Perhaps I am a disloyal wife for such thoughts, but it is hard to pity a man of nearly thirty years who cares for no one’s comfort and amusement but his own.
March 1822
Bertie died this morning.
Acute pneumonia, the physician said.
Lord L. is devastated.
March 1822
Bertie was laid to rest in the Lansborough crypt this day. Lord L. wept in silent grief all day. He is the last of the Bertrams, now Bertie’s gone without an heir. Lord L. looks a dozen years older than a fortnight ago.
Everyone has left me in peace, supposing me to be grief-stricken. Perhaps I am. I don’t know. I feel no pain, no agony, no loss. I sit and stare at nothing, wondering why I feel so hollow.
I do not think I shall keep this journal any longer. I fear my thoughts are not worthy of recording.
Chapter Four
Spring 1823
Celia, Lady Bertram rested her cheek against the side of the carriage and watched through the window. It had been so long since she left London, she had forgotten how busy it was. The carriage passed through streets filled with other carriages, gentlemen on horseback, people on foot, and street vendors. It was loud and noxious after the secluded quiet of Kenlington Abbey, and so foreign she could hardly believe she had once lived here.
Her mother, who had dozed off some time ago, woke up as the wheels clattered loudly over the city streets. “Goodness, we must be nearly home!” She smothered a yawn behind her handkerchief. “Are you feeling ill, Celia?”
Celia sat upright again. “No, Mama.”
Her mother beamed. “It is so good to have you back, dearest. I missed you so, these four years. You shall be shocked at how things at Exeter House have changed. Two young boys have a way of upending a household! And of course David and Vivian will be in town this fortnight as well. Oh, my dear, we have all missed you so…” She talked on, detailing everything that had happened since Celia left the city four years ago. Celia quit listening. She had been listening to her mother since they left Kenlington Abbey, over a week ago. Celia didn’t realize how accustomed she had become to quiet until she had to listen to her mother talk for eight days.
When the carriage rolled to a stop in front of Exeter House, the footman let down the steps and Mama stepped down first. Celia climbed down herself, looking up at the house and waiting for the familiar surge of delight. Exeter House had always meant excitement to her. Coming to town had been like setting off on a grand adventure. She let her head fall back, taking in the full effect of the mansion’s grandeur, and felt…nothing. No thrill of anticipation, no sense of coming home; it was like someplace she had visited a long time ago, just for a while. Perhaps she should have suggested to Mama that they visit Ainsley Park instead of London. Perhaps at Ainsley she would truly feel at home again, and not like an outsider who was trying to go where she no longer fit.
She followed her mother inside, past the curtsying servants. The hall looked the same, and yet different. The walls that had been white were now a soft yellow. There were lilies on the table near the door. Celia pulled loose the ribbons on her bonnet, feeling oddly like an intruder.
“Oh, you’ve arrived!” Hannah, the duchess of Exeter, emerged from the back of the hall and hurried forward. She embraced Celia quickly, then drew back to study her. “It is so good to see you again,” she said warmly. “I hope the journey was not too difficult.”
“No, no, we had good weather all the way,” said Rosalind. She had already removed her traveling cloak and bonnet and now came over to greet Hannah. “How was all in our absence?”
Hannah laughed. “Impatient! All we heard was, ‘Have they come yet? When shall Grandmama and Aunt Celia return? Will it be today?’” She shook her head. “They are incorrigible, all three of them.”
“All three?” Celia let the footman take away her cloak. An instant later she was sorry, realizing how grim she looked in her dusty, wrinkled black dress.
“Yes, Molly has told Thomas and Edward all about you,” said Hannah with a smile. “They are wild to meet you.” Her sharp blue eyes roved over Celia’s face, but her expression didn’t alter. Celia supposed she must look different to Hannah, just as Hannah looked different to her—her sister-in-law’s dark hair was smoother than Celia remembered, no longer loose black curls, and there were fine lines around her eyes that Celia didn’t remember. But Hannah had been in London with Marcus; she had had two children. Things had happened to her in the past four years.
Celia mustered a smile. “And I long to meet them. Mama has written quite a lot about them.”
Hannah cast her eyes upward and laughed ruefully. “There is quite a lot to tell! You never saw two such scamps.”
“I can hardly wait,” said Celia softly.
“But first you must settle in after your journey.” Hannah turned, beckoning the butler forward. “Harper, arrange for tea in an hour, please.” He bowed and hurried off. “I’ve had your rooms prepared. No doubt you’re tired and would like to rest.”
Celia nodded, not so much because she was truly tired but because she found she needed a bit of time alone. The irony was sharp; how desperately had she longed for friends and family all those months at Kenlington, and now she felt a desire just as desperate to get away from them the moment she arrived in London. She needed some time to readjust to this house, to London, like a sailor back on land after months at sea. She followed Hannah and her mother up the stairs in silence, not knowing anyone or anything they were talking about.
Down the hallway they walked to the room that had been Celia’s since she was a child. Hannah stopped at the door. “I shan’t intrude on you right now. The children will be wild to know you’ve arrived, and I did promise to tell Molly the instant you were here. Oh, Celia, I’m so happy to see you again.” And Hannah hugged her again.
Celia found a small smile on her face at the mention of Molly. “And I cannot wait to see Molly again. Shall she join us for tea?”
“I will invite her now,” said Hannah with a laugh.
“Do you need anything, my dear?” asked her mother fondly. Celia shook her head.
“No, Mama. A little rest will do.”
Rosalind squeezed her hand. “Then we shall leave you to it.”
They went off down the hall together. Celia watched them a moment, then let herself into her room.
It was like stepping back in time. Everything was just as she remembered it. Hannah must have closed the room and never opened it. Celia walked into the center of the room, looking around in mild astonishment. The last time she had been in this room, she had been a new bride. Memories stirred at the edges of her mind. Her wedding dress had been hung there on a dressmaker’s form so it would not wrinkle. For some reason Celia remembered her maid saying it had taken three hours to press it, and they didn’t dare lay it flat even for a night. That had been the evening before her wedding. She hadn’t gone to sleep until very late, so excited she could hardly stay in bed.
She walked over to the window and looked out. The gardens lay below, lush and colorful. Far more colorful than the Kenlington gardens; practicality had reigned there, for many plants couldn’t survive the harsher northern winter.
Celia turned away from the window and sat at her dressing table. The plants weren’t the only thing that had not survived well in Cumberland. Her reflection caught her eye. She leaned closer and studied herself.
She looked older, for certain. She had seen herself many times in this mirror, and for an instant, she almost expected to see the same pink-cheeked, smiling girl of old. Instead she saw a