Celia couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Elias perched on the front steps like a beggar. But as he pulled a folded paper out from the inner pocket of his coat, her smile became more difficult to maintain. “What have you there?” She suspected it to be the special license, which would be a disaster, because it wouldn’t bear her legal name.
Elias frowned. “Sadly, not what I wish it was. The Archbishop of Canterbury was a friend of my father and, therefore, not a friend of mine or my brother.” He unfolded the paper and smoothed it out on the table. “But once I list all the particulars necessary, he will be hard-pressed to refuse me, since I am quite well thought of at the Doctors’ Commons.”
“Particulars?” She hid behind her cup, pretending to sip again even though nothing remained but bitter dregs.
He glanced at the entrance to the dining room, then turned back to her with a brow arched to a perturbed angle. “I need your full name, Celia. Oddly enough, the duchess was not inclined to share it.” He snorted a huff of amusement. “Her Grace gave me the distinct impression that she approved of our match. So, for the life of me, I cannot understand why she refused to share your legal name.”
Celia knew very well why. Mama was determinednotto be the one to explain everything to the inquisitive Lord Raines. Adopting a secretive air, she looked all around, acting as though she were afraid to be overheard. “My name troubles Her Grace,” she said quietly, “because it is the same as her daughter’s.”
“The same as her daughter’s?” Elias repeated. His perturbed scowl shifted to a sharper look. “Your name isCeceliarather thanCelia?”
“My mother always called meCelia.” That was a truth, albeit a slightly obscured one. “So, it only seemed natural for Her Grace to use that name, since she and her daughter do not currently agree on several matters. Their relationship is quite unsteady at the moment.” That was somewhat true. If it had been up to Celia, they never would have left Germany. But, of course, then she and Elias never would have met. Thank the stars Mama had persevered. Or maybe not—depending on the success or failure of the current conversation.
“I see.” He eyed her, his expression uncomfortably readable. He didn’t believe a word of her version of the truth, and she didn’t blame him. It was quite possibly the poorest tale she had ever told.
“My full name is Cecelia Elizabeth Madeline Rose Bening.” She left off the surname of Tuttcliffe and tried to recall if all her names were listed anywhere other than her christening records at the church in Germany. As far as she knew, they were not.
“Cecelia Elizabeth Madeline Rose Bening,” Elias repeated, his narrow-eyed thoughtfulness more than a little disturbing.
“Yes.” She folded her hands in her lap and tried to smile. “But I really do preferCelia.”
“Might we go to the library so you can write it down to ensure I use the correct spelling when I file for the license?” His tone made her tense. It wasn’t exactly cold, but it was most definitely suspicious.
“Of course.” She rose and led the way, her mind awhirl, searching for any possible way that this could be a misstep. After unlocking the library door with the key hanging from the chatelaine pinned to the wide blue ribbon belted at her waist, Celia hurried to the window and drew back the draperies to improve the light before she lit the candle on the desk.
“I would have thought the maids would have already been in here.” Elias meandered deeper into the room, eying the banked hearth and the remainder of draperies waiting to be drawn.
“Mrs. Harcourt misplaced their key,” she lied. “And they have yet to get another. Mine is currently the only one.”
“Why not leave it unlocked?”
“Her Grace prefers it locked, since this is where she keeps important papers she brought from Germany.” Somewhat of a truth, but more like a lie. Celia swallowed hard to keep from groaning. Lying to Elias had become almost painful. She lit a second candle and held out her hand. “Do you wish me to write on your paper or use a fresh piece of parchment?”
He placed it in her hand. “Please do write on this paper. There is space enough for your name and birth date directly below mine.”
She took a seat, signed, then filled out the date, February 7, 1794. While wafting the paper to dry the ink rather than using sand, she stared at her handwriting, knowing if the special license listed that name, the marriage would be void. Rather than hand it to Elias, she placed it back on the desk and stared down at it.
“Celia?”
She refused to look up at him. The way he said her name roared that he knew she was a liar, and this paper was just the trap he needed to prove it. “Yes, Elias?”
“Is there something else you wish to tell me?”
Her hands slowly closed into fists on either side of the paper as she lifted her head and leveled her gaze with his. “Nothing that I am sure you have not already surmised.” She drew in a deep breath and released it with a heavy sigh. “Perhaps it would be better if you told me.”
“Why do you not wish anyone to know that you are Lady Cecilia?” He restlessly paced back and forth in front of the desk, reminding her yet again of the great panther confined in the cage at Hamburg.
She decided to answer with a question of her own. “How long have you known?”
“I suspected it the first day we met.” He leaned across the desk, splaying his large hands on its top as if he was about to vault over it. “You and the duchess share a remarkable resemblance.” He slowly shook his head. “Your subterfuge makes no sense.”
“I did not wish to be plagued with any concerns other than my mother and her health,” she said, knowing that to be only a small part of the truth. “I refuse to be bothered with being presented at court, visiting the modiste for gowns, or enduring ridiculous visits from those only interested in my exorbitant dowry and my ability to birth them an heir.” She lifted her chin. “Celia, the companion to Her Grace, has a great deal more freedom than Lady Cecilia, daughter of the fifth Duke of Hasterton.”
“Not every young woman attending the Season is required to come out,” he argued with frustrating accuracy. “You would not have been forced to participate in any of those things you mentioned.”
“You are quite incorrect, my lord, and you know it. A duke’s daughter of eligible age? Visiting from Germany? Her first time in London, and yet she does not wish to present herself to theton? The gossips would have pounced on such oddness and feasted upon it for weeks. Whispers and looks would have plagued us everywhere we went and ruined Mama’s visit.”
“Fine. Then when did you plan on telling me?” The eerie quietness of his tone frightened her. It was dangerous and filled with anger. “You didn’t think that the man you gave yourself to and promised to marry had a right to know your true identity? What else do I need to know about you, my lady?”
