Clarence drew a slow breath and his face hardened. “Will you do as I say and marry him?”
“No, and—”
He hit her again. The blow landed dully on top of her hands over her cheek, knocking her off balance. The floor slammed into her hands and knees, her head yanked forward by the momentum. The brother she loved—he didn’t mean to—
The door burst open, crashing back on its hinges. Celia panicked that the butler would see, or their aunt, and she began casting about her hands, saying “My earring, my earring!”
“Henrietta!” Clarence spoke overheartily. “So good to see you!”
Henrietta’s answer was a moment late, and Celia sat back on her heels, blinking her eyes. She knew the many faces of Henrietta, and this was neither the flirtatious debutante norplayful Henny-Penny. This was Madam General, with a spine of steel.
“I think you had better go,” Henrietta said.
Clarence flushed, unexpectedly bright against his pale skin. “I will just help my sister find her earbob…”
“I think you had better go,” Henrietta repeated.
Clarence glanced back and forth, confused, but Celia had no doubt that the woman who burgled her father’s office in night-colored petticoats had no reservations about listening at keyholes.
“Why don’t you walk him downstairs?” Celia needed a moment to gather herself.
“My pleasure,” Clarence offered his arm, and Henrietta sailed them both into the corridor.
It took three tries for Celia to lock the door, hands shaking and numb.
She collapsed into a chair by the fire, curling inwards, sobs trying to burst through her throat. For once, she could not push them down, and she buried her stinging face in her skirt and cried and cried. Her brother! Her own darling brother, her playmate, her first friend, her sweet baby, her own brother.
She had lost all three of them. Clarence was not buried in God’s good earth, but in the gluttony and arrogance of the Englishhaut ton.
Was it because Clarence had been spending time with Lord Edmund, who told him that if he could not control his own sister he ought to use violence? Or was it just the way the men talked in their clubs, knocking back brandies while they ignored their estates? Their dad would have been deeply shamed to see his son behave this way to a woman.
Would Lord Edmund be the sort of man who hit his wife? Of course he would. Celia had not even considered it, but the verythought of that muscular body bearing down on her drove her into another paroxysm of sobbing. She was so very small.
Whom could she ask for help? What could any of the women do in the face of a male show of strength? Exhausted, Celia watched the leaves tap against the window in the breeze. She had to keep going. In a few short weeks, gentlemen would call in the debts from Mr. Thompson, and where would Marianne and Henrietta go then?
And Celia would have to live with Clarence. No, she must find something, but she was so tired…
Henrietta. Coming up with ridiculous excuses to keep Celia safe. Rose, knocking over her chair at the soiree. Lord Francis, arriving at just the right moment with just the right jest. Even Marianne, rumbling through Beethoven and insisting that Celia had so many suitors.
Celia studied the leaves, fluttering between green and silver, and thought about what they could do next. Together.
Chapter Twenty
Henrietta, Hatchard’s, & French Poetry
Twenty-four days. CousinGiles came to confer with Mr. Thompson, but no one mentioned Clarence.
Mr. Cade did not call.
Miss Pipperly, her mother, and two friends visited with their painting boxes, so not all of their friends had deserted them.
Celia was afraid that Henrietta still plotted to snare a husband the wrong way—any husband except Clarence. Henrietta made it clear that she would never marry a man who hit his sister. Killyreigh was slipping through Celia’s fingers, and Henrietta refused to claim it.
On the afternoon of day twenty-two, the butler summoned Celia from her piano practice.
Mr. Penrose was dripping onto the tile in the entryway. “Don’t we have an appointment to go walking on Thursdays? Never fear, I have brought my umbrella.”
“You are quite right.” Celia laughed with relief. “I adore walking in the rain.” Overcome by a rush of giddiness, she rushed down the last few stairs and kissed him on the cheek. Perhaps she shouldn’t be so daring, but he was just so sweet.
