Celia paused at a vendor selling small, delicately carved rosewood boxes perfect for holding tiny treasures on a dressing table or nightstand. She traced a finger across one of the creations decorated with hearts entwined with roses. “My heart must remain as empty as this box.” She firmly closed the lid. “Permanently.”
“You plan to never marry?” Frannie stared at her in open-mouthed wonder.
“You have to marry.” Sophie looped her arm through Celia’s and gave it a comforting pat. “Frannie and I have no intention of living without love. Neither should you.”
“And how do the two of you intend to accomplish such a feat and escape being charged with fraud and hanged for it?” Celia didn’t want to sound cruel or waspish, but the Sisterhood created by their mothers was a double-edged sword. While it secured their lands, finances, and places in Society, it also effectively trapped them. Celia couldn’t imagine attempting to hide their truths from a husband—nor revealing them. “Well? Tell me how you plan to juggle a family and the lie our lives truly are?”
“I have not thought that far as yet,” Frannie said. “But we will sort it. Will we not, Sophie?”
“Yes.” Sophie tugged Celia away from the stall of trinket boxes. “And you will too. Come. They are looking back to see what has become of us.”
“Did you find a treasure?” the duchess asked when they joined them.
“A little rosewood box,” Celia said. “You know how I love trinket boxes.” She glanced across the line of stalls her mother had passed. “Have you not found any items too precious to leave behind?”
“We have been admiring the artwork,” Elias said before the dowager could answer. He pinned Celia with an intense look. “And talking.”
“Talking?” Celia eyed her mother. Instinct warned her that any sort of talk with Elias could only mean trouble.
The duchess smiled but didn’t elaborate. Instead, she turned and led them onward with the demeanor of a queen followed by her retinue.
What should have been an enjoyable outing became a subtle form of torture to be endured. And endure it she would. With the utmost grace and style. Following her mother and Elias, Celia chatted with Sophie and Frannie while feigning interest in the expensive finery and wares of the stalls catering to Society’s most affluent. As they reached the midpoint of the Bond Street bazaar, she spotted temporary salvation—seats and small tables arranged in front of a merchant selling lemonade. Surely, Mama would agree to sit for a while and enjoy a refreshing drink. While her color and spirits still seemed good, she had to be growing tired.
Celia hurried to the front of their group and drew their attention to the place. “Shall we enjoy a refreshing lemonade before we continue?”
Her mother opened her mouth to speak, but Elias cut her off. “I think it wise indeed. After all, we still have much to see.” He eased the dowager into the idea with a convincing tip of his head. “Even the heartiest of athletes know it best to pace oneself in order to finish the race.”
The duchess rewarded him with a thoughtful smile. “Of course, my lord. Lemonade sounds like a welcome respite before we continue.”
Elias’s firm but gentle maneuvering of her mother touched Celia’s heart far more than it should have. He was neither a graceless rake nor a jealously avaricious second son, but a kind, caring gentleman.
A wistful sigh escaped her as she watched him help her mother be seated at one of the tables. As soon as the longing breath left her, he lifted his head, and their gazes locked. Somehow, he knew she longed for him. She saw it clearly in his eyes. And perhaps a yearning for her as well.
“Miss Bening?” He held out his hand and waited, knowing she would not be able to resist taking it.
“My lord.” She went to him and slid her hand into his.
The faintness of his smile, the way it quirked the fullness of his lips and teased his irresistible dimple into appearing, made her catch her breath. Lord Elias Raines was a danger to all she had ever known—including her heart—and he knew it. How much he knew about her circumstances, she couldn’t hazard a guess, but she suspected that it was entirely too much for the comfort of her mind and soul.
He seated her in the chair beside her mother, helped Sophie and Frannie into seats at the next table, then returned and sat next to Celia. With a flick of his wrist, he caught the merchant’s eye. “Lemonades all around, my good man. Her Grace must be restored for more shopping.”
The stall owner’s eyes lit up. “Right away, Your Grace, right away.”
“Careful, my lord,” Celia couldn’t resist warning him. “I am told that posing as a duke can be quite dangerous.”
Elias laughed. “My defense will be that the man was speaking to Her Grace and not myself.” He winked. “You simply need to know how to phrase such circumstances, Miss Bening.”
“Indeed.” Celia sorted through the contents of her reticule, more to compose herself than check what she had brought along. The constant wondering about what her mother had confided in Elias had her sitting on thorns.
“I cannot believe we found nothing to purchase other than lemonade,” the duchess said with a sad shake of her head. “Perhaps we should return to Oxford Street.”
“Whatever you wish, Your Grace.” Celia held tightly to the hope that they would indeed go back to Oxford Street and its many shops. From there, if luck smiled upon her, Mama would soon proclaim their outing at an end and be ready to return home. Then Celia could take refuge in either the library or the garden—either would be a haven where Elias most certainly would not be. She hazarded an indulgent glance his way. “I am sure Lord Raines is ready to be on his way.”
“Oh no, dear Celia.” Her mother paused while lifting her lemonade for a sip. “Lord Raines has agreed to delight us with his company for dinner, even though it will be a simple affair. Isn’t that splendid?”
“Splendid,” Celia repeated, wondering how Elias had elicited that invitation with such ease. “In that case, should we forgo the shops and return home to inform Mrs. Harcourt?”
Elias waved away her suggestion. “We must not cut the day short. Not when Her Grace is in such fine health. I agreed to dinner because I wish to prolong my presence in your company—not because I seek a meal. A simple plate of cold meats would be a most satisfying banquet in the presence of so many lovely ladies.”
