“Well, you know,” Lady Bournebridge drawled, “I was quite concerned when you failed to attend my ball after confirming, and then when you declined the invitation to my Venetian breakfast, I was certain some terrible misunderstanding had arisen. I simply had to visit to ensure all was well.”
“Quite well,” the duchess said. “Traveling from Germany simply proved to be more taxing than I anticipated. Do forgive me for not easing your mind with a note of explanation.”
Lady Bournebridge gave a rude, dismissive smirk. “Think nothing of it, Your Grace. You were clearly overtaxed by travel. Very understandable.”
Gransdon and Friedrich entered with more tea and additional platters of cakes. They served the ladies with a quiet efficiency that had Lady Bournebridge and her daughter watching them as they left the room.
“Excellent servants are so hard to find of late.” Lady Bournebridge sipped her tea as if testing it for poison. With a pained puckering of her mouth that left Celia wondering if the woman was about to choke, she turned back to the duchess. “This is my Temperance’s first Season, and we have been very pleased so far.” She slid a wicked glance Celia’s way. “Everyone at the Whitfields’ soiree must have thought your Cecilia a companion since she dressed so modestly, and has neither openly come out for the Season nor been presented at court.”
Before her mother could respond, Celia laughed and leaned forward as though about to share the juiciest bit of gossip. “With this being my first visit to London since I was a child, I wanted to survey the hunting grounds before joining the fray.” She took a slow sip of her tea and allowed herself a wicked smile. “I prefer to be the hound rather than the fox.”
Lady Bournebridge stretched back as though Celia had slapped her. One of her spindly brows arched almost to her hairline. “I see,” she said, then eyed Celia as she sipped her tea.
“And my Cecilia has already found love,” the duchess said. With an affectionate smile, she held out her hand. “Lord Raines has asked for Cecilia’s hand, and we have accepted.”
Lady Temperance snorted and tittered a rude laugh, before making a show of modestly turning her face aside.
“Something wrong with your tea?” Celia asked while fighting the urge to lob her cup at the rat-faced little chit.
“My Temperance is quite delicate,” Lady Bournebridge hurried to say. She fixed her daughter with a pointed look, then turned back to Celia and the duchess with the smugness of a professional thief. “She sometimes chokes if the temperature of the beverage isn’t a suitable match or quite up to the standard which one would normally desire.”
If the tea didn’t choke the insufferable little ape leader and her mother, Celia would. How dare they sit there and openly insult Elias by implying he wasn’t good enough for her to marry?
“Poor dear. Perhaps if she traveled more, her palate would be more able to recognize exemplary quality when it is presented—rather than judging a tea simply by itstitle,” the duchess said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.
Touché, Mama.Celia politely hid her smile behind her cup.
Elias sat there openly grinning, obviously enjoying the entertainment.
“Perhaps we should go,” Lady Bournebridge said, her expression sourer than usual. “We simply wished to call after that horrid incident at the Whitfields’.” She set her tea on the table and gave an impatient flip of her hand at her daughter. “It is good to see you quite recovered and to learn no misunderstandings exist between us.” With an imperious sneer that appeared to be meant as a smile, she nodded first at Elias, then at Celia. “And congratulations. Much happiness to you both.”
“Thank you, Lady Bournebridge,” Elias said with a mocking bow before taking Celia’s hand and pressing a kiss to it. “And may Lady Temperance’s hunt be as successful as my Celia’s.”
Lady Bournebridge’s eyes flared wide, and Lady Temperance emitted a high-pitched yip as though someone had pinched her. “Good day to all,” the lady haughtily said before they both stormed from the room.
“You have to marry now,” Celia’s mother said with a faint smile. “We shall probably read all about your engagement in tomorrow’s gossip sheets.”
“Good,” Elias said with a proud jutting of his chin. “I want everyone to know.”
Celia pressed a hand over the lovely golden locket and prayed he truly meant it—and that somehow, he would find a way to come to terms with her being the true Duke of Hasterton.
Chapter Fifteen
Elias ran afinger behind the over-starched cravat that was about to strangle him. Mrs. Camp had outdone herself upon learning that today was to be the auspicious day of the wedding. She had cleaned, starched, and brushed his clothes within an inch of their lives, and clapped her approval when Monty presented him with an exquisite waistcoat whose pattern possessed a silvery sheen. Along with the new waistcoat came a fresh shirt of the finest linen adorned with the ruffled front and cuffs that he hated.
“You settled the vicar in the drawing room with the others?” he asked his brother while shrugging on the waistcoat.
“Yes. And he is still sober. So far.” Monty stepped back and nodded his approval as Elias presented himself before donning his coat. “But I cannot guarantee for how long. After all, Reverend Neville has been retired for quite some time and enjoys his evening brandies immensely.”
“Yes, but you said the man was a favorite of our mother and Father hated him.” Elias smiled at his reflection in the mirror. “The perfect clergyman for this day.”
“Mrs. Neville has promised to keep him focused and also brought their grandson, the newest vicar of our old parish, and his wife to ensure everything is properly recorded in the register.”
Elias stopped tugging at his clothes and faced his brother. “And you are generous enough to house them for the night in your townhouse. Whatever in the world would I do without you, brother?”
“You would founder miserably.” Monty frowned at Elias’s cravat and adjusted it. “Gads, man. You should have allowed me to loan you Fords. He would have tied that thing properly.” He threw up his hands as if there was no hope for it. “By the way, while I hate to impart bad news on this glorious day, you do realize the two of you have caused quite the stir. Polite Society does not appreciate a solicitor, even one as esteemed as yourself, snatching up one of its wealthiest darlings.”
“I assumed there would be talk.” Elias checked his timepiece, grinning at the memory of Celia and her mother giving no quarter to the odious Lady Bournebridge and her equally unpleasant daughter. Monty’s unusually solemn expression gave him pause. “Out with it, man. I prefer to be forewarned.”
