“Is there anything I can do?”
“Well, if you insist…I could drop off a few letters for you to write. As a lady, surely you are not too busy.”
Celia was amused that anyone could think that a lady had a single moment to be bored during the London Season, but she knew what he really meant. Clarence could speak and read Irish, but his writing skills were like the nine-year-old boy he had been when he left. He wouldn’t admit his weakness to anyone else, so he saved up the letters and eventually passed them to his sister. It made him feel guilty, so he acted grumpy; Celia understood.
“I am always happy to write letters.” Not actually letter writing itself, but she enjoyed the familiar chance to write about business, and she savored any moment to be in the Irish. “Speaking of Killyreigh…”
Clarence lowered his brows, but did not interrupt, so Celia rushed on.
“I was thinking this summer we could host a little house party. Some of your friends”—who ordinarily had not a feather to fly with by July—“might find it romantic to spend a few weeks in a castle. They would be impressed with the riding and the fishing.”
Clarence twisted his mouth, tempted. “We do have fine fishing. But everything is closed up.”
“We will go ahead,” Celia said, spinning her finger to indicate the group of them. “Our cousins and I shall ensure the castle is pleasant for visitors. I promise, it is very nice in the summer.”
“Even for the tender-foot English?”
Celia nodded. “Fresh cream and salmon and venison. Remember the green of the hills? It is so beautiful.”
Clarence’s demeanor relaxed abruptly, and his grin was boyish and joyful. “Yes, if everything else goes well, why not? Let’s visit Killyreigh this summer.”
Celia’s eyes widened. His easy acquiescence was too much to hope for.
“I can think of half a dozen people to invite. Shall we make it political, a stór? A couple MP’s are waffling on the Catholic question, and I might win an invitation to the Mountain—Henry Grey Bennett’s salons, you know.”
Celia straightened, her eyes lighting up. “At Lord Francis’s party, I met the wife of—”
Clarence hadn’t stopped talking. “Meanwhile, figure out this marriage thing first.” Clarence adjusted his tie pin. “As long as you give Edmund a fair chance, you can go driving with Cade or whoever you like. I’m willing to talk with him.”
“Thank you,” Celia mumbled automatically.
“As long as he talks quickly,” Clarence added. “Edmund and I are already in discussions on the matter, and he’s not a particularly patient man.”
“But we barely have met…”
“Because he’s so besotted with you,” Clarence amended quickly. “Now then, that’s resolved, and I have business to attend to.”
Before Celia could gather her thoughts, Clarence had kissed her cheek and strode out the door.
Celia rubbed her hands over her face, pressing her temples, trying to breathe slowly. Compared to the risk of Lord Edmund running out of patience, the threat of theLittle Belt’s disappearance being discovered stretched like bridle trails unspooling through the Irish hills.
What were those “other matters?” Celia sat down at her sketchbook, fingering her pencil as though it would help herrushing heart. Not gambling—no, she was being foolish. She trusted her brother.
She must focus on the hopeful. Clarence had said he would open Killyreigh this summer!
Celia merely had to avoid becoming married to Lord Edmund in the meanwhile.
Or perhaps she should marry Lord Edmund. All the wealth her brother mentioned simply had to mean that her cousins would be no burden; he seemed to enjoy parties so he might find it great fun for Celia to sponsor Marianne’s come-out.
But at the thought of bringing Marianne around the man, actually living in his house, something shriveled in Celia’s stomach. She didn’t know why.
Killyreigh was better. Definitely, much better. She just needed to get through the next few weeks… and was increasingly afraid that no matter how hard she tried, she could not do it.
Just like after all the tinctures she made and fevers she cooled, she had lost Mama Beth and her baby twin brothers. But she wouldn’t allow herself to think this way—this wasn’t the faceless specter of fever, this was merely managing people. Celia had always been good with people.
But this time Celia was alone, and she was not sure she could manage everything alone.
*
