Page 71 of The Defiant One
"Good-bye!"
"Godspeed!"
"God be with you . . . good-bye!"
They crossed the moat, passed hundreds of cheering, waving villagers, and once out onto the Ravenscombe road, let the horses have their heads.
Celsie, with Freckles leaning heavily against her and a lovelorn Esmerelda on the floor trying to attract his attention, settled herself into her seat and thrust her toes against the warm brick, wrapped in a blanket, at her feet. Her mind was still whirling over all the events of the last fortnight, let alone the last few hours. I am a married woman, she thought, in some disbelief. But she didn't feel any different than she had before.
On the opposite seat, Amy was leaning her head back and sighing with relief that they were finally on their way. Fearful of the effects of travel on their infant daughter, she and Charles had left little Mary behind in the care of a wet nurse. Celsie knew that both were eager to get back to her. Now, Amy opened her dark eyes and looked across at Celsie, her brow creased thoughtfully. "Do you know, I don't think I've ever seen Lucien looking quite so . . ."
"Lost?" Celsie supplied.
"Yes, lost. Preoccupied. I can't put my finger on it. He was that way all afternoon."
"Maybe he has regrets about playing Andrew and me like puppets."
"Oh, I doubt that," Amy said, with a faint smile. "Funny, but when I first met him, I didn't think him capable of the scheming manipulations that everyone blamed on him. And once I found that he schemed and manipulated Charles and me into getting married, well, I really couldn't be angry with him. He gave me a new life, a new identity, respectability in society — and his brother. But tonight . . . he just didn't look himself. I wonder if he's feeling a little bereft at having nobody left to manipulate."
"If he is, it's his own bloody fault." Celsie moved over to give Freckles more room. "So he manipulated you and Charles as well, then?"
"Oh, yes." Amy grinned. "And Gareth and Juliet, too."
"Well, I don't feel so singled out, then," Celsie allowed, returning Amy's smile. "Did you and Charles have a love match?"
"Yes, but our love was already strong when Lucien pushed us into marriage. Gareth and Juliet, however . . . well, they had their own share of problems. But Lucien knew what he was doing when he brought them together. Eventually, they came to love each other" — she reached out and touched Celsie's hand — "just as you and Andrew will."
A lump caught in Celsie's throat and she looked away, out the window. "You think so, do you?"
"Oh, Celsie," said Amy, laughing and leaning forward. "Did you see the way Andrew kept looking at you during the ceremony? And the way he was beaming when he first introduced you to his brothers? Trust me, you did the right thing. I know it in my heart. And let me tell you, there is nothing in this world to equal being loved by a de Montforte. Andrew will make you a fine husband. His love will be worth waiting for."
"But his moods are so unpredictable, and he gets surly and standoffish whenever I think he's starting to warm up to me. I just don't understand him."
Amy eyed her gravely. "You mean he hasn't told you?"
"Told me what?"
Amy pursed her lips, as though she'd said too much. "He has — well, let's just say there are some things in his life that he has a hard time adjusting to." She smiled, apologetically. "But with your help, I'm sure he will."
It was obvious that Amy was reluctant to carry the conversation in that direction. Though her curiosity was aroused, Celsie brought the topic back to the duke's manipulations out of respect for her sister-in-law. "So what about Nerissa?" she asked. "Why is it that Lucien has tampered with his brothers' fates, but has left his only sister alone?"
"Oh, she's already as good as affianced to Perry, Lord Brookhampton. He's the duke's neighbor, and as handsome and dashing as the day is long."
Celsie grinned. "As handsome and dashing as the de Montforte brothers?"
"Well now, I think our two are awfully hard to beat!"
They laughed, and Celsie moved further over to make more room for Freckles. The dog groaned, stretched, and tried to claim even more space as he laid his noble old head across her lap, his eyes closing. He didn't mind that his mistress was now crushed against the leather squab. And he was totally oblivious to Esmerelda. The setter eyed him longingly, then, casting a hopeless glance at Celsie, lay down on the floor of the coach, put her head dejectedly on her paws, and stared unblinkingly at the door, her thoughts, like Celsie's, her own.
I know how it feels, girl. It's hard to find yourself thinking you could fall in love with someone, only to have him withdraw into himself whenever you want to get close to him.
Dear God. Did she want to get close to Andrew? Did she want to have the sort of relationship with him that Amy and Juliet had with their de Montforte men?
Yes.
She leaned her cheek against the squab. Oh, yes . . .
Opposite, Amy reached for her sewing, though the light was starting to fade and her time on such a pursuit would be limited. The two fell into easy conversation, talking about the things they admired about their husbands, the similarities of their respective childhoods, the baby that Amy had and the babies that Celsie hoped Andrew would give her.
