Magical Weddings (9 page)

He wheeled around, mouth in a grim line, and set a fast pace back toward the picnic party.

Celia hurried along beside him. What was wrong with her anyway, to turn down an offer that any girl–much less one in her precarious position–should leap at? The fear of boredom was hardly a reason to refuse a marriage proposal!

“So you
are
holding out for a higher title, as your cousin says,” the baron muttered. “You’ll find yourself disappointed, you know.”

Simon had said that? So much for him swearing he wouldn’t undercut her efforts! Anger flushed her skin and made her blood pound.

It was a good thing he was out on the lake where she couldn’t reach him–or she’d tip him into the water. Or at least give him a good tongue-lashing. At least this way she had time to consider whether yelling at him, or composedly ignoring him, would be the more effective course of action.

Either way, she was finished feeling compassion for Simon. If Hester had broken his heart, he deserved it!

Celia woke to raindrops plinking against her bedroom windows, and by the time she was dressed the light shower had turned to a steady drizzle. She came into the breakfast room as Simon was mopping up the last of his kidneys and bacon with a bit of bread.

He raised an eyebrow at her riding habit. “You really think we’ll be going outside today?”

“You never let rain stop you. Why should I?”

“Admirable, but I can’t imagine the Carew sisters going out in this just to see a cathedral, no matter how old or architecturally worthy it might be.”

Lightning seared her eyes, bright enough to light the room; a moment later a peal of thunder seemed to rock the house, and rain battered at the windows. “That should decide the matter.” Simon pushed his chair back.

Celia tried not to sigh in relief as she went to the sideboard to fill her plate. What if he’d taken up her challenge and the two of them were the only ones interested in a ride?

He didn’t leave the room, lingering instead over his tankard of ale. “Let’s play billiards. From what I’ve seen, you’re the only decent competition in the house.”

Celia was tempted, but she knew better than to give in. “It’s one thing to play at home, but no real lady would ever admit to a familiarity with the game. And by the way, no gentleman would sprawl out at the breakfast table as you’re doing. What if someone comes in?”

“Perhaps boorish behavior would give the ladies reason to avoid me.” He appeared to consider the notion. “Though probably not, with my luck. By the way, I noticed you and the baron didn’t finish your walk yesterday.”

“How could you see that? You were in a boat with your back to us.”

“Not all the time. What happened? Did he make an ungentlemanly remark?”

“He asked me—” Too late, Celia thought better of confiding that she had received and turned down an offer of marriage. The last thing she wanted to do was explain her decision to Simon. “It was too warm for a longer walk.”

“It wasn’t
that
warm–and I know, since I was rowing across the lake.”

“Perhaps it was cooler on the water.” Celia abandoned her breakfast. “I’m going up to change. Enjoy your billiards.”

“The invitation’s still open. Something tells me Lady Stone wouldn’t be shocked by your skill.”

“I suspect the things that would shock our hostess could be numbered on one hand.”

Simon laughed.

At least he didn’t seem to be mourning over Hester, Celia thought as she climbed the grand stairway once more.

Giggles from the Carew sisters’ bedroom made her want to hurry past, but a voice she hadn’t expected drew her to the doorway.

“Come in if you like, Celia,” Hester called. “We’re discussing what I’m going to do differently when it’s time for my wedding. Unlike Imogene, I won’t have to depend on my aunt to scratch around for guests.”

Celia’s spine felt as though Hester had run a flame down it. “Thank you, no. I believe I’ll find a quiet corner and a book.”

But her book failed to hold her attention, so she mostly sat in the window embrasure of a small sitting room overlooking the garden, watching the flowers beaten down by the rain. The storm was so noisy she almost didn’t hear the door open.

Viscount Billings advanced toward her. “Miss Overton, I am pleased to find you by yourself.”

Celia made a noncommittal noise and looked down at her book, hoping he’d take the hint and go away.

“And what an out-of-the-way spot you’ve chosen,” he went on. “With the storm blowing so strongly, no one will interrupt.”

The tone of his voice made Celia’s skin feel tight and over-warm. But it was only Lord Bilious. He probably wanted her to listen to his latest symptoms.

“I have come to offer you my hand in marriage, Miss Overton.”

As though he’s conveying an enormous honor on me.
Of course, he was the son of an earl, so perhaps he really believed he was the catch of the year.

Politely, Celia let a few seconds pass, as though she were thinking over her answer. “Thank you, my lord, but…”

Wouldn’t Simon just laugh at this?
Two offers, and two almost-instant refusals.
At this rate, Silly,
he’d say,
you’ll have run through the entire aristocracy by Boxing Day.

Lord Billings drew himself up straight, heels clicking together. “Before you refuse me, Miss Overton, I should tell you that my sister will be along shortly.”

He couldn’t even propose marriage without help? “Then I beg you to consider, sir. You have made your offer and received my answer. That’s the end of it, and there’s no need to embarrass yourself by making the matter public.”

He smiled. “You don’t understand at all, my dear. It’s not I who will be embarrassed. If you’re foolish enough not to be agreeable, Hester will tell everyone she found us in a compromising position. With the resulting scandal threatening to ruin you–well, of course I shall do the gentlemanly thing and marry you. You may as well accept my offer right now.”

Celia closed her book with a thump and tried to slide out of the window seat, but he moved to block her. He slid one arm around her and with his other hand pried her head up till she had to face him. “I suppose I shall have to,” he said, almost to himself, and plastered his lips against hers. His mouth was wet and meaty.

The door creaked open again, and Lord Billings raised his head. “Hester?”

“Hardly,” Simon said dryly. “I would ask for an explanation, Billings, but the situation seems clear.”

“It’s not what you think!” Desperately, Celia jammed the corner of her book into Lord Billings’ stomach.

He shrieked and fell back, gripping his midsection as though she’d sliced him with a cleaver.

“Lord Billings is just leaving, Simon,” she said coolly. “Though I fear he may need assistance to get to the door.”

Simon leveled a stare at Lord Billings, who eyed him warily. Bent over and leaning on furniture as he went, the viscount stumbled out of the room.

Simon closed the door behind him. “You show promise as a bruiser, my dear–though I’d hate to see what he’d do if someone gave him a real jab in the belly. Are you all right?”

She felt safe with him in the room. Still, even though she nodded, Celia had started to tremble, and her voice shook. “He–he offered for me, and then threatened me when I refused him.”

“That’s something I didn’t expect.” Simon sat down beside her. “And obviously you didn’t either, or you wouldn’t have come off alone like this. Do you want me to take you home right now?”

Yes
. But Celia Overton was made of sterner stuff than that. “We can’t leave before the wedding. It would be too rude to Lady Stone.”

Simon didn’t seem to be listening. “Celia, my pet, that’s quite a nice pair of silk garters you’re wearing, but do you think you might pull your skirt down? I gather Hester’s due to stop by any moment to catch you
in flagrante delicto
, and it might be as well if she didn’t see me eyeing your underthings.”

“Oh!” How had she not noticed that as she slid out of her cozy nook, trying to escape Lord Billings, her skirt had hiked up till her knees were exposed? How embarrassing that Simon had to tell her to get dressed properly!

Celia colored furiously and tugged her hem back into place. “Anyway, you know what will happen if I go home without being betrothed. Uncle Rupert will gloat over my failure and try yet again to match us up together.”

Silence dropped over the room, stretching out like brittle threads of spun sugar.

“Would that be so terrible, Celia? At least we know each other’s faults.”

Her mouth dropped open.
Yes, we do,
she almost said.
And one of your faults, Simon Montrose, is that you’re completely unromantic.
What a very depressing comedown it was, to receive an offer based on nothing more than practicality. “Honestly, Simon—”

Now her tally stood at three offers and
three
instant refusals. Could things get any more ridiculous?

“It would be a sensible match,” Simon said. “And… well, have you really wanted anything–I mean anyone–you’ve met here?”

Dispiritedly, Celia shook her head. He was quite right that none of the gentlemen at Rockhill had made her heart trip even a tiny bit faster. But to go home defeated…

Tears threatened, but she blinked them back. “You’re worried about your wager.”

Simon handed her his handkerchief. “Well–not anymore.”

She gave a spurt of a laugh. “Stop it! It’s not fair that you can always make me smile, even when I’m feeling dejected.”

The door swung open again and Lady Hester surged in. “I might have known,” she began. “You’ve been trying to trap my brother since…
Simon
?”

Simon rose and bowed. “Were you expecting someone else to be here, Hester?”

She didn’t answer but turned back toward the corridor to call, “He’s in here.”

Celia delicately wiped her eyes. His handkerchief smelled like Simon–a light, fresh mix of soap and sunshine and newly-cut grass.

A moment later one of the footmen appeared. “Mr. Montrose, a letter has come for you from Leicester.” He held out a silver tray on which lay a folded sheet with wide black markings along every edge.

From home.
Celia’s breath caught. A letter marked in that way meant very bad news. But what sort of disaster could have struck them? “What is it, Simon?” Her breath caught. “Uncle Rupert? Not–oh, please–not my mother?”

Simon cracked the wafer and unfolded the page. A moment later, still staring at the letter, he said, “No. Both Uncle and your mother are safe; he merely sent the messenger straight on here. My cousin has died.”

“Oh.” She folded the handkerchief and held it out to him, but he didn’t seem to notice. “I thought it was something important.”

“The cousin who was Lord Montrose. And it seems I am next in line.”

Celia groaned. “That’s doing it up much too brown. Just because I was foolish enough to hint to the Carew sisters that you might someday have a title is no reason to tease me about it now. How did you find out what I told them, anyway?”

“Hester asked,” he said absently. “I told her it was nonsense.”

“As indeed it is. Why you think I would ever consider marrying you, Simon, when your greatest delight has always been to bamboozle me…”

He folded the letter and looked straight at her. “Perhaps because you’d be Lady Montrose?”

Celia’s heart gave a strange little flutter. There was no glint of humor in Simon’s eyes, no tenacious dimple, none of the signs that ordinarily warned her that he was cutting a wheedle.

She took the letter out of his hand and read it for herself.

With the death of an unknown relative and a few strokes of a pen, Simon had officially gained a title, presumably some sort of landed estate, a seat in the House of Lords… and the sort of eligibility in the marriage market that plain Mr. Montrose could only have longed hopelessly to achieve.

Simon Montrose. Viscount Montrose. My lord Montrose…

Celia swallowed hard and made her curtsy. “My lord.” Her voice was raspy with strain.

She wondered how long it would take Lady Hester to break off her betrothal to Lord Lockwood, now that the man she so clearly preferred was eligible after all. Even if Simon still had–what was it the Carew sisters had called it?–a whiff of trade about him, when the daughter of an earl wed a viscount, society did not frown. The
ton
might even call it a brilliant match.

As indeed it is. He’s a wonderful catch. But then he always was.

She sank down on the window seat once more, because her knees threatened to give way. A wonderful catch? How long had she thought of Simon in that way? And why had she never realized it?

You could have had him, Celia. Now it’s too late.

If she had smiled at him just a few minutes ago and agreed to marry him after all, it would all be settled–because Simon would never go back on his word.

But she hadn’t. Now if she even hinted that she’d changed her mind, he would believe it was because of his new circumstances.
You’d be Lady Montrose.

He didn’t really want to marry her anyway. His offer had been no more than a half-hearted attempt to console her. The best he’d been able to offer, the most promising thing about their potential union, was
At least we know each other’s faults.
It was hardly the sort of thing a girl wanted to hear from her suitor.

Outside, the rain had stopped and the sky was growing light again. The storm had ended while she hadn’t been paying attention–just as she hadn’t paid attention as Simon crept into her heart.

When had he stopped being a tormenting annoyance and become the only man she could love?

At least now she understood why she had turned down Baron Draycott. It wasn’t because his offer was unwelcome, or because the man himself was a bore. She’d refused him because it had simply felt wrong to contemplate marriage with anyone who wasn’t Simon.

There
had
been someone at the house party that she wanted. She wanted Simon. But she could never have him.