Chapter 25

Twenty-Five

MONET MANOR, LONDON - JUNE 15, 1816

WILLIAM

I couldn't remember the last time I was so nervous meeting a member of the gentry. Perhaps Adriane's parents. And given how well that went… Mayhap my apprehension was warranted.

Celine was seated across from me in her well-sprung carriage draped with rich blues and silvers. Even the fetching sight of her in violet silks was not enough to distract from my dread. Particularly when combined with the blatant pity in her eyes. Her repeated assurances had done nothing to assuage my fears.

Frankly, this carriage was traveling much too fast. It was certainly not safe to be speeding along at such a great gallop through the city. When I said as much, she merely offered me an indulgent smile.

"Will, I promise she knows the entirety of your situation. She is unconcerned."

That opened a new set of fears. "The entirety?"

"Well, not that you're presently living with me. And I had hoped to hide the full extent of the kissing—for propriety's sake only. But that is likely wishful thinking. Mama knows all."

"That does not cheer me up. In case you were wondering."

"I was not trying to make you feel better. I was trying to be honest with you. Mama and Marie don't often receive visitors, particularly male ones. I imagine the novelty will last until at least the second course."

"And they know each other how?"

"Marie is a family friend. We stayed with her for a number of years before Mama received her inheritance."

"Surely it is not usual. Having a house guest for so long."

"I suspect Mama hoped I would begin to move on from Gabriel if I had more autonomy. And I rather think they missed living together." She hesitated a moment, sizing me up. "Mama is Marie—Madame Bosarge's—houseguest in the same way you are mine." She waited, brow raised in anticipation.

It was overwhelming how much I wanted to kiss her for that revelation. She had shared so much of herself with me. That she trusted me with an additional secret, something that had nothing to do with Gabriel's murder and our present danger… That she knew, without question, that I would keep her family safe—that was more than enough to ease my nerves.

Fortunately and simultaneously unfortunately, we arrived outside the house before I could make good on my desire to demonstrate my appreciation. It gave no time for the trepidation to return.

Handing her out of the carriage was a privilege I hoped to soon repeat. That she slipped her hand into the crook of my arm was an equal delight. We were met at the door by an impossibly thin butler and a ruddy-cheeked maid who took our things. We followed the butler down the hall though Celine more than knew the way.

"Damn," she whispered under her breath.

"What?" I hissed back.

"I forgot about Lilibet."

"Who is Lilibet?"

"The maid. I hope you're prepared for the whole of the ton to know you were here tonight. Her sister is a nurse in many homes and a notorious gossip." Celine tipped her face to mine, checking for unease.

Her expression was all concern—for me. There wasn't a hint of worry for herself that I could identify. She would be the one to bear the gossip and snide comments.

Satisfied with whatever she saw, she pressed closer to me while entering the drawing room door after the butler's announcement.

There was no mistaking which of the two women was Celine's mother. She had the same green-hued eyes and pert nose. Though paler and with slightly duller hair, she was beautiful. Her face bore the faint creases of age with grace.

The other woman had a rounder face with a sharp chin and dark hair. She, too, wore the signs of maturity with pride.

The drawing room was decorated in the French style, the actual French style and not the Anglicized version of it, papered in tasteful creams and bold scarlets.

Celine abandoned me to my perusal in favor of embracing her mother. Madame Bosarge studied me. The effort required to avoid fidgeting under her pointed gaze was significant. My unease was interrupted when Celine turned to greet her friend. Of course, that left me to be measured by Madame Cadieux instead.

"Celine, il est plus beau que vous ne l'aviez dit. Ces pommettes... " Her mother spoke boldly.

Obviously, Celine had neglected to mention my fluency in French. I had to bite back a smile when I caught the flush on her cheeks.

" Oubliez les pommettes, regardez ses yeux. Si bleus, " Madame Bosarge added. Well, this was just… delightful. By all means, ladies, please continue to enumerate my many fine qualities.

Celine appeared moments from passing away in shame for their naked admiration. " Il parle francais, Maman. "

" Est-ce un vrai, jeune homme? " she asked in a sharp tone.

" J'en connais, Madame. "

And that ensured the rest of the evening would continue in French, much to Celine's consternation.

"I apologize for our rudeness, Monsieur Hart. We often forget ourselves."

"No need."

Celine wandered off to a sideboard and poured a glass of something amber. She drank it quickly and refilled it before filling a second one with water and bringing it over to me where I remained haunting the entry. She handed me the glass, then grabbed my arm, dragged me to a settee, and manhandled me next to her in the seat. Her mother's lips pursed concealing laughter—poorly.

"So, Monsieur Hart. My Celine tells me you are a solicitor. Was that always your chosen profession?"

"For the most part. I had a generous patron for my schooling in the late Duke of Rosehill. But I briefly paused my studies to fight abroad."

"And that is where you learned to speak better French than my native-born daughter?"

"Well, we studied it in my courses as well."

"You know, I don't believe I agreed to be the subject of ridicule this evening," Celine said. No real irritation showed in her tone or manner though.

"You need not agree. It is my right as your mother to shame you. And I do it far too infrequently."

"I strongly disagree."

Madame Bosarge interjected, "You could always attend soirees dressed in the same style as the Duchess of Rosehill. That would prevent shame befalling your daughter"

I tried to picture the elegant, understated woman before me dressed in the ostentatious gowns and hairpieces favored by Her Grace, and the image was so laughably incongruous that I had to bite the inside of my cheek.

"That is an excellent idea, Marie. Or perhaps I might ask Lady Agatha Grayson where she purchases her signature scent. Then I could be less embarrassing to my daughter."

"If you wish to ever be in my company again, you will refrain. I do not love you enough to subject myself to that decaying lilac essence," Celine added.

I was suddenly exceptionally grateful that I had never been in the woman's company. I thought Kit had been exaggerating.

After a chuckle at Lady Grayson's expense, Madame Bosarge turned her attention back toward me. "I am given to understand your business is very successful, Monsieur Hart."

How was I meant to answer that? How did she even define success? Knowing the dire straits that some gentlemen found themselves in, I could be considered more comfortable than they were. Though I was certainly less comfortable than the likes of Wayland and Ainsley.

But it was very likely I would lose Kit in the coming months to his new role. That would impact my situation in unforeseeable ways. Without him, I would likely have to refer out some of my work. But I would not have to pay him either.

"He does very well, Mama. Everyone who's anyone uses his services." Celine caught my hand in hers as she spoke, tangling our fingers together for all to see.

My heart found its way to my throat. This was it. Surely, faced with incontrovertible proof of our affection, Madame Cadieux would voice her objections.

"I did not ask you, I asked him," Madame Bosarge insisted.

"I—" My voice was hoarse with nerves, and I had to clear my throat before continuing. "My partner and I do well. There may be some changes in the coming months that could impact my situation, but I am well-positioned to weather that."

"What changes?"

"Kit—Mr. Summers—my partner—his uncle and father recently passed, leaving him an unexpected title and estate to manage. I expect he will take his place in the coming months. His work is far too essential for me to manage on my own. I will have to refer out some of the accounts."

"Oh, the new Earl of Leighton. That was such a terrible accident. How is he managing?" Madame Cadieux asked.

"He works too hard and has chosen to pretend nothing has changed." The words slipped out far too easily and unbidden. "That is— He is managing by immersing himself in familiar pursuits."

"I heard there was a break-in at your office the other day. Was everyone all right?" Madame Bosarge questioned.

How on earth had she ? —

"Lilibet?" Celine asked the woman.

"Lilibet."

At my questioning look, Celine answered, "The maid. From earlier."

"Right. Yes, there was a break-in. No one was harmed and nothing was taken."

"Were they searching for something, do you suppose?" Madame Bosarge asked.

"I have my suspicions. Fortunately, what they were looking for was not there at the time."

"I'm glad all was well," she said. "Celine, darling, I heard the most interesting rumor about you, you know."

The woman in question took a hearty swig of her drink. "Falsehoods, the lot of it."

"Really? So you weren't seen sitting outside Monsieur Hart's office every day for nearly a week? And he is not currently living in your residence?"

"How does she always know?" Celine asked her mother.

"I would like some clarification in that regard as well," Madame Cadieux said.

My mouth opened to offer a pathetic explanation, but Celine squeezed my hand and shook her head.

"He is. His residence is above the office that was broken into. And I was, for reasons that are not for the whole of the ton to concern themselves with, worried about his safety. Also, you absolutely must tell me which of my staff I need to dismiss."

"The Lord himself does not know all of Lilibet's sources," Madame Bosarge mused.

I was equal parts tempted and terrified to ask what else the woman had disclosed about me. Did they know about Adriane? About the animosity between Gabriel and me? Before I could ask, the same maid from before entered and announced supper.

The dining room was as sensibly elegant as the drawing room. Were the table of lesser quality, it would have sagged under the weight of all the food. Roasted duck, macaroni a la reine? * , custards, chicken pie, and more covered every available inch.

I could not recall the last time I had been seated at such a table. The mouthwatering scents overwhelmed my senses. It was nearly enough to distract from the pang of distress that arose when Celine released my hand to be seated across from me.

"Monsieur Hart, tell me about yourself. What of your family?" Madame Bosarge asked.

"My father was steward to the late Duke of Rosehill. My mother was a governess to the children. They passed before I left for France."

"Oh, of course, so you know the family?"

"I did, yes."

"And you were familiar with Celine's late husband, Gabriel?"

"I was."

Celine took a hearty sip of wine, shooting me a sympathetic glance over the rim of the glass.

"Was he an unrepentant rake in his youth? Or did that come with age?"

I choked slightly on a bite of pie before Celine rescued me from that line of questioning. "Marie… You know as well as anyone that Gabriel came out of the womb an unrepentant rake. Do not force William to disparage the deceased."

"And yet you wed him…" Madame Bosarge pointed out.

"And yet I wed him. You wed an octogenarian so you could spend as little of your life with him as possible. I hardly think either of our choices are appropriate conversation for the table."

"Very true, Celine. William, I understand you are unwed?" Madame Cadieux said, diffusing some of the tension.

"I have never been married, no."

"Do you suppose it was a lack of opportunity or a lack of interest?" Madame Bosarge cut in again.

"Marie…" Celine warned.

"I was never given the opportunity to properly question the last, and look how that turned out," Madame Bosarge countered.

"It's quite all right, Celine." I cut in. It was something of a shock that a family friend would so freely disparage Celine's beloved late husband—and in company. "A bit of both, I believe, Madame. I formed an attachment when I was young. Unfortunately, it was not to be. And, well, I was in France for some time. Then I spent a few years caring for an unwell family friend before finishing my schooling and setting up my practice."

"This attachment, what happened?"

"Her family did not approve of my position."

"And where is she now?" The woman fired questions, hardly allowing me breath, let alone a bite of my meal.

"She passed away several years ago."

"Of w?—"

"I believe that is enough interrogation, Marie," Madame Cadieux interrupted. The women shot each other looks that were indecipherable to my ignorant masculine brain.

Celine's mother turned back to me. "What do you do to amuse yourself, monsieur?"

"My occupation does not leave me much time for relaxation, but when my situation allows for it, I read or fence. Occasionally I am invited to the country estates of clients, and I enjoy a good walk on a fine day."

"Celine loves to fence. I know it is not an appropriate occupation for a lady, but I cannot see the harm in it," her mother explained, a hint of pride in her tone.

"Oh, I know. She is quite good."

"What about other gentlemanly pursuits? Do you enjoy the gaming tables or the races?" Ah, so the interrogation had not ceased, merely shifted to a slightly more subtle line of attack.

"I do some work for Wayland's, but I do not partake in the games myself."

"That is good," Madame Bosarge added. "I don't believe in gambling. Do you know, a few years ago, Lilibet told me of a man who lost so much in a single race he had to give up every piece of property that was not entailed away."

"That could be a great many men, Marie," Celine said.

"Yes, but he was demonstrating interest in a lady and had to drop her in favor of a larger dowry. What was her name? She was quite pretty, but her dowry was only modest and she had been passed over once before. The one that played that awful joke on Miss Summers before she was wed."

"Charlotte James?" Celine supplied.

"That's the one. Oh, what was his name?" Madame Bosarge asked.

"I do not know. It's possible I was on my honeymoon at the time."

"Is that Baron James's widow?" Madame Cadieux asked.

Though I was entirely superfluous to the conversation, it was something of a relief from the pointed questioning. And it allowed me time to stuff myself with more of the decadent food.

"Yes, Mama."

"Lilibet told me some weeks ago that there is a rumor that she is increasing. And, if I recall correctly, the baron passed nearly half a year ago."

Celine sighed. "I should not be petty, but she is so wretched. I suspect it was one of those gentlemen who were always surrounding her like flies. I noticed at the masquerade they were avoiding her with some determination."

"Surely whoever it was will take responsibility?" Madame Cadieux asked.

"Certainly not with a wedding. Not with the way they were speaking at the masque," Celine added.

"I cannot help but feel badly for her." Madame Cadieux said. "The baron had gambling vices of his own from what Lilibet told me."

"Oh, she will find some relative or other in the country to visit and return as if nothing ever happened next season," Madame Bosarge added. "Monsieur Hart, we must be boring you quite beyond belief."

"Oh, not at all, madame." It was the truth. Watching Celine interact with her family was fascinating. And truthfully, I quite preferred it to them questioning me.

This was nothing like the stilted dinner parties I had attended before where all one discussed was the recent weather. Weather that was always too something. It was a recitation of some lady's predictions for the future weather—always hopeful for improvement. A gentleman would opine on whether the weather was more or less pleasant than last season—always less. Someone would muse about the coming season's weather—it would always be an improvement to the current. I was always certain that they would have had the exact same opinions last week, last month, last year. And they would have them next week, month, and year.

Permission granted, the ladies volleyed back and forth about some gossip or other. I half listened, frequently distracted by the bemused glances Celine shot my way. Rolled eyes, pursed lips, bitten back grins—they were all part of her repertoire, and each was more endearing than the last.

It was some time later, after the dishes were cleared away, a game of whist was played and won, with Celine curled against me in the carriage, that I realized my nerves had faded away. Once home, Celine and I parted ways briefly before a familiar knock sounded at my door.

Celine, just the slightest bit in her cups, tugged me to the bed, both of her hands wrapped around mine. I followed in after her. She curled against me before sitting up and adjusting my arm into a position that better suited her. Once she settled, she grabbed my other arm and pulled it to her hair, silently demanding that I run my fingers through the curls. It was nothing like a hardship to acquiesce.

As she slept against me, snoring daintily, I realized she was right. Even Madame Bosarge's questioning had not been related to my situation but my character. And wasn't that a revelation? This miraculous woman beside me might not be so far beyond my reach as I once thought.

* ? Historical version of Mac and Cheese