Lady Lightfingers (28 page)

That could prove to be a problem, since James was also afflicted by love. Not that Charles was in love with Celia – he was just interested in her.

He prompted himself. Because?

Detouring around the question, his next thought was: Show me a man who wouldn't be interested in Celia Laws?

That answer brought a frown to his face. Other men could stay out of the equation or answer to him. All the same, she'd attracted attention at the theatre during the interval. The lawyer in him stepped forward. Don't answer a question with a question, Mr Curtis, especially one designed to evade. You know you hate someone doing it to you.

He gave in to his inner man with a sigh. All right, I admit it. I've fallen in love with Celia Laws. There. Thinking it wouldn't commit him to do anything rash, though he noted that a poetic little dove had loosened itself from the confines of his heart and had gone off winging and wheeling into the sky like a glowing silver star. He became aware that his manly urges were reminding him they'd been neglected.

He ignored them and grinned in Joshua's direction. ‘For what it's worth, because James has been walking around with his head in the clouds since he met Harriet Price – yes, I will ask for his opinion when I get back. In the meantime, I've been thinking about buying a house.'

‘Have you found a place you like, then?'

‘There are a couple of houses in Poole I've been considering.'

‘And there will always be a room for you with us when you come to London.'

Charles settled back into his corner thinking of Celia Laws. A woman's input would be useful, since, if his limited experience was anything to go by, they always managed to notice the impracticalities of a house, like the kitchen might be too far away from the dining room, or the ceilings were damp-stained, or there were silverfish in the carpets and mice in the walls. The latter was usually accompanied by the exposure of ankles as skirts were lifted slightly.

He must ask Celia to accompany him and offer an opinion, in case she also expected mice to scurry from the wainscot to take refuge under her skirt.

He grinned. He'd wager she had pretty ankles.

Seventeen

Celia slid her feet into the footwear Mrs Packer had bought on her behalf, and gazed down at her feet. She couldn't remember having a new pair of boots, and these had dainty heels and buttons. ‘They're so pretty, Mrs Packer.'

‘As well as being serviceable, Miss. I was instructed to buy boots, and a gown you could wear in the evening as well as the day. This one has two bodices, the pale-blue one for evening with some lace at the sleeves and neck, and the other, as you can see, is quite plain, except for the watery pattern on the taffeta. Modest, the reverend said it was to be, but that doesn't mean it has to be plain, does it?'

‘It's so pretty, and I'll never be able to repay him.'

‘Bless you, but you won't have to do that. The reverend believes in the power of giving a gift. He said he paid scant attention to your appearance, and it wasn't until you wore the same gown to the theatre that you did for the performances, and somebody commented on it, that he realized how at a disadvantage you were. He wanted to surprise you, so I used your other outfit for size.'

‘I'm not as disadvantaged as when I first showed up at your door in my rags.'

‘Aye, and I'm right ashamed at the uncharitable things I said about you, especially after what happened to your poor mother . . . well, you know . . . and you being left with your baby sister to care for, the poor, dear little thing.' Tears came to the woman's eyes. ‘I didn't know what to make of it when Mr Kent managed to get his sentence turned around – that lad, who did her in, I mean. Still, Mr Kent doesn't believe in children being given the death penalty. Being hung is barbaric, he says. I don't suppose being sent all that way to work off his sentence in that inhospitable country is much better. I've heard that there are poisonous snakes, giant lizards and spiders everywhere. I don't know why anyone would want to live in Australia, when it's full of scum from the prisons.'

Celia's eyes rounded. ‘You mean James Kent saved that murderer's life, when all this time I thought he'd been hung . . . and I felt sorry for him.'

‘How could you feel sorry for him, after he killed your mother?'

‘I know my mother wouldn't have wanted him to die on her account. He was too young.'

‘He was a black-hearted villain, that's what he was. If he carried a knife, he intended to use it. Types like him never reform.'

Mrs Packer was probably right. Celia had an instant image of a young man in a red kerchief, his face etched by crime, and already hardened to life on the streets. He would have shown no mercy to his victims. It crossed her mind that he might die as he'd lived, violently, because now he was in the company of older, more vicious criminals. Then again, it was possible that his narrow escape from the gallows had made an impression on him, and he'd decide that living was a preferable option.

But she wished James or the reverend had told her. But perhaps they hadn't wanted to upset her.

If it hadn't been for her mother's guidance, and Thomas Hambert's interest in offering her a way out, Celia knew she'd probably be one of Bessie's girls by now. She shuddered at such an awful fate, and hoped Charles didn't find out about her past. Although she was not good enough for him by far, she enjoyed his company and didn't think she'd be able to bear seeing his regard turn to disdain.

Celia hugged the woman and gazed at her careworn face. ‘You needn't be sorry. I knew there was a compassionate person under your gruffness . . . it shone through. I'll miss you when I've gone.'

‘It might not be for long. The reverend has offered me a job in Dorset if he decides to move, and I'm considering it.'

Celia hugged her. ‘I'm so glad.'

‘I haven't agreed to it yet.' Mrs Packer managed a faint smile and suddenly became brisk. ‘There's this embroidered jacket for warmth. It's a darker blue, and very pretty. And here's the bonnet. I've sewn a little bunch of violets each side, to pick up the colour of your eyes. The reverend won't mind that. He always gets a twinkle in his eyes when he's in the company of a pretty woman.'

A little later she presented herself to him in the library. ‘Thank you for the clothing, Reverend. I've never had anything new before, and I feel so grand.'

He looked up from his book and smiled almost absently. ‘I should have thought of it earlier. You look quite delightful. Have you finished the episode you were writing?'

‘The third one? Almost. I'm afraid I blotted it.'

‘That doesn't matter, since Mr Parkinson will edit it before it's printed, so it will end up messy anyway. He wants to meet you, so if you can have it ready by the end of the week I'll take you to see him. I daresay he'll be pleased to get the episodes in advance, and you can see how the printing press works.'

‘Thank you. That should be interesting,' though she didn't always like to know how things worked because it spoiled the sense of wonder. ‘When are we returning to Dorset?'

His eyes twinkled when he smiled. ‘Had enough of London, have you?'

‘A little, though I'm seeing a different London to the one I knew before, and I'm realizing how places and people add colour. You and Charles seem to have peeled back the layers for me. Poor people seem to have a multicoloured vitality that blends into shades of grey. The wealthy practice frugality, yet can be charitable in unexpected ways. People have been so kind, but I miss Lottie and my aunt. I'm so pleased Aunt Harriet is to marry James, though.'

He closed his book. ‘So am I; they seem ideally suited. Have you thought of where you'll go when they are married?'

She gazed at him, uncomprehending.

The man explained, ‘I understood from James that he intends to move into Chaffinch House when he and Harriet marry, since it's situated halfway between Poole and Dorchester, which is handy for his profession. He intends to buy the house from Harriet . . . and Harriet intends to give half of the proceeds to you. She said you're to have what your mother was entitled to, through her legacy – and James agrees that is how they should go about things.'

‘But I thought . . . Mr Avery said there was no money left.'

‘Mr Avery was mistaken. He and James have negotiated a settlement.'

‘Did Aunt Harriet ask you to tell me she wanted me to move out?'

He gazed over his glasses at her. ‘Harriet doesn't want you to move out, my dear, and neither does James. It came up in general discussion. As you know, James has taken over your aunt's affairs. She said it was up to you, and I should sound you out if the opportunity arose.'

‘I think you created the opportunity, Reverend. Harriet would not be so devious. She would have sat me down and discussed the situation.'

He gave a faint smile. ‘Of course she would have, exactly as I am doing. But newly-weds appreciate their privacy, and Harriet loves you and she wouldn't want to hurt your feelings. It's likely there will be children from the union, and they will need more servants, who will need to be housed. James will hold social evenings because his position will demand it of him.'

‘Enough!' She laughed, even though colour rushed to her cheeks. ‘I admit, I've not given it much thought, because the engagement is so new, and it happened so quickly and unexpectedly that even Harriet was taken aback.'

‘I've discussed the situation with my sister, Abigail, and she suggested that you and Charlotte might like to move in with us . . . that's if you don't marry yourself, in the meantime.'

‘I won't marry . . . I cannot! You know that. What if he discovered my past and began to despise me? I couldn't bear it.'

‘What if
who
discovered your past, Celia?'

She swooped in a breath and felt blood creep into her cheeks. ‘Oh, nobody in particular . . . a prospective husband, I suppose.'

Quite gently, he said, ‘There's that. But if a man loved you enough to offer you marriage, surely you would tell him the truth about your upbringing.'

‘That I begged, picked pockets, and recited poetry badly on street corners?'

‘That you spent some of your life in straightened circumstances and was forced to live on your wits. If the man truly loved you it wouldn't make any difference to him, surely.'

Head slanting to one side she thought about it for just a moment, then said, ‘What if it did make a difference?'

‘It's a possibility.'

She appreciated the fact that Thomas Hambert didn't give her false hope, but recognized the reality of life. ‘If I didn't take you and your sister up on your generous offer, when my mother's legacy is settled on me, and if it's enough, I could buy somewhere for Lottie and myself – a small house with a yard where we could keep chickens and grow vegetables. Perhaps I could support us through my writing. That way we wouldn't be a burden to anyone.'

He smiled at that. ‘On the other hand you could become my secretary. You could help me in the morning, and have the afternoon to yourself for your own writing. With Lottie at school, you would have plenty of peace and quiet, because there's a room with a small sitting room attached that you could have for your own use.'

‘If I bought a house not far from where you live, I could still be your secretary. When you've begged for food to fill your stomach, you don't feel inclined to live on another's charity if you can manage not to.'

‘Eating pride doesn't satisfy an empty stomach.'

She persisted with her reasoning. ‘When you're used to the freedom of the streets, you're bound to find chaperonage irksome. I cannot fit comfortably into a mould of somebody else's making.'

‘You've fallen into the trap of romanticizing your former life, and we've strayed from the point.'

‘Being?'

‘Charles Curtis, I believe. He's incurably romantic, and you intrigue him.'

Her next breath was a long and heartfelt sigh. ‘I'm nowhere near good enough for him.'

‘Celia dear . . . don't talk nonsense. Poverty is a state of being, not of inferiority. You've changed from a grubby, awkward child with a thirst to learn, into a graceful and intelligent young woman. You've learned much from your aunt, including patience, and as each day passes you will gain in sense and wisdom. Be careful that the need for independence doesn't make you headstrong.' Rising, he gently kissed her cheek. ‘Your mother would be proud of you, my dear. As for Charles Curtis, beware, for he will seduce you if you allow it.'

Celia knew he would, and the very thought of being seduced by him was sublime. Her initial distaste at the thought of the method of mating between men and women had gradually become curiosity as she'd come to realize it was meant to be that way, and nothing to be ashamed of. Sometimes, and unaided, her body indicated an eagerness to experience it in a way that made her blush, and she wondered if it was normal to be so needy of something she'd never experienced – like an addiction waiting to happen for her.

But the innocence of women was an asset highly prized by men. They were less careful of their own though. Goodness . . . Charles had offered her money when she was hardly more than a child, and himself so callow there was barely a stray whisker on his chin. What was more, she'd found his kiss so sweet that she'd dreamed of it for years. If he seriously turned his charm towards seduction she doubted if it would be easy to stand up against such a sweet assault.

The reverend had been right. She did need an older and wiser head to chaperone her, and it was sweet of the reverend and his sister to be concerned about her.