Page 23 of The Duke Disaster (The League of Extraordinary Widows #1)

22

C elia sat in the drawing room, one of the novels she favored clasped in her hands. The story didn’t interest her much. A rather mediocre tale of a young lady attempting to gain the attention of a handsome lord by promising to teach him to dance. Halfway through, and the pair hadn’t even touched hands. Far too tame for her standards.

She tossed the book aside, eyes catching on the roses.

An enormous bouquet, so large that Kemp had had to search for an adequate vase to house them. Happiness filled her as she took in the soft apricot hue of the roses, hints of a deeper orange at the edge of each petal. A hint of autumn. Each bud was perfect, as would be expected for flowers received from the Duke of Hartwood.

Last night had been…wonderful. If she’d had any doubts about taking the duke as a lover, they had been banished. She regretted nothing, not even the soreness between her thighs. There had been a moment of panic this morning, when Celia had awoken to him holding a bloodied towel, but the scratches from her fall had proved a convenient excuse. He hadn’t guessed. Nor would she ever tell him.

Celia turned to the roses again, closed her eyes and just…wallowed in her joy. She’d merely been content before, her flirting and stolen kisses bringing her pleasure, but none of that could compare to what she’d experienced last night. But then the roses arrived bringing with them a different sort of happiness.

My autumn.

That was all that was written on the note accompanying the roses.

“My duke,” she whispered once more opening her eyes to the lovely, orange-colored buds.

But Oliver wasn’t hers, no matter how Celia wished he might be.

And she did wish it. Fervently.

There would be an end to their association, sooner rather than later. Celia knew this. Oliver’s future was planned. Decided. She would not ruin what time they had together by wishing for a different outcome.

A petal fell from one of the roses, floating gently to the floor.

A sign of things to come with her duke. Celia’s heart would be broken by the end, of that she had no doubt.

Last night had given Celia a great deal of clarity. She could not have given herself to any gentleman who merely kissed well, such as Elliot. Or one who only made her laugh, such as Chester. Affection, her own as it turned out, needed to be fixed. Her heart, firmly and without reservation, had chosen the Duke of Hartwood. Probably some time ago. Celia just hadn’t been paying attention.

“Drat.”

My autumn .

Celia studied the roses, thinking, oddly enough, of her mother. So full of life. Always living in the moment, right up until falling from that stupid horse. She would have advised Celia to enjoy every second in Oliver’s company, no matter how limited their time together.

Kemp appeared at the door. “Lady Glenville to see you, madam.”

“I don’t need to be announced.” Minerva bustled around Celia’s butler. Few men were a match for Minerva, let alone poor Kemp.

“Minerva. What a lovely surprise.”

“Have tea brought, please. I’m parched,” Minerva said to Kemp as she pulled off her gloves and came forward, halting at the sight of the roses with a raised brow. “Impressive. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen such an unusual hue before. Reminds me of…a pumpkin.” Her features pinched together, eyes darting between Celia and the flowers. “Or possibly your hair, Celia.”

“I believe that was the point.”

Priggish, romantic duke .

“You’ve a dreamy, wistful look on your face. Are you ill?”

“ No. The roses are a gift from an admirer who happens to like the color of my hair.” She came forward and took Minerva’s hand, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“An admirer? One? According to conjecture, you’ve literally dozens.” Minerva looked her over, far too shrewdly to suit Celia. “Which I think debatable. You look…different today.” Her head tilted.

“It’s the scratches.” Celia touched a spot on her neck. “I fell from my horse yesterday in the park.”

“You went riding?” Minerva’s eyes widened. “But you never ride. Because—you’re afraid of horses,” she finished.

Minerva knew about Mama. Understood why Celia did not ride.

“Hartwood insisted.” She didn’t want to bring up the matter of Pratmore. Minerva was likely to go after the duke with her pistols. “He wished a show of Barnes unity,” she lied. “At any rate, my horse was spooked, and I tumbled into a bush covered in thorns.” She held up a hand. “I did not inform Hartwood that I do not ride.”

“He’s a monster.”

“Possibly.”

Minerva peered at her. “You’re looking at the roses and blushing. Why?” She perched her slender form on the edge of a chair. She had such absolute perfect posture, Celia wondered that she wasn’t made of steel and not bone.

“There is much to blush over,” Celia returned with a sassy wink.

“I’ll assume you are speaking of bed sport.” Minerva’s lips curled in distaste. “I prefer a good pistol or perhaps a whip?—”

Celia choked. “A whip?”

“As a weapon , Celia,” Minerva puffed out. “I found a horse trainer who excels at the use of a whip. Not on the horses, of course.” She shook her head. “Though I’m sure that is where his interest started. The whip is an excellent weapon if wielded properly. Yet another skill to add to my repertoire.”

Good grief .

“You’re going to go about with a riding crop? Slapping at anyone who offends you? There are some gentlemen who might see that as challenge, Minerva.”

“I’m not interested in such things, as you well know.” Her friend made a face. “I plan to be well-versed in fisticuffs as well before I open my school. Which is why I am here. I’ve whittled things down to one property after consulting with my solicitor.”

“You have? For your academy?”

“I know you and Eleanor find me foolish. Perhaps I am. Glenville not only did me the decency of expiring, but he also left me a great deal of money. This is what I intend to do with it.”

Celia was uncertain how successful Minerva would be with such an enterprise, given the families of most young ladies were seeking husbands for them, not weapon proficiency.

“The estate is a bit more remote than I would like,” Minerva continued. “But according to my solicitor, it’s a perfect spot for what I wish to accomplish. No prying eyes, and all that. There is only one obstacle.”

“Only one?” Celia waved the maid forward to place the tea tray on the low table between she and Minerva.

“The owner. My solicitor isn’t completely sure where he is at present.” Her brow wrinkled. “A viscount. Or is it a baron?” She shrugged. “At any rate, the property is not entailed and has sat abandoned for some time. Danvers?—”

“Danvers?”

“My solicitor,” Minerva answered. “Danvers believes, given that the property sits in a state of disrepair, the owner will part with it for well below market value. If we can find him. But I’ll make that determination myself. That is why I am here, Celia.”

“I thought you were calling for the biscuits.” Celia pushed the plate loaded with frosted pastries towards her friend. “You love them.”

“I do.” Minerva picked one up and turned it back and forth before biting into the pink frosting. “Delicious. I’m here to inform you I’ll be leaving town to survey the property, and I might be gone for some time. I’m headed to the Scottish border.”

Celia choked. “Remote indeed.”

She stood. “Now, as much as I’d like to find out more about those”—she nodded to the roses—“and enjoy your company, I must be off. I don’t want to miss my train.”

“You’re leaving…now?”

“Now is as good a time as any. It isn’t as if I enjoy the frivolity of the Season. Wish me luck.”

“Of course I do.” Celia stood and embraced her friend, feeling all of Minerva’s sharp edges. “Take some biscuits with you, Minnie. You’re all skin and bones.”

“I’m naturally slender which belies my strength. But…” She reached out, took up a napkin, and folded several biscuits inside. “I’ll take these. When I return, we really need to make plans to visit Eleanor and her chickens.” She strode towards the door with large, confident steps, pausing just before the mahogany panel. “Kemp must speak to the maids. There’s a bit of dust. And on the tables as well.”

“I know.” Celia poured a cup of tea already missing Minerva. “I’m certain the duke will object. He’s rather particular about such things.”

Minerva’s lips twisted. “How annoying of you.”

Though she loved her dearly, Minnie wouldn’t understand Celia’s attraction to Oliver, nor approve their new arrangement to be lovers. Minerva’s relationships with the male sex had been marked by mistreatment. An unkind Father. Horrible brothers who had treated her like a piece of property. Glenville. She wouldn’t understand, would declare Celia a fool.

Perhaps I am.

“Terribly,” she replied with a smile.

“There is a rumor the duke is attempting to force you to remarry. Do not allow him to do so. I don’t always approve of your peccadilloes, but they belong to you .” She sailed out the door, still munching on a biscuit. “Men are good for very little, Celia,” she said. “And certainly not one is worth your freedom.”