Page 86 of Wicked By Design

“It’s marvellous!” she cried, rushing up the stairs. “It feels like home already. Can’t you feel it too? I can imagine waking here, oh, in this very room! Damian, have you seen the view from here?”

Damian laughed as he found her standing before the large windows in the master bedroom. He joined her, sliding his arms around her and pulling her back against him. “I felt certain you would love it the moment I saw it, but this view put any doubt out of my mind. I saw you standing in this very spot, gazing out at the sea every morning, just as you are now, and I knew I must buy it for you.”

She turned in his arms, her expression urgent now. “Oh, Damian, yes, we must. Who is selling it? We must speak to them at once before they sell it to someone else, I should be so devastated if we lost it. Might we go to them now?”

He returned a somewhat sheepish smile.

“Actually, love, I hope you will forgive my presumptuousness just this once, but I was so very certain… I already bought it. Welcome home, Celia,” he said softly.

Celia’s breath caught, her eyes filling with tears. Silently she flung her arms about his neck and held on tight. “Thank you,” she said, her voice rather thick and muffled against his coat. “Thank you, thank you.”

They stayed like that for a long moment, too content with each other to move, but finally her curiosity got the better of her, and they investigated the rest of the house. Each room only delighted her more, and yet there was one which Damian wished he could guide her away from. That would be a cowardly thing to do, however, and he could hardly keep her from it forever.

His heart beat hard and fast as she opened the door to the nursery and he felt the depth of sorrow that swept over her. Words crowded his mind, suggestions that they make it a dressing room, or a room to store all the hats his fashionable wife would no doubt want, and yet he could not make light of it. They had promised each other honesty, and if she could face life with him without children, the least he could do was endure the sorrow she felt at the prospect, even as the guilt of it ate away at his soul.

“I’m sorry,” he said, horribly aware that the words were inconsequential, but they needed speaking aloud.

She touched a hand to the beautifully carved cot that looked like it might be as old as the façade of the house. It swayed gently, and she turned away from it, moving towards the windows.

“I know.”

“Celia…” he began, not knowing what he might say, how he might make it better, but she shook her head.

“Don’t. Please.” She turned and smiled at him, but the smile was brave rather than happy and tore at his heart. “Come, I am longing to see the garden, but we had better hurry, I think those might be rain clouds on the horizon.”

Her words proved to be prophetic, and by the time they had viewed the gardens, they just made it to the carriage before the heavens opened.

Damian sat on the padded bench with Celia beside him, yet he felt a gulf had opened between them, and he did not know how to fill it. The weight of remorse seemed a heavy burden indeed and the fear that she might forever hold it against him, might even come to hate him, was a shiver of fear down his spine. And yet, even as the bleak imaginings began, Celia’s warm hand crept into his, her fingers holding tightly.

Damian turned to look at her, his heart in his throat, but she smiled, and it was such a sweet smile, soft and rueful and a little sad.

“I know it pains you too, Damian, and I shall never, ever resent you for it or regret our marriage. Just in case you were wondering.”

He made a choked sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

“My God, Celia. My God, I-I think you’ve learned to read my bloody mind.”

She shifted closer and laid her head on his shoulder. “No, Damian, not your mind, only your heart.”

Chapter 19

The Last Bottle at Liberty

Hatherley Hall, Little Valentine, East Sussex, 27th September 1816

Cilly straightened and rubbed the small of her back, staring in satisfaction at the neatly packed trunk. “I think that’s everything, Nichols.”

“My lady, I told you to leave it to me,” Nichols tutted as she hurried back into the room.

“Nonsense. I cannot believe I packed so much for this visit, but it’s just as well. It’s less for the servants to bring from Ealdor.”

“True, but you mind your wretched father don’t forget to send the furniture and pictures your mama left you in her will. He tried that with Hetty, but she gave him short shrift, so I hear.”

Cilly gave a snort. “I think he’s too keen to be rid of me to risk it. I might return to the palace and shout at him, heaven forfend. No, I don’t think he’ll cause any trouble this time.”

“Knock, knock.”

Cilly looked around, smiling as her grandmother appeared at the door. “All packed, darling?”