Bertie was not there behind her in the mirror. The charming boy she had married was gone, every bit as dead as the indifferent, distant husband he had become. Only she was left, and she wondered just how much of her he had taken to the grave with him.
Sluggishly she got to her feet. She supposed she was tired, and hungry, and all those things one ought to be after a long journey. But lying down held no appeal, and being alone had not brought her any peace, not even in the room that had once been her haven. She opened the door and left.
In the corridor she met Hannah again. “Oh,” said her sister-in-law in surprise. “You’re not tired?”
Celia gave a wan smile. “Not much. I’ve been away too long to want to sleep the day away.”
“Of course.” Hannah smiled, not asking anything further. Celia wondered what her mother had told Hannah. “I was just going up to see the children. Would you like to come with me?”
“Yes, thank you.” She had never seen Hannah and Marcus’s two young sons. “I hear the boys are quite a handful.”
Hannah sighed and shook her head. “That they are. The baby of course is just a baby, but Thomas…oh my, Thomas. He keeps us all running from morning ’til night.” She led the way upstairs to the nursery, which was now open and bright.
A little boy with wavy dark hair sat at a small table, arranging tin soldiers. At their entrance, he looked up, blue eyes brightening. “Mama!” he cried, leaping from his chair and running into Hannah’s arms.
“Thomas,” she cried back, scooping him up. “I have brought someone to meet you.” She turned toward Celia. “Your aunt, Lady Bertram, has arrived.”
The little boy pressed his cheek to Hannah’s shoulder, studying Celia from the shelter of his mother’s arms. He was sturdy and round, with bright, curious eyes. Celia stepped forward and made a slight curtsy. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance, sir,” she said to him. “But you must call me Aunt Celia, instead of Lady Bertram.”
“Ceelee,” he whispered, then hid his face in Hannah’s arm. Hannah laughed, and Celia smiled. She supposed she properly ought to call him Tavistock, as Marcus’s heir, but it seemed absurd to call a three-year-old child by his courtesy title.
“Might I meet your brother?” she asked him. Without looking up, Thomas nodded, and Hannah led her into the next room. In a cradle near the window, a baby with a round face and wispy curls slept, his tiny fingers wrapped around a wooden duck.
“He adores the duck,” whispered Hannah, juggling her older son into a different position. “He cannot go to sleep without it.”
Celia’s mouth curved; she remembered choosing that duck for her new nephew before he was even born, from a man who lived in Keswick and carved startlingly realistic animals. That had been a week before Bertie took ill. Her smile faded, and she sighed silently. “He’s a handsome child,” she said in a low voice. A handsome child like she had never had.
“Thank you,” Hannah replied, her voice filled with affectionate pride. “But we should go see Molly.” She returned Thomas to his table, soothed his protests at being left behind, and they left him with his nursemaid, who had been waiting quietly in the corner.
Molly was in the schoolroom, where Celia vaguely recalled learning her own sums and letters. Celia remembered Molly very well, a darling child who loved to dig in the dirt and catch bugs and fish. She was brought up short by the girl who looked up when they entered the schoolroom.
“Aunt Celia!” The girl got to her feet and bobbed a brief curtsy. “How lovely to see you again!”
“And you, Molly,” said Celia warmly. “Although I can scarce recognize you. You’ve grown so tall.”
Molly grinned. She was tall, or seemed so to Celia, and her hair was no longer a tangle of long blond curls but a darker honey color, and neatly combed. Her face had lengthened and taken on sharper contours, making her look more like her mother. Her hands were just as dirty as Celia remembered, though.
Molly must have realized it as well, for she blushed and put them behind her. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I was working on my drawing.”
“May I see?”
Molly nodded, and Celia moved forward to look. A tulip, sliced neatly in half, lay on the table. A half-finished drawing of the plant was next to it; Molly had carefully sketched the insides of the plant and labeled them. “It’s quite good,” she said.
“Thank you.” Molly crossed the room and brought back a portfolio. “Here are the rest of them. Mr. Griggs has undertaken to teach me about all the plants in the gardens.”
Celia’s eyebrows went up as she turned page after page of drawings. “They’re lovely,” she said, amazed more at the dedication and effort than at the technical skill. She would not have had such patience, or interest, when she was only nine years old.
The girl beamed. “Thank you, ma’am.”
Celia put down the book. “Please call me Aunt Celia, like you used to do.”
Molly’s face grew even brighter. “Gladly, Aunt Celia.”
“It’s time for Miss Preston’s riding lesson, Your Grace,” said a young woman then, who must have been the governess.
Hannah looked at Molly. “You may join us for tea after your lesson, if you wish.”
“Yes, thank you.” Molly grinned once more at Celia. “I shall see you then.”
“Yes.” Celia smiled and followed Hannah from the room as Molly went to change into her riding clothes. “She’s grown so tall,” she said again.
Hannah looked amused. “Hasn’t she? She has also become an expert on everything. No question arises but that Molly has the answer—and she is quick to tell us so. Your mother says she has picked up a great deal of Marcus’s manner, which I doubt is a good thing in a girl of her age.”
“Where is Marcus? Will he be here?” For some reason Celia was hesitant to see her brother; she had a vague sense of foreboding. Marcus, after all, had been persuaded against his better judgment to give Bertie permission to marry her. She knew he wouldn’t speak of it, but she knew he would remember.
“He should return soon. I’ve sent around to Vivian, inviting her and David to dine here this evening, if that won’t be too tiring for you.”
“No,” Celia assured her. Perhaps being surrounded by her family again would revive her spirits and make her feel at ease again.
It did not.
David greeted her with a hug that pulled her off her feet. Vivian, whom Celia remembered as wary and reserved, had clearly fit into the family more, although she was still formal with Rosalind. Waists had dropped, and Vivian’s gown displayed her rounding belly, proof that she would have a child in a few months. Marcus returned and greeted her almost as warmly as David had, but Celia feared his sharper eyes saw what David overlooked. As expected, though, he said nothing of it.
“To Celia,” proclaimed David at dinner, raising his wine glass. “It’s dashed good to have you in London again.” Everyone raised their glasses and echoed his toast. Celia smiled uncomfortably.
“It is good to see you all again as well.”
As if sensing she didn’t wish to talk much, Hannah turned the conversation to other topics. Celia was free to sit and listen in peace as they discussed people and events she knew little about. She felt their eyes on her at various times, but as she had nothing to add, she ignored it. At long last, though, something did occur to her.
“David, is your friend