“It is time you helped yourself, my child. There is no shame in that. You are young, Celia, and trust me, this exciting time of your life is fleeting.” Regret filled her mother’s eyes and lent a lonely echo to her voice. “You should be dancing, courting, enjoying your friends.” Mama shuddered as if finding the entire subject too exasperating to bear. “At three and twenty, you should be a silly, carefree girl dreaming of the perfect husband. In fact, you should already be married and providing me with grandchildren. You are too serious for your age. It pains me to see how terribly I have failed you.”
“I have friends,” Celia argued. “I wrote to Sophie and Frannie just the other day.” Her defense sounded childish even to her.
“Friends other than those of the Sisterhood.” The gentleness of Mama’s reprimand gained a sharper edge, cutting like well-honed steel. “You should also have acquaintances oblivious to our subterfuge. Friends not operating as we do to keep from losing what they have. Emmeline, Lavinia, and I created the Sisterhood of Independent Ladies when we all became widowed early, then bore daughters rather than sons. It is a support system, Celia. Not a permanent prison for you, Sophie, and Frannie. I intend to meet with our solicitor while in London. It is time you were freed of this terrible farce I was foolish enough to create.”
“Freed? And lose everything we worked for? People depend on us, Mama. We cannot lose our businesses, and I cannot believe you wish to let the title go extinct. I couldn’t bear to see our entailments revert to the Crown until some undeserving lout worms them away by fawning all over Prinny.” Celia struggled not to raise her voice even though frustration at the unfairness of it all made her want to scream. But she wouldn’t shout. Not at Mama. “Your brilliance laid the groundwork for all I have done in the years since I took over. How can you be so ready to toss it all away?”
“It is time to find alegalway to see you cared for and happy.” Mama sat taller, reclaiming the persona of the strong, fearless woman Celia had always known and loved—the woman Mama had been before she became plagued with days of unrelenting fatigue and pain. “This is not your decision, Celia. It is mine, and I will see it done.”
Celia pushed away from the table and rose, unable to sit any longer. Her mind raced through everything that could go wrong, even the terrible possibility that both of them could face numerous charges of fraud for impersonating a peer. Well, they hadn’t actually impersonated Charles. Mama had merely invented him to keep what should rightly be theirs. But she doubted very much if that would grant them any leniency with the prosecuting courts.
“Surely, you do not expect to go to London and present me to thetonwithout anyone questioning us about Charles or why we never visit any of our properties in England. And I realize we can have our London townhouse fully staffed with individuals our Bow Street Runner investigated, but will they not expect the duke to accompany us? Rumors about us will set the scandal sheets ablaze.” She spun to face her mother and threw her hands in the air. “And then I’m sure the courts will get involved. The ladies of thetonwill not allow their husbands to ignore the mysteriousness of our situation!”
The dowager frowned, peering at Celia as though unable to recognize her. “When did you become so dramatic?”
“When everything I have ever been taught is suddenly considered irrelevant. A whim. A way to get by until I could be carted off like prime breeding stock and matched with the best stallion.” Celia pointed at her mother. “I refuse to sign off on that exorbitant dowry you suggested, and you have never been able to imitate myCharlessignature.”
Mama rolled her eyes. “I said nothing about presenting you for the Season. I know that is not possible under our rather delicate circumstances. It could draw the wrong people too close.” She laced her thin fingers together and rested her clasped hands in her lap. “I want to go to London for the Season. See you married. Know that you are happy and protected. Those three things. Simple as that.”
Celia massaged her suddenly throbbing temples. These headaches usually only came after hours of wading through ledgers and contracts requiring her signature—or Charles’s signature, to put a finer point on it. “And what shall we tell everyone about Charles? Why is he not traveling with us or attending the Season in search of a wife?”
“He is on the Continent investigating the most promising business deals of his life.” The duchess twitched a dismissive shrug. “And as your twin, Charles is but three and twenty. He has plenty of time to marry.”
Celia rolled her eyes. “And how do you explain not presenting his sister, who is actually past the age for coming out and surely must be frantically in need of a husband?”
“His sister remained in Germany because of her frail health. Sadly, she is not able to attend this year’s Season.”
“You cannot travel alone.”
“I do not intend to.”
“Mama—”
“You are quickly reaching the point of being unreasonable.” The dowager directed Celia back to her chair. “Sit and calm yourself. You are usually so much more creative than this. Are you unwell?”
“I am quite well.” Celia hovered behind the chair and clutched the curved wood of its back, digging her nails into the voluptuous upholstery of the cushions. “I am simply beside myself because I cannot seem to make you see sense.”
“You will accompany me as my companion, Miss Celia Bening, since my daughter’s ill health and my son’s urgent business ventures prevent them from attending to their ailing mother’s wish to see her beloved London one last time.”
“My, don’t we sound like a pair of ungrateful, self-centered children?”
Her mother smiled as she poured them both a bit more brandy. “Well, you know how children can be. Once they are grown, they often have no use for their parents. Sit down, Cecilia.”
Celia took her seat. When Mama used her given name rather than the usual endearment of Celia, that meant she had endured all her patience could bear. And heaven help Celia if Mama used all the names of her christening. A curtly snappedCecilia Elizabeth Madeline Rose Beninghad once meant being sent to bed without her supper. Now it was worse. It meant Mama was so angry that she would not allow Celia back in her presence until her temper had cooled. And sometimes that cooling took more than a day.
After a delicate sip, Celia risked meeting her mother’s gaze and couldn’t help but smile. A healthy rosiness bloomed across Mama’s cheeks and vigor flashed in her eyes. The excitement of a trip to London and the delicious prospect of deceiving thetonhad benefited Duchess Thea more than any amount of specially prepared calves’ foot jelly. Mama had always loved a challenge, and admittedly, so did Celia.
She lifted her teacup in a toast. “To London and the excitement of the Season.”
Mama gently touched her porcelain cup to Celia’s and smiled. “To happiness, a good man, and love.”
“Mama.”
Duchess Thea kept her cup against Celia’s and waited with a parental look that refused to be ignored.
“Fine.” With an indulgent sigh, Celia dutifully repeated, “To happiness, a good man, and love.”
Chapter Two
