THE BUTLER USHERED them up the stairs.

“His Grace does not seem to delight at conversation,” Theodosia said.

“His Grace delights in chemistry.” The butler’s face reddened. “The science form.”

Celia’s lips twitched. The manor house was lovely.

Clearly the duke had more important things to do than make conversation.

“His Grace works in the East Wing, below you,” the butler said. “He does not like to be disturbed.”

“Perhaps His Grace should not have had a house party,” Theodosia said.

The butler tilted his face in the direction of Theodosia. “Perhaps. So far you are the only guests.”

“Where are the others?” Theodosia asked.

The butler managed to look embarrassed. “We are expecting more, but the storm is strong. You are lucky to have arrived now.”

“Oh.” Theodosia’s confident expression wavered. “Please make sure there are two beds made up in the room. I would not like to be thought to be without a chaperone.”

“Very well.” The butler stopped before a door. “Welcome.”

Theodosia entered the room and Celia followed her.

It was magnificent.

A great bed, swathed in silky fabric that glowed under the fire in the hearth sat in the middle of the room. An oriental carpet peaked from the bed’s intricately carved legs.

Theodosia frowned. “Even the walls are wood. How terribly old fashioned.”

“I find the wood paneling cozy.”

Theodosia laughed. “I admit it is better than servant’s quarters, even if it does take its decor from the medieval era.”

Celia flushed.

For a moment she even missed London. At least in London she knew what to do. She had her own room which she shared with Polly, and not with the daughter of an earl.

The legitimate daughter of an earl.

“I’ll unpack.” Celia needed to do something.

It was too easy to linger on their meeting with the duke.

Of course he had seemed impressive.

It came with the title.

She pushed away the thought that she’d been drawn to him even before she learned whom he was.

Or that he’d saved them.

Something sounded outside.

“What was that noise?” Celia asked.

Theodosia rolled her eyes. “Probably the mad duke. He’s obsessed with science. Positively scandalous. These blankets are so soft. If I were him, I would never venture into the basement.”

“You mean the laboratory?”

Theodosia flickered her hand dismissively. “The name doesn’t change the fact it’s in a dark, windowless room.”

“He’s supposed to be intelligent,” Celia said. “And he’s handsome.”

Theodosia frowned. “But he occupies himself with such dull things. He’s not like...Pierre.” Theodosia’s eyes softened, and Celia was certain she was imagining Pierre in the room with them.

“Pierre writes poetry,” Theodosia said, and her eyes continued to sparkle and glisten.

“How lovely,” Celia said.

“He’s a deep, tender soul.”

“But not as wealthy as the duke.”

Theodosia frowned. “Money is the root of all evil. Shakespeare said it.”

Celia frowned. The vicar at the church they attended said it as well, even as he asked for collections to increase the artwork in the already beautifully decorated church.

“To strive for money is a dreadful thing indeed,” Theodosia said solemnly.

Celia averted her gaze.

Theodosia didn’t seem aware that everything she loved to do...wearing pretty dresses, selecting ribbons and hats that would match her pretty dresses and imbue her with even further good taste, and reading ballads and epic poems, was because of their father’s money and position.

Celia’s mother’s poor background had rendered it impossible for Celia to have a similar lifestyle as Theodosia, but her half-sister did not realize how fortunate she was to be able to devote so much time to art and poetry.

She unpacked Theodosia’s gold dress. The material shimmered in the light. Celia couldn’t imagine ever wearing anything so lovely. Maids wore thick woolen dresses. The only advantage of those was that they were so shapeless, one wasn’t required to wear complex undergarments that took a long time to put on, only to leave the wearer too constrained to move.

Something sounded again.

She frowned.

“Such a horrible racket,” Theodosia said. “What is he doing? I cannot believe my mother wants me to marry him.”

“I don’t think the sound is coming from downstairs,” Celia said. “It seems to be coming from outside.”

She went to the large windows. Perhaps icicles were falling from the ledge. Likely she just needed to shut it again.

Bham.

She blinked.

The sound came again. Right at the window. It was unlikely the roof was collapsing, but she still glanced up to see...

A perfectly proportioned masculine face. The man’s chiseled features could have come straight from Matchmaking for Wallflowers. In fact, she was fairly certain it had come from the cover of Matchmaking for Wallflowers latest Men to Adore list as well as various sketches of the ideal man.

“Vicomte?”

“What are you going on about, Celia?” Theodosia called out.

“I mean...” Celia blinked.

But it was undeniable.

There on the snow, an elegant silk cravat tied around his neck, and his beaver hat at a daring angle, was Vicomte Espadon. Theodosia’s Pierre. In his arms were red roses strewn over the balcony ledge. They must have cost a fortune. He would have had to have dragged them from London.

He plopped down into a kneel, uncaring or sufficiently unobservant, of the snow.

“Where is my darling Lady Theodosia? Light of my eyes, fire of my soul?”

“Pierre?” Theodosia’s voice sounded behind Celia, followed soon by the sound of noisy footsteps.

In the next moment Theodosia pulled the window up further, shoving Celia out of her way.

“Darling Pierre!” She clutched her heart, and her eyes shone still brighter. “Wherefore art thou here?”

Celia cringed at the unconventional word use. Theodosia had always preferred the sound of the words to whether they were still in use.

Vicomte Espadon though seemed wholly unconcerned. “Ma crevette!” he repeated enthusiastically. “I have traveled to you!”

“You have,” Theodosia confirmed, equally enthusiastically.

“You are my love!” He fumbled in his pocket.

Celia’s chest hurt.

She’d read Loretta Van Lochen books before.

She knew what was coming next.

It was something she could never experience.

She was happy Theodosia would.

The vicomte swept out his hand, and despite the snow, Theodosia could see the sparkle of a diamond ring.

“Lady Theodosia,” he said gravely. “Will you do me the immense, monumental, stupendous honor of becoming my wife for all eternity?”

Theodosia stretched her hand through the open window. Snowflakes fell onto the wooden floor, and Celia hoped they would not leave a stain.

“It would be my utmost pleasure, delight, joy,” Theodosia said.

“Naturally,” Theodosia shouted with glee, and in the next moment she grabbed her cloak and scrambled from the window.

“Theodosia!” Celia shouted. “What are you doing?”

“I am spending time with my beloved!” Theodosia said.

“B-but,” Celia glanced around.

Had she just become a dreadful chaperone?

“Your mother won’t approve.”

Perhaps Vicomte Espadon had a title, but it didn’t equal that of a duke.

Theodosia’s mother had been intent on her daughter marrying Lord Salisbury.

She would be devastated.

And perhaps Celia would be dismissed.

“You needn’t worry about her,” Theodosia said. “My life is with Pierre now. And it will be marvelous, magnificent and incredible.”

Pierre squeezed her hand. “And I’ll add that it will also be wonderful, lovely and awe-inducing.”

“My darling,” Theodosia murmured, and they kissed, uncaring that Celia was there.

“What should I do?” Celia asked.

“Oh, stay here. We are just going to frolick in nature, cradle of our happiness. It wouldn’t do for anyone to find Pierre in my room.”

Celia was fairly certain it wouldn’t do for anyone to find him at all. She sighed. “Please put on a coat. Let me find your muff.”

“Love will keep me warm,” Theodosia said, but she waited until Celia dressed her in her warmest outerwear.

Pierre swept Theodosia in his arms and held her over the balcony. “Grab hold of that branch, ma crevette, and place your sweet delicate foot onto the one below. My white stallion is below, ready to carry us off to happiness.”

“My love!” Theodosia said.

“Ma crevette!” Pierre exclaimed.

They kissed again and Theodosia grabbed hold of the branch in an uncharacteristic show of athleticism.

“Come back soon,” Celia cried.

“Do not tell anyone of my adventure.” Theodosia dropped down.

Judging from the lack of horrified screams of Pierre, Celia assumed her descent had been successful. Pierre followed Theodosia down the tree, and in the next moment they galloped off into horizon.

Celia shut the window with a thud.

The room seemed far too silent without Theodosia’s chatter.

She was happy, she reminded herself. Happy for Theodosia.

She still wrapped her hands together. The room seemed too cold, and she wondered at the duke, valiantly working his mysterious formulae, incognizant his would-be wife had already abandoned him.