A Sense of Sin (5 page)

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Authors: Elizabeth Essex

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical, #General

BOOK: A Sense of Sin
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She knew she was fortunate, beyond lucky, to have Bains, who liked nothing better than to design and make Celia’s gowns, and bargain hard with the tradespeople. Bains was more than excellent—she was inspired and tenacious. Lady Caroline, who knew the value of a skillful servant in more ways than one, had always paid without a quibble, for whatever materials Bains wanted. Celia did everything she could to assist her in bargaining the draper down, so she might save at least a few more precious pennies for her paltry war chest.
They concluded their business at the drapers warehouse in no time—without Lady Caroline to contradict or second-guess her Bains was very decisive—and were headed past the booksellers, when Celia felt a light touch at her elbow.
For a moment, her heart skipped and started within her chest. She had to take a breath before she was ready to face whoever had touched her arm. She could think of only one possibility. Rupert Delacorte, Viscount Darling.
She turned with some surprise to find a petite young lady, smiling up at her. Miss Melissa Wainwright, a former friend from her days at school.
“Oh, my! Melissa, what a lovely surprise. I have lately been thinking so often of school and dear Miss Hadley’s. How are you?”
“Dear Miss Burke, do forgive me for imposing myself upon you.” Melissa’s cheeks were pink with a pretty blush.
“Goodness, it is no imposition to greet an old friend. You will call me Celia, I hope, just as before. I am so very glad to see a friendly face.” Melissa was not exactly Lizzie, but then Celia was simply glad to have any ally at all. “Has it really been over a year since we last saw each other in Bath?”
“Yes, I believe it was. A year ago Easter or so. Everyone left school so suddenly.”
“Yes. But you must tell me what brings you to Dartmouth and how long you plan to stay.”
“I am happy to say I have achieved a small independence and I thought to establish myself in a lovely, smaller city, where I already had some acquaintance.”
“And so you have, and I am very glad for it. It is always a pleasure to see a friendly face. Have you come lately from Lincolnshire, or have you been traveling elsewhere? I have read Holbeach is a very handsome village.”
“Fancy you remembering the name of my little village. I can scarcely remember it myself. I have not been there for many years.”
“So you have traveled. How lovely. And have you been to London?”
“I have not. My fortune is not such that it will allow London living, and I have no acquaintance there.”
“But you cannot have come to Dartmouth all alone?”
“No, indeed, I have my companion and chaperone, a lady of sterling reputation who will give some respectability and companionship to my small establishment. She is just there.” Melissa gestured towards an older lady with the lace cap and the dun-colored gown. “Mrs. Turbot.”
Mrs. Turbot did indeed look every last, myopic inch the respectable companion lady, with her lace cap under her bonnet and her modest, but well-made clothes.
“How lovely for you. May I become acquainted with her?”
“You honor me,” Melissa said with another becoming blush.
They had not been great friends at school, but Celia took a moment to notice how fresh and pretty Melissa was—a petite, vivacious doll of a girl. Once established in Dartmouth, and with the help of hostesses like Lady Caroline, Melissa would soon find herself much sought after at parties and balls, even if she did not possess a large dowry. Even a small independence, as Melissa had said, would be made to serve. Certainly she was pretty and sweet enough to make some young gentleman set aside matters of birth and fortune.
Strange, how confident she could be about Melissa’s future, when her own felt so uncertain. But Melissa had Celia to ease her way through any difficulties, while Celia had no one she could burden with her cares.
She was giving in to self-pity. Melissa had come to Dartmouth, or at least come from Bath, at some point, entirely on her own. The girl who had no one else in the world to rely upon had learned to rely upon herself in a way Celia never had.
It struck her with all the force of a cold dash of water how selfish, not to mention how naive and protected, she had been. How she had taken everything and everyone completely for granted. How she had taken Bains’ pin money from her hands and
asked
her help to do it. How sorry for herself she had felt at the first uncomfortable sign of misfortune.
How she had almost let the arrogant, disdainful, Vile Viscount disorder her life to such an extent she began not to recognize herself. That was certainly enough. She would stop her whining. She would take action and rout him yet.
C
HAPTER
5
T
he Summer Solstice Ball was held at the home of Lady Harriet Renning, a cousin of Celia’s mother who had an exquisite jewel box of a house with extensive grounds in Dartmouth, where she often held very good concert evenings. Celia was in no way musical—she did not even sing—but she had great enjoyment in listening, and was an appreciative audience. She was therefore a favorite of her cousin Harriet.
It was small relief to Celia to know she would be amongst mostly family, though there were still a number of others, including guests from neighboring estates. Some were strangers to her, but they were fewer in number than at the Widcombe ball and thus far, Viscount Darling was not among them. She’d had two days and two nights in which to accustom herself to Emily’s brother blackmailing her, and the idea no longer shocked, though it still rattled her greatly.
Celia had sent a request to Lady Harriet, asking if she might do Celia the very great favor of extending an invitation to her friend Miss Wainwright. Cousin Harriet had been generous enough to do so, and Celia hovered as inconspicuously as possible near the entry to the ballroom, so she might see Melissa in, and introduce her to Cousin Harriet herself.
When Melissa finally arrived Celia went to her immediately, holding out her hands in greeting. “Melissa!”
“Dear Miss Burke. How kind you are to receive me yourself.”
Celia squeezed Melissa’s hands in her own. “Please, you must call me Celia. But now you must prepare yourself for a great squeeze—my relations are both extensive and voluble! Come let me introduce you.”
They began with Lady Harriet and her husband, Lord Renning, but Celia’s effusive greeting of someone unknown to her mother earned her an imperiously raised eyebrow that bade her come immediately.
“Come, will you let me introduce you to Mama?”
“You honor me.” Miss Wainwright was all blushing appreciation.
“Mama, may I have the pleasure of introducing you to my dear friend, Miss Melissa Wainwright of Lincolnshire? Miss Wainwright and I were lately together at Miss Hadley’s School in Bath.”
“Ah, yes. Miss Wainwright. A pleasure.” Lady Caroline acknowledged Melissa’s curtsy with a regal nod of her plumed headdress.
“My mother, Lady Caroline Burke.”
Lady Caroline was gracious, and did Melissa the further kindness of introducing her to some of the other matrons, hostesses all. Melissa was thus assured of her share of invitations in Dartmouth society for however long her residency.
“Miss Burke, I must thank you for the generous—”
“Oh, no, it will not do. Please, you must call me Celia.” She linked her arm with Melissa’s. “We were not so formal at school, were we?”
“No, we were not, but I have found, for a woman of my . . . background, living in the world bears little resemblance to the wonderful, protected days we spent at Miss Hadley’s School.”
Celia had never minded that Melissa was most likely the natural daughter of a gentleman who paid for her schooling anonymously. She had no other parent or relations, but Celia gave no particular importance to social status. She had been enough influenced by Lizzie and her radical ways of thinking to admire self-made people, and she had long ago learned to judge people on the content of their character before anything else.
“I loved my place there,” Melissa continued. “But perhaps it was because I did not have family in any place so lovely as Dartmouth to come home to. How you must have missed it. You left school so suddenly, before anyone else.”
Celia had her pat answer. “My term there was almost up and my parents were concerned . . . they required me home.” She put on her best smile and changed the subject. “Where is your Mrs. Turbot? I should very much like to be able to introduce her to some new acquaintance as well.”
“That is very good of you, Miss Burke. I am quite flattered you should put yourself out so for us, for me. We were not the best of friends at school.”
“Nonsense. If we were not then, we should be now. We are grown up and have put away childish things. Your coming has made me useful in a way I very much want right now.”
“Useful? Why ever should a woman as rich and beautiful as you want to be useful?” Melissa gave a light laugh. “I am sure I have spent my whole life dreading being useful. Mrs. Turbot must be useful, but I had much rather be decorative. Would not you?”
Celia smiled at the compliment, but stuck to her point. “Then purposeful. I desire above all things to be purposeful.”
“Well, my only purpose is to find a husband.” Melissa glanced sideways at Celia. “I fear I shock you by speaking so boldly of my ambitions.”
“Not at all. I do not condemn ambition in a woman. Rather the opposite.”
“And you? What is your ambition, Celia?”
“This evening, it is to draw as little notice as possible.”
“But that is quite impossible. You are too rich and you are far too beautiful. It is impossible not to notice you. Indeed that military man cannot take his eyes off you.”
Celia turned to see Commander McAlden propping up the doorway to the card room. “Ah, the very person. Come Melissa, should you like to be introduced? Commander McAlden is with the Royal Navy and is quite the local hero.”
But Melissa was looking rather more like she would prefer having a tooth pulled than being introduced to a common officer. “Oh, my dear Celia. I hope I give no offense, but I had rather higher ambitions than a mere naval officer.”
Celia could not help but be wounded for Commander McAlden’s sake, but if Melissa was truly that shallow, she was not worthy of him. “Then let me introduce you to Mr. Harrington. He has a lovely estate in Somerset. Five thousand a year, or so my mama says.”
When Melissa was happily dispatched to dance with the amiable Mr. Harrington and his more amiable five thousand, Celia moved quickly away from the dance floor in search of the Commander. He was kind enough to be waiting for her in the corridor.
“Commander?”
“Your servant, Miss Burke. Do you care to dance?” He bowed smartly, but wore a look of determined politeness.
She took pity on them both. “No, I thank you.” She lowered her voice. “But please, you know we must talk.”
“Yes,” he nodded in agreement, though his forehead was lined with a scowl. The Commander led the way down the corridor that paralleled the ballroom, where they might speak privately while still being in public.
Celia looked about her for prying ears before she spoke. “I hope you can imagine my topic, Commander.”
“I can.”
“You left me with a dreadful state of anxiety, in which I have remained ever since. Because I fear your warning can only have referred to Viscount Darling.”
“He has been my friend, Miss Burke, through fire and water, but I cannot condone what he does. He has forgotten himself as a gentleman.”
“Yes, that I understand, but, can you tell me why? Why me?”
“He set the bet, he says, because of his sister.”
The note said he knew what she and Emily had done, and he would tell everyone and ruin their reputations. He would threaten to blacken his own sister’s name? It made no sense. But what had McAlden just said? “A bet? He has already made it public with a
wager
?” Her voice was an incredulous whisper.
Celia felt her stomach drop into her slippers. It was infamous. Outrageous. He was blackmailing her
and
making it public?
The aristocratic bastard. Her mama was right. Celia could recognize nothing of Colonel Delacorte, the man of Emily’s letters, in him. He
had
grown careless of other people. He
had
become just as heedless and ratchety as her mama had accused.
Wagering
with her reputation. And his sister’s. “Of all the unmitigated cads. How dare he?”
“It was a private wager. Between only the two of us. I beg you would believe me, Miss Burke, I did not agree to take the bet. For his sake, I must tell you I don’t believe he will ruin you in reality—physically.” Commander McAlden’s ears turned red, and his cheeks grew high spots of color in his embarrassment to speak of such a thing. “I think he rather means it . . . metaphorically.”
Celia felt a flush flame across her cheeks and down her neck and chest, and knew she must be as red as he. But she could not afford to be anything less than resolute. “You must explain yourself, Commander.”
The Commander looked back up the corridor and lowered his head to speak quietly. “He was very clear. He meant to seduce and ruin you without once touching you. Those were his exact words, so he must mean to toy with your emotions, to engage your heart, and then abandon you. But without ever once touching you. He was very clear. Miss Burke? Miss Burke, you’re not going to faint on me, are you?”
“Well. I only wish I could.” Though her legs did feel a bit rubbery. She sat abruptly in a chair along the wall. “I’m too sensible.”
“Shall I get you a glass of water perhaps, or wine?”
“Yes, please.” She wanted to be alone. She wanted no one, not even Commander McAlden to witness her distress and her humiliation.
Her impression of Viscount Darling had been exact. He
did
think she was too skinny a Christian to bother eating. He couldn’t even deign to seduce her properly so she might have gotten some enjoyment out of her ruination. If she ever saw him again she would slap him. She would slap him so hard her hand would leave a print across his face like a marker that said
this man is a cad
.
A footman brought her a glass of sherry on a tray. Perhaps the Commander was too afraid to find her crying to return. Well, she wasn’t about to cry. She was too shocked for that. And too angry. She tossed the sherry down in a single, fiery bolt, and gasped for air. Goodness! No wonder they called it liquid courage.
But the warm, glowing sensation inside was heating her resolve.
She’d like to teach Viscount Darling a thing or two, to show him he couldn’t use people so carelessly. He couldn’t use
her
so carelessly. By heaven’s name, she was The Ravishing Celia Burke and he would do well to remember it. She had talents and ambitions that were not about to be stopped by some arrogant, self-important lion of a lordling.
Let him roar and pace in his cage. The Christians weren’t without their armor. Strength came from knowledge.
Per Scientiam Vires
. Now that she knew his strategy, she could combat it. Her strengths were honesty and openness. If she used the truth, all the guile in the world would not help him. He would have nothing to combat such weapons.
Resolved, Celia rose, shook out her skirts, and marched back to the ballroom.
“Why look at you, Celia, you’re all alight!” Melissa’s smile was mischievous. “Where have you been and with whom? Are those roses of love in your cheeks?”
“Not at all. I rather fancy it must be anger. How does it look on me?”
“Rather glittering.” Melissa retreated an uncertain step. “But tell me you are not angry with me, surely?”
“No, not at all. It is nothing. We must have you back at dancing so you can continue to take Dartmouth by storm. We must keep up the introductions so the young men won’t take me to task for neglecting them.” So she could leave Melissa to her ambitions and go on and pursue her own. She was about to take Melissa across the room into a group of young bucks when Melissa put a hand on her arm to halt her.
“Miss Burke? Celia?” Melissa’s face had taken on a rather pinched, green look, as if she might suddenly cast up her accounts. “I am not intimate with Dartmouth society, but is that by any chance the Vile Viscount? What is he doing
here
?”
Celia turned. It was indeed Viscount Darling. And he was coming straight for her.
Del had not been invited, but that had never stopped him before and it had not stopped him this evening. The Viscount Darling came from a long line of men who knew their way around a hostess.
“My dear, Lady Harriet,” he had confessed as soon as he crossed the lady’s marble threshold, “I throw myself on your mercy for my mother’s sake. She particularly recommended you to me as a most sympathetic friend.” Lady Harriet Renning was an old friend of his mother’s and he would take every advantage of the connection.
“Viscount Darling.” She looked him up and down critically with the frankness only an older woman who had enjoyed her youth and been happy ever since could carry off. “I had heard you were about the town, though I have not had a letter from your mother in some time. I have written to her, of course. Such a dreadful loss for a mother. But she might have warned me of your arrival among us here in Dartmouth.”
“You are too kind, my lady. But you must not be too severe upon my mother. The Countess does not yet know I am come to Dartmouth. I have only just written her of my residence here. And you are very right—she has suffered a great loss. And so, it is for her sake I am attempting to reform my character in polite society.”
“Are you now? Reforming? How charming.” Her dry tone conveyed her doubt, but still, she smiled. “Then of course, you must come in and begin your reformation at my ball, though I daresay the ladies would prefer your form just as it is. You have your father’s look about you.”

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