Page 27 of The Duke Disaster (The League of Extraordinary Widows #1)

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C elia walked into her drawing room; chin held high as she went to greet her unexpected guest. She’d nearly instructed Kemp to say she was not at home, but that would only delay the inevitable. The man before her struck Celia as tenacious.

“Lord Atherby.”

Oliver had been absent from her life for the better part of six days. No note. No explanation. She might have assumed he’d left town on estate business, except that his name had been mentioned in the papers as having voted on a bill in Parliament. He had apparently decided to end their brief association but lacked the courage to inform her.

“Mrs. Barnes.” Atherby’s lip curled ever so slightly.

Celia smiled brilliantly, as if they were the closest of friends. “Tea, my lord?”

“No, thank you. This is not a social call, Mrs. Barnes.”

She continued to stand, hands clasped demurely in front her, refusing to cower before Atherby or show any discomfort at all at his appearance. Also, it pleased her to keep him standing, the snob.

“Then please, my lord. State your business.”

Atherby’s entire mouth rippled. He didn’t care for her lack of respect for his exalted personage. “You enjoy baiting your betters, do you not, Mrs. Barnes?”

“Is that a question or an assertion of fact, my lord?”

He looked her directly in the eye and deliberately took a seat, smirking at her the entire time. The implied message: Celia was not a lady.

“What do you think you’re doing, Mrs. Barnes?”

Celia raised a brow.

Standing before a pompous prig whom I should have instructed Kemp to never allow in my home.

“ At present, I am standing before you.”

Atherby’s nostrils flared. Good grief, he might charge at her.

“Glib. Far too bold in your behavior. No wonder Lord Kensworth couldn’t wait to be rid of you. Or that Percival Barnes ran so eagerly to India after your marriage. I understand he only returned to London twice before his death and never once sent for you.”

A direct shot across the bow. Good for Atherby. “Is there a point to this conversation, my lord?”

“I apologize.” Atherby’s smile was far too toothy. “We do not like each other, Mrs. Barnes, but I would like to put aside our animosity. I’ve come to speak to you about your relationship with the Duke of Hartwood. It must end, for everyone’s sake.”

Celia firmly fixed her heels into the rug to steady herself. “He is the head of the Barnes family, my lord. The duke wishes me to remarry, but I am not convinced.” Her pulse beat harder. “That is the extent of our association.”

“The Barnes cousins find that his dining with you on a far too frequent basis, as well as leaving your house at dawn, would dispute that claim. Along with the fact that no progress seems to have been made in finding you a suitable husband.”

“Their opinion of me is of no consequence.” She lifted her chin higher.

“Oh, be assured the cousins detest you, Mrs. Barnes. That goes without saying. The kindest name I’ve heard them call you is trollop . Needless to say, Sir Richard sought me out since this issue affects my daughter, Lady Helen, Hartwood’s future duchess.”

“I see. But as I’ve said, there is nothing remotely improper about our association?—”

“Mrs. Barnes,” Atherby interrupted her. “Do not insult my intelligence or that of the Barnes family. I am not so old that I do not recall what it is like to become obsessed with a woman. I’ve had my fair share of missteps.”

Celia was more than a misstep to Oliver, wasn’t she? At least, she had hoped to be.

“A great deal of gossip is making the rounds, Mrs. Barnes.”

“I do not listen to gossip.”

“Then allow me to be blunt. Hartwood’s peers, those at his club, lords in Parliament, are all mocking him. Quietly at present, but if the situation continues, they will do so openly. Because the Duke of Hartwood has taken up with you, a frivolous woman with a poor reputation who has entertained every gentleman in London.”

Celia’s lone lover was Hartwood, but that was hardly something she’d admit to. Dulcetta had tried to warn her.

“There is no use denying it,” Atherby stated.

She took a careful step back. “His Grace and I are barely acquainted.” One of the servants had gossiped, perhaps. Or he’d been seen leaving her home. The Barnes cousins might spend their evenings peeking through her windows, for all Celia knew.

“Mrs. Barnes.” Atherby leaned forward, voice deceptively soft. “You might dismiss the Barnes cousins, might not agree with their opinion, but combined, they wield a great deal of influence. Hartwood is neglecting his responsibilities to the duchy and his family. He has not moved forward with the betrothal to my daughter.” He sighed. “Because of you .”

You are your own worst enemy, Celia.

Wrapped up in her duke, blind to everything but him, Celia failed to see the harm she had done to the man she loved. Oliver’s reputation, his name, his bloody family, was everything to him.

“I am not trying to be cruel, Mrs. Barnes.” He hesitated. “Nor is the duke.”

Oliver and she had made an agreement. Their relationship, the impossibility of it, had all been clear before he’d bedded her. He’d never once given any indication that their association was anything other than a brief affair. There had never been a future with Oliver, except in Celia’s imagination.

Oliver was always going to marry Lady Helen.

Hearing the truth was difficult. Heartbreaking. But hardly a surprise. It wasn’t as if Oliver would deign to wed her, not the Barnes Bawd . Society and the Barnes cousins would never forgive him.

Yes, but I’d hoped ?—

Celia reached out to take hold of the back of a chair, legs unsteady.

Atherby regarded her with no small amount of pity. “Mrs. Barnes.”

“What would you have me do, my lord?” she said calmly, as if Atherby hadn’t just shredded every foolish hope kept inside her heart. The pain of never holding Oliver again, of not watching him tidy up her room because he couldn’t help it or laughing as he discovered yet another overly lavish pillow, struck her hard in the chest.

“I think it best to be seen with a potential suitor while in the duke’s presence.” Atherby nodded slowly. “It would stanch the worst of the gossip.” His gaze on her never wavered. “Two days from now, Hartwood is escorting my daughter to the opera in my box. Several of the more vocal Barnes cousins will be in attendance. There is a gentleman whose company I think you will enjoy, and I have invited him. You might use the opportunity to make your position clear.”

“And the duke?” Celia murmured.

Atherby shot her another look of sympathy. “He is—in agreement with my plan.”

The hole inside Celia widened, threatening to swallow her. “I see.”

Atherby had obviously come at Oliver’s request. If the gossip was as bad as the earl claimed, Oliver couldn’t risk being seen at her home again, not if he was about to offer for Lady Helen. Not with the cousins and half of London watching him.

“The opera can serve as an announcement, of sorts, that your…relationship has come to an end. A public declaration is often best to silence talk. No dramatics.”

Emotions locked firmly away. No heated words. No tears. No chance of Celia causing a scene.

She had hoped for a different ending. At the very least, she wished Oliver had delivered the news of his impending betrothal to Lady Helen in person. But she understood it wasn’t possible. Not with the cousins hovering about her home like vultures. The conclusion to their affair was far easier when conducted from a distance.

Atherby had his own reasons for wanting Celia to disappear from the Duke of Hartwood’s life, no matter how altruistic he portrayed his visit today. But his concern over Helen’s reputation was real. There was a great deal of humiliation in waiting for the Duke of Hartwood to offer for you while he dallied with a scandalous widow and society watched.

“Shall I assume you will attend the opera?” Atherby came to his feet.

Celia nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

“We do not like each other Mrs. Barnes, that much is true. But in this, we are united. Neither of us wishes to see the duke’s cousins descend on him like a pack of wild dogs. Nor have his honor called into question.” He bowed. “I applaud you for making the correct choice. Hartwood will be relieved. Good day, Mrs. Barnes.”

“Good day, my lord.”

Celia did not turn as Atherby departed, only moving once the front door had shut on his pompous, snobbish, richly dressed form.

Sinking to the floor, Celia clutched one of her ridiculous pillows to her chest. This one had earned a great deal of Oliver’s contempt. The tassels were entirely made of beads, dangling like fish lines from each corner.

She pressed the pillow to her mouth as a wail left her. A great sob shook her body as the first tear trickled down one cheek. Dozens followed as her heart broke and shattered until the damask of the pillow was soaked in tears.