Mama, Sophie, and Frannie all responded with silly smiles, appearing to fall victim to the blatant flattery. Celia rolled her eyes.
“Why, Miss Bening.” He quirked a brow and leaned toward her with feigned incredulity. “Do you doubt my sincerity?”
“Of course not, Lord Raines.” She wouldn’t add that it was his intentions she found questionable. She pushed her lemonade away, suddenly finding it too bitter to endure. “I merely felt a bit of dust in my eye.”
“Perhaps I should check it for you,” he offered. “Come and let me see.”
Celia scooted away from the table and hopped to her feet. “Thank you, no. I am quite recovered now. It appears to have resolved itself as quickly as it came.” Doing her best to remain a picture of composure, she motioned back in the direction in which they came. “While Her Grace finishes her lemonade, I believe I shall return to the trinket box stall. I have decided I cannot bear to leave the hearts and roses creation behind after all.” She curtsied to her mother. “That is, with your permission, Your Grace.”
“Do whatever you need to do to get your wants sorted,” her mother said. The true meaning of the subtle warning was not lost on Celia. The duchess added a barely perceptible nod. “Indecision is the ruin of many, Celia. Never do anything in a halfhearted manner.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Celia only wished it were that easy.
Chapter Eight
Elias savored thelast bite of the delectable syllabub topped with fresh berries. The day had gone even better than he had hoped it would. He would have to remember to add an appreciative amount to Jack’s voucher when the Bow Street Runner came to his office for payment. If not for the man’s quick action, Elias would never have known where or when to cross paths with the lovely Celia.
From his seat of honor to the right of the dowager duchess, he had studied the ladies at dinner with a more critical eye. The nuances of their glances at each other and their mannerisms provided more information than they realized. The three young women behaved more like sisters than close friends, and the duchess could easily be mistaken for a favorite aunt.
Lady Sophie’s mother and Lady Ardsmere’s mother-in-law were not present, denying him the possibility of observing them as well. Poor ladies. Probably still trapped at Lady Bournebridge’s affair. He couldn’t help but grin. His brother, the Duke of Almsbury, was trapped there also, and no amount of blunt could tempt Elias to trade places with Monty. After all, Monty possessed the title. Such engagements were his due.
Elias suddenly realized he had allowed the conversation to lag while thinking back over the day. He forced himself to set his inner musings aside. “A fine repast, Your Grace. Most satisfying.” He waved away the footman stepping forward with a salver of sweetmeats and nuts. “No, thank you. I am quite finished, my good man.”
The duchess pushed herself to her feet and moved away from the table with the aid of her cane. “What a shame we have no gentleman with whom you could enjoy a glass of port or a bit of snuff.”
Elias hurried to stand and bow. “I assure you, Your Grace, I do not miss their company in the least.” And he meant it. The mysterious ladies of this household enthralled him—especially his precious Celia. And from what he had observed, they all guarded secrets and possessed no desire whatsoever to immerse themselves in the vicious and highly competitive Marriage Mart of theton.
Of course, fragile health curtailed the dowager’s engagements, and Lady Ardsmere was already a wife. But something about that lady whispered that her marital status might be a lie. At one point during their robust dinner conversation, he had mentioned her husband, and she had almost acted as if she didn’t know to whom he referred. At that same moment, Celia had nearly choked on her wine and begged to recover in the garden, claiming an urgent need for fresh air. Lady Sophie had then excused herself with the announcement of a sudden headache, and the duchess sent Lady Ardsmere to help her to her room. This household had become a puzzle he itched to solve.
The duchess slowly crossed the room and nodded at the large blond footman who had accompanied them shopping. “Friedrich, please fetch Berta. I am ready to retire.” With an apologetic look at Elias, she pulled in a deep breath, then slowly released it. “Forgive me, Lord Raines. I do not mean to be rude, but I find today’s adventures catching up with me.”
“You could never be rude, Your Grace.” Elias genuinely liked the woman and wished fate had granted her a kinder destiny. He fully intended to honor her wishes for him to protect and cherish Celia—and would have done so even without her request. “With your permission, might I step into the garden and ensure Miss Bening has recovered from her sudden need for fresh air?”
The dowager stared at him, her expression stony and unreadable. “Celia is as fragile and vulnerable as a frightened child at the moment. I understand I bade you protect her. Win her love and love her in return.” She moved toward him, thumping her cane harder with every step. “But I pray I have not misplaced my trust in you.” She stamped her cane hard one last time and glared at him. “Do not hurt her, or I promise you, there will be hell to pay.”
This woman spoke like a loving mother, not an ailing peeress who held a particular fondness for her companion. Elias tried not to take insult over her concerns. “I would never hurt her, Your Grace, but I need her to confide in me so I can help her with whatever puts that frightened look in her eyes.” He resettled his stance, trying to find the words to reassure the lady that he only meant the best for Celia. “I know she dreads your death with the whole of her being, but I daresay that is not the entirety of her worries.”
The dowager nodded and leaned heavily on her cane. “You may go to her in the garden, Lord Raines.” She turned away and slowly headed toward the exit. “Stay as long as required, but do me the courtesy of being discreet when you choose to leave. I will not have Celia ruined.” When she reached the double doors that opened to the hallway, she halted and looked back at him. “I shall have Friedrich stand guard at this entrance where he may hear her should she call out for help.” Her eyes narrowed again, and this time her expression was quite readable. “Friedrich will do whatever is necessary to protect my Celia. Am I understood clearly?”
“Quite clearly, Your Grace.”
“Good.” She tipped a curt nod and left him.
Elias turned and eyed the set of glass doors to the sprawling garden. They were opened wide to invite the cool evening air into the dining room. For a London townhouse, such a generous layout was a rarity, and usually only found in country manors. He ambled through the doors and pulled in a deep breath of the refreshing air delicately scented with the earthy new greenness of spring. It beckoned him to come and lose himself in the private oasis.
Torches flickered throughout the intimate layout of the peaceful area. Their golden glow followed the path of stepping stones winding through the maze of shrubbery and raised beds of freshly turned earth that would soon burst with colorful flowers. The gentle sound of trickling water came to him, but he didn’t see its source. He also didn’t see Celia. Had the lovely lioness somehow escaped him?
“Celia?” He followed the path, easing deeper into the personal Eden that was larger than it had appeared at first glance. “Celia?”
“I wish they hadn’t lit the torches,” she said from somewhere off to the left. “It makes the stars less bright.”
He stepped off the path of stones, rounded a bed of rosebushes yet to bloom, and found her sitting on a bench beside a small, cascading fountain. The water feature fed into a pool bordered by stones that matched those creating the layered levels of the gurgling fountain.
“It is peaceful here beside the water,” he said quietly, feeling almost ashamed to speak and break the fragile spell filling the place. “May I join you?”
Without taking her gaze from the rippling pool, she patted the empty spot on the bench but remained silent.
He eased down beside her and leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees while gazing at the torchlight dancing across the water’s undulating surface.
