“As I was saying, Miss Westhaven slipped on the wet grass. Just let her cousins—”
Why had he said she was here at all? If he told the truth, she would have to marry Edmund, and what happened tonight would be just the tiniest snippet of their married life. A man could do whatever he wanted to his wife. No, oh God, no.
“Move aside!” The strange man was yelling now.
“She’s shaking,” Rose said.
“Oh myGod,” Charlotte said again, hands busy. “Use your hairpins.”
Rose twisted the braid she had made in Celia’s hair, and Celia sagged forward. They couldn’t see her, no one could see her. She would sink into the earth.
Celia’s body refused to dissolve, despite her caustic shame. Charlotte held her close. Rose pinned up her hair, like she had done a thousand times before.
Mr. Hughes was talking. None of it gave Celia any hint what she was supposed to do.
“Peter Hughes, as I live and breathe!” The high drawl cut through the clamor. Outside the yews, the argument dropped away. More footsteps.
“Lord Francis,” Charlotte whispered, relief evident.
“My friend!” This was Hughes, over-hearty. “Be the first to wish me happy!”
“Happy for what?” Celia whispered. No one was happy tonight.
“I think he’s planning to marry you,” Rose whispered.
“He said he could not. Remember?”
Charlotte squeezed her shoulders.
“Maybe I just fell.” The shame of her ripped clothing was hidden under the shawls. “He just stopped by to get help. That’s all.”
There was a cacophony outside, but “congratulations” was audible among the many voices.
“I think he’s marrying you,” Rose said.
“He’d better,” Charlotte added.
A fresh panic swept over Celia. She didn’t want a husband who didn’t want her.
It didn’t matter what she wanted, not anymore. She was ruined, and Henrietta and Marianne along with her.
Voices, bodies coming around the hedge. Charlotte, Celia, and Rose stood in unison, which hurt. Charlotte and Celia smiled.
“It’s the luckiest lady in London!” Francis pranced towards them, in full performance mode, the lawn behind him filling with people. He leaned close, found Celia’s hand and bowed with a flourish. “You’re engaged, my dear,” he whispered. “Your next line is, have you heard my happy news?”
“Have you heard my happy news?” Celia repeated. She hoped her laugh sounded cheerful instead of revealing her buildinghysteria. Under her dress, she lifted her bare foot, like a stork. It hurt.
“Congratulations,” said some of the women.
“Is she well?” demanded the man with the booming voice. “Is everything all right?”
Celia looked for Peter helplessly, hopelessly, but another man derailed him. He did not want her. More people drew round, a girl fluttered her fan and screeched in excitement, liveried footmen hovered at the edge of the crowd.
“She had a slight tumble,” Charlotte said. “It’s cold.”
“We want to get her home,” Rose added.
The crowd veered and leered, more people, more voices raised. Celia huddled into herself, head pounding.
