Page 143 of The Bonnet Brigade

“Herself will surely see fit to kiss you now,” teased the coachman. Everyone was laughing.

“Wait!” Marianne leapt to her feet. “Don’t say a word without me!” She burst from the room.

“No joking now,” warned JC.

“No laughing,” said Marsh. Everyone laughed.

Peter preened in front of the mirror and the men cheered. Celia considered telling them about the Bonnet Brigade and realized they had all known all along, just like they had known about Clarence.

Marianne came thundering back, hands full. “Bridget!”

Bridget put her hands to her heart. “Oh, miss, you can’t mean it! Not to give away!”

Marianne perched the bonnet on Bridget’s head. “It’s perfect for you, look!”

Peter escorted Bridget to the mirror, and it was indeed perfect. It was the right size and shape for her face, and just rightfor a lady’s maid to wear to church, showing the world that her family valued her.

“I always admired this one,” Bridget admitted.

“I know,” Marianne said. “You look beautiful!”

That winter, Marianne had begged a loan from Henrietta to purchase that hat. Celia was proud of her.

“And Leavenworth!” Marianne produced a simple sunhat in an alarming shade of pink. Rumbling with laughter, Leavenworth ducked his head, and Marianne tied the bow under his chin.

“That’s it!” Celia clapped her hands. “Everyone, everyone! Hats on!”

Chuckling and joshing, pleased and embarrassed, the coachman and the valets and the outriders all donned their wool caps and their slouch hats. Celia gathered up the silk flowers and wove through the room, threading blue daisies and pink daffodils into hatbands. Always cocky, JC offered his cheek and Celia kissed it, and then the others jostled for their kiss, too.

“A toast,” Peter declared. “To loyalty.”

“To friendship!” Bridget exclaimed, red with excitement.

“Sláinte,” laughed Celia.

No one seemed to mind that they were toasting with tea, and no one broke the cups.

*

When they wentup to bed that night, Marianne threw back the curtains. Head back, arms akimbo, the girl listened as the wind whined in the casements and skirled off the downs. The moon glimmered, blurry, over the peaks of rooftops and chimneys, over the low endless hills.

Peter rose from stoking the fire. Ever since that one night they had spent together, he had checked Celia’s room every evening. Usually his love was hidden behind a firm mouth and practical gestures, but now he stood behind Celia and looped his arms around her. She leaned back against him, and they both watched Marianne open the casement and laugh into the wind.

“She’s safe,” Peter said quietly. “I can’t promise you the world, but I can give you that.”

Celia turned and kissed her husband’s jaw. She had lost Ireland, but she had held onto the people she loved.

He didn’t reciprocate. “I wanted to give you something more.” His fingers were tight. “A good home. A pleasant lifestyle.” His voice dropped low. “A better man.”

“We are facing west,” Marianne said from the window. “So our new home is out there?”

Peter cleared his throat. “It is,” he answered.

If a sidhe leapt from Celia’s hand and flew, over hill and sea and sky, west and west and beyond west, it would go straight from here to Kilairne.

Celia kissed her fingers and blew. Dea dhuit; go with God.

“I can’t wait,” said Marianne, still a child for a little longer. “Can we see Elinor soon?”

Peter’s breath hitched.

“We will,” Celia promised them both.

“Good.” Marianne turned back to the window.

“You have given me everything I wanted,” Celia answered Peter. Anything else was ephemera. “She is safe, and you are enough.”

In the morning, they would ride out into the Pennines, past the folds of hill and the stark uplands, off the edge of the world and into their new life. It would not be boring, and Celia was not alone.

“I can’t wait,” she whispered, and this time, Peter kissed her back.