Alec Mackenzie's Art of Seduction (Mackenzies & McBrides #9)(36)

“I’m sorry, Papa,” she said, her throat dry. “I had no idea the incident upset you so much.”

The duke’s eyes widened. “Well, of course it upset me, child. You’re my daughter—the sweetest young lady who ever graced my presence. I want only the best for you. Harrenton is very wealthy and you’d have never wanted for anything, but I’d not have you live in misery with a man you despised. You were quite right to refuse him, your mother wrong to push you at him. I admire your courage in defying them.”

Celia’s astonishment didn’t leave her. The duke spoke with warmth, and that warmth touched her heart. She’d always loved her father, but as he was not an overly sentimental man, she hadn’t realized how much the affection was reciprocated.

Her mother was not in love with her father—Celia knew that—nor he with her, but neither the duke or duchess was miserable. The duchess adored being one of the most admired hostesses of the ton, while her father found his affection with Mrs. Barnett, a woman Celia had never met.

Celia wasn’t quite certain what to say. Her parents didn’t advocate gushings of endearment. Her father might like them, but they embarrassed him.

“Thank you, Papa.” Celia smiled fondly, her heart warming. “Unfortunately, my stubbornness has made me ineligible to marry anyone else.”

“Oh, I do not believe so,” her father said. “One day you will meet a gentleman who will see your fine qualities and wish to marry you regardless—a gentleman you will esteem and like, I mean. When that happens, you will come to me, and I will give you my blessing and make the marriage happen. Never mind your mother.”

For all his quietness, Celia’s father was a very powerful man. He could shove any marriage he wanted to down society’s collective throats, and he’d do it with a smile and a sip of port.

Celia flung down her toast, sprang to her feet, rushed to the head of the table, and squeezed her father in a fervent embrace. He started and blinked, and Celia bent down and kissed his powdered cheek.

“You are the most wonderful father in the world,” she declared, hugging him again. “Thank you, Papa.”

“Oh. Er.” Her father flushed and looked relieved when Celia let him go. “Quite. But—hem—don’t mention it to your mother. There’s a good gel.”



Celia left the breakfast room and rushed through preparations to depart for her lesson. She wanted to demand Alec tell her whether he had anything to do with the attack on the Marquess of Harrenton and also to explain to him what a wonderful gentleman her father was. Alec needed to see that not all Englishmen were cold and heartless.

She bundled herself into the sedan chair and fidgeted as the bearers lumbered around the square with her, arriving at the front door of Lady Flora’s house just before eight. The footman admitted her and silently led her, not to the studio but to Lady Flora’s breakfast room, where Celia had gone the first morning.

The sun was muted today, dark clouds covering the sky. The gold gilt in the breakfast room, however, shone bright, and tiny mirrors embedded in the moldings reflected the painted blue sky full of cherubs on the ceiling. No need for real sunshine in Lady Flora’s house.

Lady Flora was in the act of pouring a dark stream of chocolate into a tiny porcelain cup when Celia entered. “You have no lesson today, Celia.” She ceased pouring when the chocolate reached exactly one quarter inch below the cup’s rim, and set the pot down. “I had no time to send word before you set off. If you’d like, I can ring for coffee for you and anything you wish to eat.”

Celia’s breakfast still roiled in her stomach. “No, thank you. Why is there no lesson?” she asked in worry. Had Alec been arrested for beating Lord Harrenton? Or was there another dire reason? “Is Mr. Finn’s daughter ill? Is he?”

Lady Flora’s brows puckered. “No one is ill. Mr. Finn is simply not here.”

Celia’s fears escalated. “He is not? Where is he?” Had he fled London after attacking Lord Harrenton, was even now pursued by soldiers?

Lady Flora’s frown deepened. “I’m certain I have no idea. He did not confide in me, simply told me this morning he had an errand and would return too late for your lesson.”

“Oh.” Celia drummed her fingers against her skirts. Calmly leaving the house on an errand did not sound like the actions of a man fleeing for his life. Still, something was amiss, she was certain. Why should Alec be running errands before eight in the morning when Lady Flora had a houseful of servants to do it for him? “Where is Mrs. Reynolds this morning?”

Whenever Mrs. Reynolds was in residence, she graced every room Lady Flora did. It was unusual for Lady Flora to breakfast without her.

“My, you are full of questions,” Lady Flora said impatiently. “That is unbecoming in a young lady, Celia. Mrs. Reynolds also had an errand, and that errand is none of your business. Now either sit down in a civilized manner and Rivers will bring you coffee, or return home. Your lessons will resume tomorrow.”

Celia had no wish to rush back to the cold emptiness of her house and explain why she’d returned. Her father would have departed by now, and Celia would be left alone with the duchess. “May I go up to the studio and draw on my own? Mr. Finn was showing me how to flesh out the tracing from the camera obscura, and I’d like to continue.”