Magical Weddings (10 page)

****

After four consecutive evenings with the other ladies of the party, Simon had been looking forward to partnering Celia through their last dinner at Rockhill House. The girl might rear up like an excited colt when he teased her, but she was always entertaining.

But tonight she was quieter than he had ever seen her. It seemed as though someone had taken a painting in brilliant oils and covered it with muted, muddy chalk.

“Is Lord Bilious still bothering you?” he asked as he held her chair in the dining room. “I mean, are you fretting about what happened?–because if he were to dare approach you again, I’d knock him down.”

She looked startled. “You would? No, of course it’s not bothering me. I’m very grateful for your sense of timing, however. How did you happen to come in just then?”

“Something Hester said made me curious. I’m responsible for you, after all.” He watched a shadow flicker in her eyes, and a lump settled in his chest. “Celia, I am most damnably sorry. I was very awkward. Can we just forget what I said this afternoon and go back to the way things used to be?”

“Forget…? Oh,
that
.” She laughed. “I didn’t take you seriously.”

I noticed.
“Then I haven’t ruined everything?”

At the head of the table, Lord Stone cleared his throat and raised his glass. “To our newest peer–my lord Montrose.”

The Carew sisters were all smiles–except when their gazes rested on Celia, sitting quietly beside him. Simon had to restrain the urge to slip a protective arm around her, to shield her from their acerbic looks.

When the table was cleared and the ladies left the dining room, he had to make an effort to enjoy the port. Lord Stone wanted to know details about the estate he’d inherited. Baron Draycott looked put out to find that Simon was suddenly his superior in the aristocratic hierarchy. Lord Lockwood maintained a stony, suspicious silence. Lord Tavish, apparently able to think for himself only because he was in a separate room from his bride, pestered to be told the history of the Montrose family and refused to believe Simon had heard only the sketchiest of versions. Lord Billings sat sipping a tisane brewed specially to coddle his stomach and stared venomously at Simon.

For the first time all week, he was delighted when it was time to rejoin the ladies.

Prudence waylaid him the moment he entered the drawing room, fluttering her fan and dropping
my lord
into her conversation almost at random. Simon barely listened, more interested in finding Celia–and he only relaxed when he saw her sitting with Lady Stone.

Prudence followed his gaze. “You may not have seen it, my lord, but it’s clear to all of us that Miss Overton means to have you.”

Her reasoning was completely asinine, of course. If she knew how very firmly he’d been rejected…

“Now that your situation has changed,” she went on earnestly, “you need to be careful of her.”

Or was it possible Prudence saw something he’d missed?

He let his gaze return to her, and smiled. “I shall, Miss Carew. You may be certain of it.” 

The morning of Imogene’s wedding dawned clear and sunny, with the world washed clean of dust by the previous day’s rainstorm. Celia was dressed early, ready for the walk to the village church where the wedding would take place. Rather than listen to the Carew sisters complaining about their hats and sashes and who-knew-what-else, she set her maid to finish her packing and walked out into the garden by herself.

In places, the foliage was still damp from the previous day’s rain, but the graveled paths were dry enough if she kept to the center of them. It wasn’t the scent of heliotrope drifting on the air which tugged at her senses, however; it was Simon’s handkerchief, forgotten in the uproar over his letter. His scent on the linen was fainter now, but with any luck it might last a few days more.

She inhaled one last time and was tucking the folded square back into her sleeve as Simon called her name from the end of the garden. Her hand slipped and the handkerchief dropped to the gravel. She bent to snatch it up and tried in vain to hide it.

“Isn’t that mine?” Simon asked.

“I couldn’t find one of my own.” What a foolish, unbelievable excuse–but it had popped out before Celia could think of anything better. “I thought it wise to have one at hand, in case I get emotional during the ceremony. Is it time?”

“Not yet. I wanted to talk to you, but you avoided me by going to bed early last night.”

She didn’t look at him. He was correct–but she had thought it unlikely he’d notice, with both Prudence and Dimity fawning over him. “I had a bit of a headache.”

“So you said.”

“If it is travel arrangements you want to discuss,” she said quickly, “you need not trouble yourself over me. I have asked Lady Stone to send me home in her carriage, so you may take Uncle Rupert’s.”

Simon frowned. “Why?”

“Because when we came, you were on your way to Yorkshire–or had you forgotten? There’s no need to trail back across England to escort me home and then make another trip to conduct your business.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

She looked at him sharply. “Oh? I suppose now you’re a landed gentleman, you’ll be leaving Uncle Rupert to deal with everything on his own?”

“You’re a bit of a shrew this morning.”

Celia bit her lip. “I’m sorry. That was very harsh of me. You have new responsibilities to consider.”

“It’s my current responsibilities which weigh on my mind, Celia. I do regret what I said yesterday.”

The words were like a rasp scraping her skin. Of course he regretted offering for her–now that his situation had changed. “It was perfectly clear you felt sorry for me. But you needn’t. Perhaps I’ll still accept the baron.”

Simon frowned. “He offered for you? Why haven’t you answered him?”

Celia cursed her wayward tongue. Was she trying to prove to him that she wasn’t completely undesirable after all? Or that she could have won their wager, had she chosen?

“I answered,” she said slowly. “I said no.”

He stretched out a hand and kept her from turning away from him. “Why, Celia?”

“It doesn’t matter. I only told you because you shouldn’t have felt you must offer for me–particularly now that you could have Hester after all.”

“Why would I want her?”

His question–simple and straightforward–struck Celia like a blow. “You don’t want her?”

“Good God, no. As soon as she began to hint that my suit might be welcome after all, I ended it.”

“After the letter came yesterday, you mean?”

“No. Weeks ago.”

“But she came to your bedroom after the ball.” She colored a little. “I… happened to walk by.”

“You thought I’d invited her to spend the night with me? No. In fact, I wasn’t there. She must have waited a while before she left a note saying she needed to speak with me. I think she was hoping I’d be so shocked at the news of her betrothal that I’d declare myself.”

“
Hester
?”

“I’m convinced her father isn’t as well off as he wants the world to believe. An infusion of cash might be exactly the ticket to save the earldom. But since I don’t care to be married for money, either mine or Uncle Rupert’s…”

“Do you think that’s why Viscount Billings tried to compromise me?”

Simon nodded. “Not that you aren’t enchanting enough to tempt a man, but I don’t think Lord Bilious is that man.”

“Cut line, Simon–you don’t think I’m enchanting.”

“That’s a bad habit of yours, my dear. Telling me what I think.”

Celia frowned.

“Have I really ruined things by offering for you?”

She hesitated, then nodded. It was true, after all; his offer had changed everything, for she would never again be able to look on him as simply another member of the family. The fact that she’d fallen in love with him was immaterial.

“Then I have nothing to lose. Will you marry me, Celia?”

For a moment she thought she couldn’t have heard him correctly. “Right now you’re just feeling hunted, so settling down with someone you’ve known forever must seem the sensible course of action.”

“That’s mostly right,” he admitted, “even if you are once more telling me what I think. I’ve always expected that someday, when I was ready, I’d marry you.”

“Because Uncle Rupert wanted it? How very flattering.”

“It’s not romantic, I know–but it’s the honest truth, Celia. You’ve always been a familiar and comfortable part of my life, and I couldn’t imagine it being any other way. I thought it was likely that someday we’d have a familiar and comfortable marriage.”

Her head was spinning. “Then why did you wager that I could marry someone else?”

Simon shrugged. “Because you made it clear you didn’t feel the same way I did. You wanted a different kind of man, and I wanted you to be happy. But then we came here and I saw you in an entirely new light.”

“Instead of as part of the furniture?” Celia knew she sounded tart, but she didn’t care.

“I’m not saying this very well, am I?”

“You could use practice before you go out into the Marriage Mart, yes.”

“Very well.” He took a deep breath. “You weren’t just Celia anymore. I saw the way the gentlemen reacted to you, and I listened to them talk about your glorious hair and your wonderful laugh.”

“They did? What else did they say?”

He bit back a smile. “Celia, I’m trying to woo you here, but if you’d rather I tell you what every other man at this party thinks of you… That’s one of the things I love, you know–the fact that you so seldom do or say or think what I expect.”

Love
? She wasn’t certain she’d heard right.

“I was amused at first, and shamefully slow to realize what was happening–even though I found myself wanting to push all of them away and tell them you were mine. I never expected to find myself feeling romantic about a girl I’ve known since pigtail days, so I didn’t realize I was experiencing good old-fashioned jealousy.”

“Over me?” Her voice was little more than a breath.

“Over you, Celia. As it turns out, it’s always been you. Your hair
is
glorious and your laugh
is
wonderful, but that’s not what I love. It’s your sharp sense of humor and the fact that you’re a lady without being in the least stuffy about it. And then there’s your infectious giggle–the one that makes me smile even when I most want to wring your neck.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“Because it wouldn’t have been fair to you to interfere, not to let you make your own choice. I really did try to stand back and let you get to know them all.” He brushed a tendril of hair back from her face with a gentle hand. “But also I was afraid to tell you what I’d discovered in my own heart. Afraid you didn’t feel the same way, because telling you I’d fallen in love with you would mean we could never go back to that old, easy way we had.”

“That
old, easy way
where you felt entitled to tease the life out of me?”

“Guilty–but you did laugh when Uncle Rupert suggested we might marry.”

She couldn’t deny it. Only now did she recall the odd, fleeting expression which had crossed Simon’s face when she giggled at the very idea. “Is
that
how you look when you want to wring my neck? I’ll have to remember.”

“Very wise of you to make a note of it. When I finally did speak, I made you a dry, chilly, practical, sensible offer, instead of telling you that I’ve fallen madly in love.”

“Simon Montrose as a romantic figure? I’m too stunned to take it all in, I think.”

“Am I being foolish, Celia? You haven’t answered me.”

Celia was so euphoric she was having trouble drawing a full breath, but she kept her voice calm. “Perhaps Lady Stone is a fairy godmother, after all. There must have been something magical going on this week, for both of us to suddenly see the truth in ways we never could before. In ways we might never have recognized if not for this party.” She looked up at him. “I had no idea until we came here that it’s you I love, Simon. You’re the only man I could ever love.”

Simon took her hands and drew her close. She gasped as his arms closed around her, but willingly lifted her face for his kiss.

His mouth was soft against hers, gentle rather than demanding, and then as she responded he asked for more and she willingly gave it. She’d had no idea a kiss could be like this–hot and all-consuming, tasting of summertime and ale, promising delights and making her wonder how long it would be before they could be married.

Lady Stone’s gravelly voice broke through Celia’s warm sensual haze. “Are you two almost finished?”

Celia’s squeak was the only sound she was capable of making. How had she ended up leaning against a tree, feeling rumpled and confused and out of breath and entirely wonderful, with Simon’s breath warm against her throat and his lips even warmer against…
Oh, my.

She tried to push him away, but she might as well have attempted to move one of the century-old oaks along Rockhill’s carriage drive. She turned her head, saw the absorbed crowd lined up on the path–the Carew sisters looked particularly out of sorts–and buried her face in Simon’s shoulder.

“We’ve only started, ma’am,” Simon said calmly. “You go ahead to the wedding, and we’ll catch up in a few minutes.” He turned his back to the onlookers, shielding Celia from view. He kissed her hair, found her ear and traced it with the tip of his tongue, ran his fingers across her nape. “It’s safe to come out now. They’re gone.”

She peeked first, before she raised her head.

“You’re right about the magic,” he said. “The party, the wedding, being away from home, being thrown together. I know I laughed at the idea of Lady Stone as some sort of fairy godmother—”

“You called her a witch,” Celia reminded.

“Did I? I shall have to apologize.” He kissed her again, long and thoroughly. “We really should go, or we’ll miss the wedding.” He took her hand and laid it on his arm, covering her fingers possessively with his own.

“You know what the worst of it’s going to be?” Celia said thoughtfully.

“I suppose that for the rest of my life you’ll be trying to tell me what I think, whether it’s how I like my breakfast eggs or how to raise our children.”