Chapter 8

Ernest Blakemore held up his looking glass, watching his nephew lead this season's country dweller off the floor. He'd chuckled over that bit in the scandal sheets not too long ago, but he had not realized that this giddy little bumpkin had arrested his nephew so extraordinarily.

So, that was what had rendered Dalton so distracted the last few days. Surely he didn't intend to court her? But this was the first time in months he'd seen Dalton at a party like this, much less engaging in a dance with your run-of-the-mill inept person on the marriage mart.

And of course, it should happen now that Celeste was freshly returned from finishing school. Ernest's hand tightened around the glass of port he'd been sipping throughout the evening. Well, should he even be surprised? Dalton was a habitual hedonist.

The most ludicrous thing? Adelaide was utterly blind to it. Of course, she could never see her son as anything but the duplicate of her husband. Dear, dead brother. Always such a dreamer, hardly capable of running an estate. Father had made such a grave mistake, entrusting it to him rather than Ernest.

Turning his head, Ernest surveyed the room, searching for a glimpse of his sister-in-law, and of course, Celeste. Adelaide sat at one of the tables, engaged in lively conversation. And Celeste, the sweet girl was proving to be a disappointment. However polished finishing school made her, it could never transform her vapid personality. She was speaking with several other young women, not even attempting to dance with any of the dozens of eligible bachelors flooding this season's marriage mart. He nearly sighed aloud. Not even golden curls and a fair face could offset a bland temperament.

Not a whit like her mother—both a beauty and a shrewd, remarkable woman. Ernest pulled his mind in another direction, though. He did not need to be distracted. Not by Sophie.

He wondered if Dalton would slip out shortly after, go on another of his late-night sprees. Instead, his nephew lingered, his gaze following Gemma Hayesworth about the room.

He joined Ernest, Adelaide, and Celeste in the carriage once the party finished, taking a seat beside his mother.

Adelaide grasped her son's arm. "I could not help but note that you danced not once, but twice with that sweet Miss Hayesworth we met at dinner."

From his corner of the coach, Ernest studied Dalton's expression. In the flickering moonlight slanting in through the window, he watched his nephew lower his eyes to the floor, his mouth twitching with a foolish smile.

"She is a very kind girl," Celeste spoke up, gratingly blithe. "Very sweet temperament."

"Very," exclaimed Adelaide.

If only you were aware that your beloved, model son is wiling his life away at gentlemen's clubs. I wouldn't be surprised if he had his own courtesan somewhere. Sapping the estate of everything it could be, of everything I could make it.

Ernest ground his teeth, drumming his fingers over the head of his cane and pursing his lips.

"Tasted something gone bad, Uncle?" Dalton was eyeing him, that infuriatingly sardonic smile replacing his dreamy one. He could never seem to speak to Ernest without that edge of derision lacing each word.

He knows . The thought was lightning quick across Ernest's mind, and he shook it away, a chill going down his spine. "Well, I must confess I was rather disconcerted by the state of the repast this evening. The Dunnes continually present themselves as ardent epicures, yet their offerings were decidedly lacking in both substance and finesse."

Adelaide let out a soft laugh that was more polite than anything.

Celeste shook her head, her golden curls glinting. "I found the pudding delectable, Uncle. I wouldn't call it wanting."

Ernest patted his niece's gloved arm, flashing his nephew a pointed smile. "How very agreeable of you to observe, my dear. Finishing school becomes you."

Celeste's laughter died away, but Ernest didn't regret his bluntness. She ought to remember not to take her education for granted. It had certainly cost a pretty penny of the estate. And he would see to it that her finishing paid off.

If anything he had witnessed this evening had demonstrated something, it was that he could not squander another moment in hesitation. He would speak to Celeste in private as soon as they reached the Blakemore estate.

At last, the coach rolled to a stop, and once inside, Ernest ushered Celeste into the library. As much as he'd like to watch his nephew sneak out to gallivant about London, he needed to enlighten his cousin's daughter on his designs for the future.

"Is something amiss, Uncle?" Celeste frowned as he firmly led her to a dark alcove in the stately library.

He held a finger to his lips. "I must address a matter of considerable weight, my dear, and I beg you not to interrupt until I've finished."

Celeste's eyes widened, and she drew back, her lips parting in an apprehensive gasp. "Of course, Uncle," she whispered.

"Now, this is a delicate matter, so let this remain between us. I trust that you have noticed your cousin's…poor spirits…since you returned?"

"Lord Blakemore…poor spirits? Why, this evening he seemed much improved. He and Miss Hayesworth appeared most affable with one another. In fact, he smiled a great deal in her company. Aunt seems very pleased."

Ernest tutted at Celeste. "Let me finish," he held up a hand. "It is all a ruse , dear Celeste. You must know that, surely. His mother is…how shall we say this…contriving this little flirtation between Miss Hayesworth and your distant cousin. She is of the mind, I am certain, that you and your cousin would make a sublime pair."

Celeste's eyes went round now, her cheeks turning pink. "Cousin Dalton? And I?"

"Now, hush, and let me finish. You and Dalton would be an ideal match. You and he are quite cordial, are you not? He is handsome, you are sweet and lovely. The two of you would take the city by storm, undoubtedly."

"But Uncle—" Ernest held a finger to his niece's mouth.

"Ah, ah, ah. Aside from the perfection of a union between you and my nephew, it would also secure you—and I—a place in the Blakemore estate. Otherwise, we will be presently compelled to decamp to a hovel . "

"Hovel," Celeste echoed, her voice small, full of horror. She shuddered. Ever since her father died his cousin Ernest was the one taking care of her and that meant that her life depended on him .

"I do not mean to distress you. But these are simply the facts of the matter. Should your cousin marry some other eligible girl on the marriage mart, we shall be at the mercy of other, less prosperous relations."

"But Uncle—I should hate to impose upon any sort of courtship between Cousin and Miss—"

"I beg you not to utter her name. And to listen," Ernest snapped. "There is nothing between them. It is naught but a ruse. Dalton and you would make a handsome pair, no doubt of it."

"And I beg you not to mortify your aunt by speaking of it. Let her play her game and do your best to play along. Before long, you shall have Lord Blakemore seeking every minute you can afford him.

"Cousin and I. Lord Blakemore and I." Celeste hummed thoughtfully to herself for a moment. Her expression was dazed, and he could see it all fall into place. Flattered intrigue. Exhilaration. As he had expected.

Celeste could not recall why, very likely, but Ernest had a plan ready for years now. The moment that Celeste had admitted to him she found young Lord Blakemore considerably handsome, an idea had been born. It had been so simple, and yet, elegant. And now, at last, he could put it into motion. This was the tipping point.

He squeezed his niece's hand tightly, beaming at her. "Is he not a handsome boy?"

In the dim library, he could still see Celeste's expression darken, as she ducked her head. "I could scarcely call him a boy, Uncle," she whispered and then her eyes went wide. As if she'd just realized what she admitted aloud.

Ernest pulled her into a quick embrace before stepping away, grinning to himself.

"What's so amusing, Uncle?" Celeste's eyes narrowed.

"Nothing—nothing." He batted away the fleeting humor. "You care for him, I can see it." He patted her silky cheek.

"Uncle," she sighed, but smiled regardless.

"I shall arrange it all," he grasped her by the arms, directing her attention back to him.

Celeste shook her head. "Uncle…" but each time she spoke, he could hear the resolve in her tone weakening. Replaced by deep uncertainty, and longing. Excellent. Most excellent.

"It is in our best interest. And of course, yours. Your heart is a great concern of mine."

Celeste wrung her hands, lowering her eyes in a refreshing show of artful demureness. "I must beg my thanks, Uncle."

"I love you," he whispered, pecking her cheek with a kiss.

She whispered it back before retiring to bed. When her gentle footsteps echoed upon the nearby staircase, and when she finally disappeared, he inquired of a footman whether Mr. Dalton had taken his leave since their arrival.

"A little while ago, sir."

Ernest nearly swore but caught himself in time. He retreated to his bedroom, sinking into one of the upholstered chairs by the big window. He sat there a good while, considering his plan. Now, all that remained would be the execution of it. Celeste was willing, and surely Dalton would be too, once he overcame his native stubbornness.

***

In a haze, Gemma entered her bedchamber, and once the door clicked shut, she leaned back against it, taking a deep breath. As she sank onto her bed, Udolpho hurried over, stretching his back legs. He'd been sleeping all evening in the center of her large bed, but she barely registered his purrs and insistent meows as he arched against her, giving her another nudge.

She perched in a big chair by the window, Udolpho curling up on her lap, and she stared up at the constellations. Cassiopeia…Cepheus.

What would Mama say of Lord Blakemore? Would she disapprove as much as Aunt Philippa did?

She tilted her head, leaning her forehead against the frosty glass. As much as Gemma appreciated Aunt Philippa's guidance and advice, she wondered at her aunt's declaration, calling Lord Blakemore a rake. He hardly seems like a rake…