Page 51 of Wicked By Design

“We’d best give her time to sober up if we don’t want too much unpleasantness on the journey home. We’re only a few miles from Tunbridge Wells, though, and it’s early yet. Would you like to take a walk through the Pantiles?”

“Oh!”

Her face lit, and Damian congratulated himself on having thought of something to please her. God knew she deserved a little light relief. They both did.

He still could not think about the events of the morning, or about the things she had said, though they lingered in the back of his mind, both too painful and too fragile for him to return to yet. For now, he wanted to forget the past, forget his mother and the horror of his revelations and Celia’s reactions to them. For now, he just wished to spend a little time with his friend.

She had proven herself to be that, at least. Even if she were deluded enough to still hope for more, he could not deny her courage, nor her kindness, and she deserved something, some show of gratitude for that.

A trip to Tunbridge Wells was hardly enough, but perhaps it was a start, a token of his willingness to accept her friendship, though he feared allowing her even that much.

His mother’s actions had devastated his life, but he had survived. He was not so certain he would survive Celia if he let her too close.

The Pantiles, Tunbridge Wells, Kent, 17th September 1816

It was a strange sensation, walking with Celia on his arm, perusing the wares in the pretty shops along the promenade, bordered by the smart white painted columns. Other couples nodded and smiled at them, parents with young children in tow, long married Darby and Joans, all accepting Damian as one of them.

There were no whispers, and no scandalised murmurs, which made a pleasant change. Of course, that was merely because the ton had long since retired to their country estates. The people visiting today were local gentry, a few military men, and gentlemen farmers with their wives and families, but no one who would know them or recognise them as being at the centre of a scandal. It was… rather wonderful.

“Do you wish to try the waters? They are supposed to be very good for you,” Damian said, slanting a glance at her.

“Oh, yes. Why not? I still haven’t visited the spring in Little Valentine. Gee-Gee swears by it, you know. Not that she makes the climb herself, but she has the servants fetch a fresh bottle every few days. She told me she drinks a small glass every morning before she gets out of bed. Perhaps that is why she’s so spry still?” she remarked, sounding pleased with the notion.

“It could be,” he said, hiding a smile as they walked towards an old lady who was stationed by the spring.

She bobbed a polite curtsey before lowering a long-handled metal dipper into the spring basin. Carefully pouring two small glasses, she handed them to Damian, who turned to Celia and handed her a glass, his expression entirely innocent.

“Down the hatch,” he said, chinking their glasses together. He braced himself for the vile taste, rich in iron but utterly disgusting, and managed to swallow it without gagging.

Celia, watching his reaction, took a large swallow and then froze. Her eyes bulged, her cheeks paled, and she looked wildly around her. With no other option, for ladies did not spit on the street, she swallowed it.

“Ugh!” she exclaimed, shuddering dramatically.

Damian burst out laughing. “Oh, your face was a picture,” he snorted, clutching at his stomach as her indignant expression only made him laugh harder.

“You rotten lout,” she said with a huff and, when he didn’t stop laughing, hit him for good measure.

It was only a tap, but for reasons he did not understand, that too was funny, and Celia was forced to escort him away as people were beginning to stare.

Damian wiped his eyes and let out a breath. Good lord, how long had it been since he had laughed like that? When had he ever laughed like that with a woman?

“Shall we have a cup of tea?” he suggested, trying to sound contrite.

“Yes, but I’m not talking to you,” she said crossly.

“Whyever not? I drank the horrid stuff too.” He spread his hands, attempting to look guileless, which was utterly pointless but still amusing.

Celia narrowed her eyes. “Yes, but you were prepared, and you knew very well that I was not. Now I am going to order the largest cake I can find, and you may watch me eat it, for I will not share. So there.”

“So be it,” Damian agreed sombrely, and guided her into a pretty tea shop. They sat in the window where they could watch the world go by and a few moments later, a neatly dressed waitress appeared.

“Sir, Madam, what may I get you?”

“Tea, please, and you may bring my wife the largest cake you have, for the poor thing is in need of sustenance after drinking the waters.”

Their waitress pulled a face.

“Oh, I don’t blame you, madam. Nasty, it is,” she said with a laugh. “I’ve got some lovely Chelsea buns, sticky and sweet they are, just out the oven. Does that suit?”