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“You mock me now, sweet Celia, for no man could detest the lure of wealth and power. He’ll be earl one day. God, an earl with unlimited resources. The Moreland Shipping Concern is worth a king’s ransom as it is, even with the recent losses it’s suffered. It generates so much wealth, it’s hardly worth noticing when a little is lost here, a little there…I didn’t think it would matter, you see, and it hasn’t, really, for it’s such a vast enterprise. God, when I started I never thought I’d not be able to stop…but that’s not really any of your concern.”
“No,” she said, “I suppose it’s not.”
There was much more to this than she’d first thought, for Sir John seemed on the verge of some kind of confession. But of what? She wanted to ask, for it seemed as if it would be important, as if it would somehow affect her. But then he was shaking his head again, a small smile on his mouth.
“You are very lovely, Celia, very lovely indeed. And if my circumstances were different, perhaps it would be me with you instead of Northington. But now it seems that neither of us will be with you. A pity.”
No, she thought, he would never have been her choice, no matter what the circumstances. And really, Colter had not been her choice either, but rather her destiny; a fanciful thought but one that seemed so true. These weeks without him had been a time of reflection, of searching her soul for the truth, and she thought now that she knew how—and why—she loved him.
Yes, she admitted it freely to herself now, she did love him, despite the circumstances, despite who he was and who she was. When had it happened? It seemed to have crept up on her, this feeling of safety when she was with him, the respect that she felt for him when she had not wanted to like him at all.
Indeed, she’d wanted to use him, to dislike him so she wouldn’t feel any guilt over it, but somehow she’d fallen in love with him instead.
“What are you thinking, Celia?” Harvey asked softly, and there was an undercurrent there in his tone that set her teeth on edge. “Are you wondering, too, like me, that if we had met under a different sky things would be so much better for both of us? Ah, ‘It lies not in our power to love or hate, For will in us is overruled by fate,”’ he quoted. “A truer verse has rarely been written.”
“Marlowe,” she said. “I used to read him. But that was a long time ago, and poets’ truths are not always reliable.”
“No? I’d not thought you so cynical.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Sir John.” She moved to the table, leaned back against it, her arms braced on the surface to disguise the quiver in her hands. “There is a lot that not even Northington knows. Has it not pricked your curiosity to wonder why Easton is so anxious to have me leave England?”
“As he so succinctly mentioned, my duty is to obey, not ask inconvenient questions. It pays well enough that I don’t let my curiosity bother me overmuch.”
“That sounds safe enough.”
“It isn’t only my safety that worries me—and I’ll admit quite frankly that’s a great concern of mine—but my well-being. I like comfort. I like fine wine and whist, and I loathe the necessity of ducking my creditors. My father has threatened to cut me off without a shilling, but that hardly matters as he’s done enough damage already. I must earn what I spend.”
“How distressing for you.”
“Yes, stand there and judge me if you like, but I don’t see you taking a post as a governess. You’re content enough to let Leverton pay the blunt.”
It was true, and she had no defense other than it had seemed justified at the time.
But there was an intensity to Harvey’s stare that finally penetrated, and she knew at once what to say. Softly she said, “You’ve lost someone you loved.”
He recoiled as if she’d struck him, and flushed to the roots of his fair hair. “Yes. That is what happens when one lacks money.”
“It doesn’t have to ruin your life, Sir John—”
“What do you know about it? Christ above, how would you know how it feels to lose the one person in this world that you love? It wasn’t enough to lose her, but to stand and watch her marry another man, a man she didn’t love, all for lack of money.…” He laughed harshly. “It kille
d her, but I was the unlucky one. I lived. I lived, but every day I die a little bit more. No, Celia St. Clair, you know nothing of how it feels.”
“You’re wrong, Sir John. I do know something of how it feels.”
He stared at her blankly, then turned away.
Far too soon, Easton returned, and though he was urbane and perfunctory, she detected a thread of tension beneath his impassive demeanor.
“Take her directly to Dover docks, Harvey, and do not delay. High tide will not be until later this afternoon, but we want to have her settled into her cabin and quite secure before she sails.”
His meaning was unmistakable. She was to be literally a prisoner until the ship sailed from England.
Despair seeped through her determination, but Celia had not yet given up all hope.
I’ve come too far to just give up now! she thought fiercely, and put a pleasant smile on her face as she calmly allowed Sir John to help her into the waiting carriage.
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