Chapter 31

Thirty-One

CADIEUX HOUSE, LONDON - JUNE 17, 1816

CELINE

He was so… sweet—underneath the sharp exterior anyway. And handy with hairpins as it turned out. Tightening the laces of my stays proved to be somewhat more challenging. I could tell the lacings pulled somewhat unevenly, but it was not enough to be noticeable to anyone but me.

William had already proven a deft hand with the dress hooks, but now that I knew how those hands felt on my bare flesh, it was a different kind of torture to add layers between us.

Now I was anxiously applying rouge while he dressed in the other room. It would not do for him to change here—we would never make it to the ball. I was studiously forcing myself not to consider all the ways the gift I had left for him could go awry.

My minimal application of cosmetics usually took no more than a minute. It was difficult to draw it out for the nearly ten before he returned. His long, lithe lines filled my mirror as he pressed against the door frame with an unreadable expression.

"It appears that someone has replaced my waistcoat. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?" I could not read his tenor. There was, perhaps, irritation. His reflection gave nothing away. He looked terribly handsome in the new waistcoat. I particularly appreciated the wide expanse of chest available for my perusal with his cravat loose around his neck.

"Of course not."

"So the fact that it is the exact fabric of your gown is a coincidence?"

My gown was a dove-gray silk with brushed gold brocade. More subdued than my usual deeper tones or bolder purples. It emphasized the amethyst jewels around my neck and ears and favored the lily in my coiffure.

"Entirely. Are you certain you didn't bring it with you?" My first instinct had been a bright blue silk to bring out his eyes. But I thought this might better please him. If the kiss he dropped to my shoulder was any indication, I was correct.

"Must have."

"You need not wear it if it's not to your taste. I would not be offended."

"'Course I like it. It's the finest thing I've ever worn." He swallowed then, his throat bobbing. "Only this though, yes? I like my clothes just fine."

I had been right. He hadn't mentioned the difference in our stations since dining with Mama. But it was still present, growing and spreading like a cancer. A conversation needed to be had, reassurances made. But this was not the moment.

"I love your clothing too. Though I do prefer them on the floor. I just wanted to… make you mine."

"I'm yours, you don't need to worry about that."

"Will, it is sheer luck that another woman hadn't found you and claimed you long before I did. It's also luck that you seemingly find my particular… quirks amusing. I don't intend to leave anything else to chance. If you prefer I label you as my own in some other way…" I had to bite back a giggle at his utterly baffled expression, it would not do to tease him so.

"I… have no idea what you mean."

"Come here." I stood and met him halfway. Surveying my options, I saw but one choice. I brushed aside the neck of his shirt and freed the skin over his heart from its cloth prison. There I pressed a kiss, leaving a rouge print behind. After righting the shirt once more, there was no outward trace of my claim.

"Right…" he said, his voice thick and eyes crinkled once again. I loved that look. With a finger, I traced his cheek before landing on the outside of his eye. The nearly imperceptible crinkle deepened in favor of the obvious lines that came with a smile.

Now that the rouge once on my lips was marking his heart, I had no reason to refrain from kissing him. Grabbing the loose ends of his cravat in my fists, I pulled him to me, chasing away his nerves and my own.

Eventually, we were forced to break apart. I wiped the residual color from his mouth with a thumb before shooing him back to his room to finish dressing.

In spite of my efforts to soothe him, I was not ignorant to what we may experience tonight. Oh, our friends would be welcoming and lovely. Mother and Marie too. But they did not compose the whole ton . Not by half.

I was a questionable marital prospect, with a two-year marriage and no children to show for it, and I was considered advanced in age by men twice mine, but I was not without prospects. Fewer than the early days of my reentry into society, but I was still wealthy enough and—while not strictly fashionable—a noted beauty. Those men would not take kindly to being thrown over—if only in their minds—for a solicitor with no title, no connections, and no fortune.

Ladies, too, who preferred the current order of things, would surely be unpleasant. Agatha Grayson would certainly be in attendance at her son's ball. The woman who had barely forgiven Kate, her son's wife, for daring to wed the man without a title to her name. Lady Charlotte James was possibly brazen enough to attend in spite of the animosity she shared with Kate. Others would also be spiteful.

But if there was one thing I knew, it was the ton . Hiding would spark more gossip and cruelty than a brief shameless entrance followed by perfectly respectable behavior ever could. I had once been the belle of every ball I attended. I could resurrect those dazzling skills for one last performance. For William's sake.

He knocked on the open door frame, now fully done up.

"You look very handsome tonight. Are you ready? I believe I heard the carriage."

"I am. You're stunning, love. You always are. Know I've been a bit of an arse tonight, but I'm proud to be on your arm."

"Thank you for doing this. Even though you would rather eat a shoe."

"Celine, there is nowhere I'd rather be than where you are. Would I rather be elsewhere with you? Yes. That bed, specifically. But if you're attending, I want to go with you. Eat a shoe—honestly. It's a privilege being with you. Not a hardship."

His mutterings about difficult, ridiculous women, or a woman specifically, followed us all the way down the stairs and into the carriage. I made no effort to interrupt. It seemed to distract him from his nerves.

And I understood his sentiment. It was certainly no hardship to watch him, listen to him speak, feel his hand along my lower back, and perhaps—probably—almost certainly—even love him.