Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"Good afternoon, Celestina," he said, his voice as soft and silken as she remembered it being.

She stared up at him, still not quite believing it was him, that he was really here. It had been so long since she last saw him, but all the feelings came flooding back, hitting her like a wave. Those grey eyes of his, the ones she'd come to adore, sparkled with recognition and friendship as he looked at her from behind the biggest bunch of lilies she had ever seen.

"Richard," she said with a gasp. "Is it … is it really you?"

"It is," he said.

Silently and without needing to be asked, Sylvia took the flowers from him, disappearing from the room to find them some water. She seemed to know they needed a little privacy, as she always knew. Celestina would have thanked her, except she couldn't take her eyes off her old friend, the one she thought she had lost forever.

He didn't move from the doorway, but he, too, seemed equally mesmerized. As they stared at each other as if they were ghosts, Celestina's mind raced. She hadn't realized how much she had missed him until she saw him walk in through the door, and even after all these years, she had no idea why their friendship had fallen apart.

David, no doubt.

She wondered what might have been had she told Richard the truth all those years ago, that she had loved him with all her heart. Perhaps, if she had married the man she loved instead of the man her parents had chosen for her, then things would be better now. Instead, all was lost, and she was at sea.

It was at that thought that Celestina herself fell apart. To her horror, the waves of grief, loss, and hurt bowled her over until she curled in on herself and began to sob uncontrollably.

***

Richard didn't wait. He didn't hesitate. He lunged forward onto the couch and wrapped her in his arms as if it were the most natural thing in the world. It was natural. It felt right, as it always had when they were children.

To his relief, she responded in kind, burying her face in his chest and curling against him, letting all her emotion out and dampening his shirt with her tears. He clung to her, rocking back and forth gently, muttering sweet nothings into her hair. She fit in his arms as if she had been made for him.

"There, there," he said, inhaling her scent. "It's going to be all right."

He hadn't meant to embrace her. It was improper if nothing else. He wanted only to offer his condolences and support, but when she burst into tears, his heart melted, and he knew he couldn't do anything but take her in his arms.

"That's it," he said, rocking her from side to side. "Let it all out."

She clutched hold of him, balling his jacket in her fists. And though she was clearly devastated, being there with her felt good. He wondered, as he soothed her, how life would have been different if he had been strong enough to stop her marriage. If they had married instead. Would they have been happy?

Yes.

He was certain of it. He would have done everything in his power to make her so. He had done just that when they had been friends, after all. She meant so much to him then, and the stirrings within him told him she still meant that much to him. It might not be the flushes of foolish, youthful love anymore, but he still considered her his best friend. He suspected he always would.

He kissed the top of her head, resting his nose there and kissing her over and over. Yes, it was improper, but he couldn't stop himself, nor did he want to. Besides, had they not embraced many times before, albeit as children?

Eventually, Celestina's sobs died down, and she settled into his arms. He rocked her still, not ready for this moment to be over. Not ready to lose her again. After a while, she lifted her head and stared at him from her tear-stained face.

He gazed back down at her, getting lost in her eyes. So beautiful, so green. He'd forgotten how vibrant she was, if only from the colour of her hair and eyes. Even grief-laden, there was a spark within her that would never go out.

They didn't pull their eyes away from one another; instead, they got lost in the moment, in the memories, in each other. Richard had the urge to tell her everything. He wanted to tell her how there was a time he had loved her more than anything in the world and that he would have done anything to be the one to become her husband.

But telling her that would do no good. It was over. His love for her had long ago dissipated, thanks to years of hard work and self-discipline. Now, all he felt was nostalgia and happiness that he could reconnect with an old friend.

At least, that was what he told himself the stirring in his heart meant.

Soon, her expression changed. Her eyes widened, and her cheeks turned red. With a gasp, she jumped away from him, moving further down the couch. Richard let her slip from his arms, and immediately, he missed her warmth and softness. But he understood her action. She had come to realize what she was doing.

"Dear me," she said, brushing the loose strands of red hair from her equally red face and conspicuously avoiding his gaze. "Goodness."

"It's all right, Celestina," he said.

"No, no, it's not," she said. She got up from the couch and paced to the other end of the room. He wished desperately that she would stop and return to her rightful place in his arms. "I'm dreadfully sorry," she said, still without looking at him. "I shouldn't have put either of us in such a compromising position, nor should I have made quite the display of emotion. It's not proper, as you well know. But seeing a friendly face …"

Her voice cracked, and she stopped. She licked her lips, her tear-filled eyes staring at the carpet. He watched as she gathered herself, not wanting to interrupt. She needed the moment.

When she finally turned back to him, she had pasted on a social smile, the same one she no doubt offered everyone else in the ton . He felt a crack of disappointment, but he understood it, too. They had not seen one another since they were barely more than children, after all.

"Tea?" she said brightly.

He nodded. "Thank you. That would be lovely."

Breaking the tension, Celestina scuttled from the room. Richard let out his breath in a long exhale through his mouth. He had expected to feel something upon seeing her again, but he felt somehow thunderstruck, overwhelmed even, by the strength of emotion that came flooding back to him. It was nothing, of course. A mere bolt of the past that jolted him. It would die down soon.

When Celestina returned a moment later, the maid behind her carrying a tray of tea things, gone was the fluster and emotion, replaced by sophisticated grace and politeness.

"Well, I must say," she said, "it's a surprise to see you."

"A good one, I hope," Richard said with a chuckle.

"Always."

She threw him that carefully curated smile that he'd seen a hundred times before, and he knew she was rebuilding the walls around her, guarding herself from any further emotional outburst. He admired how she was always in control, though he couldn't deny that he'd rather liked her vulnerability, too.

"Tea," she said, indicating to the maid who placed the tray down with a rattle, then set about pouring each a cup.

"I am sorry if I surprised you too much," he began. "I came to offer my condolences." He pointed over to the lilies, which had now been placed in a vase on the table.

She glanced over at them, then back at him. "Thank you. That really is most kind."

They slipped into silence as they each took their cup. Richard stared into his as he stirred in the sugar, trying desperately to think of something to say. The whole thing felt far too surreal.

"I just—"

"How are—"

They spoke at the same time, causing them both to laugh, though it was a stifled, uncertain laugh.

"Please," he said. "Go ahead."

She smiled, nodding. "I was just going to ask how your parents are doing. Your sister?"

"My sister is married and now lives in Scotland," he explained. "I don't hear much from her, but her husband is a pleasant chap. Father died a few years back, and Mother lives with me at Exeter House."

"Oh." Celestina's hand fluttered to her chest. "I'm sorry to hear about your father. I always liked him."

"As I liked your parents," he agreed. "But time, if it doesn't heal completely, at least makes the pain of loss more bearable. It's a truth of life that you will discover soon enough."

She smiled gratefully at him. "I hope so."

He, too, smiled, and then again, they fell into another uncomfortable silence. Where it had felt so right, so natural, earlier, with his arms around her, now it seemed as if they were strangers, scrabbling in the dirt for something to say to one another.

"Did I hear correctly?" she said after a time. "I'm sure Sylvia called you the Duke of Exeter?"

Richard's cheeks flushed, and he turned away, not wanting her to see his embarrassment. He'd grown used to being duke, and he was well-respected in society's circles. But with Celestina, it was different. With her, it was as if he were a little boy again.

"Yes." He cleared his throat and took a sip of tea. He placed the cup noisily back onto the saucer. "When my uncle died, he had no heir, so I inherited the lot."

"Congratulations," she said, smiling softly. It seemed she genuinely meant it, and that warmed Richard's heart. "I have no doubt you make an excellent duke. You have the right balance of kindness and determination. Or at least … I mean, you used to. When we knew each other."

Her cheeks again reddened, and she busied herself with her tea. Richard pressed his lips together to stop himself from laughing at her awkwardness. He was glad he was not the only one experiencing a wealth of emotions.

She picked up her cup, slurped noisily, and brushed the hair from her face. She looked at the lilies, then at the doorway, then at the floor. The years had been cruel to her heart and kind to her face. Despite all she had suffered, Richard noted how beautiful Celestina still was.

He felt that old, familiar stirring, but he quickly stamped it down, not least out of respect for his old friend. But she had grown from a youthful, spirited girl into a beautiful, sophisticated, and elegant young lady.

"I understand you are having a difficult time at the moment," he ventured, the words blurted rather than spoken.

Her features darkened. "So it's true," she said. "The whole of London knows about my financial troubles."

Richard cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. He'd been wondering how to bring up the subject of money. Offending her was the last thing he wanted to do.

"I had meant in terms of losing your husband," he explained. "But now that you mention it … Yes. It's common knowledge that you've been left with nothing. I am sorry, Celestina. Truly."

"As am I," she said with a little self-deprecating laugh. "But there is nothing left for it, is there? It is too late to change things now."

"Too late to change things, yes," he agreed. "Though you still have people who care about you, Celestina. Don't ever forget that."

"Indeed." She smiled blankly at him again, that smile reserved for people she humoured. "Thank you again for calling."

"I didn't mean that," he said, perhaps a beat too quickly. "I meant …" He sighed. He had no idea how to broach the topic without upsetting her, so he decided the best thing to do was to simply be honest. "I meant that I can help. If you want help, that is. I mean to say …" He cleared his throat again. "I don't want to come across as boastful, but I have the means to help. Financially, I mean."

He stopped talking, annoyed at his ineloquence. There was something about being in front of this confounding woman, so different from the child he knew yet so familiar also. It left him tongue-tied.

She smiled again, her fingertips caressing the lid of the teapot. "That's most kind of you, Your Grace, but I'm quite all right."

Your Grace?

"I mean it. From one friend to another—"

She scoffed, and he blinked in surprise.

"I'm sorry." She shook her head. "Again, it's very kind, but we are barely more than strangers these days. It must have been six or seven years since we last saw one another."

Strangers?

The word hit him hard, sending his heart spiralling. It was his fault they had got to this stage. His fault their friendship was lost.

Mine and David's.

He forced himself to smile. "Eight," he replied. "Almost."

"That's right," she replied. "Not long after I got married."

He nodded solemnly. "But those who've taken the blood oath can never be strangers."

Celestina rolled her eyes. "That is the stuff of children, Richard. We are entirely different people now. You are a duke, and I … well. That doesn't matter."

Her words weighed heavily on him, his shoulders sagging with the thought that she no longer cared. "Perhaps we were children, but it meant something to me then, and it still means something to me now."

His gaze roved over her face. His childhood best friend was older and more mature, but she had only grown more beautiful in those years. He could see why David had been so possessive of her. Richard wagered he'd be the same if she had been his wife.

"We made an oath," he repeated. "And I intend to stick to it."

Again, she smiled indulgently, but she sat back, straightening herself. "You are as sweet as you ever were. Thank you again for calling on me, Richard. It is most appreciated."

Richard sighed, taking that as his cue to leave. "I hope it won't be so long next time," he said as he got up from his chair.

"I'm sure it won't be," she said, looking up at him from her chair. "Goodbye for now."

As he reached the door, he looked back at her one last time. Her attention was entirely focused on her thoughts, her gaze stuck in the centre of the table. She looked so lost and forlorn, and it broke his heart again. He left, feeling a deep sadness.

"Your carriage awaits, Your Grace," the footman said as he stepped out the door.

"Thank you." He started walking down the street but then paused, turning to the footman. "Find someone in the household to keep an eye on her, will you? I'll pay whatever is required. Just … make sure she's safe and well, and report to me if there are any problems. Anything at all."