Alec Mackenzie's Art of Seduction (Mackenzies & McBrides #9)(41)

He’d leave that up to her. Unlike Malcolm, Alec considered himself a simple man. Mal went through machinations and manipulation to get what he wanted. Alec simply took it.

As the carriage rolled through the rain toward London, Alec laid his plans, which he did not share with Mrs. Reynolds. They were none of anyone’s business but his own.



When the soldiers departed and Jenny was quiet, Celia tucked the babe into her cot, kissed her soft hair, and left the nursery.

She descended the stairs, instructing a footman to call a sedan chair for her and have someone fetch her portfolio. Rain had begun in earnest, and Celia had the feeling she’d not see Alec today.

Rivers met her at the bottom of the stairs, his face drawn, his eyes red-rimmed. Celia halted in surprise—she’d never seen Rivers distressed before.

“Is everything all right, Rivers? The soldiers didn’t hurt anyone, did they? Or arrest anybody?”

Rivers made a correct bow. “No, my lady. I beg your pardon. Things are a bit at sixes and sevens, but no harm has been done.”

Celia frowned at him. “Clearly something is the matter. What has happened?”

Rivers remained stiff, looking down his long nose. “Nothing, my lady.” He started to say more, but then his eyes swam with sudden tears. “Truth to tell, my lady, her ladyship has taken to her bed. She is very upset. Mrs. Reynolds can usually soothe her, but she is not here. I’m a bit worried.”

The shock of Rivers revealing he had such a human emotion as concern stunned Celia a moment, then she took a breath.

“I can look in on her if you like.”

Rivers hesitated, as though wondering what sort of comfort Celia could offer, then he deflated in relief. “If you would be so kind, my lady. It is this way.”

He started up the stairs, Celia gathering her skirts to follow.

Rivers led her to a bedroom that was as large and grand as a ballroom. Two floor-to-ceiling windows faced the garden in back of the house, the ceiling painted with the same blue skies and cavorting cherubs as the morning room below it. A circular molding had been placed in the middle of the ceiling, the illusion of a dome with an oculus painted inside it.

Beneath this dome was a bed with gold damask hangings. The bed’s canopy was gathered in a ring in the very center, draperies flowing from it over the four bedposts in an elegant cascade.

The rest of the chamber held sofas, chairs, and a writing table. A double door led to an equally sumptuous dressing room where Lady Flora conducted her public toilette, though Celia had never been invited to one.

Lady Flora lay in the bed, her slim form nearly lost among pillows, sheets, and velvet bed coverings. The sound of quiet sobbing reached Celia as soon as she stepped through the door.

The fact of Lady Flora weeping was even more stunning than Rivers’s worry. Celia gave a nod to Rivers to leave them alone.

Celia waited until Rivers, with a look of reluctance, quietly pulled the chamber door closed behind him before she approached the bed.

“Lady Flora?” Celia asked softly. “Can I help?”

Lady Flora sat upright with a gasp, her sobs breaking off. Her face was blotchy and swollen, her eyes red and wet, her hair tumbling down her shoulders in tangles. Her poised beauty had vanished, and Celia gazed upon an exhausted, unhappy woman.

“What are you doing in here?” Lady Flora’s usual stentorian tones were weak and scratchy. “I will sack Rivers. Get out.”

“What is it?” Pity moved Celia to climb the bed step to sit on the mattress and reach for Lady Flora’s hand. “Did the soldiers upset you? Did any of them hurt you?”

“No!” Lady Flora sniffled and groped for a handkerchief that was just out of her reach. Celia plucked it up and handed it to her. “It is nothing. I am tired, that is all. I have been staying out too late and not sleeping enough.”

Her wretchedness surely had more to it than missing sleep. “Mrs. Reynolds is certain to be back soon. Where did she go?”

Lady Flora snatched her hand from Celia. “Never you mind. Yes, she will return. Rivers will send her to me. She will understand …”

She broke off, a sob working up through her chest and out her mouth before she could stop it. She squeezed her eyes shut, hiccupping for breath.

“I will stay with you until she comes.” Celia rested her hand on Lady Flora’s thin back as the woman bowed her head, her body shuddering. “You should not be alone.”

Lady Flora tried to shake her off again. “You don’t understand. How could you? I miss her. I miss her with every breath. Why did they take her away from me?” The last words rose into a wail.

Celia knew she was not speaking of Mrs. Reynolds, but Sophia, her daughter. Tears of sympathy stung Celia’s eyes as she put her arms around Lady Flora and gathered her close. This time, Lady Flora collapsed onto Celia’s shoulder and sobbed brokenly.

“I’m so sorry.” Celia stroked Lady Flora’s hair, no longer timid with her. Lady Flora was a lonely woman, and she grieved. “So sorry.”

There was nothing more to say. Sophia had been a beautiful and kind young woman, and she’d died far too young. The cold emptiness of the house was due to her absence.

Celia puzzled over the words Why did they take her away from me? Lady Sophia had died of a fever, as had several others in London that year. Celia’s father had moved his family to the country to avoid it.