“Please tell us,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
Gray dropped his chin. “I’m sorry. I thought I had a promising clue, but it has led to nothing yet again.”
Rosalinde pulled from Celia’s arms and Celia watched as she went to Gray for comfort. Alone, she moved to the window and stood to look into the dark with unseeing eyes.
Her father was a missing piece in her life. Unlike Rosalinde, she had nothing else to fill that hole. Celia wanted to know him so very much. To have the whole truth of who she was.
She turned back and could hear Rosalinde’s soft whispers to Gray, his murmurs of comfort and apology. She flinched at the intimacy of that moment and forced a serene expression on her face.
“Thank you for trying, Gray,” she said.
He looked at her at last. “I won’t give up,” he vowed. “I will continue to search with all my resources.”
But she could see that those resources were wearing thin. Gray didn’t think he would ever find the answers she needed. Which meant the only person with any information was her grandfather. The man she had not seen since he tried to choke the life out of her sister in a parlor months before. A man who wanted her to marry a title in order to share the particulars of her family.
She pressed her lips together. “Come, we should go. I don’t want to be more than fashionably late.”
“Yes,” Rosalinde said, linking arms with Gray. “We should forget our troubles for now. You never know what the night will bring.”
Celia smiled for the sake of Rosalinde, but as the couple exited the room, that smile fell. It seemed whatever the night would bring would not be enough. But she would put on a falsely happy face regardless and see if any opportunity might present itself.
Celia sighed as she looked out over the dance floor and watched Gray and Rosalinde swirl by in the crowd. Gray’s hand was firmly pressed into Rosalinde’s hip and their gazes were locked on each other, proof once again of their loving bond.
“Shedoeslook happy.”
Celia started and looked at the two young women who had stepped up beside her. She’d known Miss Tabitha Thornton and Lady Honora for as long as she could remember. They were old friends and ones who had stood staunchly beside her before, during and after her ill-fated engagement. She appreciated that beyond measure.
“She does,” Celia said, addressing Honora, for it was she who had made the statement. “She is. Lucky her.”
“Indeed, for Mr. Danford cuts a fine figure,” Tabitha sighed. “And I’ve heard he’s worth a fortune, even if Fatherdoesturn up his nose that he made it all by work andnotinheritance.”
Celia shrugged. “I don’t carewhathe does to earn his keep, as long as he takes care of my sister. Which he does in spades.”
“So you don’t regret breaking your engagement to Stenfax at all?” Tabitha asked, curling a loose blonde lock around her finger.
Celia pursed her lips. Her friends had kindly danced around that subject since her return to London a week before, but here it was. She found herself searching through the ballroom and found the tall, stern figure of the Earl of Stenfax. He was standing in the corner, talking to his sister, Felicity. When they saw her looking their way, both raised their hands in a friendly hello, which she returned before she sighed. Stenfax was very handsome, of course, but he had never moved her, nor had she moved him.
“I donotregret it,” she said, and meant it. “Things have worked out exactly right.” She cleared her throat and looked around. The women who were not dancing were all gathered in clumps, it seemed, and there was a crackling electricity in the air that made no sense to Celia. “Why is everyone so odd tonight?” she asked, hoping for a change in subject since the topic of her former fiancé was uncomfortable to say the least.
Honora grasped her arm in both hands, her face lighting up in excited pleasure. “You mean you haven’t heard?”
“Heard what?” Celia asked, shaking her head. “What is there to hear that would inspirethatexpression?”
Both women leaned in and Honora whispered, “The Duke of Clairemont is making a return to Society tonight.”
Celia wrinkled her brow. “The Duke of Clairemont. I vaguely recognize the title, but why doesthatmatter? We’ve a room full of stuffy old men as it is. One more boring duke is hardly any matter.”
“Oh my Lord, she doesn’t know!” Tabitha squealed, and now Celia was being held by both her arms, one for each friend. She rather hoped they didn’t try for a tug of war.
Honora all but bounced. “His Grace isnotan old man,” she said, trying for a whisper but not really accomplishing it in her excitement. “He isbarelyabove thirty and rich as Midas, himself!”
Tabitha tugged on Celia’s arm none too gently. “His father died a decade ago and he took the title, but since then he has been a recluse, hiding away in his country estate, Kinghill Castle. No one has seen him in years and years.”
“There are so many rumors about why he hid so long, Celia,” Honora continued, pulling Celia back to her side. “Some say he was scarred in an accident—”
“A fire!” Tabitha said. “I heard it was a fire.”
“Whatever it was.” Honora shrugged. “Or that he was driven mad over his father’s death.”
