Chapter 33

Thirty-Three

GRAYSON HOUSE, LONDON - JUNE 17, 1816

CELINE

"Celine!" Mrs. Ainsley dragged me closer to her by the elbow.

"Yes?"

"I didn't know Mr. Hart could look like that ."

"Like what?"

"I believe she's referring to the expression of adoration and lust on his face. It brightens the eyes," Juliet added. "And they're already distractingly lovely."

"He is quite handsome, isn't he?"

"Handsome and besotted," Mrs. Ainsley said. "I didn't know you were looking for a new companion."

"I wasn't. Nothing about Will was planned."

"You mustn't let Kate take credit for it," Lady Juliet said. "She claims credit for every relationship that forms in her vicinity and it's tiresome."

"Will is a bit apprehensive about our attendance tonight. I know the dowager Lady Grayson will be here tonight. Is there anyone else to avoid?"

"The Duchess and Dowager of Sutton can be difficult," Mrs. Ainsley said.

"And Mrs. Courtenay will be snide if her husband remembered he has a wife long enough to stuff her into the carriage tonight," Lady Juliet added in what might have been the most unforgiving speech I'd ever heard from her. I raised my brow in feigned disapproval, but it lasted only as long as my next breath before the laughter broke free. "Kate has pared down the invitations primarily to the most tolerable."

Nodding in agreement, Mrs. Ainsley's gaze flicked to the entrance, then returned to us before darting back to the door behind me. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped slightly. "Oh, good Lord." The way her eyes softened in my direction made me absolutely certain I was in for a headache this evening.

In turning, I was proved entirely correct. My mother-in-law, wearing a gown that was either twenty years out of date or twenty years too early with a circumference that was surely visible from the heavens, was attempting to navigate the stairs without injury. The shoulders of the gown were truly unique. Rather than puffed, as was common, they rose like two sheer cliffs, knifelike in black taffeta. Apparently she had decided to continue with the wigs as well. This one was only slightly more sedate than the one she wore to the masquerade. It still rose nearly six inches off her head in an alarmingly dark shade.

Behind her, Xander escorted Davina in. As always, she was dressed far more appropriately. After all, it was difficult to get away with mischief when someone stood out the way her mother did. Her simple white gown trimmed with green ribbon belied her vexing ways.

Xander, too, looked very fine as always, his head held high despite his mother's entrance. That was one of the things I appreciated most about him. His refusal to be anything other than supportive of his mother's ways, even when the rest of the ton found them odd or off-putting.

I had always suspected that one of the reasons Gabriel always returned home late for evening engagements was the desire to arrive after the whispers about his mother had died down.

With a fortifying breath, I took leave of Mrs. Ainsley and Lady Juliet. Approaching Clementia and her children, I greeted her with warmth and a kiss to the cheek as always. Her jewels were more sedate than the rest of the ensemble, and I complimented those. I tried to give her sincere compliments on her gowns whenever possible, but this one was a touch too far.

My greeting was often enough to break the spell cast by Her Grace's gowns, and tonight was no different. Lady Grayson, the dowager viscountess, all but raced to her side. That odious woman would keep Clementia occupied for some time with her sycophantic adulations.

Davina was scooped up by some young buck I did not recognize before I could greet her. I would need to keep a close watch on them to ensure they did not run off to Gretna Green by morning.

At last, I was left with Xander who took my hand in his for the first dance without a word. It was not an unusual practice for us, even from his first ball, and I always enjoyed myself.

He was light on his feet and confident in his direction.

"Surprised not to see Will here," he said at a turn.

"I sent him to the study before Lady Grayson—the dowager—noticed him."

"So, that courtship is going well?"

"I don't know that we're courting. We're merely… enjoying each other's company."

Xander merely hummed pointedly in response.

"What was that for?"

"Oh, I just wonder if he knows that."

"He does." Doesn't he?

"Of course, my mistake." His tone told me plainly that he was certain he was not mistaken. "I did have something I wished to discuss with you—to ask really."

We were briefly interrupted by a twist in the dance.

"I'm intrigued."

"A ballroom may not be the best choice for this, but I had thought to sell Rycliffe Place."

If I'd had a lifetime, I never would have anticipated his words. My stomach lurched uncomfortably at the thought for reasons that weren't readily apparent. I was so shocked I missed a step in the dance and had to perform a little skip to right myself.

"I— Why? Are you purchasing something else?"

"No, I thought to move."

"To Hasket House?"

"No… No. I think I have, perhaps, overstayed my welcome in London. Gabriel gifted me a small estate in Scotland. But since it was your home too, I know it holds many memories for you." My thoughts swirled in too many directions. In the years after Gabriel's death, Xander had become one of my dearest friends. There was a sudden, sharp stab of hatred for the cruelty of the world toward him. "Celine?"

"I beg your pardon, I'm feeling unwell. If you don't mind, I will step off for a moment."

"Cee…"

"I need a moment, Xand. It's not you, I promise. It's them," I whispered, catching the beady gaze of Mr. Parker across the room. Beside him, still fawning at Xander's mother, was Lady Grayson, now joined by the Duchess of Sutton and her son. They debased themselves before Her Grace, and not one of them would hesitate for a single second to see her son hanged.

"May I escort you?"

"Best if you don't. Find Davina? Surely she's eloped by now, it's been nearly seven minutes."

"I wish you were jesting."

"I never jest about Dav." I squeezed his arm reassuringly before escaping in the direction of the ladies' retiring room with artful composure.

Freed from the crush of the ballroom, I fought to maintain the air of indifference, making my way sedately down the hall. I slipped into the drawing room reserved for such a purpose and pressed the door shut firmly behind me. Scanning the room, I found it to be blissfully empty.

No sooner had I sighed in relief, than the door opened and another person entered. My jaw clenched in instinctive irritation. I made no move to turn around, unequal to the requisite platitudes.

As such, when she spoke, my spine stiffened with native disquiet.

"Celine, I've been waiting to meet you for a long time."

There was no earthly reason I should know that voice. I'd heard it but once, across a ballroom at that. But I knew it.

I spun slowly, very much wishing I had brought my knife instead of relying on the intrinsic safety of a ballroom.

Victoria.

She was still lovely. The years had brought no particular signs of aging. Her hair still shone a flaxen gold. Her complexion was still fashionably paler than my own. Her form and height, too, remained very much reminiscent of mine. It should have been upsetting, seeing her. I was distantly aware of that fact. But instead of the jolt of hurt and jealousy that had accompanied her last appearance, there was… nothing.

Victoria. Gabriel's mistress. His mistress of nearly twice the length of our marriage was here before me, and I felt nothing but dim irritation at the interruption. And more than a little curiosity.

"Victoria. You needn't have waited. I've been here the entire time."

"I see you've abandoned the feigned accent." Her voice was high with a contradictory raspy quality. Childlike in tone with an exhaustion that only came from use and age. She took a step closer, quartering the distance between us.

"You too."

"Just for you." Another graceful step.

"Are you here to kill me?" There was no tremor in my voice. I was proud of that.

I gave no quarter. Offering her nothing to indicate that, despite the eerie calm that overwhelmed me, I knew on an intellectual level I was in grave danger. And I was. She halved the remaining distance between us in a single step. My feet were frozen to the carpet with both stubborn determination and a vague notion of holding my ground.

"So you know what's going on."

"Something of it. Are you?"

She took the final step, now close enough for her breath to brush my face. She cupped my cheek in a cool, patronizing hand.

"That's precious. If I wanted you dead, I would have killed you in 1807." She flashed a sinister, fangy smile. "What would be the point now?"

"You tell me."

"Ah, you haven't figured it out, then. I suppose intelligence wasn't what he wanted you for." I held her gaze, unwilling to be the one to break the tentative hold. My heart beat as harsh as a drum in my ears and still I didn't feel the terror I knew was there. Somewhere.

"So he wanted me for my beauty? My wit? My charm?" It wasn't strictly the wisest move, insulting her. Her hand slipped off my cheek, brushing a fictional piece of lint away from my shoulder.

"Your breeding and your birthing hips. Like a cow." I had never been accused of having a form suited to childbearing. In that respect, her insult rang hollow. But it did prick at the certainty, the truth I had accepted as fact, that I would never have need of birthing hips because children were not in my future.

"If I'm a cow, what does that make you?" Not my best, but given the situation, it would need to serve.

She stepped back, half a pace, perhaps less. "I will never understand what he saw in you. If he were pursuing you now, I could at least intellectualize the appeal. But a virginal little debutant, self-important and fickle… There's no accounting for taste, I suppose."

Her fingers caught a loose curl from my coiffure, she slipped a finger inside, smoothing the ringlet with her thumb.

That, more than anything, made me feel slightly sick. That she was running her fingers through curls William had placed with care mere hours before. And still I did not look away.

"And your… charms, to the extent they exist, were less than those of a virginal little debutant. What do you suppose that says about you?"

"You have more spine than I credited you with. Believe it or not, I didn't come here to trade barbs. Or blades." She released her finger from my hair and perused me, toes to nose.

"Why did you come?"

"Settling a debt."

"A debt?"

"Surely you know your husband was a frequent purveyor of my establishment. He paid in advance, of course. I owed him a tup or two before he passed."

She was good. She was very, very good. If I hadn't known with a surety that was etched on my bones that Gabriel hadn't touched her after our marriage… It would have been a devastating blow.

"And you're here too, what? Give me a farthing? After all, that's certainly what a roll with you is worth."

Her smile was cruel. "Do you know, I think in a different world we would have been friends."

"I'm glad to live in this one then."

"I cannot disagree. He's going to kill you. And your studious new friend. And anyone else you've dragged into this—the grumpy solicitor, the molly, Wayland, everyone. He'll leave a trail of bodies in his wake."

"Who?"

"I can't tell you that. No one likes a chatty whore. It would jeopardize my position and the safety of my girls."

"So you came here to, what? Insult me? Tell me things I already knew?"

"The attack the other night, those men. It wasn't random." That was new. I fought to keep the surprise from my eyes.

"Why now?"

"You started investigating, acting strangely, asking questions. Word travels quickly in this town."

"Do you have anything useful to tell me?"

"Your little solicitor, the break-in at his office. If you're going to continue investigating , if you can call it that, pull that thread. Not too hard of course, it will snap."

"Anything else?"

"Enjoy the rest of your evening. Do try not to look too distraught. He'll consider moving up his plans. And we both know how that ends."

An image of Will, bleeding and broken on the dining table at Rycliffe Place flashed through my mind and I had to bite back the bile. It was enough of an occupation, to resist the retching sensation growing in my gut, that I allowed her the last word.

Victoria slipped seamlessly through the door and into the hall, leaving me more distraught than I had been when I entered.