Page 4 of The Lady’s Great Escape

Chapter Two

Four years later

After her maid helped Celia into a sage green morning gown, Celia left her room at Penbrook House to go down for breakfast. She paused briefly at the bottom of the stairs before stepping over the bodies to make her way to the breakfast room.

The exercise had become quite common in the three years since she’d moved back home with her brother. Graham and Kit were often found sprawled out on the floor somewhere in the house, victims of their nightly activities.

She knew neither of them spent a dime at the gaming tables. Gray refused to fall victim to the same vice that had claimed their father, and Kit didn’t have the funds to lose.

Celia was grateful for whatever kept them from traveling down that road. However, they still managed to find other disreputable pursuits. Pursuits they rarely kept to themselves.

She frowned down at the men and wondered what absurd adventure had landed them here this time.

Graham’s mouth was hanging open and a puddle of drool had collected on the floor under him. Kit was on his back with his hand resting on his stomach. His blond hair as disheveled as his clothing.

Turning, she continued to the breakfast room where the staff had set out the morning meal.

“Pardon, my lady,” Guthrie said. “I was unable to move them.”

“It’s fine. It’s not the first time my brother has mistaken himself for a rug. It is his home after all, he may sleep wherever he chooses.” Celia brushed off the footman’s concerns that she be scandalized over seeing her brother and his best friend asleep in the hall after a night of debauchery.

In truth, she should be grateful it was only the two of them she needed to traverse anymore. Hale, the Duke of Roxburghe, and Julian, Earl of Melville, were now married and lived in Scotland with their wives and growing families.

She’d only buttered her toast when the first of the two men staggered in and took a seat. She was surprised to see Kit was awake and able to function so early in the day. She would have guessed they’d only returned to Penbrook House a few hours ago.

“How are you this morning, my lord?” Celia greeted Kit louder than was necessary. She felt it was only right she get some amusement from the situation.

“Shh…” Kit winced. “Not so loud, please.”

Celia took pity on him and gestured to one of the footmen to bring the viscount a cup of coffee. Even with his hair sticking up, Kit was impressive. Taller than her brother, he’d been rather lanky when they were younger. Now, however, he’d filled out. His shoulders had grown wider and balanced out his long frame quite well.

His green eyes were still filled with kindness and humor when they weren’t squinted shut in self-inflicted agony.

“Thank you,” he said to the room before drinking from his cup.

“I have to ask, never having been soused myself, is it so much fun while you’re drunk to make it worth this level of discomfort in the morning?”

“No. Not even close,” he answered while pulling a crumpled leaf from his tousled blond hair. She wondered if he would have the same answer later this evening as they prepared to go out again. She couldn’t fathom.

“Then why…?”

He put a hand up to stop her. “It’s much too early for logic, countess.”

She chuckled quietly as she focused on her toast. In the three years since she’d moved back to live with her brother—now the Marquess of Penbrook—she’d forgiven Kit for rejecting her proposal of marriage.

The forgiveness was, of course, non-verbal since neither of them ever spoke of her desperate letter, or the ramifications of his refusal to help. Her brother had informed her that fateful night that Kit had refused because he didn’t have the means to care for a wife. She’d wanted to argue and convince him she was well accustomed to living in poverty, and would not require much upkeep at all, but Gray shook his head. He’d told her Kit was beside himself with regret, and speaking more on the subject would just add more guilt to his shoulders.

Ceilia had given up with a simple nod, and had never spoken of it again.

She’d gone on to marry the Earl of Hamlin who, while being in his seventies and thus requiring a companion more so than a wife, had cleared her father’s debts and put the estates back to rights a mere month before her father’s slip into the Thames where he’d drowned—not that she’d actually believed it was an accident.

As plans went, her father’s arrangement had worked out well indeed for her and Graham.

After all, her husband, Arthur, had been a sweet man who had doted on her, so the year she had with him had not been as miserable as it would have been at home with her father.

Now, as a widowed countess with an extravagant settlement from her late husband, she was set for life. Despite not having much of a life to speak of.

But that was about to change, because Celia was going to take a lover.

She didn’t quite know how to go about it. Yet. She wasn’t sure how or where she would take said lover. All she knew was she was a young widow, and as such she was given liberties she had yet to take advantage of.

It was time.