Page 51 of Wedded to the Scottish Duke

“Yes, but they whisper about her. They say she keeps company with a painter in Soho, that both are in scandal. That the opera singer herself is not just a singer, but a… a…harlot,”Marianne said with great distaste.

“Ma!” Celia rounded on her. “Do not talk about my friend in that way. Just because she lives differently, doesn’t mean she is a…” she trailed off, for she could see Marianne’s face had turned almost as red as her hair.

“I just worry about you, dearest.” Marianne moved toward her, grasping her hand. “You are quite the age of a spinster now.”

“Mama—” Celia pleaded.

“I know you’ve said before you are not concerned about marriage, but it is imperative for your own comfort.”

“Must we talk about this now?” Celia withdrew her hand from her mother’s.

The days of Celia trying to earn her mother’s good opinion were long gone. Presently, she contented herself with just trying to mitigate any disasters. The best way to do this was to avoid talking about anything with any meaning attached to it.

“It’s just a show at the opera. The Duke and Duchess of Rowley are escorting me. You like them. What is there to worry about?”

Marianne nodded a little. She looked a little more satisfied, though she repeatedly wrung her hands.

“If you insist, very well,” she sighed and then stepped toward Celia. “Just, please, assure me of something, Celia. For this Season, you will be careful.”

“I’m always careful.” The lie didn’t even sound convincing to Celia’s ears. “Well, I shall take more care if you wish.”

“Thank you.” Marianne looked incredibly relieved. “Well, enjoy the opera, though I admit… the company you keep worries me greatly.”

Then she walked out of the room fast.

Celia stared at her retreating figure, rather numb. She couldn’t even move as she considered her mother’s words.

I wonder what she would make of the Duke of Hardbridge?

Marianne would have naturally liked the idea of a duke, but he was no ordinary duke. Celia had a strong suspicion that her mother would faint on the spot if she heard of a duke who used to be a Scottish laird and was more a warrior than he was a gentleman.

What was more, if Marianne ever heard that her eldest daughter had entertained his company in private, Celia couldn’t even imagine what her response would be.

She’d probably never forgive me for it.

Frustrated to find her mind had turned back to the Duke of Hardbridge again, for about the sixth time in two days since she had returned to London, Celia grabbed her pelisse and her reticule and then hastened toward the door.

“What does it matter?” she muttered to herself as she marched down the stairs. “London is a busy place, and he may not attend the same events as I. Maybe… I’ll never have to see him again.”

“Are you well?”

“What? Why wouldn’t I be?” Celia muttered distractedly as she sat back in the carriage.

Opposite her on the other bench were Diana and Aaron. The summer evening meant that the sky was still full of light that filtered through the window, illuminating their expressions, which were rather curious.

“What is it?”

Celia wiped her cheeks, rather concerned she had something on her face, for they were gazing at her so intently.

“It’s just you look a little… distracted,” Diana explained slowly. “Are you sleeping well?”

“Perfectly,” Celia lied. “I have never slept so peacefully in my life as I am doing at present. I must be tired after that house party.”

In reality, she had barely slept. She knew too from gazing in the mirror that morning that it was obvious, judging by the heavy grey shadows under her eyes.

However, she was hardly in the mood to tell anyone that she couldn’t sleep, for they would undoubtedly ask why.

She could hardly tell them it was because each time she closed her eyes, she imagined that the Duke of Hardbirdge was in the bed with her, pulling her nightgown over her head and exploring her with those strong fingers again. Often, she woke up in asweat, even if the night air was cold, imagining that he was truly in the corner of the room, watching her, waiting to deliver that delicious pleasure once more.

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