is true enough." He leaned forward, gripping hold of the iron frame of the bench, tilting the seat backwards. He raised his feet, and together, they swung. Neither said anything for a long moment.

Eventually, Richard spoke, his gaze focused intensely on the leaves that scattered the ground around them. "I wish to apologize again."

"Whatever for?" she asked. Her tone told him that, for her, the entire affair was forgotten. It was done. But he needed to say it again if only to release the hold of his own guilt.

"For what happened with Rebecca and my mother. It should never have happened. I only wish I had been there to—"

"Please, Richard," she said, and his name on her tongue made him shiver with delight. "There really is no need to apologize again. You already came to my defence, and I appreciated it more than I can say. But it's time to forget about it now."

He glanced at her. She smiled gently at him, though he could see how tired she was. Dark circles had formed under her eyes, and something he couldn't understand had settled over her. Worry? Fear? Sadness? If only he knew.

"I'm serious, though. I …"

He wanted to pour out his heart, to tell her everything. He wanted her to know how much he loved and cherished her and how he wanted to look after her properly, not from the sidelines as he was now. But how could he? He knew how stubborn she was and that he couldn't push her without risking losing her entirely. Besides, it hadn't even been a year since her husband's death. To say anything of his real emotions truly would be inappropriate.

"It's all right," she whispered. She didn't look at him, but he kept his eyes on her. The wisps of hair that flew around her face. The way her eyes sparkled in the light. The tightness of her smile.

"No, it's not," he said firmly. "Celestina, I …" He cleared his throat and started again. He would tell her what he could and hope for the best. "I want you to know how much you mean to me. I know our friendship became lost for a while, but I never stopped thinking about you."

"I never stopped thinking about you, either," she said. Her voice rasped over the words, the emotions thick on her tongue. Richard swallowed, though to hear she hadn't forgotten about him was like honey.

"You have always meant a great deal to me, Celestina. And when we made our vow all those years ago—"

She interrupted him with a laugh and sounded free for the first time in a long time.

"I'm sorry," she said when he shot her a surprised look. "I am not making light of your feelings. But we were children, Richard."

"Yes," he agreed with a chuckle. "But even as a child, I knew how important it was and how close to my heart it would be until the day I die."

She laughed again. "There is no need to be so dramatic."

"It's not dramatic!" he cried in defence. "It is the truth. And quite frankly, I am offended that it doesn't mean as much to you."

She finally turned and looked at him; her laughter turned to softness, her eyes shining with emotion. "It did," she said. "It does."

Richard breathed steadily, holding her gaze and allowing it to fill him with all he needed. "I want to help you get back on your feet, Celestina. If only you will allow it. And then I should rather like to remain in your life."

Celestina looked away, staring down at the floor instead. "Associating with me will do you no good, Richard. Your mother is right about that much."

"I don't care what others think," he said, and it was true. Of course, he had heard the gossip and the unkind words. Falling from the heights of aristocracy to being little more than a servant—at least in their eyes—was a hot topic. "You are my friend, Celestina, and you always will be."

Celestina huffed and got up from the bench. Standing with her back to him, she looked into the trees, her hand in that beautiful shock of red curls on her head. Richard longed to join her, to stand behind her and wrap his arms around her. To whisper in her ear until she calmed and settled into him. But he didn't move.

"I am not ashamed of my work, Richard," she said to the trees, her back still to him. "But calling me your friend will not work in your favour, and we both know it."

"I don't care!" he cried, the words propelling him from the bench. He hovered behind her, wanting to reach out and touch her. But he didn't move again. "I don't care what people say or think or do. I only care about our friendship. It means more to me than you will ever know."

He watched the steady rise and fall of her back as she breathed, the way the breeze tickled her hair into the air. Her shoulders were tense, but she hadn't moved away from him. Not yet.

Holding his breath, he knew he had to act. He stepped closer, still to remain behind her but to her side. Slowly, tentatively, he reached out, taking her hand in his.

She let him. She didn't move. And Richard let his breath out in a long, slow exhale as relief flooded him. Her hand felt warm and soft in his. After a long moment, she glanced over her shoulder at him. And then she turned fully, and, hand-in-hand, they gazed into one another's eyes.

It was everything to Richard, and he felt himself fall in love with her all over again. He opened his mouth to speak again, ready at last to tell her everything, when something flashed in her eyes.

She gasped, pulling her hand out of his. "I'm sorry," she said quickly. "But I … I can't!"

As he watched her leave, Richard's shoulders sagged. Though he already felt her loss keenly, he was relieved, too. He had been about to reveal his soul to her, which would have only caused more confusion and uncertainty.