He nodded. 'Pardon me,' he said. 'I gather that young ladies do not like to talk about such matters. I would like to see you happy. It says a great deal for the male mentality, does it not, that the featherbrained chits that litter fashionable drawing rooms are snatched up during their first Season? Probably to the lifelong regret of those who do the snatching.'
Celia's smile was somewhat stiff. 'I would imagine a man would regret snatching up an antidote too,' she said. 'At least the featherbrains are pleasant to look at for a time.'
Algernon laughed and then sobered. 'Now, you have never been seeing yourself as an antidote, have you?' he asked, frowning down at her. 'That is utter nonsense, as I told you once before. I cannot allow that, you know, Celia. Why, an antidote would look quite grotesque with a peach rose in her hair, while you look lovely.'
Celia laughed and looked down. But his hand beneath her chin forced her face up again. 'If I were not a gentleman,' Algernon said, 'I would show you how much of an antidote you are, indeed. In fact...' He lowered his head and kissed her firmly and lingeringly on the lips. 'There. You see? You are very kissable. Didn't feel like an antidote at all. Not that I would know what an antidote would feel like. I've never kissed one. But she wouldn't feel like that. Good Lord, have I offended you?'
Celia had paled considerably. She pushed at his hand now, turned abruptly from him, and began to move away. Algernon caught at her arm. 'My apologies, ma'am,' he said. 'I
Celia looked back at him, biting her lip. 'I am sorry,' she said. 'It was nothing. I was embarrassed, that is all. No one has ever kissed me before even as a jest. Yes, please, I would like to return to the house. The breeze is quite chilly.'
She took his offered arm and they walked in an awkward silence back to the house. Algernon stopped before they went inside. 'Can that episode be forgotten?' he asked. 'I like and respect you, Miss Barnes, and value your friendship. Will you say you forgive me?'
Celia smiled up at him and placed her own hand in his outstretched one. 'There is nothing to forgive,' she said. 'Thank you for the things you said. And thank you for the rose. Yes, my lord, I would like to think of you as my friend.'
They shook hands and smiled at each other before walking up the marble steps to the door.
An hour earlier Rachel had run lightly up the stairs and along to the nursery. She wanted to see these children, aged three and one. She grinned at herself as she knocked softly on the door and opened it. She would far prefer to spend the next hour playing with David's nephews than to look at flowers with Lady Cardwell and Algie or converse in the drawing room with the viscount.
She looked around her with a smile, preparing to introduce herself to the children's nurse. She found herself smiling instead at David Gower. He was standing at the opposite side of the room by one of the long windows. He held a baby in his arms. An older child stood on the window seat before him looking out through the window.
'Oh,' Rachel said foolishly, 'I am sorry. I did not know you were here.'
'Hello, Rachel,' David said. His eyes were smiling at her in that way that made her feel weak at the knees. 'Do come inside. Did you come to meet my nephews? I am very proud of them, you know, and quite delighted to have someone to whom to show them off. It is more than six months since I saw them last. This little one, in particular, was a very small baby then.'
'Where is their nurse?' Rachel asked.
He grinned. 'I sent her to have tea with the housekeeper,' he said. 'Little Simon here was running her off her feet. Once one sets his legs to the floor, he believes that they should be in continuous motion. And he moves at a run, destroying everything in his path. I have enabled myself to have something of a rest by the simple expedient of picking him up. Right, cherub?' He pinched the stomach of the baby, who chuckled with delight.
'They are lovely,' Rachel said. 'The older one looks like your brother and you.' She smiled at the little boy, who had turned from the window to stare at her. She held out a hand. 'May I present myself? I am Lady Rachel Palmer. I do not know your name, sir.'
The boy placed a small hand in hers. 'Rufus Gower, ma'am,' he said, bobbing his head in a swift bow.
'Ah,' she said. 'You share your papa's name. I am pleased to meet you, sir.' She curtsied.
'When I sent the nurse away twenty minutes ago,' David said, 'it was with the promise that I would try to get these boys to bed. They usually sleep for an hour immediately after luncheon, but the upheaval of the journey for more than two days and the strange house at the end of it all has upset their routine. I had them almost persuaded when you arrived. Shall we try, boys? Lady Rachel is an expert storyteller. If you go to bed immediately and settle down quietly, perhaps she can be persuaded to tell you a story.'
Rachel looked at him in alarm, to find that his eyes were twinkling. 'Well, I know some of Aesop's fables,' she said.
'Uncle David, carry me,' Rufus begged, directing large blue eyes his uncle's way.
'Uncle David's arms are already full,' Rachel said. 'Will I do?'
'Here,' David said, 'you take Simon. But please do not set his feet anywhere close to the floor or we will spend another twenty minutes chasing him.'
The baby's arms closed around her neck. His cheek as it brushed hers was hot, she felt. He was clearly tired and holding himself awake by sheer willpower.
The scene in the children's bedchamber seemed an incredibly domestic one to Rachel. She tucked the baby into one bed while David did the same with the older child in the other. The baby immediately gathered the silk border of the blanket into his fist, put a thumb in his mouth, and addressed himself to sleep. Rufus watched her wide-eyed as she sat on the edge of his bed and told him fables. It was not until she was halfway through the third one that his eyelids began to droop. She finished the story, kissed his forehead, and rose to leave. Simon was already asleep. David was standing at the foot of the beds.
'Have you always loved children?' he asked Rachel as they stepped back out into the nursery and he closed the door behind them. 'You certainly have a gift for holding their attention.'
'Yes, I have always enjoyed playing with children,' she admitted. 'Papa says it is because I have never grown up myself. I think the local children should be taught to read, David. Do you think I would be able to teach them? And would there be any real point? I mean, I know there would be a point, but would their parents and everyone else see that? I am not at all sure. I have never really thought about it before.' She was staring eagerly at him, the old Rachel he remembered from London.
'I suppose you can only ask,' he said. 'But yes, if you really wished to do that, Rachel, I think you would do it successfully. You have a great deal of energy and enthusiasm. It would be a great commitment of time, though. Are you sure you will have the time to spare?'
'Oh, yes.' Rachel gazed earnestly back. 'I will have a great deal of time. My whole life.' She flushed suddenly.
He smiled and changed the subject. 'I should have come downstairs when I saw your barouche arrive earlier,' he said. 'Did no one think to tell you I was here?'
'No,' Rachel said. 'I would not have come up had I known. You must stay until the nurse returns, must you not? I shall go back downstairs.'
'Must you?' he asked with a smile. 'Come and sit with me by the window for a while. It is a great shame that there must be an awkwardness between us, Rachel. We could be very dear friends, could we not, if there were not the other to make it painful to be in each other's presence?'
Rachel came and sat at one end of the long window seat. He sat at the other. 'Yes,' she said, 'I believe we could.' Her eyes rested on his face. She smiled.
'Why do you do what you do?' he asked. 'Why do you spend your mornings with the poor?'
'For very selfish reasons,' she said. 'It makes me happy. The mornings are the happiest time of my days.'
'It is not because of me?' he asked. 'It is not that I have made you feel you ought?'
'You reminded me perhaps,' she said, 'of the way things were before my attention was completely taken up
