She looked down at his hand. Men shook hands to seal a deal, lovers walked hand in hand. His was just open, towards her, an offer.
If she placed hers there, skin to skin, it would feel intimate. It would belie the words she had just said, her resolution to manage her own family’s problems.
If she took his hand, she would crumble like a wet sugar sculpture.
So she gestured, polite. “Please take a seat. Would you care for some tea?” She sank backwards, off her wobbly legs and back to the sofa. Her ankle throbbed.
Peter perched beside her, graceful as always. “Celia, I am sorry for speaking to you with that tone. I don’t know what came over me. I am not upset with you, I will never be upset with you. I am just so tired, and worried about…things in my own life.”
“Please don’t fret on my behalf.” Celia prepared the tea. He had left his first cup by the windowsill, so she turned over a new one. “I know you are too busy to marry. That is why I shall not hold you to it.” She scooped, stirred, did not meet his eyes.
“Everything has changed. Let me explain. Thank you”—he accepted the cup—“oh, mercy’s sake, Celia! I don’t need tea, I need to talk with you.”
Peter set down his cup with a clatter, and Celia put her hands over her face.
“I only have tea,” she mumbled through her fingers.
He did not answer.
If he weren’t restrained by those other rules, she wanted him to touch her. He could put his hand on her back, slide his arm around her shoulders. He could pull her close, into the warmth of his embrace. She knew where her head would fit against his shoulder.
He did not touch her.
Celia lifted her head, shook back her shoulders, and took a drink of her own tea. It was tepid and she had forgotten to add the sugar. She took another drink anyhow; it cleared her throat. She needed to find her words, because last night was over and it was foolish to worry about it. Lord Edmund hadn’t even hurt her, not in that way that all women fear.
“I am sorry too,” Celia said to the tea tray. “I have let my feelings get away from me. I don’t know why I have been so rude to you.”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” Peter answered, which made no sense.
Peter took a careful sip of tea, as though building a bridge between them. “Very well then. We are now ready to take turns, like good little children, yes?”
Celia nodded, reassured by his teasing tone.
“Then Celia… why do you wish to escape our engagement? What is wrong?”
“Oh—I didn’t mean—” Celia turned sharply, looked at Peter for the first time in minutes. Perhaps the first time all year, trying to see him for who he really was. There was a loneliness there. Celia remembered they were two human beings who cared about each other, and she had just said that she didn’t want him. If he were her cousin, her brother, she would have run her handacross his face, kissed the dark places below his eyes, wiped away his pain and exhaustion.
But he was a grown man, and beautiful, and watching her, and Celia did not know how to do that. She knotted her hands in her lap and stared at them. “I thought you had a job,” she said, stumbling over the words. “I thought you were leaving for Italy. I thought you… could not. And”—she pulled in a sharp breath just before he began to speak—“I have to marry for Marianne’s sake. My reputation doesn’t matter, not compared to keeping her safe.”
This time, Peter waited to make sure she was done. “My job has changed. Men in my position cannot afford to be caught in any sort of scandal, and last night I was released from my duties.”
“Oh—I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. It makes the next part easier.”
Peter smiled at her, but Celia recognized that underneath, he felt like he had failed. If she were his real fiancée, a woman he truly wanted to marry, she would know how to listen so he could speak to her. She would know how to hold him to give him comfort.
As it was, she kept her hands folded in her lap.
“Shall we talk about logistics?” Peter turned towards her on the sofa. His knee rested against hers, probably by accident. “I will not leave for Italy. I have a place in County Durham; it’s not fashionable and it’s far from Town, but it’s enough to keep a roof over our heads. There—that made you look up.” He flashed a grin, and this time, it was warm and real. “Whatever the flaws, I’m sure you will be able to make it more pleasant. And Celia—listen, I always knew that Marianne comes along with you.” He nodded towards the library. “It’s already in the settlements. Your uncle let me say it first, but he had a page already written up. She can live with us, I will be beholden to provide for her until herown marriage, I promise her a come-out with a presentation to the queen and a certain number of dresses for the Season and all that.”
“A certain number ofdresses?” Celia’s uncle had not written that, she was quite sure.
“You will have to manage most of…” Peter spun his hand, and for some reason, he would not quite meet her eyes. “Two dozen. Ahem, dresses.” He was blushing.
Very well, he was thinking of something besides Marianne and her dresses. Perhaps this was the complication he had not shared with her. Wait, was he old enough to have a daughter of his own? A natural daughter, or was he a widower? She didn’t care if he did. She liked girls.
Peter went on, explaining that they would need a special license and would leave within the week. “My prime objective is to remove both our names from the gossip circles as quickly as possible, so I don’t believe we should bring Marianne with us right now. We have been seen together since last year, so people are ready to believe this is a love match and we are both impatient. Removing abruptly to a country home fits that narrative; putting a great deal of our attention into your cousins does not. But we shall send for Marianne later this summer, once London has cleared out. I’ll try to figure out something for Henrietta and Rose, too. I’ll need more details, but once I’m married into your family, I ought to be able to manage.”
