Chapter Nine

One Week Later

The cold December air tugged at Celia’s riding cloak. She couldn’t help that she’d pushed her horse faster and faster until the wind had pulled the pins from her hair. Celia found the ride invigorating, plus it was the first day this month that there’d been no rain in the morning. That didn’t mean the sun was out, but clouds and no rain were fine with Celia.

In one week, Celia would be leaving Banfield Estate, perhaps forever. In one week, she’d say goodbye to her childhood home and all hopes of things turning out differently. When she returned to the house today, she and Kate would begin to fill the Christmas baskets that they’d deliver tomorrow. Kate had opted to stay at the house instead of go riding since she had the beginnings of a cold. And Lord Banfield had already pledged his help with the deliveries. As he well should.

Celia had to admit that he’d been nothing but a good student, learning all about the estate. He spent the evenings shut away in the library updating the ledgers and leaving Kate and Celia to their own devices. This usually consisted of Celia making some sort of excuse to escape to her bedroom for the rest of the evening and continue writing her story. It had taken on a new shape since the arrival of Lord Banfield.

“Whoa there,” someone called, and Celia looked over her shoulder.

Lord Banfield was riding only a few paces behind her. He wore no hat, and the wind pushed through his hair and against his clothing.

She nearly reined her horse in and turned fully around. She and Lord Banfield hadn’t been alone since that first night that he’d knocked on her bedroom door. Kate had been an excellent companion, even though it had been painful to watch her endless flirting with Lord Banfield and to listen to her compliments of that man each night.

“Why the hurry?” Lord Banfield said over the wind, flashing her a smile.

Celia wouldn’t let the smile go to her heart, or her mind. He smiled that way at Kate too. There was nothing special in it, not for her at least. Because of her apparent emotional state around Lord Banfield—as had manifested more than once—keeping in Kate’s company at all times had been most helpful.

Even when he’d had questions about receipts, Celia had brought Kate. And when he told them the purpose of the vicar’s private meeting in the library with him, Celia had had Kate with her. Kate had exclaimed over the gossip, but then quickly agreed that Lord Banfield should search for a wife.

Which was why, when the invitation to a Christmas ball came from the Foxes, Kate had encouraged Lord Banfield to accept on all their behalves. Of course, Celia had cried off. She was still in mourning for her brother. Besides, a good deal of her belongings had been packed into trunks already, and . . . well, truthfully, Celia could have attended the ball and sat out the dancing, but she didn’t want to watch the women flock to Lord Banfield’s side.

He was beside her now, his horse keeping pace with hers. He didn’t try to speak anymore, just rode. Celia’s destination was the hill overlooking the row of tenant houses, but perhaps she’d ride farther today to lose Lord Banfield. After all, he only went for short rides since he’d been so caught up in the ledgers and management of the estate.

Visitors had come and gone each day, and in truth, the only time Celia had spent with him had been at mealtimes. It was enough to see him wearing bits of her brother’s clothing. A vest here, a cravat there. Never an entire ensemble, which made her wonder if he was just waiting for her to leave Banfield before he donned more of the borrowed clothing.

Today, she couldn’t help but notice, he wore a new coat, one that his valet must have ordered. But the riding gloves had been her brother’s. She’d given them to Bart several years ago as a gift. She tore her gaze from the gloves and swallowed back the building emotion. Soon she’d be gone from this place full of memories, and soon she’d be able to build a life anew.

As her horse thundered up the hill, she eased off the reins, and the horse slowed. Lord Banfield adjusted his pace to hers. When she stopped at the top of the hill, Lord Banfield joined her.

Out of breath, Celia said nothing for several moments as she looked over the tenant housing and the land that stretched before them. A few days ago, Celia had brought Kate and Lord Banfield out here and introduced him to each tenant.

Now that she was no longer racing through the wind, the cold, damp air settled around her and seeped through her clothing. She tried not to shiver, but her body had other ideas. Before she could protest, Lord Banfield slid off his overcoat and set it around her shoulders, then returned to holding the reins of his horse.

Still, they didn’t speak. There was too much to speak of, yet Celia didn’t want to speak at all. She didn’t want to discuss the ledgers she’d neglected, or the distribution of the Christmas baskets, or her impending departure, or least of all the Christmas ball that she’d be missing the next night.

“I could not sleep last night,” Lord Banfield said.

The statement surprised her, and she glanced over at him. His gaze remained on the land below.

“I ended up pacing the house and saw that your light was on again,” he continued.

Well, Celia had nothing to say to that. Fortunately, he hadn’t knocked again on her bedroom door. So she simply nodded.

“Do you ever let people read your writing?” he asked.

Her breath hitched. “I . . . of course people read my letters.”

“Is that all you’re writing?” He reached for her hand and slipped her glove off.

Celia didn’t have to look down to know that ink stained the edges of her fingers. The warmth of his hand holding hers was a stark contrast to the cold wind.

“Is it poetry?” he asked.

She met his gaze, wondering why he persisted with his questions. What did it matter to him? “I’m writing a novel.” The words had slipped out, unheeding. Instantly, she wished she could take them back.

The edges of his mouth lifted into a surprised smile, and she tried not to notice how the shadowed appearance of whiskers on his jaw indicated the lateness of the afternoon. “Tell me more,” he said.

And in those brown eyes of his, she saw that his interest was genuine. And perhaps it was because in another week, she might never see this man again, that she told him about her writing. She told him how she closeted herself in her room late into the night to write her story. How it had been a story of a young woman traveling to India, and all the adventures she encountered. Adventures she’d never see in her own lifetime, but had read about and overheard at dinner parties.

Lord Banfield had released her hand, and she’d pulled her glove back on while she told him about her manuscript. “Of course I could never have it published,” she said. “I’m already enough of a blight on society as it is.”

“Because you’re not married?” he said.

She looked away. “Because I’m not married.”

“Damn society, then,” he said in a soft voice, and he didn’t even apologize for his curse. “Publish anyway.”

She felt a smile working its way to the surface, and she sneaked a glance at him. “Perhaps under a pseudonym.”

His gaze was intent on her, and she had to focus on her breathing.

“I, for one, would be honored to read your manuscript,” he said.

Celia wanted to laugh; surely he was jesting. But his expression was in earnest.

“I am glad we have this moment alone, Lady Celia.” He moved his horse closer to hers. “I have done a poor job of expressing my condolences for the loss of your brother.”

She did not know what to say. Many people had expressed similar sentiments, but coming from the new Lord Banfield, it felt different. More sincere somehow.

His hand reached for hers again, and she watched his fingers curl around hers. She was utterly breathless. What was he doing? What were his intentions?

“Lady Celia, I have a proposal to make.”

Her pulse shot up. He couldn’t mean what she thought he was saying, but when she looked up at him, she saw his mouth move with those very words.

“Marry me and stay at Banfield.”