In My Wildest Dreams

  The rustle of her skirts must have given her away, for the sobbing came to an abrupt halt and someone—a woman, Celeste deduced from the soft patter of leather slippers and the rustle of petticoats—hid herself.

  Celeste wanted to bang her head on the white marble column beside her. Only one of the refined thoroughbreds at this house party was so unsure of herself that she would hide to cry, and she was the one girl Celeste should leave utterly to her own devices. Instead, she found herself calling softly, “Lady Hyacinth? Is that you?”

  “Y . . . yes.” The girl sounded soggy and pathetic.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “N . . . nothing.”

  Celeste looked down at the floor, decided to believe her and escape while she could. “All right. If you’re sure.”

  “Y . . . yes. I’m . . . I’m fine.” The last, blatantly obvious lie was followed by a burst of crying desperate enough to melt even Throckmorton’s heart.

  “Oh, my dear.” Celeste went to the column where Hyacinth was hiding and wrapped the humiliated girl in an embrace. An awkward embrace, for Hyacinth towered a good six inches over her, but Celeste cradled her as she would any wounded creature. “What’s wrong?”

  Hyacinth didn’t flatten Celeste with a box to the ears. A good sign, considering that last night Celeste had spent from eleven to three making Ellery laugh and say things like, You’re witty as well as handsome, Miss Milford.

  Ellery really ought to come up with some different way to reprise that old chorus.

  “It’s . . . Ellery,” Hyacinth said.

  Of course it was Ellery. Celeste had first heard him spout the “witty/handsome” chestnut to Lady Agatha Bilicliffe outside the walled garden. Celeste had been fourteen. Ellery had been sent down from Eton. And Celeste had dreamed of the day Ellery would compliment her with such splendid eloquence.

  Hyacinth stared into space and twisted her damp handkerchief. “He isn’t paying attention to me.”

  None of Celeste’s dreams were turning out as splendidly as she had hoped. Certainly she had never imagined she would be caught giving comfort to Ellery’s fiancée. “Why do you say that?”

  “You saw him. He hasn’t spoken to me in two days. He ignores me as if he can’t bear the sight of me. Today, he didn’t notice I remained behind.” Hyacinth turned tear-filled eyes toward Celeste. “Why, last night, he even flirted with you!”

  “Well. Yes, he did.” Abashed, Celeste looked everywhere but at Hyacinth. “He flirts as easily as he breathes. It doesn’t mean anything.” Except it did mean something when he flirted with her. It did.

  “But he’s not doing it with me.” Hyacinth started to cry again, and this time she bawled like a baby, without control, wheezing with great, gasping sobs.

  Wishing she were anywhere but here, Celeste led Hyacinth to the sofa.

  “Big . . . tall . . . gangly,” Hyacinth sobbed.

  Celeste inferred Hyacinth was talking about herself. Going to an exotic teak chest, she opened it and removed one of the woven blankets from its interior.

  “Clumsy . . . couldn’t learn to dance . . .”

  Returning to Hyacinth, Celeste wrapped the throw around the girl’s shoulders.

  Hyacinth huddled and shivered. “Never learned conversation . . . embarrassed . . . spots on my face . . . dreadful.”

  Alarmed at the blue tinge to Hyacinth’s complexion, Celeste instructed, “Take a breath.”

  Hyacinth obeyed with a long, quivering gasp, and managed to articulate, “Father bought me the most handsome man in England, and I love Ellery desperately, and I can’t . . . make him . . . interested.” The last word came out on a wail.

  Stuffing her handkerchief into Hyacinth’s hand, Celeste said, “I’m sure that’s not true.”

  “You know very well it is.” Hyacinth mopped her eyes. “Look at me. Overgrown. All arms and legs. Ellery probably wonders if I can beat him in a fair fight.”

  “Well, of course you can, given a good rifle and a chance to aim.” Celeste essayed a smile at the startled Hyacinth.

  “That’s another thing! You can shoot, and everyone thinks you’re still ladylike, but if I try to talk about my Greek studies, they all act as if I’ve developed a dread disease.” Hyacinth viewed Celeste with damp resentment. “Why can you evade censure, and I can’t?”

  “Because most men believe in their secret heart of hearts that, if necessary, I would falter if required to use a gun in defense or attack.” Celeste invited Hyacinth to share her grin. “They have a bit more trouble believing themselves the better of a woman whose mind is equal or, heaven forbid, superior to theirs.”

  “Oh.” Hyacinth returned the grin, but with a pained edge. “But I do get tired of pretending to be stupid. Will I never again be able to discuss the Greek classics in Greek?”

  “You can with me, but I’m afraid you’ll be amused by my accent and bored by my opinions, for I was instructed with the other serv—” Celeste caught herself. She had almost said too much. She had almost revealed her background, and last night she’d trod her way through the interrogation too successfully to give up her secrets now. “I doubt my education was the equal of yours.”

  “But that’s wonderful!” Hyacinth’s eyes glowed with pleasure. “I think we will be wonderful friends, if not sisters.”

  Celeste jerked back.

  Eyes wide, Hyacinth covered her mouth with her hand. “I’m sorry. That was premature and tactless. Only I saw Throckmorton watching you last night, and I could tell he . . . admires you greatly.”

  Throckmorton had been watching her this morning, too, and hid his admiration behind a scowl and a constantly tapping pen. “I should leave now—”

  “Wait!”

  The panic in Hyacinth’s voice stopped Celeste as she tried to retreat.

  Hyacinth’s head was bent. She picked at the stitching on the handkerchief. The rain sluiced across the large south-facing windows, and the room was drear and dim and silent.

  Celeste prayed for rescue.

  Instead, Hyacinth said in the rapid tone of someone who anticipates rejection, “Please. Everyone admires you. Ellery admires you. Won’t you teach me how to win him back?”

  Celeste’s father would say she had found herself with her rump in a vise, and inform her she deserved it, too. As it was, she could only stare at the red-eyed, swollen-faced, miserable Hyacinth and stammer, “I just . . . I don’t know . . .”

  “Yes. Yes, you do!” Hyacinth took Celeste’s hands. “You are from Paris. You have an air about you. Everyone admires you or envies you, especially that snake Lady Napier. What can I do to be like you?”

  “Um, well . . . you have to act happy.”

  “Act happy.” Hyacinth started patting at the cushions on the oversized sofa as if she were looking for something.

  “What are you doing?” Celeste asked.

  “I’m looking for my pocketbook. I have paper in there and I can take notes—”

  Celeste put her hands over Hyacinth’s. “You don’t need to take notes. You can remember this. Smile.”

  “I don’t really feel like—”

  “It doesn’t matter. Smile.”

  Hyacinth stretched her lips over her teeth.

  “That’s right. A false smile is better than a real scowl. If you smile, everyone will want to be with you because you’re happy, and then you really are happy because you have friends who feel good when they’re around you.”

  “It’s so insincere.”

  “And society is not?”

  Hyacinth laughed and for the first time since Celeste had entered, she relaxed. “That’s your secret?”

  “Think about it. Have I done anything else to make myself attractive?”

  Hyacinth’s smile disappeared. “But you are attractive.”

  “So are you.” Once again, Celeste tried to stand. “Now, go back to the party—”

  “Wait.” Hyacinth caught Celeste’s hand and Celeste sank back down. “There must be more you can tell
me. Tell me how to make him notice me today.”

  Details. Hyacinth wanted details. Very well. Celeste would give her details. “You smile at him and turn away. You watch him through your lashes. You move with womanly grace, then trip and let him catch you. You accidentally brush his arm with your breast.”

  “That’s devious. That’s”—Hyacinth took a shaking breath—“genius.”

  Celeste was unwillingly flattered. “If you are going to keep a man like Ellery interested, you have to play the game better than he does.” Celeste gave a Gallic shrug. “Count de Rosselin said a woman can keep a man in thrall forever if she knows when to tease and when to be generous.”

  “Did the count say how to know that?”

  “Listen to your instincts. Practice in the mirror. And make Ellery work to win your love.”

  “But I . . . I already love him.” Hyacinth’s eyes swam with tears.

  Celeste hated to see the young girl so stricken. With a comforting hug, she said, “But he doesn’t have to know that.”

  “I’ve told him.”

  “You are so very young, you could fall out of love with Ellery and into love with that handsome Lord Townshend without pause.”

  “But I’m not so fickle!”

  Celeste smiled. “Ellery doesn’t have to know that.”

  “Oh.” Hyacinth’s brow wrinkled as she reflected.

  “Tonight, arrange your dance card so that you dance with Ellery, then with Lord Townshend. When Ellery relinquishes you to Lord Townshend, turn to the lord, smile and say, ‘Where have you been all my life?’ Not too loudly, just so that Ellery can hear.”

  “What will Lord Townshend think of me?”

  “He’ll think you’re flirting, and he is used to that. All men with a fortune and their own teeth are used to being courted.”

  Hyacinth nodded. “He helped me push the swing.”

  “So he likes you. Ellery will watch you then, and you can smile up at Lord Townshend as if he were the brightest star in the sky.”

  “I don’t know how.”

  “Of course you do,” Celeste said. “That’s the way you smile at Ellery. That’s why he thinks he has you wrapped around his little finger.”

  Hyacinth lowered her head and glared narrowly at Celeste. “He does think that, doesn’t he?”

  “Indeed he does. Now, dance a little too close to Lord Townshend and ask him about his dogs.”

  “His dogs?”

  “He breeds hunting spaniels. As long as he’s talking about them you won’t lack for conversation and he won’t wonder what you’re up to. When he returns you to Ellery, let your hand linger on Lord Townshend’s arm for a moment too long.”

  “What if Ellery doesn’t notice?”

  “He will, and I promise he’ll draw the correct—or in this case, incorrect—conclusions.”

  “And he’ll love me again?”

  “Yes . . . yes, he will.” The folly of what she was doing struck Celeste. Why was she telling her rival how to keep Ellery when she wanted him? She hadn’t shared a few words of advice, as she’d originally intended. She had forgotten the contest and told everything she knew.

  But surely it didn’t matter. Telling Hyacinth what to do and having Hyacinth do it correctly were two different things. Hyacinth had had no practice in the feminine arts; she couldn’t be good at it, even with the incentive of wanting Ellery as she did. And Ellery . . . Ellery wanted her, Celeste. He wouldn’t be swayed by Hyacinth’s bids for attention. Just as she wouldn’t be swayed by Throckmorton. By his conversation. His interest. His kisses.

  She had only kissed Throckmorton because she had thought . . . that is, it had seemed . . . well, the kisses didn’t matter. Just a meeting of lips, the scent of his breath, wetness and warmth . . . she shook herself. “Now I must go . . .”

  “There’s one other thing,” Hyacinth said quickly, so quickly the words tumbled over each other and embarrassment etched each syllable. “I can’t ask anyone else. I just can’t.”

  Desperately, Celeste wished she had made her exit the first time she’d tried. Or the second. Or the third.

  “Mama keeps hinting about my duty to my husband, and I don’t know what she’s talking about and she won’t tell me.” Hyacinth stared earnestly into Celeste’s eyes. “Please, please won’t you tell me what she’s hinting at?”

  Not sure whether she had been insulted by a master or by an idiot, Celeste jerked her hand away. “I don’t know what she means. I’ve never known a man!”

  “Known a man,” Hyacinth said in surprise. “As in the Biblical sense?”

  “Exactly as in the Biblical sense.”

  “Oh, dear, dear Celeste, I didn’t mean . . . well, I didn’t even realize that was what Mama meant. I know you have never been married, only I thought that everyone who went to Paris discovered all about the world, and you are older and so much more polished than I, the little country bumpkin.” Again Hyacinth took Celeste’s hand, and Celeste let her have it. “I am so sorry if I offended you. It’s just Ellery is slipping away from me, and there’s no one who I can talk to. No one who will listen to me!”

  Celeste sighed. It was true. Hyacinth was young, ardent, obvious, like a large, clumsy puppy trying to impress her new master. Celeste had dismissed her as a rival. Everyone within the two families assumed Hyacinth would do as she was told without demur. Even the servants—loyal to Celeste—ignored Hyacinth when she spoke. Without a doubt, the girl needed assistance if she were to be Ellery’s wife—or anyone’s wife. And unfortunately, she reminded Celeste of herself in the early throes of her crush on Ellery. Surely a little moral support would not come amiss, nor would it spoil Celeste’s own chances with Ellery.

  “All right, I will tell you about what will happen on your wedding night,” Celeste said. “But you must promise not to scream or cry.”

  Hyacinth’s hand squeezed Celeste’s. “It’s worse than I feared.” She straightened her shoulders. “Very well, I will be brave.”

  “Between a man and a woman, there is much”—Celeste paused, but could think of no delicate word to describe the condition—“nudity.”

  Obviously shaken, Hyacinth asked, “Whose?”

  “Both.”

  Eyes large, Hyacinth swallowed.

  “Your husband will touch you in . . . places.”

  Hyacinth gasped and shuddered. “He won’t want me to touch him, will he?”

  Celeste considered the information she had been given. “I don’t know. I never heard about that, but I know men always like women to serve them in every way.”

  “Yes. Yes, you’re right. Papa likes it when Mama . . .” Hyacinth paled. “Oh, I don’t want to think about that!”

  Remembering the sharp-eyed Lord Longshaw and the plump Lady Longshaw, Celeste said, “But your parents are so old!”

  “In their forties.” Hyacinth nodded solemnly. “I fear for their health, if what you tell me is true.”

  “You haven’t heard the worst of it yet.” Celeste lowered her voice. “Your husband will want to service you, as a stallion does a mare.”

  The news clearly shook Hyacinth. “You mean climb on me and—oh!” She clapped her hand over her mouth.

  “Yes.” Celeste nodded.

  “Put his . . . into my . . .”

  “As I understand it.”

  “But that’s horrible!”

  Celeste chewed her lip indecisively. Truth to tell, she thought it sounded horrible, too, but the facts didn’t seem to bear that out. “That’s the amazing part. Madame Ambassador always seemed rather giddy when Monsieur paid her attentions, and in the morning they both seemed very blissful! Also, Count de Rosselin told me that it is up to the man to make the woman happy, or he is no man at all.”

  “Then Ellery must be a wonderful . . . wonderful . . .”

  “Lover.”

  “Yes! Lover!” An almost audible breaking of maidenly bonds accompanied Hyacinth’s use of the word. “Ellery must be a wonderful lover, for that’s the
problem. All the women smile at him. All the women whisper to him.” She smacked her fist onto the arm of the sofa. “I am sick of it!”

  Carried away by her enthusiasm, Celeste shook Hyacinth’s shoulder. “Then you must be better than they are. You can do it!”

  “I’m off!” Hyacinth leaped to her feet, tossing the blanket aside like Boadicea throwing off Roman shackles. “I will do just as you advised me, Miss Milford, and thank you so much. You are a good, good person!”

  No, I’m not. “Don’t forget. When Ellery realizes you are falling in love with Lord Townshend, he’ll try to win you back with charm and compliments. You will not be swayed.”

  “I won’t?”

  “No. It takes more than a few false smiles and easy compliments to buy your affections. You will be indifferent. He will be puzzled and intrigued.”

  “And while I’m pretending I don’t care, I brush his arm with my breast. Yes, I understand it all.” With a rustle of skirts, Hyacinth was gone.

  Celeste collapsed back onto the sofa cushions, amazed at her own, and Hyacinth’s, bravado.

  But Celeste started when Throckmorton’s drawl interrupted her thoughts. “I would say she doesn’t quite understand it all.”

  16

  Throckmorton stepped out from behind a fluted marble column. Walking to the doors, he shut them. They clicked closed with the finality of a prison cell. Returning, he observed Celeste in a way that made her want to check her laces to see if they were open. “I’d have to say I don’t understand, either. Was Lady Hyacinth too easy a rival before? You advised her because you wished for stronger competition?”

  “I just thought that she . . . she deserves something more than . . . a lifetime with an indifferent husband.” Courageously, Celeste tacked on, “Whoever he might be.”

  Throckmorton took no notice of her defiance. He just watched her, his freshly shaved cheek creased in a crooked smile that projected no warmth. “You know an awful lot about what goes on between a man and a woman.”

  She caught her breath. Of course. He’d heard . . . How much . . . ?

  But it didn’t matter how much he’d heard. No matter what, she’d embarrassed herself, and a blush exploded onto her cheeks, heating them like fire.