Lords, Snow and Mistletoe Page 6

  The duke flushed, as if his mother might also be referring to something else, but he kept his chin steady.

  Not for the first time, Celia was struck by his manliness.

  Celia had imagined the dinner would be awkward. And though there were moments when she was conscious of her lower status, both the duke and the duchess were gracious, even musing over the rigidity of the class system. They were conscious of the limitations of her birth, though she was surprised they’d addressed her mother’s status directly.

  “Oh, I believe the storm has arrived,” the duchess said.

  Celia followed her gaze to the window.

  Heavy snowflakes, illuminated by the candles on the windowsill descended downward at a quick pace.

  “I doubt the other guests will be able to arrive,” the duke said.

  “Surely they turned around in time to go to Lord and Lady Somerville’s home,” the duchess said. “It will be a quiet Christmas after all.”

  Celia’s smile wobbled. It was one thing to spend an evening with a duke and duchess. But she could hardly spend more days with them.

  She’d already overstayed their hospitality. Evidently the duchess was still reminded of her less lofty lineage and indulged in eccentricity that would be forbidden in larger circles, but that didn’t mean they wanted to spend the next week with Celia. Tomorrow Lady Theodosia might announce they would return to London.

  It had been a lovely evening.

  But now it was time to leave.

  Celia swallowed the last of her eggnog and rose to her feet. “I should go. It has been a delightful evening.”

  The duke had the graciousness to look almost confused, but he lowered his torso into a bow, and she curtsied.

  “It was our pleasure,” the duke said. “Allow me to escort you to your room.”

  Oh.

  She glanced at the duchess. “But perhaps your mother...”

  “After thirty years here, I am quite adept at finding my room,” the duchess said. “Go with him. The corridors can be tricky.”

  “Very well,” Celia said.

  The duke rose and led Celia from the room.

  The air seemed to have vanished, replaced by tension.

  “You really do have a lovely home,” Celia said.

  The duke smiled. “I’m certain you have many nice things on your estate and townhome in London.”

  “Indeed. The family has collected many nice things. I’m fortunate. All the servants are.”

  He tilted his head. “I confess I haven’t given much thought to the servants.”

  Her smile wobbled, but she shrugged. “I suppose you are not unique in that.”

  “So what interests you? Besides the opinions of servants.”

  She smiled, grateful he had changed the subject. “I would like to manage a household.”

  She didn’t hesitate. It had been her dream for so long. She longed to be a housekeeper.

  “Oh.” For some reason he seemed disappointed. “There’s no other secret passion?” His eyes glimmered.

  “What do you mean?”

  “If you’re not a budding archaeologist—and really, the dust from yesterday’s explosion confirmed that I have no interest in doing anything lengthy with dirt either, then perhaps you have another secret passion? Ichthyology perhaps?”

  She blinked. “I’m not familiar with that.”

  He shrugged. “Oh, well, I suppose that’s not your secret passion. Another duchess is quite fond of the discipline. She was supposed to be one of the guests. She’s often studying fish in the Caribbean.”

  Celia’s smile wobbled.

  “And you might have a deep interest in writing or even art criticism. The Marchioness of Bancroft used to reside near here. We were all quite surprised to discover that she’d become a famous art critic under another name. So you see, I promise I won’t laugh when you tell me your interest.”

  Celia blinked, and despite herself a surge of anger prickled her skin. She didn’t possess any money. She didn’t even possess time. Maids were up early in the morning and worked well into the night. She might manage to read the latest Loretta Van Lochen, but she was not able to do anything else, much less to become an expert in some unknown field.

  She directed her gaze at him. “You seem incognizant of the fact that you just did.”

  “What do you mean?” The man had the audacity to laugh.

  “I want to manage a household,” she repeated. “It might not be the most glamorous thing to do, and it’s not the most unique thing. But it is still my greatest desire. It’s what I’ve wanted to do my whole life. I want to help select dinner choices and work with a large staff to make certain they are happy and are fulfilling their duties well. I want to create efficient systems and a pleasant environment. If the servants are bitter, that can affect everybody. I want to coordinate with outside deliveries, and work with the butler and other key household members to ensure the operation runs smoothly. A large house, one such as this, requires a great deal of work. You might not recognize it, but it’s true.”

  He was silent.

  “Forgive me... I’ve said too much.” Celia’s voice wobbled, and she blinked rapidly. The temptation to cry was too close.

  This was the very kindest person she’d ever met, and she’d just launched into a tirade. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “I’ve been blind.” The duke traced his fingers through her hair, tucking a strand behind her ear, and her heartbeat quickened. His fingers shouldn’t feel so warm, as if they were life itself. “And of course your interests are important. You are quite the woman.”

  “I’m just me,” she squeaked.

  “And the world is better for having you in it,” the duke said solemnly. “Regretfully this is your room.”

  Celia held onto the doorknob. “Thank you for the dinner. It was the loveliest meal I ever had. I will always remember your mother’s and your kindness.”

  “You are nothing what I imagined,” the duke said.

  “You are not either,” Celia confessed.

  He smiled, and she entered the room, shutting the door behind her.

  Likely Celia was not actually floating, but if her feet were three feet off the ground, she would not have been surprised.

  “Did you have a good time?” Theodosia’s soprano voice sailed toward Celia from the adjourning room.

  “You’re back.” Celia strode toward the voice.

  Theodosia and the vicomte were lying on the bed. Their hair looked rumpled, and their skin seemed flushed.

  Celia blinked.

  “You needn’t look so shocked,” Theodosia said. “We are betrothed.”

  “Er—yes.” Celia strove to not think about how upset Lady Fitzroy would be.

  The vicomte might be a French aristocrat, but his estate had been pummeled in the revolution. Theodosia had the opportunity to charm a duke in possession of an intact estate.

  “But it seems you may have had an even more exciting time.” Theodosia narrowed her eyes, and Celia remembered that though they might share the same father, they were in no manner equals.

  The vicomte whispered something to Theodosia. The gesture was so sweet, so tender and something seemed to catch in Celia’s throat.

  Theodosia smiled. “Did you have dinner with the duke?”

  “But only because he invited me. One doesn’t say no to a duke.” Heat seemed to flood her face, and she halted, conscious she was on the verge of rambling.

  “That’s correct,” Theodosia said thoughtfully. “But did he know he was asking the maid to dinner?”

  Celia frowned. That couldn’t be right. “He had me sewing for him. He had to have known. Besides. He already met you. When we arrived.”

  “Yes, but I’m not certain he knew which of us was which. How did he address you?”

  My lady.

  Heat flooded Celia’s face, but Theodosia lifted her hand in a magnanimous gesture. “You need not worry. This is good. You can continue to be me. I can spend
more time with Pierre.”

  Celia blinked. Dread filled her. “And where will you go?”

  The question seemed superfluous.

  She’d seen the proposal.

  She knew a marriage was against Lady Fitzroy’s wishes.

  If they intended to marry, it would have to be in secret—

  “Marry me now,” the vicomte said to Theodosia. “I have traveled night and day for you. But my only dream now is to carry you off with me to Gretna Greene.”

  “To elope!”

  Celia was unsure how Theodosia would feel about eloping. She’d remembered Theodosia and Amaryllis sketching the gowns they would marry in, confident they would receive glorious weddings and marriages.

  “Will you accept?” Pierre’s voice seemed to wobble in emotion.

  Celia stiffened.

  An elopement?

  This was not good.

  “Your mother won’t like it,” she told Theodosia.

  “Oh, darling. You know that’s an understatement. She’ll be utterly furious. Devastated.” Theodosia’s lips twitched. “With any luck beyond words.”

  It was outrageous.

  For some reason Theodosia was smiling and nodding, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

  “That’s it,” Theodosia said. “So simple.”

  “I-I can’t do that,” Celia said. “I’m your maid. I work for Lady Fitzroy.”

  Theodosia’s face sobered. “We both know you’re more than that.”

  Celia swallowed hard.

  She did know.

  They both knew.

  Anybody who ever saw them together could remark on their resemblance, though most of them were too polite and too wary of Theodosia’s mother’s response.

  She could pass as Theodosia...

  “It will only be a short while,” Theodosia said. “For Christmas.”

  Impersonating an aristocrat must be a crime.

  If it wasn’t she was certain the ton would be happy to make it one and crown her its first criminal for the act.

  “But my vocabulary...I don’t know all the things you do,” Celia muttered.

  Theodosia smiled again, but this time Celia was certain the expression was tinged with bitterness.

  “I think you overestimate the knowledge you need to have,” Theodosia said. “We had the same governess. You know as much as I do. Besides, this is Yorkshire. No one will be here. And if the duke proposes—all you need to do is say no.”

  She nodded.

  The duke had treated her so well. He was...kind.

  But Theodosia was her sister.

  And she was in love.

  How could Celia stand against that? Her mother had also loved an inappropriate man, and Pierre at least was unattached. He seemed to truly adore Theodosia.

  She knew what Lady Fitzroy’s actions would be, how quick she would be to reject the marriage.

  She wavered, uncertain.

  Theodosia tilted her head. “And naturally, once I am married I will send for you so that you can be my maid. Perhaps eventually housekeeper. I would want you by my side.”

  “But...could I not come with you now? Perhaps...my presence would make the travel more respectable?” She hated the hope in her voice.

  “Perhaps,” Theodosia said. “But then the duke will notify the magistrate that we are missing. We might be found. And what will happen then to our dream?”

  Celia’s heartbeat quickened.

  Theodosia was correct.

  She knew that.

  “Please,” Theodosia asked again.

  Celia nodded slowly. “Very well.”

  Celia regretted the words at once, but the joy on Theodosia’s face was evident.

  “You magnificent woman,” the vicomte said.

  “What about your things?” Celia asked.

  “They’re all yours now,” Theodosia said. “Enjoy them. Enjoy Christmas.”

  Theodosia grabbed Celia’s bag. “I will take your things.” Theodosia enveloped Celia in a tight embrace. “I am ever so thankful.”

  And then the vicomte opened the balcony door, and Theodosia and he crept out again.

  Celia was alone.

  And posing as an aristocrat.

  Chapter Eight

  “The cavalry is here,” a male voice announced.

  Frederick scrambled from his covers and stared at the intruder. “Miles?”

  Miles strode into the room and sat down tailor style on one of Frederick’s mother’s prized armchairs. “Indeed. Do tell me the snow hasn’t made me utterly unrecognizable.”

  “That would be impossible,” Frederick said faintly, and he dropped his gaze to the floor. Huge white globs of snow dotted the floor. “There is a lot of snow though.”

  “Yes. Sorry for the delay,” Miles said. “The trip involved more wheel changing than we’d expected.”

  “I should never have agreed to a house party at this time of year.”

  “Nonsense,” Miles said casually. “It’s wonderful to see you any time of year. Though I must warn you that Veronique’s sister Louisa is quite insistent on cutting down one of your trees and bringing it inside.”

  “We already have a yule log,” Frederick groaned.

  “A Christmas tree is what she called it,” Miles said. “Terribly Germanic. We already are doing our best to forget our Germanic ties, but apparently it’s popular in America—”

  “And she’s American,” Frederick finished.

  “You’re getting the gist,” Miles said.

  “I’ll send a servant to rummage for the axe.” Frederick frowned. “After breakfast.”

  “We’ll let you carry it,” Miles said. “Might make Lady Fitzroy somewhat less likely to push her half-naked daughter in your direction.”

  Blood seemed to draw from Frederick’s face. The image of a partially undressed Theodosia was—tantalizing. He directed his best glare in Miles’s direction, but the image of Theodosia seemed to dance in his mind.

  Miles narrowed his eyes. “Don’t tell me you are...fond of her.”

  Dash it. There was a reason the baron had been so effective as a war correspondent, despite his peculiar sense of humor.

  “Well—” Frederick’s throat sounded far too husky. He coughed. This time he had the curious sensation that his cheeks were red. Fire certainly seemed to have invaded them.

  “Good heavens.” Miles’s eyes rounded. “You poor thing. I hadn’t realized how isolated you were here. I’ve met Lady Theodosia, and she didn’t seem worthy of blushes.”

  Frederick frowned. “Then perhaps you did not spend much time with her.”

  Miles blinked, and Frederick continued. “Just because you run a publishing company that imparts knowledge does not mean that you know everything.”

  “Well—”

  “You seem to have missed that Lady Theodosia is sweet, charming and seems to be entirely unjustly mocked.”

  “Forgive me,” Miles said more soberly. “I wasn’t aware.”

  “You should have been,” Frederick said.

  “I thought you’d invited me to make it less likely that you would end up compromised. Her governess had seemed to be training her charges in the art of that.” Miles grimaced, musing on some private memory that was of no interest to Frederick.

  Not when Theodosia’s honor was at stake.

  “I trust you to treat her with more respect,” Frederick said.

  “Naturally,” Miles said. “Whatever you desire.”

  Frederick flushed. He’d shared rather more of his feelings with Miles than he intended.

  But dash it all—she was lovely.

  Even though he’d been quite prepared for her not to be. He sighed. “Perhaps Christmas is making me sentimental.”

  “Perhaps,” Miles said, though even Frederick could recognize the note of skepticism in is tone. “I should go downstairs. Investigate if this breakfast exists.”

  Frederick nodded and rang for his valet.

  “Dress me quic
kly,” Frederick said.

  He didn’t want Lady Theodosia to wander into the breakfast room by herself. If only he’d invited more young women to the house party so she might feel more comfortable. Instead he’d agreed to invite her only at Admiral Fitzroy’s strong suggestion.

  IT WAS A BAD DREAM.

  It had to be.

  Celia could not have been left in a manor home to pose as her mistress.

  But Theodosia was certainly not in the room.

  Fire crackled and blazed in the hearth. No wonder Celia had slept so long. A maid must have lit it in the morning.

  Celia scrambled from beneath the bedspread and stepped onto the thick carpet. Vibrant flowers and geometric shapes seemed to dance beneath her feet.

  Perhaps I can tell the others that Lady Theodosia eloped.

  She’d promised to keep Theodosia’s secret. Lady Fitzroy was hardly kind to her now. Would she be grateful if she learned of the elopement and that it had taken Celia twelve hours to report it?

  No.

  Celia’s best hope for her future was for Lady Theodosia to marry. Then Celia could work for her.

  She opened the wardrobe and stared at the row of pretty dresses that belonged to Theodosia. She’d touched them many times, but she’d never worn one. Even last night she’d worn her very best dress, rather than wear Theodosia’s dresses.

  Celia removed the very plainest dress from the wardrobe. The linen still seemed too soft beneath her fingers.

  A knock sounded on the door, and she jumped guiltily.

  “Come in,” she said.

  The door opened, and a woman in a black dress and white apron strode in.

  “I’m Margaret, my lady. I’ve come with some tea. Breakfast will be served downstairs.” She looked around. “Where is your maid?”

  Celia hesitated.

  There’s still time to confess.

  But it was no use. She’d promised Theodosia, and she could hardly hide the fact that she was the only person in the room. “She eloped. She went to Gretna Green.”

  The woman widened her eyes. “Should we send any one after her?”

  It was tempting to say yes, but she shook her head, loyal to Theodosia. “She loves her betrothed. I think he’ll take care of her. He has a good position.”

  “I see. Now don’t you worry, dearie,” the older woman said. “I know how traumatic that must be for you. But I’ve come to dress you.”