Henry got to his feet. “What is it, Ned?”

“I’ve just had some, well, disturbing news.” Ned shook his head in a mournful manner.

Viscount Bromley stood up. “Would you prefer to be alone, Danby?”

“No, no, we’re all to be family soon enough. You should hear this as it affects all of us.” Ned heaved an overly dramatic sigh.

“What is this about, Edward?” A hard note edged Katherine’s words.

“It’s about...” Ned paused in the manner of a master storyteller. His gaze flicked to Henry’s. “Charles.”

“Charles?” Henry said without thinking.

Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore gasped. “Not your Charles, Gwen?”

“No, no, of course not.” Mrs. Blodgett looked at Ned. “It isn’t my Charles, is it?”

Ned stared. “You have a Charles?”

“Yes.” Mrs. Blodgett huffed. “My husband’s name is Charles.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Ned shook his head. “It’s not that Charles.”

“Then which Charles is it?” Louise asked.

“How many Charleses are there?” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore’s gaze skipped around the gathering as if she expected Charleses to come out from every corner.

“Apparently at least two. But the Charles I’m referring to is—” he slanted a quick look at Henry and sighed again “—our older brother.”

Shocked gasps swept through the gathering except for Mrs. Blodgett, who—while looking as somber as possible—could not quite hide the twinkle of amusement in her eyes. Ned was right—she would know what to do when the time came.

“Ah, yes.” Henry shook his head woefully, assuming that was the right thing to do. He might be the good brother but he was no less clever than his twin. Unless he was sadly mistaken, he had a fair idea of what Ned was doing. “Poor Charles.”

“What older brother?” Katherine jumped to her feet. “You don’t have an older brother.”

“Not anymore.” Ned sniffed back a tear.

Mrs. Blodgett choked then wiped her eye. Her dramatic bent was as pronounced as his brother’s.

“Charles was five—”

Mrs. Blodgett cleared her throat. Ned was terrible at mathematics.

“—fifteen years our senior and left home more than a decade ago. He and father had a dreadful falling out. Father disowned him—or threatened to anyway. And Charles left, went to America. A few years later we heard he was dead.”

“And was he?” Celia stared, fascinated.

Ned looked appropriately startled. “Well, yes.”

“So who was that woman?” Louise looked every bit as fascinated as Celia.

“It appears...” Again Ned paused. He was getting very good at this. “That woman was Charles’s wife.”

Miss Quince clapped a hand to her cheek. “Surely not.”

Ned shrugged. “I’m afraid so. She has all the appropriate documentation.”

Katherine’s face paled. “Then you’re not—”

“The earl?” Ned shook his head. “Apparently it’s the boy. That was—” he hesitated in the manner of an overly dramatic storyteller about to reveal a point of great importance “—Charles’s son.”

A sharp intake of breath sounded from nearly everyone at the table. Celia’s gaze met Henry’s, her eyes wide with shock.

“I don’t believe you,” Katherine said staunchly. “I’ve never heard of any brother.”

“Come now, Katherine. It’s understandable that they don’t talk about him. He left under difficult circumstances,” Mrs. Blodgett said coolly. “And he’s dead.”

“But...” Katherine’s gaze darted from Ned to Henry and back. “But I saw you talking to that woman at the ball. You certainly didn’t look like she was telling you anything of importance at all. In fact, it looked a great deal like you were engaged in a serious flirtation.”

“And I was.” He shook his head. “I found her most delightful. But I had no idea who she was. She didn’t reveal her true identity until she arrived here today. With Charles’s son.” He swallowed hard. “The Earl of Danby.”

For a long moment no one said a word.

“This is absurd and I have had quite enough.” Katherine glared at Ned. “Edward, you are an idiot.”

Ned stared. “I beg your pardon?”

“Katherine,” Henry snapped. She was still his fiancée, after all. “I will not have you speaking to my brother in that manner.”

She ignored him, directing her comments to Ned. “First, you lose all your money and now you’ve lost your title.”

“Apparently he never really had it,” Mrs. Higginbotham said in an aside to Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore.

“I want no part of any of this.” Katherine turned to Henry. “Very well, Henry, you are pleasant enough, I suppose, but you’re right. We do not suit. I was certainly willing to overlook that in light of your other excellent qualities but as those excellent qualities no longer exist—I agree. This marriage is a mistake. Furthermore, I have no desire to ever set eyes on you again. I assume you are agreeable to that and there shall be no overt fuss about this?”

“We shall put out that this was a mutual decision,” Henry said. “There shall be no blame placed on either side.”

“That’s something, at any rate.” She glanced at the viscount. “Father?”

“Yes, of course.” The viscount hurried to his daughter’s side and offered her his arm. He glanced at Ned. “We’ll be leaving Danby as soon as possible.”

Ned shrugged apologetically. “I think that’s wise.”

His lordship nodded. He and his oldest daughter started toward the house, Miss Quince, Louise and Celia trailing behind. Celia tossed a quick look over her shoulder at her aunt but Henry couldn’t see her face. He had no idea what she was thinking.

They were almost to the door before anyone said a word.

“I should go after her, shouldn’t I?” Henry said.

“What a lovely romantic impulse, Henry, but no.” Mrs. Blodgett shook her head. “You should not. Give her some time to grasp all that’s happened.” She paused. “You do realize she doesn’t know the truth about your finances or your—” she cleared her throat “—brother.”

“Nor does she need to.”

She shot him a hard look. “Don’t make this a test, Henry. That sort of thing is prone to misinterpretation and never turns out well.”

Heat rushed up his face. “No, of course not.”

Mrs. Blodgett favored him with a sympathetic smile. “Well, no one expects you to be thinking clearly at the moment.”

“I beg your pardon, my lord.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore waved at Ned. “But Effie and I are a bit confused.”

“There is no older brother Charles, is there?” Mrs. Higginbotham asked.

Ned grinned. “Not that I know of.”

“I must congratulate you, Edward.” Mrs. Blodgett smiled. “That was a brilliant performance.”

“Thank you, Gwen. Although I must admit, it does seem rather a great pity.” Ned grinned in an overly satisfied manner. “I would have made one hell of an actor.”


CHAPTER SIXTEEN


“ALL THINGS CONSIDERED, my lord, this is probably for the best,” Father said to Edward.

A scant half an hour after the revelation of a previously unknown heir, Celia, Henry and his brother, Aunt Guinevere and her friends gathered in the front entry to bid farewell to Celia’s family. Katherine and Aunt Frances were already waiting in the carriage, obviously having no interest in further conversation. It was indeed for the best.

Louise leaned toward Celia and spoke quietly, for Celia’s ears alone. “You’re not dressed for traveling.”

“No.” She met her half sister’s gaze firmly. “I’m not.”

“How very interesting.” Louise studied her thoughtfully.

“I am sorry this turned out as it did but it can’t be helped, I suppose.” Father cast Edward a sympathetic look. “Believe me, I understand how awkward this sort of thing can be. Although I have been fortunate enough not to have lost my title along with my fortune.”

“Oh, I’ll come up with something.” Edward adopted a hopeful expression. “I always have.”

“Good luck to you, then.” Father glanced at his two younger daughters. “If the two of you are ready, we should be off.”

Celia braced herself. “I am sorry, Father, but I’m not going with you. I’ve decided to return to London to live with Aunt Guinevere.”

Father snorted. “You’ll do no such thing.”

“I am an adult, Father. I can do as I please.”

“You are still my daughter and as your father you will do as I say.”

“On the contrary, Alfred.” Aunt Guinevere stepped forward. “According to my solicitor, if Celia does not reside where I think is best, a family trust—my family’s trust—that she will get a portion of at a specific age will not be allotted to her. I think her financial future is much more important than your obviously heartfelt desire to keep her at home.”

“I’ve never heard anything about a family trust.” Suspicion drew his brows together.

“Really?” Aunt Guinevere adopted an innocent expression. “I can’t imagine my sister wasn’t aware of it.”

“She never said anything to me about a trust.” His eyes narrowed. “Why is it up to you to decide where Celia lives?”

Aunt Guinevere shrugged as if the answer was obvious. “I am the oldest surviving daughter.”

Father glared. “And if Celia doesn’t live where you wish, she won’t get her share?”

“I believe that’s what I just said.” Aunt Guinevere smiled pleasantly.

“Very well, apparently I have no choice,” he said sharply. “And I suppose it’s one less female underfoot. Celia.” He turned to his daughter. “I hope you know I have always cared for you. I’m simply inept when it comes to any number of relatively important matters. I do apologize for that.”

Celia’s throat tightened. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

“Thank you, my dear. I shall try to get to London to visit you on occasion and you will always have a place at the abbey.” Father cast her an affectionate smile. “And I do expect you to write.”

“I will.” Celia nodded.

Father turned to Louise. “Come along, then. We should be off.”

Louise favored Celia with a surprisingly genuine smile and started out the door.

Father followed after Louise, pausing as he passed Aunt Guinevere. “I don’t trust you for a moment, you bloody witch. Take care of my girl.” He nodded at Celia then took his leave, Henry and Edward escorting him out the door.

Celia stared at the open doorway and blinked away what might possibly have been a tear. What on earth was happening to her? This was at least the second time this week that tears had filled her eyes.

She inclined her head to the side and lowered her voice. “There is no family trust, is there, Aunt Guinevere?”

“Oh, if only there was, dear.” She paused. “I’m quite proud of you, you know.”

“I’m rather proud of myself,” Celia said with a shaky smile. “That was far more difficult than I had imagined.”

“That, my dear girl, was easy compared to this.” Her aunt nodded toward Henry and Edward coming back into the house. A footman closed the doors behind them. “Men are not as intelligent as we allow them to think they are. However, the right man is worth a great deal of trouble.”

“I told him I never wanted to see him again.” Right after he kissed me. Right after I kissed him back. Right after I knew I would never be the same again. “I was quite adamant about it.”

“You thought you were doing the right thing—the noble thing. No one can fault you for that. I daresay men change their minds as much if not more than we do. But one of the benefits of being female is that, as a woman, you are practically expected to change your mind.” Aunt Guinevere glanced at Henry. “After a proper amount of heartfelt persuasion, of course.”

“Celia.” Henry stepped toward her. Her heart sped up. “Might I have a moment?”

Celia hesitated. She had no idea what to say to him. “Henry, I—”

“As much as I hate to interrupt,” Edward said, “you should know, none of this was Henry’s idea. He had nothing to do with any of it.”

It occurred to Celia to ask “Any of what?” but at the moment she didn’t care. She met Henry’s gaze. “Go on.”

“It appears I am not to be married to Katherine, after all.” His gaze bored into hers, intense and determined, and something very much like joy swept through her.

“It does appear that way.” She was almost afraid to breathe.

“So it strikes me that I now have the opportunity for an extraordinary adventure.” He held out his hand to her. “Will you join me?”

“For an extraordinary adventure?” She placed her hand in his. “I would be a fool to miss it.”

“For God’s sake, Henry.” Edward groaned. “Kiss the girl.”

Henry grinned, pulled her into his arms and pressed his lips to hers. And any doubt, any misgivings, any hesitation was dashed aside by the warmth of his lips on hers and the delight of his arms around her and the bliss of knowing she was where she belonged. This was right and perfect and exactly as it should be.

Celia barely noticed Aunt Guinevere’s voice. “I think this ended well.”