Celia stared up into his face and smiled. It was strange that such a short time ago she had despised this man. He had been working to break up her engagement to his brother-he had thought her nothing more than a title-grabber. But since he had married Rosalinde, Gray had been very kind to Celia. They had developed a budding friendship, in fact. One she could tell would grow and deepen over the years. She never would have guessed that could happen, even in her wildest dreams.
"Nothing, Gray," she said softly. "Thank you, though. Your being there will be comfort enough."
At that sentence, Gray's hand dropped away from hers and his smile fell. "I'm not certain I am there enough, for either of you. I have something to tell you both."
Rosalinde moved forward and wrapped an arm around Celia. Celia felt her tremble slightly and she couldn't help but do the same.
"Is it about our father?" Celia asked.
Gray's face told the story even before he said a word. Since their marriage, he had been searching out information about Celia and Rosalinde's father, a servant who had lost them when their powerful grandfather snatched them away after their mother's death. The two women had been lied to their whole lives about his identity, his whereabouts. Only when their wicked grandfather had wanted to blackmail Celia into marrying a title to satisfy his ambition had he dangled the truth of the man before them.
And Celia did so desperately want to know who he was. She'd been ready to go through with a loveless marriage for that information. To bargain with her grandfather, a man who had once tried to kill Rosalinde.
"Please tell us," she whispered, her voice breaking.
Gray dropped his chin. "I'm sorry. I thought I had a promising clue, but it has led to nothing yet again."
Rosalinde pulled from Celia's arms and Celia watched as she went to Gray for comfort. Alone, she moved to the window and stood to look into the dark with unseeing eyes.
Her father was a missing piece in her life. Unlike Rosalinde, she had nothing else to fill that hole. Celia wanted to know him so very much. To have the whole truth of who she was.
She turned back and could hear Rosalinde's soft whispers to Gray, his murmurs of comfort and apology. She flinched at the intimacy of that moment and forced a serene expression on her face.
"Thank you for trying, Gray," she said.
He looked at her at last. "I won't give up," he vowed. "I will continue to search with all my resources."
But she could see that those resources were wearing thin. Gray didn't think he would ever find the answers she needed. Which meant the only person with any information was her grandfather. The man she had not seen since he tried to choke the life out of her sister in a parlor months before. A man who wanted her to marry a title in order to share the particulars of her family.
She pressed her lips together. "Come, we should go. I don't want to be more than fashionably late."
"Yes," Rosalinde said, linking arms with Gray. "We should forget our troubles for now. You never know what the night will bring."
Celia smiled for the sake of Rosalinde, but as the couple exited the room, that smile fell. It seemed whatever the night would bring would not be enough. But she would put on a falsely happy face regardless and see if any opportunity might present itself.
Celia sighed as she looked out over the dance floor and watched Gray and Rosalinde swirl by in the crowd. Gray's hand was firmly pressed into Rosalinde's hip and their gazes were locked on each other, proof once again of their loving bond.
"She does look happy."
Celia started and looked at the two young women who had stepped up beside her. She'd known Miss Tabitha Thornton and Lady Honora for as long as she could remember. They were old friends and ones who had stood staunchly beside her before, during and after her ill-fated engagement. She appreciated that beyond measure.
"She does," Celia said, addressing Honora, for it was she who had made the statement. "She is. Lucky her."
"Indeed, for Mr. Danford cuts a fine figure," Tabitha sighed. "And I've heard he's worth a fortune, even if Father does turn up his nose that he made it all by work and not inheritance."
Celia shrugged. "I don't care what he does to earn his keep, as long as he takes care of my sister. Which he does in spades."
"So you don't regret breaking your engagement to Stenfax at all?" Tabitha asked, curling a loose blonde lock around her finger.
Celia pursed her lips. Her friends had kindly danced around that subject since her return to London a week before, but here it was. She found herself searching through the ballroom and found the tall, stern figure of the Earl of Stenfax. He was standing in the corner, talking to his sister, Felicity. When they saw her looking their way, both raised their hands in a friendly hello, which she returned before she sighed. Stenfax was very handsome, of course, but he had never moved her, nor had she moved him.
"I do not regret it," she said, and meant it. "Things have worked out exactly right." She cleared her throat and looked around. The women who were not dancing were all gathered in clumps, it seemed, and there was a crackling electricity in the air that made no sense to Celia. "Why is everyone so odd tonight?" she asked, hoping for a change in subject since the topic of her former fiancé was uncomfortable to say the least.
Honora grasped her arm in both hands, her face lighting up in excited pleasure. "You mean you haven't heard?"
"Heard what?" Celia asked, shaking her head. "What is there to hear that would inspire that expression?"
Both women leaned in and Honora whispered, "The Duke of Clairemont is making a return to Society tonight."
Celia wrinkled her brow. "The Duke of Clairemont. I vaguely recognize the title, but why does that matter? We've a room full of stuffy old men as it is. One more boring duke is hardly any matter."
"Oh my Lord, she doesn't know!" Tabitha squealed, and now Celia was being held by both her arms, one for each friend. She rather hoped they didn't try for a tug of war.
Honora all but bounced. "His Grace is not an old man," she said, trying for a whisper but not really accomplishing it in her excitement. "He is barely above thirty and rich as Midas, himself!"
Tabitha tugged on Celia's arm none too gently. "His father died a decade ago and he took the title, but since then he has been a recluse, hiding away in his country estate, Kinghill Castle. No one has seen him in years and years."
"There are so many rumors about why he hid so long, Celia," Honora continued, pulling Celia back to her side. "Some say he was scarred in an accident-"
"A fire!" Tabitha said. "I heard it was a fire."
"Whatever it was." Honora shrugged. "Or that he was driven mad over his father's death."
"Oh there are a dozen stories or more," Tabitha said. "Whatever the truth is, everyone is agog over his return. He is quite the catch."
"Despite being horribly disfigured or mad? Or both?" Celia asked mildly.
Honora let out a huff of breath. "He's titled and rich-did you not hear that part?"
Celia held back a sigh. She hated to be mercenary, especially after all she'd gone through breaking her engagement to Stenfax, but the idea of this duke's title did appeal to her. Since Gray had had little luck in finding out her father's identity, she couldn't help but wonder if her grandfather might consider honoring his original bargain with her.
Marry a title to satisfy him and receive the information that was so well-hidden. Rosalinde would hate that. She wouldn't want Celia anywhere near the old man.
But Rosalinde didn't need the truth as much as Celia felt she did. It didn't eat at her at night, it didn't haunt her every time she looked in the mirror and wondered if she had her father's nose or chin.
"Are you well, my dear?" Tabitha asked, tilting her face to get a closer look at Celia. "You have gotten very pale."
Celia shook her head. These were not thoughts she should entertain. Likely when this mysterious duke arrived he would not be interested in her at all. He would probably be a boring, fat aristocrat who already knew exactly what family he would merge his own with. There was no use getting one's hopes up over a mirage.
"I'm fine, I was woolgathering," she said with a smile to reassure her friends.
Tabitha didn't look certain, but before she could follow up with more questions or concerns, the crowd in the room began to titter and shift. It seemed everyone in the room turned toward the door at once as the servant there made some muffled announcement.
Celia turned with them, lifting on her tiptoes to see who had caused the commotion.
"It must be him," Honora breathed, her hand coming up to fluff her hair. "It must be!"
Celia supposed her friend must be correct, for this mysterious duke was the only addition to Society that would cause such a stir. The crowd began to part, splitting apart like a torn seam, and then the few people before her stepped aside and she caught her breath.
An impeccably dressed man now stood not three feet from her. And he was utterly beautiful, with dark blond hair and steely gray eyes that swept over the room. He had an angled face with a strong jaw and a slightly imperfect nose, like he had broken it at some point during his life. But the imperfection only made the rest of his face that much more striking.