Lords, Snow and Mistletoe: A Regency Christmas Collection Page 10
Her eyes widened again. “No, no.”
“Then what would possess you too—”
“I shouldn’t even be here,” she said.
“Is there someone else?”
“Naturally not!” She looked so appalled, that he almost smiled.
He glanced around the corridor. They were dripping icy water.
Likely she was going to get a chill, and then pneumonia, and then—
He swallowed hard.
His mind was leaping to far too many wild things.
Still. She should get dry. The snow was dashed cold.
“I’ve kept you too long in these clothes,” he said. “You must have something else to wear.”
“Y-yes,” she said. “I’ll change.”
Chapter Twelve
Perhaps she could not escape.
The weather impeded that.
The duke was right...she shouldn’t risk her life. Perhaps she’d already lost her heart, but at least she could maintain Theodosia’s plan.
Tonight is the ball.
Her stomach tightened.
She reminded herself no one would recognize her.
This was Yorkshire, and Lady Theodosia did not expect to see any of her friends here. And if someone had met Lady Theodosia, they likely did not know her well enough to know Celia was an imposter. They did look similar, and Lady Theodosia had spent last season on the French Riviera.
Lord Worthing had seemed suspicious at first, but even he gave no evidence of suspecting a deception.
I hope I won’t be asked to dance.
She only knew country dances, and there were only so many the musicians might play.
Nervousness riddled through her.
Perhaps if she confessed to the duke she would not have to attend the ball.
She frowned.
Of course I wouldn’t have to.
The duke wouldn’t want to have anything to do with her. He’d likely send her straight to Lady Fitzroy. She was staying in the region after all. She would discover soon that Lady Theodosia had eloped, and if Lady Fitzroy found Lady Theodosia before they had wed... Celia swallowed hard.
She wouldn’t want to commit Lady Theodosia to an unhappy life.
Not when Celia had discovered the powerfulness of love. How could she possibly deny Theodosia that? If Celia could never experience it, she wanted her sister to be able to do so.
Music wafted to the bedroom. The musician’s must have arrived. She listened to the velvety notes of the violins and cellos as they practiced.
A knock sounded on the door, and Celia strode toward it. “Come in.”
The door opened, and the maid, Margaret, stood before her. “I’ve come to dress you, my lady. Get you lovely looking for the ball. Not that you aren’t already lovely.”
Margaret strode toward the large wardrobe and opened the door. “Do you know what you will wear?”
This is really happening.
Somehow she’d hoped Lady Theodosia would arrive early, even if she knew it was impossible.
“There is a white evening gown inside,” Celia said finally. “White is always pretty.”
It was Lady Theodosia’s plainest ballgown.
“Nonsense. I’ve seen you wear that to dinner. And I see an even lovelier gown in here.” Margaret pulled out the gold gown triumphantly. “These sleeves! This shimmering material!”
Celia stared at it.
She did adore the gown.
“I can’t wear it,” she said.
“Why ever not?”
“I-I might ruin it.”
The excuse sounded feeble even to Celia, and Margaret smiled. “Then I shall mend it for you, my lady. I’m quite the expert. His Grace has a habit of putting the oddest chemicals on his attire.”
Celia smiled. That did sound like Frederick.
“Stand up,” Margaret ordered.
Margaret dressed her. She’d found new undergarments that tied in the back and left Celia feeling stiff and rigid. She’d been wearing Lady Theodosia’s attire all week, but she’d never looked like this before.
She felt more constrained now, and the differentiation between her former self as a maid had never felt stronger. Her undergarments pressed against her ribs, and kneeling to light a fire seemed like it would be an impossible feat.
“Now let me do your hair,” Margaret said.
Celia nodded and sat down on the stool. From time to time she glanced at Margaret, conscious of the concentration on her face as she coiled Celia’s locks. Likely Margaret was finding it difficult to make her look pretty.
“Why don’t you look at yourself, my lady,” Margaret said.
Celia nodded and turned to the mirror.
She managed to not gasp.
She knew her reflection had to be her, but she’d never seen herself appear like this.
She looked...beautiful.
Her hair lay in perfect curls that spilled from her coiffure. Every strand was glossy and perfect. Her face seemed to glow, enhanced by Margaret’s administrations.
The gold dress fit perfectly. She moved her finger over the soft, shimmering fabric. “It’s beautiful.”
Margaret smiled. “You are beautiful, my lady.” She gave her a thoughtful look. “His Grace will be most delighted.”
EVERYTHING WAS PREPARED for tonight’s ball.
Lady Theodosia had shown no more signs of leaving early. Perhaps she’d simply been overwhelmed. It must be difficult that her companion had left suddenly.
Perhaps tonight they might dance together.
“When have you ever hummed before?” Frederick’s mother murmured.
He turned around. Perhaps he should feel embarrassed at the knowing look his mother gave him, but instead he smiled. “I wasn’t aware I was humming.”
“You were.”
“Are you implying my humming is less pleasant than my piano playing?” He grinned.
“It’s more pleasant.”
He blinked. “Had I known earlier, I would have insisted on not taking so many piano lessons.”
“You play the piano brilliantly,” his mother said. “You’re my child. But your humming...It means you are happy, and I will prefer that to any concerto.”
“Oh.” His smile faltered.
Had happiness been such an unusual state for him? Had his mother worried?
“I know it was difficult for you as a child. You were always so clever. So gifted. There weren’t many children in the area. You were so alone.”
“It was fine,” he said. “This region is beautiful.”
“It was my fault,” she said. “I should have worked harder to form connections with my peers.”
“They weren’t welcoming,” he said.
“Still...”
Frederick despised the regretful look in his mother’s eyes.
“I never thought of myself as sensitive,” his mother said. “Certainly I never thought of myself as shy.”
“One would hope not,” Frederick said. “Otherwise singing before a mob at Covent Garden must have been most unpleasant.”
“I was invited to events to begin with. People were curious. But the stares and whispers made me uneasy. I favored staying home with my husband and child. Looking back though...I should have forged connections. I should have attended events, if only so you would be able to make friends with other children. I-I was selfish. Forgive me.”
Frederick widened his eyes, and he knelt before his mother. “I never for one moment felt I was missing anything.”
“You were always a sweet boy,” his mother said. “But you don’t have to be so alone again. Not anymore.”
He swallowed hard.
She was talking of Lady Theodosia.
“Then you would not mind having another person in this house...permanently?”
“Oh, I would very much mind.”
His heart sank. He’d misread her after all.
His mother leaned closer to him, and for some reason, her eyes glimmered. “I woul
d very much hope to have many permanent additions to this family.”
He widened his eyes.
“I am speaking of grandchildren,” she said, smiling.
“Oh.”
“You could do far worse than Lady Theodosia. I suggest you keep her.”
He nodded. “I will have to travel to get her mother’s permission to marry her.”
“Somehow I doubt she will reject your suit,” his mother said. “I do subscribe to Matchmaking for Wallflowers.”
“Oh.” He blushed. He’d been upset when he’d learned about the article, but clearly his future mother-in-law had been right to desire a match between him and her daughter.
“Going to London will be unnecessary,” his mother said.
“Do you want me to drag her to Gretna Green? Perhaps we can even see that flighty companion of hers.”
“Nonsense. But I may have insisted Lady Fitzroy join the festivities. I wrote her myself.”
“When?”
“After the first night, once Lady Somerville mentioned she was staying with Lady Amberly.”
“You knew I would want to make an offer even then?”
“I have never seen a couple who cared more about each other.”
He shifted. “I wouldn’t call us a couple—”
“Perhaps you’re not officially. But I’ve seen the affection you hold for her. And I’ve seen the affection she holds for you. She loves you, my dear. And that’s all a mother can hope for her son.”
“Oh.”
“Now, why don’t you see what’s keeping her?”
He rose and kissed his mother’s cheek. “Thank you.”
Then he left the room to find Lady Theodosia.
His love.
His destiny.
Chapter Thirteen
Frederick knocked on the door of Celia’s bedroom.
She’d seemed nervous once she’d learned about the ball, and he wanted to make sure she was content.
She didn’t know he was planning to propose.
Naturally she would feel uneasy at their earlier intimacy. He’d been a fool to not reassure her more.
Temptation to propose filled him.
His grandmother’s ring was in his room.
If he fetched it—
He shook his head.
He was determined to do this properly. She’d lauded having a mother involved in one’s life herself. He would wait until he asked her mother’s permission.
The door opened.
His mother’s maid curtsied. “I was just leaving, Your Grace.” She hesitated. “She’s beautiful.”
And then she swept by him.
He paused. Had the maid just grinned at him?
Frederick poked his head into the room, and his heart tightened.
The maid had not been mistaken.
He’d known Lady Theodosia was beautiful before.
But this—
“You look...splendid.” His voice sounded hoarse, but Lady Theodosia did not remark on it.
“Do I?”
“I cannot wait to dance with you.”
Not that he was fond of dancing.
It had seemed a tiresome pursuit, even if he’d never struggled to find a rhythm as some of his peers did, the speed of their movements determined more by the amount of alcohol they’d imbibed than the tempo of the music.
He’d have to be sure the musicians would play the waltz. Clasping Lady Theodosia in his arms seemed the most delightful thing in the world.
Lady Theodosia’s smile faltered. “I am not a good dancer.”
“I rather doubt that.” He would have to be blind not to see the elegance in her everyday movements.
“Even so,” she said. “I prefer not to dance.”
If Lady Theodosia had no desire to dance, he would not press her.
He favored solitude too.
Particularly if it was the sort of solitude that involved Lady Theodosia.
“Then you shall be the very loveliest wallflower. I’ll bring you mountains of lemonade and ratafia. It will be terribly indecent.”
She smiled, and the whole world seemed wonderful.
“I HAVE A CONFESSION,” Celia blurted.
It was the only way.
She would tell him she was a maid, and he would despise her.
He’d wished she’d fled when she had a chance.
Would he move her to the servants’ quarters?
Would he feel shame before all his staff?
And his mother... His dear, sweet, vivacious mother—what would she think?
“Yes?” he asked.
“I-I—” She was unsure how to formulate the words.
She didn’t lie.
This was...new.
And selfishly, she did not want to discover his reaction.
Not when he was staring at her with such intensity.
Her throat seemed to swell, and perhaps he took her silence as a sign to speak.
“I have something to tell you,” he said.
“Indeed?”
He nodded gravely. “It’s of the utmost importance.”
Her heart trembled, and she stared at him.
Had he somehow discovered her deception?
He must have.
Tension prickled through her. She’d wanted to tell him herself.
“You should know...” His mood was somber, but he barreled on, “That you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
“Oh.”
“And the sweetest.”
“Indeed?”
“And the very, very best.”
Her heart beat an uncertain rhythm.
She hadn’t expected such praise.
She’d steeled herself for... worse.
“What on earth did you think I was going to say?”
“Well—” She tried to speak, but instead his tongue met hers.
She might not be floating through the heavens, but she couldn’t imagine a more blissful sensation.
She might as well be a violin in the hands of a prized maestro.
Except Frederick did not resemble the hoary haired men with the long locks who sometimes visited Lady Fitzroy in London, musical instruments neatly packed in black cases.
Frederick was magnificent.
And Frederick seemed intent to do much more than kiss her.
His lips had moved to her neck.
She’d never given much consideration to her neck, seeing it more as an inconvenient stretch between her torso and face that needed to be wrapped in scarves when the temperature dropped, but now her neck seemed the center of all things wonderful.
He sucked her skin, continuing to move his hands over her.
Heat coursed through her body.
His fingers traced her lightly, and she moved closer to his hand. Even a millimeter difference between them seemed ridiculous.
She wanted...more.
“Theodosia,” he said, his voice husky. “I desire you. All of you.”
She hesitated.
This was wrong.
She was a servant.
Her father might have been an earl, but she was not the first servant to be related to the family she served.
Her father hadn’t been the first man to make a servant with child, and though she’d always supposed the connection between her parents to be romantic, driven by love, perhaps she’d simply been wrong.
She’d always prided herself on her logic. One didn’t like numbers without some appreciation for logic but perhaps she’d been fanciful in respect to her parents.
Perhaps he’d seen her mother as unimportant, unworthy of the pigskin precautions some men were rumored to place over their members.
Perhaps the duke viewed her as disposable.
Except he doesn’t know who I am.
For a moment she took comfort in that fact.
He saw her as a lady.
And if the duke desired her, despite the consequences of ruining a lady, perhaps he truly did care for her.
She couldn’t continue to mislead him. “I’m not....”
He halted his kisses. “You’re not happy.”
“You mustn’t think that. This is the most wonderful I’ve felt in my life.”
The duke grinned, and heat prickled her cheeks.
Likely most ladies would never be that direct.
“Then in that case, just know the feeling is completely and utterly mutual.”
“Indeed?”
He pressed his lips against her skin, and she succumbed to the blissful sensations. “But we should discuss—”
“It’s not important,” he murmured. “Nothing is more important than this moment.”
He undressed her.
It should have felt wrong.
She dressed other people.
Nobody undressed her. The clasps for her undergarments were in the front, and the woolen dresses maids wore were shapeless and easy to slip on oneself.
Polly had seen her in her undergarments, since they shared a room, but Frederick was a man.
A duke.
And impossibly kind and lovely and wonderful.
It should have felt wrong when he fiddled with the clasps of her undergarment, but she didn’t have time to be embarrassed.
Not when Frederick’s mouth continued to kiss her, and not when his hands continued to glide over her, as if seeking to memorize every single curve.
Perhaps I could be his mistress.
The idea came unbidden in Celia’s mind.
But that’s what happened when people of varying classes cared for each other. She knew that well; she was a product of such an arrangement.
Perhaps some of the men simply liked the appearance of their maid or servant girl, finding some attractiveness in their form or facial features that appealed to them. Perhaps for some it was an element of isolation. People in large manor estates did not always meet many other people, particularly if they did not belong to parliament and have reason to go to London with any regularity.
Perhaps others enjoyed the element of power. She hoped her father did not belong to that category of men.
She’d been taught her whole life to be wary of the masters and grown sons of masters who seemed to find pleasure in taking the servants who depended on employment in their household and obtaining good references.
Still.
There must be others who were similar, who simply connected well, despite the differences of their birth. Was it so impossible someone of her class might hold some appeal to someone of his? Perhaps the contrast might be appealing, and they took joy in learning from one another.