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And frightening.
“Then I trust your shipboard companions were pleasant,” he continued, still with that same dark smile that summoned images of shadows and secrecy.
“I’m afraid I spent most of my time in my cabin. Mal de mer. I’m not a seasoned traveler.”
“A pity. I happen to know a gentleman who returned to London aboard the Liberty. I’m certain he would have been most pleased to have made your acquaintance. He has always appreciated lovely ladies.”
“While I’m flattered at your inference, my lord, I made few acquaintances aboard ship.”
Mowry only smiled, but there was a glint in his eyes as he appraised her that made Celia feel oddly threatened. Why she should, she had no idea, but it was disconcerting.
It wasn’t until their return home that Celia recalled the directory loaned her by the man she’d met aboard ship—Mister Carlisle. What he must think of her for not returning it as she’d promised! Oh, she would have to find where she’d put it, and see that it was delivered to him at the public house in Shoreditch. It was the least she could do in exchange for his kindness.
Jacqueline came to her bedchamber just as Lily was helping to unpin Celia’s hair. The ruby hairpins were placed carefully back into a velvet-lined box and loops of thick pale hair were released to dangle down her back in curling waves.
Celia saw Jacqueline’s reflection in the mirror, and braced herself for the inevitable questions. As long as the maid was still in the room, Jacqueline would not speak too freely, even in French. Lily understood far too much to be trusted. Few secrets were safe from servants under the best circumstances.
When Lily was gone, Celia rose from the stool, the silk hem of her dressing gown wafting about her ankles as she turned to face her cousin.
“Who is this Lord Mowry? I found him to be quite unpleasant, and rather…furtive, in an odd kind of way.”
“Mowry? Oh, he works with Lord Liverpool, I believe.” Jacqueline’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Jules is a devout Tory, but there are times lately that he says Liverpool is taking the country toward a revolution if he doesn’t alter his position even slightly. After that horrid massacre this summer—be so glad you weren’t here, dear, as it was a terrible thing to even read about in the papers! So many injured, women and children among them, and all because those Manchester constables were ordered to disperse the large crowd who had come to hear men speak in favor of government reform. Dangerous, I say, but why do you want to know about Mowry?”
“He…oh, I don’t know, except that he stared at me so very intently, and asked about my voyage, and knew what ship I was on. Why would he even know that? Or care to know it?”
“Oh my…I cannot imagine. He is Liverpool’s chief minister in charge of security, I believe, but still…it’s not something that threatens national security, I would think. Perhaps he’s just being cautious because of the assassination attempt on the prince regent’s life after the opening of Parliament two years ago. Perhaps it’s now the policy to investigate all those who may chance to meet with the prince as tonight—Whatever is the matter, Celia? You look white as a ghost!”
An investigation! Oh God…she was no threat to the national security, of course, but if Mowry discovered the truth behind what brought her here, he may well distort it into something else. The importance of what had happened to Maman would be negated, just as it had been in Georgetown.
Jacqueline frowned. “What is it you’re not telling me, my dear? Don’t be so unkind as to pretend it’s nothing for I can see that you are not telling me everything.”
Celia said flatly, “You’re right. I have not told you all. I thought it kinder to keep some things to myself.”
A flicker of uncertainty crossed Jacqueline’s face. “Is there a good reason Lord Mowry would know about you?”
“I have never met the man, and there is no reason I can imagine why he would know about me, unless it is, as you said, his business to know everything that may affect the prince.”
“Celia, petite, why did you alter your last name? Is it truly just to honor my dear Léonie’s request, or do you have another reason?”
“Yes, I do have another reason, but I would prefer not to confide in you at this time. I will tell you all one day, I swear it, but please do not ask it of me now.”
For a long moment Jacqueline said nothing. Concern was obvious in her still pretty features, the furrow of her brow a clear indicator of her distress. Finally she sighed.
“Tell me, does this have anything to do with your decision to encourage the attentions of Lord Northington?”
It was a perceptive speculation, and Celia answered honestly. “Yes, it does, but not, perhaps, as you may think.”
“Ah, I do not know what to think!” Jacqueline threw her hands up, laughing uncertainly. “But I will trust you to do what is right. You are Léonie’s daughter, and I know you would never betray your dear mother’s memory.”
It was both a conviction and a warning.
13
Colter stretched his legs out toward the fire to warm the soles of his stockinged feet, while a snifter of good French brandy warmed his belly. He contemplated the evening and the paradoxical lady who both intrigued and irritated him. He should have visited Daphne, the latest actress to catch his eye. Instead his early arrival home had startled his valet.
“My lord,” Beaton said as he retrieved discarded evening clothes from the bench, “I did not expect you this early.”
Colter regarded him through eyes narrowed against the bright glare of the fire. “And I did not expect to return this early,” he said shortly, and Beaton wisely lapsed into silence.
