Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"The Duke of Exeter seems very nice," Sylvia said the following day. "I gather he's an old friend of yours?"

Celestina let out a laugh as she picked through the remaining bits of jewellery. "Yes, and he still has that same boyish charm."

"Handsome, too," Sylvia said, eyebrows raised.

"I can't say I noticed," Celestina replied, though of course she had. It would have been impossible not to notice.

Richard had grown into a distinguished man with chiselled features, though his hair still flopped adorably across his forehead, and his eyes still bore the shine of intelligence and youth. She had thought of little else but him since the moment he left. His visit had been a great surprise, and it had taken her down a path of memories—some regretful, some wonderful. All of them part of her past.

"This one?" Sylvia said. She held up a brooch in the shape of a rose, the petals picked out with rubies and the stem studded with diamonds. Celestina felt her heart crush again.

"Oh." She took it off the maid and looked down at it, her memories almost overwhelming her. "Mother gave me this one when I was twelve years old. Said I had to guard it with my life, for Father would be furious if I lost it!"

"I've never seen you wear it," Sylvia said.

Celestina laughed again. "That's because Father would have been furious if I'd lost it!" She sighed and threw the brooch back onto the bed. "I suppose that one will have to go as well."

Across the blanket, they'd laid out all of Celestina's jewellery. With the news of her destitution, Celestina knew she had to do something to raise some funds. They'd counted her meagre amount of money already—it didn't amount to much—and now they were looking at which jewels they could sell and which she could keep hold of.

The sad fact was that almost all her jewellery would have to go if she were to survive the coming winter. Gifts from her parents and David would need to be sold, no matter how much it hurt her heart to see them go.

"Not necessarily," Sylvia said.

Celestina tilted her head in the maid's direction. "If you have any other solution, I would dearly love to hear it."

Sylvia squirmed. "Do forgive me for eavesdropping, but I couldn't help overhearing His Grace yesterday."

"Oh, that." Celestina's expression darkened, and she returned her gaze to the jewels spread out across the bed. She reached down and picked up a pendant of a dog. David had given it to her in place of the puppy she had requested, and though the memory hurt, she had always cherished the necklace. She held it to her heart briefly, then deposited it in the ‘sell' pile.

"I understand why you would not accept help from Mr Willoughby. He is …"

"A horrid man. Yes. You may say it, Sylvia."

Sylvia giggled, but she didn't repeat Celestina's words. "But the duke's offer was different, and you have been friends for a very long time."

"We were friends, Sylvia. Not any longer. There's a difference. I would not take advantage of that fact for my own gain. It would be entirely unfair to the duke and his family. It's simply not right."

Sylvia picked up a simple gold chain, moved it into the pile of goods to be sold, then combed through the rest. "I would understand your reasoning if you had gone to him , but it was the other way around. He seems genuinely to want to help."

Celestina huffed. "I think he probably does," she agreed. "But that doesn't mean that accepting his help is right. It feels uncomfortable, I suppose."

"I'd wager hunger and cold will feel a lot more uncomfortable," Sylvia said.

Celestina shot her a warning look. They may have grown to be friends in recent years, and it was true that Sylvia stayed with her even though she could no longer pay her a wage, but there was still a marked difference between them. Sylvia took the warning and returned to her sifting.

After a long moment's awkward silence, she said, "I haven't seen him in so long. To take from him now feels a little like I'm using him, I suppose. As if I am benefitting from a friendship we no longer share. I am simply not comfortable with that."

"And neither should you have to be, Mrs Courtenay," Sylvia said, her correctness returned. "It was only an idea, that's all."

Celestina put her arm around her maid and pulled her into a sideways embrace. "I know, and it means a great deal that you are thinking of me. I know what you are sacrificing for me, and I truly appreciate it."

Sylvia smiled gratefully at her, then pulled away and put the jewellery into a small carry case.

"Do you think this will be enough?" she asked.

Celestina inhaled sharply. "I certainly hope so, or otherwise, we will have to begin on the furniture, and I'd really rather not."

"We'll get through this, worry not," Sylvia said, as she'd been repeated several times a day since the solicitor had visited.

"Again, I hope so." She smiled and clutched Sylvia's hand for a moment. "Now, will you prepare my things for me to go to the jeweller while I clean up this mess?"

"Of course," Sylvia said. She nodded and then left the room.

As soon as she was gone, Celestina sat on the bed with a heavy, weary sigh. She would get through this; she knew that. She was strong-willed and determined. She couldn't think of a single thing that would break her.

"But that doesn't mean I will enjoy it," she muttered, picking up the three or four bits of jewellery she had left, the bits she couldn't bear to part with, no matter what.

She picked up her engagement ring and moved it around so the light bounced off the diamond, scattering light patterns over the ceiling. It was not that she ever had any great love for David.

She'd married him because her parents told her to, just as she had done everything they told her to. But he had been a kind man despite their differences and truly loved her. The ring was a symbol of that, even if she had never found it in her heart to feel the same.

It was Richard she had always wanted. Always Richard. She'd been so madly, crazily in love with him. It was the same love she'd read about in novels and seen in plays. It was huge, wonderful, scary, and confusing, but it was love, and Celestina wanted to chase after it.

It is a passing fad , she heard her father say, an echo of a long-ago conversation. He told her that love didn't exist and was nothing more than childish infatuation. He'd said Richard had nothing to offer except youthful impulsiveness and a tendency to dream.

"Except now he's the Duke of Exeter, Father," she muttered, turning the ring over in her hand. "How would you react to that?"

She stuck her bottom lip out, thinking of all that could have been if only they'd been given a chance. Even yesterday, when he had walked in through her door and taken her by surprise, she had felt that bolt of attraction, that pulsing draw that pulled her.

Even now, after she had long recovered from her heartache, her love nothing more than a distant memory, she thought him handsome. As handsome as he had ever been.

"But maybe Father was right," she said, twisting her lips as her thoughts turned over and over, sluggish and tired but restless and relentless.

Maybe her parents had been right after all. For a short while, after she'd married David, she and Richard had stayed in touch. There were letters, the odd afternoon tea, and the occasional dance at a ball. But they'd been awkward, stilted, much like their conversation the day before.

Her marriage to David had put a distance between them, and it was less than a year after the marriage when Richard completely disappeared from her life. He'd abandoned her, and she'd been entirely distraught.

"All the more reason not to accept his help now," she said as if convincing herself of that fact.

With a sigh, she jumped off the bed and put the remaining pieces back into her jewellery box.

"If only I had not been so foolish as to sob into his arms yesterday."

She closed the box lid, tapped it, then turned to leave. She had jewellery to sell.

***

"I'm so glad we came out," Lady Rebecca said. "It's such a beautiful day. Thank you for the invitation, Your Grace."

Richard made a noncommittal noise. He didn't invite Lady Rebecca out. His mother did. He was only dragged along for the ride. It was a beautiful day, though. It was shaping up to be a marvellous spring day, and who could truly say no to a walk in Regent's Park? It was good for the constitution if nothing else.

"You are more than welcome," his mother replied. "I'm only glad we could make it. Richard works so very hard, you know."

"Oh, I should imagine," Lady Rebecca wittered. "It is an honour to know a man who takes his role so very seriously."

"He does, but it's not all work, is it, Richard?" She glanced at her son, then smiled at the lady again. "He is partial to a little more light-hearted enjoyment as well."

Richard rolled his eyes as they crossed the path and turned, their footsteps crunching on the gravel. It seemed the sunshine had brought out half of London, for the park was filled with people picnicking, playing ball games, and strolling, much like they were. He sighed. His office held so much more appeal today. He was most definitely not in the mood to socialize, but his mother had been quite insistent.

"I gathered as much when we attended the theatre last week," Lady Rebecca said. "His Grace seemed to enjoy it very much indeed."

"The theatre has always been one of his favourite pastimes," Lady Kingsley said. "Hasn't it, Richard?"

His mother glared at him, and he could hear her reprimand in that glare. Be more responsive. Talk to the woman!

Irritated but wanting to please his somewhat overbearing mother, Richard forced himself to smile jovially. "It's true. There was a time when I would have attended the theatre every night if I could have. Of course, all that is different now that I have duties."

"Of course," Lady Rebecca said. "And I quite agree. There is something magical about the theatre. And I do love the way it advises us on how best to live our lives. It's surprising how much guidance one can garner from actors upon a stage."

Lady Rebecca had entered Richard's life some weeks ago, thanks to his mother's meddling. Lady Kingsley had decided it was time for him to marry and as such, she had introduced him to a great number of young ladies. Lady Rebecca was one of the least objectionable, and so he'd agreed to spend more time with her.

Indeed, he'd even found her company pleasant at one point. She wasn't particularly gifted at anything. She couldn't speak any languages nor play any instrument particularly well. Her conversational skills were lacking but endearing. An English rose she may have been, but she was not particularly beautiful. In fact, in everything, Lady Rebecca Humphrey was distinctly average.

But at twenty years of age, she had learned clever ways to capture the attention of men, especially given that she competed with her four sisters. And she had become charming in her way. Richard had enjoyed several of their outings, if only because it got him away from work and into the fresh air.

But that was before Celestina.

"Yes, His Grace has often said something similar. Haven't you, Richard?"

There came his mother's glare again, and he realized he had once again disappeared into his own thoughts. So much so that he had absolutely no idea to what he was responding. He decided to change the subject entirely rather than admit his faux pas , and so he glanced around for something to spark conversation. Birds dipped and swam in front of the wispy clouds, their caws a distant cry punctuating the conversations on land.

"Look," he said, pausing his walk and pointing up. "A falcon!"

Lady Rebecca stopped as well and looked uncertainly at the sky, a hand raised over her eyes to protect them from the sun. She glanced at Richard, then back at the sky, then back at Richard, all while Richard's mother stared at him, open-mouthed and horrified. Richard ignored her.

"Oh," Lady Rebecca said with a weak smile. "Oh, yes. Um … majestic birds, aren't they?"

"Very much so," Richard said. "Known for their speed and agility." He grinned at the lady and then began walking again.

"I didn't realize you were a twitcher," Lady Rebecca said politely.

"He's not," his mother said dryly, catching up to the pair. Richard felt her eyes boring into him again, and he couldn't help smirking with satisfaction. He loved his dear mother but likewise enjoyed playing these games with her.

"Though I can understand your fascination," Lady Rebecca said.

Richard could almost hear her mind whirring as she thought desperately about all the ornithological facts she knew. Anything to impress the duke.

"Though I … I suppose I'm more partial to a buzzard," she managed.

"The broad-winged beast," Richard offered.

His mother's gaze darkened. "I see that Little Book of Birds your father bought when you were—what? Ten years old? Has paid off in dividends."

Richard allowed his lips to twitch into a smirk once more. "I used to read it every night," he said. "Until it got too dark to see the words."

They continued to walk in silence for a few minutes, Lady Rebecca having exhausted her knowledge of birds and Richard quite content to retreat into his thoughts. Perhaps his teasing had been a little cruel, but he honestly found Lady Rebecca to be terminally dull.

Even more so now.

His mind wandered back to Celestina. She was the very definition of colour, making Lady Rebecca drab and grey in comparison. Where Celestina's hair was a vibrant red, Lady Rebecca's was a boring brunette. Where Celestina's eyes shone a moss green, Lady Rebecca's were a washed-out grey. Where Celestina was mysterious, Lady Rebecca was the same as every other lady in the ton . There was, in truth, no comparison at all.

"A penny for your thoughts?" Lady Rebecca said after a while.

You do not want my thoughts .

"Oh … er …" He stammered, not quick-thinking enough to get Celestina off his mind. "I was … considering attending the art gallery later this week. I hear there is an excellent exhibition on."

He glanced over at his mother, who gave him an encouraging nod, seemingly pleased by the suggestion. Richard, however, immediately kicked himself. Such a suggestion would inevitably lead to another invitation.

"Oh yes? Anyone I would have heard of?" Lady Rebecca asked.

Richard shook his head. He had no idea in truth. "No, no," he said quickly. "No one I've heard of, but friends have all said it's worth a look."

"That sounds delightful," Lady Rebecca said with a beaming smile, telling Richard that the invitation had already been assumed. He sighed inwardly, wishing he could get back to his study—and back to his reminiscing about Celestina.

She hadn't left his thoughts since the moment he met her again. No, that wasn't true. She actually hadn't left his thoughts since the moment he heard of David Courtenay's death.

It seemed that coming face-to-face with his past had set his thoughts amok, and he'd near enough moved his entire mind into the past. He was remembering things now that he hadn't thought of in years, and the nostalgia brought with it a warm fondness he'd forgotten about.

Indeed, thinking of her so much reminded him of those long days he spent pining for her. How lost he'd felt. How devastated and yet so beautiful, painfully in love. He allowed himself a small smile. The memory was bittersweet, and he was glad it was just a memory. He would always love her as a friend, but the idea of romantic love was something of the past.

Isn't it?

The very fact that she had taken up residence in his mind now meant nothing. Absolutely nothing at all. Only that he had been set on a path of remembrance. Nothing more. At least, that was what he would keep telling himself, ignoring the glimmer in the corners of his mind.

"Do you paint much, Lady Rebecca?" Lady Kingsley asked, clearly hoping to kick-start the conversation once more.

"I have dabbled," Lady Rebecca said. "Though I admit it is not one of my talents. My sister Henrietta is a wonderful painter, though. She has quite the knack for landscapes."

"Goodness," Lady Kingsley said. "You do have a talented family, don't you? Why, it was only yesterday you were telling me that your sister Charlotte is a magician on the pianoforte."

"And Margaret can speak three languages," Lady Rebecca said. "As for Diane, why, she's an avid reader. Studious, if you catch my meaning."

"I do," Lady Kingsley said as Richard once more tuned out of the conversation. "It seems you are the beautiful one, then. Don't you think so, Richard?"

Richard blinked, unsure how to reply. "Indeed," he said after a moment. "Actually, do you both mind if we pop into town? There's a parcel I urgently need to collect."