The Amorous Education of Celia Seaton (15 page)

“You know, Celia.” Minerva looked up from her reading. “I don’t think you should marry Mr. Compton. I don’t think you want to do any of these things with a man you do not love.”

As nothing else could, Minerva’s opinion made Celia realize she was not, and perhaps never would be, a properly brought up English girl. She did not love Mr. Compton, but felt no reluctance about doing any or all these things with him.

Chapter 19

A friend in need is often another woman.

T
he next afternoon Tarquin and Celia were invited to attend Lady Iverley in her chamber. Less than a full day after giving birth, her appearance was flawless. Propped up against a mound of pillows in a gorgeous lace-trimmed dressing gown, her dark brown hair was arranged in perfect glossy waves. Tarquin’s appreciation of the skills of her maid deepened. Sebastian gazed at her with a more than usually infatuated grin, but Diana’s attention was all on the swaddled bundle she held in her arms.

“Tarquin,” she said, looking up. “What a lovely surprise to see you. Please introduce me to Miss Seaton. And accept my felicitations.”

He presented Celia, who curtseyed very properly. “I do apologize for our intrusion at this time, Lady Iverley.”

“It’s no trouble to me. If Tarquin needs our help, naturally he has it. Would you like to see the baby?”

Celia showed great, and apparently unfeigned, enthusiasm for the new arrival. “What a beautiful boy.”

Tarquin, taking a squint without getting too close, thought he looked like a rouged walnut. “Does he have a name yet?” he asked.

“We’re still arguing about it. Sebastian wants to name him after one of his favorite fifteenth-century printers, but I draw the line at Wynkyn de Worde. He’d be dreadfully teased at school.”

“I should say so,” Tarquin said, appalled. “What’s wrong with something ordinary, like John?”

“Or Sebastian?” Celia asked. “Or Tarquin?”

“The bane of my childhood,” he said. “My father was fond of Roman history.”

“We’re not naming him Tarquin,” Sebastian said. “But we would like you to be godfather.”

“And Miss Seaton—may we call you Celia?” Diana asked. “Will you be his godmother?”

Celia looked pleased but diffident. “Oh, thank you. I don’t know . . . you scarcely know me. And who knows what we . . .”

Tarquin cut her off with a squeeze to the upper arm. “We would both be honored,” he said firmly. “You’ll have to inform me about the duties of a godparent. I don’t remember my own godfather doing anything for me. I certainly didn’t go and live with him after my own parents died.”

“Don’t you know?” Sebastian said. “You will be in charge of his religious education.”

“Are you quite sure about that?”

“I expect you to take him to church every Sunday when we are in town.”

“I never go unless I’m accompanying Hugo.”

“And you must teach him every one of the Thirty-Nine Articles.”

Diana came to his rescue. “Stop teasing, Sebastian. Poor Tarquin is terrified. It will be nice if you—both of you—take an interest in our son. I hope you will be providing friends for him soon and that our families will always be close.”

Tarquin didn’t know if Sebastian had told his wife about the complications relating to their engagement, nor whether his friend was showing his support for Celia or applying subtle pressure on Tarquin to stick to his resolve. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Yes, he was set on doing the right thing. But on another level he couldn’t truly accept that he might, in a matter of weeks, be tied to this woman for life. Was he expecting to be rescued from the consequences of his own good intentions?

His betrothed blushed at the hint of their future progeny. Astonishing really that she should be capable of shame.

He found himself looking at her a great deal and the more he looked the less he was troubled by her appearance. He decided her bold, expressive features transcended mere fashion, and was astonished to discover fashion
could
be transcended.

Perhaps his strange reaction resulted from their setting and company. Accustomed to being perfectly at ease in the highest of
haut ton
circles, among the Montroses Tarquin was nothing special. He could draw a belly laugh from Mr. Montrose for a jest or a serious response from Minerva for an observation on politics. But none of them cared a whit for the cut of his coat. Mostly he remained a silent listener to a constant stream of badinage about children, books, medicine, the cultivation of vegetables, the breeding of dogs, and any other subject that crossed anyone’s mind. And Celia was there with them, bantering back and forth as though she’d known the family forever. Her face alight with laughter and interest, she was a handsome woman.

Lady Iverley diverted his attention from Celia’s face, softened almost to prettiness as she smiled at the baby. “I know how you can be helpful,” Diana said. “When he is old enough you may take our son to your tailor.”

“That I can do. And perhaps in return you could help Celia with her wardrobe. She has almost nothing to wear and is in need of some advice.”

“I would be delighted. And it will give my maid something to do. She’s dying to start planning new clothes for when I have my figure back, but I’d much rather just play with him.” She lifted the infant for a kiss and while she made the kind of silly noises people use for young children and small dogs, Tarquin planned his escape from this dangerous location.

“Would you like to hold your godson before you go?”

“Thank you, no,” Tarquin said hastily. “Another time perhaps. When he’s a little older.” Much older, he swore silently, if ever. He suspected babies of exuding undesirable secretions. Extremely glad to be told to leave his betrothed with Lady Iverley, he retreated with his dignity intact before being landed with any new duties. Sebastian went with him, under orders to send in his wife’s maid.

“Funny little fellow,” he said of his newborn son. “I wonder when they start looking like people. I’ll have to find a book about it.”

“I should leave it to the women. They know what to do with infants. Diana looks well.”

“Doesn’t she?” Sebastian said with his rare wide smile. “It’s remarkable how she has come through the ordeal.”

Tarquin shook his head in silent amazement at the way his friend had changed since his marriage. And yet he hadn’t really. He was the same old earnest bookworm. The only difference lay in his undoubted happiness.

C
elia remained behind with Diana Iverley who, though groomed to an inch, appeared otherwise unalarming. They spent a few more minutes admiring Master Iverley who was tiny and sweet in a red, wrinkly way. Celia had always been fond of babies, but she thought Indian ones, with their darker skin, were prettier.

“Now,” said Diana, “before Chantal comes in. Tell me, do you want to marry Tarquin? Sebastian and Min have both told me some of your story.”

“At the moment,” Celia replied, “I don’t have a ready alternative. I hoped perhaps you could help me find a position as a governess.”

“If it comes to that, I could try. But I really think you should consider marrying him. He’s a good man underneath that exquisite exterior. And I should like having you as a friend.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I wouldn’t admit it to her, but my little sister is a good judge of character. She likes you very much.”

Celia wondered if Minerva had told her about their previous night’s readings, and if Diana would feel the same way if she knew she’d introduced a young girl to improper literature.

“He’s still very angry with me.”

“Of course he is. You made a fool of him.” Diana laughed. “Terence Fish! We are never going to let him forget it.”

“Please don’t bring it up. Things are awkward enough between us.”

“Very well, much as it pains me, I shall refrain from teasing him until you and he have resolved your differences. Let’s talk about clothes.”

“Thank you. I do need something to wear, even though I never look right, however I’m dressed.”

Diana narrowed her eyes and looked her up and down. “Your figure is good,” she said with a nod. “That kind of thick curly hair can be troublesome but I like the color. It must be dressed in a way that enhances your face, particularly your cheekbones which are your best feature. You have a strong face and you need gowns to match it. Demure muslins such as young girls wear will not show off your looks to advantage.”

“Thank you.” This dispassionate and honest assessment gave Celia far more confidence than indiscriminate and insincere praise.

“When Chantal comes we’ll make you modish enough to hold your own in any company.”

“Perhaps it’s wrong of me, but I’m quite reluctant to make an effort to improve my appearance just so that I won’t shame Tarquin. It rubs me the wrong way to transform myself just to try and win the approval of a man who’d probably strangle me if he could get away with it.”

Diana gave a crow of satisfaction. “I knew you had spirit. But let me make one thing very clear. We don’t dress to please men. We dress to please ourselves and annoy other women. You’ll feel much better when Chantal has finished with you. Men don’t care. I could put on rags and, if he noticed at all, Sebastian would ask me if I have a new gown.”

“Tarquin would notice.”

“True. He’s quite unnatural that way and therefore should be ignored.”

For a moment Celia succumbed to temptation and a secret ambition to dazzle Mr. Tarquin Compton into stunned adoration so she could proceed to trample on his heart. Reality intruded. “I have no money.”

“That’s all right. I have all the clothes I’ve worn while I was increasing. My maid shall cut them down to fit you.”

“Won’t you need them for next time?”

“I never wear the same thing for more than one season. Chantal would give notice.”

The Iverleys, Celia decided, must be very rich despite their lack of pretensions. She’d never heard of anything so extravagant.

“If we need to buy anything,” Diana continued, “and I expect we shall—shoes, stays, that kind of thing—you can repay me when you are married.”

“I am very grateful, Diana, but I’m not comfortable with the arrangement. It’s bad enough that I may be forced to marry a man who dislikes me, without burdening him with my debts.”

“In that case, you must marry someone else. You have no idea what a genius Chantal is. I used to be quite ordinary-looking, you know. By the time she’s finished you’ll have no trouble attracting suitors. Tarquin will have to fight for you.”

T
he next morning she found Tarquin in the garden, staring at the seedy shrubbery in such a brown study he didn’t hear her approach. Her eyes were caught by something in the middle of his back. She plucked it off and he swung around.

She held up the short white hair. “I’m just trying to be helpful. This was clinging to your coat.”

He half smiled at her, for the first time in several days. “Thank you. With Mrs. Montrose’s dogs, it’s hard for a dandy worthy of the name to maintain his standards in this household.”

“Will your reputation be sunk beyond reproach?”

“I shall have to resign from my clubs.”

“You may rely on my discretion. I promise not to tell a soul that the perfection of Mr. Tarquin Compton’s person was marred by canine shedding.”

The elusive grin broadened and her heart banged against her ribs. She’d missed that smile. It would be easier for her if he remained resentful and morose.

“Thank you. I don’t know what Uncle Hugo would say if he knew.”

“Who is Uncle Hugo?”

“My great-uncle, Lord Hugo Hartley. He taught me how to dress.”

“I always wondered how you became a dandy.”

This glimpse into his past seemed to offer a hint of his private self. She wanted to know more, but she had no right to press. He didn’t further enlighten her.

“We need to talk about your safety,” he said. “We can’t assume Constantine has given up.”

“How would anyone know I am here?”

He thought about it. “They probably don’t, for now, but a really determined pursuer will track you down eventually. I don’t want you to go anywhere outside alone. And if I can ever get Sebastian to pay attention for more than five minutes, we may be able to come up with an idea of what else to do about it.”

“I’ve thought and thought and I still can’t imagine what anyone wants with me. But if they catch up with me, I think we ought to try and catch them. It may be the only way we’ll find out.”

Tarquin frowned. “I don’t want to put you in danger, but you may be right. Shall we walk?”

She nodded and took his arm. “Lady Iverley is delightful,” she said, after a while. “I didn’t know where to look when they asked me to be godmother.”

“It’s quite suitable that they should ask my bride to share my godparental duties.” He pokered up again and looked down his nose at her. There’d been moments when she’d been unsure if the information she had to impart was good news. Now she knew: good news for her and certainly for him.

“Mr. Compton.”

“Don’t you think the formal address is rather absurd? You call me Tarquin in public.”

“That’s because our public relationship is a lie. In private let us be honest with other. There is no need for us to marry and in future we shall be Miss Seaton and Mr. Compton to each other under all circumstances. I came out to inform you that I am not with child.”