Even in my cynicism, I could not resist the allure of the sun’s rays. With no particular hurry, I decided against hiring a hack, instead contenting myself with a lengthy walk. In a backward glance through the drawing-room window, I caught a glimpse of wild curls, a flash of skirts, and nothing more.
East on Brook Street, south on Davies Street, east on Grosvenor’s Street, and then I found myself outside a familiar house with white pillars hidden behind a black ironwork fence. Two vibrant purple wisteria vines framed the door perfuming the air. The petals had already begun to fall creating violet piles beside the trunks. Celine.
She maintained a residence apart from her late husband’s family. It was convenient for our liaisons and allowed her the freedom she was due as a widow of means. Though I saw her briefly last night, it had been more than a fortnight since we had enjoyed each other’s companionship. With little thought and even less effort, I decided to inquire if she was home to see me.
The butler directed me to her boudoir, as was our usual practice. My journey through the halls of Cadieux House caused little fanfare from the servants. They were accustomed to my comings and goings. Decorated in silvers, grays, and taupes, her rooms were elegant yet tasteful, much like the lady herself. Moneyed by both inheritance and marriage, her home and apparel were always the height of fashion.
I sank into the settee by the window, noting absently that the blood-covered handkerchief was still clenched in my fist. The crimson stain was extensive. Lady Juliet bled through all four folds of the fabric. Absently, I noted the floral shape of the discoloration. She would bleed prettily.
Celine’s arrival pulled me from my musings. Even at the late hour, she was still clad in her deep purple dressing gown. Ever the socialite, she returned late and woke late. Her long, golden hair was still unbound, cascading down one shoulder in large waves. Green eyes assessed me critically beneath dark, full lashes. Historically, my visits began with more ardor and less anxious contemplation of ruined fabric.
“Oh,” her usual elegant prose escaped her at the sight of me. My eye must be in a worse state than I thought. It was a surprise her butler allowed me through the door. “Who is she?”
Well, I hadn’t expected that.
“Who is whom?” I asked, feigning ignorance.
“You’ve met someone.”
“Cee,” I sighed, more exasperated than I intended. “I have no notion of whom you speak of.”
“You’ve met a woman. Someone special.”
She was poised beside me, hand on my knee. It was a greater comfort than I would have expected. Usually, her touches served to arouse rather than soothe. I missed the tension in my shoulders and brow, noting it only in its absence.
“I haven’t met a woman, Celine. There’s only you.”
“Oh, Michael. Tell me the truth. We are friends, are we not?”
She turned my face towards hers with one sun-kissed hand on my jaw. There was nothing but earnest sympathy in her expression.
“She’s no one.”
“Michael, I always knew this day would come. You are a romantic at heart, even if you will never admit it. I want you to know love, real love. I know you think you are unworthy of such things, but you’re mistaken.”
I shook my head, disagreeing before she was half finished with her speech.
“Cee…”
“No, Michael. We’ve always been able to discuss all things. If this is to be your last visit, I want to know you will be going to good, kind hands.”
“This isn’t my last visit, Celine. Nothing needs to change.”
It was the truth when the words left my lips, but they rang false once spoken.
“It ismon amour, much as I have loved our time together. I will not be a second choice for anyone. I became one the moment you met her.”
“Celine…” I was pleading now. I had never needed to plead with her, at least not in this context.
“Michael, you have helped me in ways I cannot begin to express. In the months and years after my Gabriel’s death, I was lost. You brought me back to myself with your friendship and your kindness. You made me feel, not only like a person again, but like a woman.” Her voice was thick with emotion in a way I had never heard. “But you were never mine. She was always out there, waiting for you. What we had was wonderful, but I want for you what I had with Gabriel. You have so much love to give.”
I buried my face in the curve between her neck and shoulder. My eyes were pressed tight against the tears. Her hands found the back of my neck and tangled soothingly in my hair. “Now, tell me about her.”
I hesitated, fearing to give voice to what I had yet to acknowledge. “I found her last night, hiding under a table in the library at Grayson House after I had interrogated her father. I didn’t notice her until her father was already gone. Her eyes, Cee. They were so devastated.”
By the time I laid all my misdeeds at her feet, Celine enjoyed a good laugh at my expense. She had some choice words for Richard Dalton as well.
“You never like to make things simple for yourself. She needs someone to love her the way she deserves to be loved. You are a man more than equal to such a task.”
