Page 5 of The Duke Disaster (The League of Extraordinary Widows #1)

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“ T he Duke of Hartwood insinuated you are a harlot?” Minerva’s voice grew shrill, echoing around Celia’s drawing room. Her friend toyed absently with the large hatpin stuck at an angle into the coils of her hair. Probably considering fileting Hartwood with it.

Minerva’s interest in protecting her person during her marriage to Glenville had led her to the utilization of common items for protection, such as hatpins which often adorned her coiffure even if no hat was present. Her husband had been fond of attacking Minerva if he had too much scotch, which was nearly all the time. She’d once stabbed him in the cheek with a letter opener.

I’ll wager she poisoned him. Something which took time to act. So he’d die at the brothel.

Perhaps, if it were true, Minerva had a poison Celia could use on the duke. Something to sicken him, say, at a dinner party, but not kill him. He would cast up his accounts and?—

“Celia?”

She pushed aside her somewhat murderous thoughts. “His Grace suggested I stop dressing as a harlot. My necklines are fashionable. The modiste assures me. Nothing scandalous about my bosom whatsoever, though he finds it vastly offensive.”

Minerva sent her a skeptical look. “I don’t think it is offense, exactly. Possibly interest.”

“More disgust. He loathes me. I assure you the feeling is returned. He claimed me to be an attention seeking child who enjoys throwing a tantrum.” Hartwood’s words had struck her with the force of a slap, though she hadn’t given him the satisfaction of knowing how much the words had stung.

“I am flirtatious. I enjoy the social whirl. But I’m hardly bedding every available gentleman in London. If I were anyone else but Celia Barnes, I doubt anyone would care.”

“What an atrocious man.” Minerva nodded over her tea. “He may be a duke, but Hartwood cannot dictate your clothing choices. Nor to whom you speak. Or”—she waved a hand—“anything else.”

“I told him as much, and in return, he threatened me.”

“He what?” Minerva was so incensed, she set down her cup with a clatter. Coming to her feet, she paced across the rug rather furiously. There was nothing that riled Minerva more than a man’s dictatorial, demanding behavior. “That is reprehensible.”

“Not physically, Minerva,” Celia assured her. “But Heartlesswood informed me that Percival didn’t own this house. Nor were the funds I draw upon left to me by my husband. Or Claremont. But the Barnes coffers which he controls. I’d no idea.”

“He threatened you with poverty. What a horrible man. The only fortunate thing about this entire affair is that he is not the Duchess of Hartwood. She would have had you shipped off to some distant locale rather than have her family’s precious honor infringed upon. You must mount an appropriate response. Immediately.”

“Was the use of the word ‘mount’ intentional?”

“Good grief, Celia.” Minerva shook her head in exasperation. “Your very future is at stake, and you are making improper innuendo.”

“I thought it rather clever.”

Her friend came around the settee and settled once more. “Let us visit Venice. I can put off my own ambitions for a bit. We’ll invite Eleanor, though I doubt she’ll leave that menagerie she’s fostering in the country.” Minerva sighed. “She’s taken in a half-dozen chickens. And a donkey.”

Chickens? Good grief.

“I’ve considered just fleeing London,” Celia confessed. “But that feels too much like giving in to his demands. Also, I have a suspicion he would only have me watched abroad.” She looked at Minerva. “The Barnes family extends across the globe.” She rolled her eyes. “Lord, how I dislike them.”

“Truly an obnoxious group of people.” Minerva sighed and took Celia’s hand. “Perhaps you might tone things down a bit? There was a quite a bit of talk after the garden party.”

Celia wrenched her hand free and plucked a tiny sandwich from the tray Kemp had brought. “Society behaves as if I offered myself to every gentleman at that stupid garden party. Stumbling into the fountain was completely accidental. How was I to guess my gown would become transparent to such a degree?”

“You splashed about. Playfully. No corset.” Minerva plucked a biscuit off the tray. “I do adore pink icing.”

“The day was far too hot, and the gown didn’t require one.” She took a breath. “It wasn’t as if I knew I’d be getting wet. I felt like a great unwieldy toad when I tripped into the water. Everyone stared. Laughed. I was mortified. Besides, it did gain me the attention of Lord Jameson.”

“Temporarily. He betrothed himself a week later to a lovely young lady,” Minerva observed. “I’m not sure why you liked him. Jameson wears an overabundance of pomade. So what will you do? The wisest course of action would be to give in to Hartwood and the demands of the Barnes cousins.”

“As I’ve had to do since my marriage to Percival. No,” Celia said emphatically. “Blind obedience will only empower Hartwood to demand more of the same, which I refuse to do. There are plenty of widows far less discreet than I.”

“Yes, but they don’t bear the Barnes name. Honestly, I’m shocked Hartwood didn’t drag you to a convent in France.”

“I’m sure he’s considered it.” Celia plucked at her skirt. “I wasn’t trying to enrage Hartwood—or anyone else.”

“Enrage?” Minerva gave her a dubious look. “No. Perhaps annoy. Or…make a statement.” She chewed thoughtfully. “You’ve told me somewhat of your childhood, Celia. Do you not see the”—she paused as if considering her words—“ similarity of the situations?”

Of course she’d bloody well considered it. Celia bit into the biscuit.

The detriment to having close friends was that they knew you far too well and remembered far too much of what you’d imparted to them when you’d had too much champagne.

“I’m not attempting to make a declaration of any kind. I merely wanted to have some fun. Enjoy myself, after living under the thumb of Claremont and the rest of those prigs for so long.”

“Similar.” Minerva’s teeth snapped at another biscuit.

“I see your point. I—well, I went right from my brother’s household, which wasn’t the least pleasant, to Percival, who then passed me into Claremont’s care. I have spent most of my life tossed about as if I were a spoiled bit of fruit no one wanted.” Celia looked down at her lap. “I never even had a debut, Minerva.”

Or a lover .

“You must practice pretense, Celia. Illusion.” Minerva held up a hand. “Listen for a moment. If you can conduct yourself a bit more quietly, Hartwood and that odious family is bound to forget about you. Stay out of the gossip columns. Cease your round of balls, fêtes, and especially garden parties. Only for a time. Just until Hartwood is satisfied you won’t cause further gossip and he weds that terribly bland girl, Lady Helen Robb.”

“Sounds boring.” She’d spent her entire marriage alone because her husband had left her to the mercy of his judgmental family, all of whom viewed Celia as some sort of uncouth burden. “I am tired of being ordered about by every Barnes in London.”

Besides, how was Celia to find a lover if she wasn’t out in society?

One lover. That was all Celia wanted. Just one. The idea of bedding every male in England held no appeal. Nor was taking a lover just for the sake of doing so. Celia wanted to enjoy the entire process. Flirtation. Stolen kisses. Possibly a liberty or two. Feel some affection for the man she would take to her bed. Unlike her husband.

Percival had pretended to care for her. He’d only needed a stupid, gently bred country girl whose brother wished her gone.

Given your lack of appeal, I find myself unable to consummate our union, let alone wish to be in your company longer than necessary.

“I do not wish to be at the mercy of anyone’s authority other than my own.” Celia looked up at Minerva, pushing aside her memory of Percival’s horrid speech on their wedding night. “Nor be ordered about. Told how to dress or instruct my servants. If I wish to toss my slippers on the floor, I should be able to do so.” She shot a sideways glance at her friend. “Hartwood also objects to my fondness for disorder.”

“You do like a mess.” Minerva waved a hand. “I am sorry. It was not my intention to upset you or…remind you of the past. Just…stay beneath Hartwood’s notice. For your own sake.”

“I shall endeavor to do my best.”

It was highly doubtful that she would. Celia had been born with a streak of rebellion, according to her brother. One requiring a strong hand to correct. She disagreed wholeheartedly with his assessment.

James, much like Hartwood, was a prig.

“I’m afraid I must take my leave,” Minerva said. “Though I could stay and nibble on these biscuits all day. I’ve an appointment with my solicitor. He has three different estates which may suit my purposes,” she said with a great deal of excitement. “The first, I fear, will be too large, but one of the other two might work.”

“You really mean to do it, don’t you?”

Minerva believed strongly in a lady’s right to defend her person, whether it be from brigands or her own husband. Her dream, her purpose, was to use her position and Lord Glenville’s money to establish an academy for young ladies. One that could teach women how to protect their person should the need arise along with history and French.

“Will you still accompany me to the Bastrop event?” Celia sat back, pushing away the plate of biscuits.

“Of course. I’ll fetch you in my carriage. You’re certain you still wish to attend given the current situation?”

“I am,” Celia said. “Mr. Elliot will be in attendance. I like him quite a bit.”

Elliot was the second son of an earl and an excellent kisser. He was also charming and quite solicitous of her. “I’m hoping to steal a dance from him…and perhaps something more.”

Minerva stood and looked down at her. “It is as if we have not spent the last hour discussing how you should not inflame Hartwood. Given Bastrop’s connections in the government, there will be at least a handful of the Barnes cousins present. Elliot is a known rake. Perhaps it would be wiser if?—”

“You don’t have to attend,” Celia interrupted.

“I’m more than happy to accompany you, I only meant…well, perhaps you shouldn’t be so effusive in your regard for Elliot.” Minerva pulled on her gloves. “Besides, Captain Linder and his wife have been invited, and I’ve dozens of questions for him. I was planning to attend whether you will or not.”

Captain Linder had once been an apothecary before serving time in the military. Minerva had met the retired soldier while walking in the park one day and struck up a conversation. Linder had taught Minerva how to handle a pistol—secretly, of course. And a sword. Probably gave her a good working knowledge of herbs. Poisons, possibly.

Celia sipped her tea. “I’m sure you do.”

“I know you assume I disposed of my husband,” Minerva said quietly. “But I did not. Glenville was a bit corpulent and liked his drink far too much. Stop regarding me as if I’m some sort of criminal.”

“Sorry.”

“Linder will be a valuable resource in creating a curriculum for my academy. He’s even offered to instruct my students, if his schedule permits.”

“You don’t have any students yet. Or an academy. Also, I would not judge you, Minerva, if you did take matters into your own hands. The world is a better place without Glenville in it.”

Percival had ignored Celia, treated her as an unwelcome stray he was forced to feed, but he’d never raised a hand to her. Minerva had not been so fortunate.

“Indeed, it is. I must take my leave.” She pressed a kiss to Celia’s cheek. “Thank you for the biscuits. And don’t dress like a harlot for the Bastrop ball,” Minerva chuckled as she saw herself out.