than she had done already.
And so she took Celia with her wherever she went. At least if she did meet him when Celia was with her, she would not be able to give in to the temptation to talk to him about personal matters. And indeed they did meet him one morning, or almost so. They had been on their way out of one cottage when they saw David approaching on foot. Rachel had scurried back inside again, claiming that she had left something behind. And she had held a puzzled Mrs. Powell in bright conversation for all of ten minutes until she could see through the window that David had raised his hat and taken his leave of Celia.
Rachel was relieved to find when they arrived at Singleton Hall that David was not there. She had been tense on the journey over, convinced that he would have come to be with his brother. Meeting Lord Cardwell gave her something of a pang. He resembled his brother to a certain degree. His face was thinner, his features sharper, and he was surely not as tall or as splendidly built as David. But he had the same dark hair and blue eyes. The viscountess was placid and rather pretty. Rachel set herself to talk with Lady Cardwell while her parents and Algie conversed with the viscount.
But even through the chatter Rachel noticed Celia's quietness. And she felt some guilt, as she seemed always to be doing these days. Was Celia disappointed to find that David was not present? Had Celia been delighted to spend ten minutes talking to him alone a few mornings before? Would David have seriously considered a match with Celia if it were not for her? His behavior in London had suggested such a possibility. Rachel did not know what Celia's thoughts and hopes on the matter might be. She had not had the courage to ask her.
Certainly there seemed no likelihood of any romance blossoming between her friend and any member of the house party. And Celia would be returning home in little more than a week's time to a life of dull loneliness.
'I would love to see your children,' Rachel said suddenly, jumping to her feet and smiling brightly at Lady Cardwell. 'May I?'
'Of course,' Lady Cardwell said. 'I would come with you, Rachel, but Algernon has promised to show me the rose garden and the hothouses. And after playing with the boys for most of the morning, I rather suspect that the flowers will be more peaceful companions.'
'Are they in the nursery, Algie?' Rachel asked. 'May I go up?'
'Yes, by all means, Rache,' Algernon said, his expression rather blank for the moment. He had been deep in a conversation with Lord Edgeley when she spoke. 'David is already up there,' he added as the door was closing behind Rachel.
Lady Cardwell rose to her feet. 'Do you have time to show me the flowers now, Algernon?' she asked. 'Rufus has told me that your hothouses are quite famous. I have always wished to visit, but I am afraid I have been rather busy since our marriage, producing sons.'
'Certainly, Madeline,' Algernon said. 'Perhaps the other ladies would care to join us. Lady Edgeley? Miss Barnes?'
Lady Edgeley declined the invitation on the grounds that the wind was chill and she feared she had caught cold during a walk the day before. Celia rose to her feet.
Lady Cardwell chose to walk without support when they left the house. Celia accepted Algernon's arm and listened quietly to his explanations as they walked through the hothouses examining all the exotic plants that grew there. Lord Rivers was very knowledgeable about them, she found, although it was his parents who had had the glass structure erected and who had collected the plants.
'The rose garden was my mother's real life work, though,' Algernon explained as he shut the door of the last hothouse behind them. 'It has several different varieties. If you wish to spend another half-hour outdoors, Madeline, I shall name each individual rose to you.'
Lady Cardwell laughed. 'Perhaps tomorrow, Algernon,' she said. 'I did not bring a shawl with me, and I must confess to having goose bumps on my arms after being inside the hothouses all this time. Besides, I do not believe my mind can cope with any more new information at present. Let us go inside.'
'I'll wager Miss Barnes is made of sterner stuff,' Algernon said. 'Would you care to take a turn in the rose garden with me, ma'am, if I promise not to bore you with the names of a few dozen rose plants?'
'I should be delighted, my lord,' Celia said, matching his light tone, 'even if I must be subjected to a horticultural lecture.'
They turned to walk beneath the trellised arch that formed the entryway into the rose garden while Lady Cardwell laughed and continued on her way to the house.
'I always feel almost apologetic about having such a very feminine part to my garden when this is really just a bachelor establishment,' Algernon said. 'But I like it anyway. It reminds me of my mother.'
'Only a weak man has to shy away from any interest that might suggest femininity,' Celia said. 'You are not a weak man, my lord. What was your mother like?'
'A little like you in a way,' Algernon said. 'Oh, not in looks. My mother was small and quite dark. But she was quiet and self-possessed, like you. One always felt that one could rely on her entirely to soothe away troubles and help one cope with problems.'
'And do you see me irt that way?' Celia asked.
'Yes,' he said with a smile. 'Am I right? I cannot imagine you in a panic. And I cannot imagine you with hartshorn and vinaigrette and laudanum drops and all the other paraphernalia without which many ladies would not be able to live through a single day. Have you ever had a fit of the vapors, Miss Barnes?'
'No, I am afraid I have not,' she admitted somewhat ruefully. 'I am afraid I am a rather dull person, my lord.'
'Dull?' he said, coming to a stop on the path and looking full at her. 'You, Miss Barnes? Absolutely not, I assure you. You are quiet, yes, and dignified. I suppose those qualities do not make a young lady shine in a London ballroom, but they are invaluable assets to a man's family in their country home. Any man would be fortunate indeed to have such a wife as you.'
'Oh!' Celia's lips formed the word, though no sound came from her as she stared back at Algernon.
He seemed to realize what he had said only when the words were out of his mouth. He flushed slightly. 'You see?' he said with an awkward smile. 'I am your sincere admirer, ma'am. Come and see this peach-colored rose. You see how I am using layman's words so that you will not be weighed down with Latin names?'
'And this layman will be forever grateful,' Celia said. 'I shall remember, you see, that I have seen a magnificent peach-colored rose in your garden, whereas I should be racking my brains in vain to recall the five- syllable Latin name for it. What a very beautiful color it is.'
'Here,' Algernon said impulsively. He leaned forward and wrestled briefly with the stem of a bud before breaking it off and turning back to Celia. 'It will complement your cream-colored dress. In your hair, I think. May I?'
Celia stood very still as he threaded the stem through the hair above her left ear. She had not worn her bonnet into the garden. She could feel his breath on her cheek.
'There, very becoming,' he said, looking down into her face and grinning. Then his expression became more gentle. 'Do you really think of yourself as dull?' he. asked 'Why?'
Celia resisted the urge to take a step back, away from the powerful magnetism of his closeness. 'I do not suffer from self-pity,' she said. 'I have quite calmly accepted the fact that I have none of the qualities that attract most people. I am not beautiful or particularly accomplished and I have no wealth or important connections. And I find it difficult to communicate with more than one person at a time. Even then, I have no bright and interesting conversation. But this is an embarrassing confession, my lord. I am not looking for your pity. Or for your reassurances either. I have accepted what I am and I am happy with my life.'
'Are you?' he asked. He still had not moved away from her. 'Do you not want what most other ladies want, Celia? Do you not want a husband and a family? A home of your own?'
Celia swallowed. 'Of course I do,' she said. 'But I have only just had my twenty-first birthday, my lord. I do not consider myself too firmly established on the shelf yet.'
