A crowd blocked the doorway, and Peter stepped aside. Celia was lost amongst the larger shapes, but Hargreaves stuck out. He must be propelling her; Celia would not have forced her way forward. The couple disappeared into the next parlor.
Hargreaves couldn’t do anything to Celia, not with people all around, and her aunt and her brother just in the—well, somewhere around here. This was a long-range problem, not a crisis. Peter would ask around among his fellow spies, he would make sure Cade took a look in, he would—
Celia cried out in pain.
*
Lord Edmund sweptthem off to the side and Celia half-laughed at herself, gasping apologies.
At the same moment, Lord Edmund burst out with condolences. “Are you all right, poor dear! It is not your fault, those people were pushing! Such boorishness!” He held up her hand and examined it with great concern, then brought it to his lips and kissed her finger tenderly. Several times.
All of these things happened in books. Why did it make Celia so uncomfortable to have a gentleman make romantic gestures in real life? She wished she were not so clumsy.
“Such a lovely, delicate hand!”
She wished she could remember the words in English—knew the right ones to make him stop.
“And your poor wrist!” He pulled her even closer.
If only Rose were here. Or anyone—
“Dahhhhling—doll!” Mr. Hughes staggered into her shoulder, knocking her away from Lord Edmund. She stared at her friend, wide-eyed. Where had he come from, and why was he being so foolish?
“Do you get it?” Mr. Hughes laughed. “Doll, dah-ling, doll!” He rocked back on his heels, then took several staggering steps between Celia and Lord Edmund. Celia took the opportunity to move farther away, confused. Mr. Hughes was often drunk by this time of night, but he was just a sleepy drunk.
Lord Edmund narrowed his eyes. “Get away, you sloppy—”
“Did you know Miss Westhaven is my most dahling doll?” Mr. Hughes interrupted. He placed his hand on Celia’s back as he spoke, and although his gesture was exaggerated, his hand was reassuring.
“She is most certainly not—”
“Mr. Hughes, fancy meeting you tonight!” Celia half-laughed, afraid she was going to cry, or perhaps start talking about the weather. His hand was calm and steady on her back, and she was tempted to lean into him.
“Shall I take you to dinner, Miss Doll-haven?” Mr. Hughes offered his arm with a flourish.
Celia reached for him.
“Sir! You are quite out of line!” Lord Edmund struck away Mr. Hughes’s elbow. He was laughing, but his blow made a solid sound. “Iam the one taking Miss Westhaven in to dinner!”
“Oh.” Mr. Hughes went flat and still, looking back and forth between them. “Are you now? I couldn’t tell.”
Lord Edmund hadn’t been taking her anywhere. He had been backing her into a corner and kissing her hands, while the other guests regarded them curiously.
Lord Edmund offered Celia his arm with a flourishing bow of his own. Since he was, after all, her official escort, Celia curtsied and laid her fingertips on top of his sleeve. Perhaps the formal style would give him a hint—and besides, she didn’t want to feel the weight of his arm.
Mr. Hughes and the matrons watched her as Lord Edmund led her to the dinner room. This would lead to plenty of tales; perhaps another CW in the gossip columns.
Celia lifted her chin; she had done nothing wrong.
Chapter Ten
Sister & Brother, Not One Before Another
Several days later,Celia was using a rare moment of calm to practice sketching trees in the wind, when the butler announced Lord Kilairne. Celia rose from her seat by the window, but Clarence had already addressed Henrietta and Aunt Thompson by the fire, eyebrows lowered.
“May I please have a moment to speak with my sister. In private.”
“Of course.” Aunt Thompson shut her occasional book, Henrietta gathered up the scarf she was mending, and they quietly left.
