Marianne was in the middle of a long story about breakfast and a lost boot when she had stayed at the Lamb & Flag, with Fanny and Cousin Giles’s housekeeper, and Peter had met them this morning. It was like the riddle of the fox and the goose and the grain, Celia deduced; whom to send where so that no woman would ever be by herself, nor Marianne ever unchaperoned.
“That’s why we had to travel so late,” Peter said. “I figure I am closely enough related to Marianne to ride in a carriage with her, but not to chaperone her overnight.”
Marianne laughed. “We said he’s next door to next door to being my brother. And I may call him Peter.”
Peter, Peter, Peter. Celia had not said his Christian name out loud this whole trip. She had not said anything important out loud.
“What carriage did you use?” Leavenworth asked, and Marianne told him all about the hack Peter had hired.
Giles did not have the money for any of this.
“Thank you.” Celia looked up at her husband, who was watching her. When she turned, his arm was half around her, her skirts catching on his legs. He was so real; not at all like speaking to him across a dining table. She could see the shadows on his skin, tiny splashes of mud, the glints of green and brown in his eyes. The shape of his lips, tense at the corners. She imagined herself rising on her toes and kissing the soft place under his jaw—wondering how his skin would feel, the way his hand would tighten on her waist. Her feelings frightened her, and she dropped her gaze.
She rubbed the top button on his waistcoat. He had the same style buttons on a different coat, in his wardrobe upstairs. “Thank you,” she said again. “Thankyou.”
“I told you that I would help.” His voice was stiff, but his arm remained around her. “I have more letters sent, on behalf of your older cousins. But they’re settled for now; Francis won’t leave Town until they do. And now that Giles knows what’s happening, he will offer to defend Henrietta’s honor if necessary.”
“A duel?” Celia stiffened.
“Don’t worry.” Peter smiled, a little of himself again. “Now that he’s said it, it won’t come to that.”
Celia guessed that Francis and Peter had explained exactly that to Giles, perhaps in a dark room with banknotes exchanging hands. Giles Thompson was a nice enough fellow, but like his uncle, he had a tendency to let unpleasant moments slip by without taking heed.
“You’re upset,” Peter said. Maybe he pulled her a little closer, or maybe Celia was imagining things.
“No,” she said. “I’m happy.” Her voice wavered.
The door clattered. Peter stepped back, and Celia shivered.
“Your bath is ready, ma’am,” the maid called.
“We’ll be right up,” Leavenworth answered, standing to support Marianne.
Peter bowed slightly, and offered Celia his arm. Polite and courtly.
Celia took it with both hands, which was not courtly at all. “Don’t leave again.” She didn’t mean to say it out loud. “Please. Please… Peter.”
“Celia. You’re safe, I promise. I’m keeping you safe.” He moved to follow Leavenworth and Marianne.
Celia didn’t like the night anymore, she’d stayed close to Leavenworth at the fair and drank tisanes to try to keep the dreams away. She didn’t like the way she felt lately.
Also, that wasn’t what she had asked him.
“Celie, come look!” Marianne called out, and Celia hurried after her. Up the stairs, they talked about simple, practical things. Things that Celia was good at.
Leavenworth went into the men’s room, the maid ushered Marianne into their bedroom with the bath, and there was just a moment with the two of them in the hallway. Celia ought to be a better wife. She wanted to be.
“Are you warm enough?” Of course he wasn’t. “You need a hot bath too. And you didn’t drink the tisane! You are tired, and should sleep late in the morning.” She was rattling on.
“Thank you.” Peter was solemn. “They are bringing the tub when Marianne is done, and I will go back and fetch the tea in the meanwhile. It smelled delicious.”
“I mean…” Celia did not know what she meant. She was not good with her words.
She took a deep breath and stepped closer. Laid her hand on Peter’s cheek, felt the structure of his bones and the stubble on his cheeks, and she brushed away those tiny flecks of mud. “I mean…do you want anything? Can I…help?”
Peter put two fingertips on her wrist, his smile flickering. “Thank you.” He turned his head slightly and kissed her palm. His lips were warm and soft and passed by too quickly. “No.” He smiled again, and stepped away, their hands dropping between them.
Celia curtsied goodnight, and followed Marianne. Her heart was full of love, and her heart was breaking.
