Chapter 27

Twenty-Seven

DALTON PLACE, LONDON - JUNE 16, 1816

CELINE

Apparently the moment of panic was instinctive. That one where I woke alone and shut my eyes against the burning sunlight to a vision of a blood-soaked hell. It came first, before last night's conversation about William returning to work in the morning fought its way through.

His scent, lingering on the cool fabric of his pillow helped stem the tide of terror when I buried my face in it. I could breathe properly here, inhaling the woody, herbal, and citrusy aroma with a hint of parchment and ink.

A brief glance at the clock told me what I already knew. Far too late to still be abed. Particularly with my morning's destination in mind—the one I hadn't told William about.

I ate quickly and dressed with precisely as much care as usual, no more and no less, before setting off on foot. My destination was not far, and the day was fine enough. I arrived more quickly than I would have liked at the house a few blocks from my own.

I hesitated longer than I would care to admit outside the white house with the cheerful yellow set of doors. Baskets of flowers hung from the iron fence, and the door bore a wreath. All new additions in the last few years. Signs of new ownership.

Finally, I knocked and was led into a recently refreshed sitting room bathed in shades of blues and purples. Overstocked bookshelves lined two entire walls, and several tomes sat on side tables throughout the room. Every furnishing bore a hand-embroidered cushion, save the gaming table in the far corner by the unlit fireplace.

I was inspecting a truly exquisite piece of embroidery when I heard the rustle of skirts behind me. I turned and found not the person I requested but his wife, Lady Juliet Wayland.

"Good morning, Lady Rycliffe." Her tone was pleasant as always, betraying no ill will, despite our unusual circumstances.

"Oh, good morning, Lady Juliet. How do you do?"

"Juliet, please. I am quite well. I understand you wished to meet with my husband. He has gone to manage something or other at the club, but I expect him back shortly. Can I bring you a cup of tea while you wait?"

"If it's no trouble, that would be wonderful. Or I can return at another time if that would better suit."

"Of course not. Please, make yourself comfortable. I will be back in a moment." I dropped onto the nearby settee. The fabric was luscious and hinted at rather than announced the wealth of the couple that occupied the modest home.

It was apparent now, seeing how Juliet spent the vast wealth available to her, just how poorly she and Xander would have suited. She would have shrunk under the oppressive force of Her Grace as her mother-in-law. And Xander's fine taste, though more subdued than his mother's, would not have allowed for the homey atmosphere she had cultivated.

She returned shortly and settled beside me. A maid set a tea tray before us and fussed with the offerings. It was overflowing with various treats from Hudson's.

For an overlong moment Juliet and I stared at each other, each hoping for the other to provide a topic to be seized.

"Rumor has it that congratulations are in order."

She flushed in response. "Yes, thank you. Michael and I are very pleased."

"When is your confinement?"

"It is still early days now. Four months, perhaps five? I hope you do not mind if I have ginger tea; it's the only thing that seems to soothe." Now that I knew to look, her usually rosy cheeks bore a sallow tinge.

"Of course not."

"Kate made this entire process look so easy. Anna as well. I am having a slightly more difficult time with it all."

"I am sorry to hear that."

"Do not let them convince you it is a simple matter. They're dreadful liars."

"Oh, I am not so easily fooled as all that. Besides, I am one and thirty. It is probable I may never be in such a position."

It was a fact I had come to accept. Since the years of Gabriel's frequent attentions were unfruitful, it was entirely likely that I would never reproduce. If that fact pained me at all, I had more than enough experience appearing as though it did not.

Something about the look she gave me told me my acting was somewhat lacking. Or perhaps she simply understood the notion.

From out in the hall, I heard the door open and close, and a familiar tenor called out, "Duchess, I'm back. You will not believe the morning I've had."

"In the drawing room," Juliet answered—apparently the duchess in question. The name made little sense to me, but the love behind his tone was apparent.

Michael sauntered in, tugging his cravat loose in irritation. He froze the moment he recognized me, his eyes darting to his wife.

"Bonjour, Michael."

"Celine, good to see you." His eyes flicked cautiously between the two of us, searching for signs of distress, presumably. It was somewhat offensive, his concern that I would visit his home and upset his wife.

"You as well. It seems you've had quite the morning. Do you have a few moments? Or should I return some other time?" I only had to bite off one habitual term of endearment.

He glanced at Juliet, apparently determining her sanguine expression to be legitimate, then nodded. "Here or?"

"Your study? If you do not mind?" Once again his gaze shot to his wife.

"Oh, for heaven's sake. You do not require my permission," the lady snapped. He eyed her warily before nodding toward the hall. I followed him down several doors to a study.

Like the drawing room, it was filled with bookshelves. Though not as overfilled, and primarily populated with ledgers rather than novels. It suited him. Also like the rest of the house, it seemed every piece of furnishing was new, and though tasteful, of exceptional quality. He gestured toward a chair and poured himself a drink of whiskey before opening the gin and pouring a glass for me.

He was every bit as handsome as he had been when we first met. Perhaps more so. His dark hair was longer and less styled. And there were a few lines around the corners of his warm brown eyes. But he moved with ease, a languid peace to his motions that had been absent before.

When we knew each other, he wore his unaffected demeanor like armor. At some point, he had set it aside.

"So, are you going to tell me what this is about? Or am I to guess?"

"Good to see you too."

"I love to see you, you know I do. But you haven't been to visit me since that day."

"I… I have an uncomfortable question to ask you. I'm not quite certain how to ask it."

"Never known you to shy away from anything," he remarked, taking a sip.

With a deep breath, I started. "What I am about to ask is incredibly offensive. And I already know the answer. But I just—I need to hear you say it. I hope you can forgive me for asking."

"The curiosity is eating me alive. Out with it then."

"Did you kill Gabriel? Or have him killed?" The words spilled forth, slurred and desperate.

His brow hit his hairline in an almost comical way. Or it would have been in any other circumstance. He blinked slowly, once, twice, three times. "No—God no—Celine. I would never. I've never…"

The sincere desperation in his countenance and tone was enough. I felt a tension loosen and dissipate.

"You—you don't really think that? Do you?" He continued.

"No, not truly."

"What made you ask?"

"I— Oh Lord, this is embarrassing. I met someone, and it reminded me of the day before he was killed. And I found a note."

"I'm going to require a few more sentences."

"We went to the races the day before. And I saw someone from Gabriel's past, and it reminded me of a note I found in his possessions. It was signed from W ."

"A threat?"

"More or less. ‘Meet me at dawn,' that sort of thing."

"Who did you meet?" His brow furrowed for a moment, as he studied me. "Oh…" he drew out that syllable with a knowing tone and I was caught. "You've met a man."

"I have no idea what you mean."

"Liar." There was no accusation, just an infuriating smirk. "Who is he? Do I know him?"

The stubborn part of me considered insisting on my ruse, but really, what purpose would it serve? "William Hart."

His eyes widened in response before settling into a studious squint and he added a circumspect, "Hmm."

"Hmm, what?"

"Nothing."

"Michael…"

"Nothing, truly. At first it seemed a surprising choice, but then I considered it further. He's a good man. You would be good for each other."

"Why surprising?"

"You like to see and be seen. He prefers a more solitary life. Also, the difference in stations. But I'm not one to speak in that regard. I expect you complement each other." He was perfectly sincere, earnest and genuine in expression and voice.

"You truly think so?"

"I do. Of course, I think any man you grace with your affections is lucky. But there are certainly those less worthy." He took a sip of his drink before continuing. "Do you ever wonder? Why we never considered making our arrangement more official? I cannot regret it, of course. I would not give up Jules for the world. But we could have been good together. We were good together for a time."

"I hadn't given it much thought, to be quite honest."

"I suppose I always knew that. It's why I didn't contemplate it either. Neither of us was ready, perhaps. I was still angry with my father and Hugh. You were still grieving Gabriel."

"You're not wrong. Though I think it was always friendship, not romance, between us."

"Of course, I never meant otherwise. But there are marriages built on less. Or maybe we both knew there was someone more right out there for us."

"You think so?"

"You don't?"

"Oh, I mean, of course, Lady Juliet is wonderful and you both seem so happy. I just meant…"

"For you?"

"Yes."

"I always have done. I want it for you. If anyone deserves happiness, it's you, Cee. I hope it's Will. But if it's not, then there's someone else. Your life didn't end with Gabriel's."

"I know it. I do. It's just…"

"Risky?"

"Yes."

"Did I ever tell you what I did when I realized Jules and I were falling in love?"

"You know that you did not."

"That was rhetorical, and you know it. We were in Kent, with Hugh and Kate. I knew I was nearing that point—love—but when I tipped over the line… She was glorious. And I ran—ran all the way back to London, where I lost a small fortune in the hells of Piccadilly. It was a desperate attempt to outdrink and outgamble my feelings. Didn't help. Not for one second. All that to say, I understand. Love—it's absolutely terrifying. Scariest thing in the world."

"It is—absolutely terrifying."

"Right now, I'm completely petrified. Our child isn't even here yet, and I love them more than life. And I'm panicked for Jules too. She's being brave, as usual. But her mother passed in childbirth. And her stepmother never recovered from her stillborn. We're both pretending, all day every day, that we're not terrified."

"How do you do it?"

"I tried being without her. That was the only thing that felt worse."

"You think so?"

"I know it. And you do too."

"I do?"

"All the agony of losing Gabriel, but you would do it all over again if you had the chance. You would choose to fall in love with him again, every single time. Even knowing how it would end. Wouldn't you? Because the only thing worse than losing someone you love is never having had them at all."

It wasn't until he handed me a delicately embroidered handkerchief that I noticed the tears on my cheeks. The material was far too fine to use. Juliet was incredibly talented. One corner bore his initials with little forget-me-nots woven around them.

"Now that I've made you cry… What's this about the note?"