“I thought we were being businesslike,” Rose said.
Henrietta sighed and curled into her chair. “I just want something more than a practical match for our Celia. Anyone would loveher, but she deserves to be excited, too.”
Celia pulled her knees into her chest, not sure what to say. Until tonight, the idea of marrying quickly had all been in the context of her cousins, but Celia was uncomfortably aware that marriage was going to involve a man. Not a bed of tulips or garlic, but someone with opinions and expectations of his own.
Someone who was going to touch her. See her naked. Own her.
Rose held up one finger. “Mr. Cade. Tall, middling brown hair, that rather longish nose and chin. Exceptionally polite. Distinctly attentive.”
“The perfect example of English manhood,” Celia added idly. It was a type that hardly made her heart go pitter-patter, but he was her best guess for a country manor with a piano for Marianne.
“Mr. Penrose,” Rose continued. “Quiet but very well read…” She continued through the other gentlemen, with Celia adding the occasional businesslike comment. Then Henrietta had some ideas for the upcoming ball, and they discussed logistics.
Rose yawned, and then Celia did, and then they all broke down in giggles and agreed it was time for bed.
“Oh, Celie!” Henrietta put one arm around Celia’s shoulders and squeezed. “I do hope you met your prince tonight. I hope one of them can give you your dreams.”
Celia hugged her back, both arms. “I don’t think one person can do that,” she said slowly. “You make your own dreams. You fight for them. And whoever you end up with, there will be difficult moments and you have to forgive each other and move on.”
“You don’t believe in love at first sight, then?” Henrietta pulled away, smiling.
“Love takes time.” Celia hoped that they both would hear the message underneath her words; love between sisters and mothers took forgiveness as well. “It takes trust.”
Chapter Nine
Enter the Villain, Most Nefarious
The Merriweather ballswere always a symphony of beauty, and Peter didn’t want to spend this one pretending to be drunk. He went with Leavenworth, and gave himself permission to be a happy-go-lucky gentleman for one evening.
Ha. As if he even knew how. Even when he was at Cambridge, he spent more time spooning baby purée than he did attending revels and flirting with pretty girls—old memories surged forward tonight—and he ought to be resentful. He wasn’t. Sitting at the pianoforte, sun streaming in the window, picking out a nursery rhyme with his right hand with his left arm around a wiggling, giggling toddler on his knee; corn-silk hair against his chin. Laughter. Who could resent such a thing?
Peter and Leavenworth admired the flowers, sampled tiny French pastries, found pleasant girls and asked them to dance. Although he wanted to go a few hours without having an inane conversation with Henry Pipperly, Peter couldn’t forget his duty to his Hughes alias. He went searching for the Pipperly females.
He was weaving through the crowds when a low voice saluted him. Properly, with his in-company alias, no hissing and grabbing elbows like his partner had done.
“Brennan!” Peter put out his hand to clasp, surprised and pleased. “We don’t usually have the honor of your presence at these to-do’s.”
Brennan chuckled. He was a tall man, his voice always lower than Peter expected. “Lord Francis wished to introduce me to Miss Westhaven. His lordship had a plot about keeping an eye on her, but Miss Henrietta has an entire conspiracy going. Quite puts his in the shade.”
“I was just going to ask Miss Pipperly to dance. What is Miss Henrietta doing?”
“If you’re about to dance with Henrietta’s best friend, you’ll find out.” Brennan elbowed Peter, and dropped his voice. “Between you and me, Francis is quite intrigued.”
“Once in a blue moon, he deserves to be out-maneuvered,” Peter muttered, and immediately worried he shouldn’t have said such a thing to Brennan, who only laughed and agreed. They clasped hands and continued in opposite directions.
Mrs. Pipperly was delighted to see Peter, and Louisa Pipperly was delighted to accept a dance. She was the classic type to be the lieutenant for a bold personality like Henrietta; clever, but reserved and slightly uncertain. She stood up straighter as Peter led her out onto the floor, a tiny smile flickering as she glanced around the room.
Well then. She was proud to stand up with him and wanted her friends to notice. Peter could do that. He led her to a prominent position, exaggerated his bows, and kept up a steady patter of jokes and questions. By the end of the dance, Miss Pipperly was rosy and her smile was genuine.
Peter made to return her to her mother, but felt a delicately inexorable pressure on his inner arm.
“Pardon, sir, just this way…”
Amused, Peter followed her, unsurprised to find himself led to Henrietta Thompson. Miss Pipperly, slightly breathless, ensured that they knew each other, maintaining her grip on his sleeve.
“Miss Henrietta, my dear,” Miss Pipperly asked, “have you a partner for this set?”
“I’m afraid not,” Henrietta answered.
