“Of course I will hire you,” Celia said.
“Shall I move in today, the better to help you pack?”
“Yes, Frank,” Celia murmured, too lost in the possibilities to recall what she was agreeing to.
“I suppose that’s proper, but it doesn’t sound right, does it?”
Celia’s attention snapped back, and she smiled automatically.
“Just imagine”—the girl laughed—“‘the pink bow, Frank. Please do my buttons, Frank.’ It sounds like you’ve got a fellow in your bedroom, so I guess it had better just be Bridget.”
Celia laughed, surprised by her own amusement.
That night, Henrietta slipped into Celia’s room, joining her in front of the fire. Celia was stitching woven wheel rosettes onto the cloak she would wear for her wedding, mostly by feel in the half-dark.
“Something pretty for you, that won’t be ruined during travel.” Henrietta held up a lace cap, then returned to sewing on the last ribbons.
Celia adjusted the candelabra so the light shone on Henrietta’s stitching.
“You needn’t have bothered,” Celia said.
“That’s why I did,” Henrietta answered, which made no sense.
Celia tucked the back of her needle under a spoke, slowly pulled the ribbon at the perfect angle, not too tight. Her wedding cloak. For her wedding day. None of it felt real.
“I am sorry that my getting married changes everything.” Celia spoke to the flickering fire, the rain on the window. “For the Bonnet Brigade. You were able to transform so many ideas into possibility, and I am selfishly destroying the last scraps of our plan to live together.”
“Right now, you have an opportunity in front of you, and it is as real as real. Why waste time talking about castles in the air?” Henrietta paused. “I am a realist. Maybe I’m like my motherthat way, and that’s why I frustrate my sisters so much. I don’t know.”
“We don’t even really know who Mr. Hughes is!” Celia nudged the silver-gilt thread with her left thumb. “Who are his people? What is this bedraggled estate he pulled out of nowhere?”
“But he discussed finances with Papa,” Henrietta said. “Papa may be a little vague on social minutiae, but he does know account books. Neither he nor Clarence would sign a marriage settlement which wasn’t clear in its rights and benefits on your behalf.”
Clarence had been in the house, then, to review paperwork with her uncle and the solicitor. He hadn’t tried to see her, and Celia hadn’t told her family what he had done that night.
Celia yanked her mind away from Clarence’s betrayal as Henrietta continued. Tonight was to treasure Henrietta, not fret about her brother.
“I just warned you, I’m not a romantic—it doesn’t seem to me to matter a great deal what Hughes is like, beyond that you like him. What matters is that he is offering you and Marianne a life of safety. With his name, you will have freedom. Take it.”
“But what about you and Rose?”
Was saving one cousin enough?
“We can manage.” Henrietta smiled grimly. “I don’t doubt that Owen will come back for Rose. It’s a long way away, so it will probably take him a few months. Perhaps we can have a wedding at that Christmas gathering you are planning.”
“I agree about Owen Featherstone. But what about you?”
“Me? I will marry. If not this Season, then this year. I am pretty enough. I wear the right clothes and say the right things, and I know how to throw a party and run a household with economy.”
Funny, how Henrietta’s family had always thought she was romantic and a little vain. She had been petted and praised, sandwiched between two serious sisters. It turned out that Henrietta had been calculating her resources all along, neither a romantic nor particularly sweet.
“Listen to my new battle plan. Autumn is visiting season. I shall gad about, staying with friends and relations and being terribly useful. Each town, I shall meet new gentlemen and ply my smiles and good common sense. My dowry is enough to save one estate from one small disaster.” Henrietta laughed. “Maybe we will havetwoweddings at Christmas.”
“I think you could come and visit us in Durham…”
Henrietta smiled. “I have every faith in your ability to twist Hughes around your finger and negotiate for at least a month.” She imitated Celia’s voice and put a hand to her heart. “‘Oh, dear, I am so lonely! Half our china is broken and I cannot possibly decide which set to order! Please send our carriage for my dear cousin Henrietta, who is decisive in the ways of new china!’”
Celia laughed. “You are always the decisive one.”
