Alec Mackenzie's Art of Seduction (Mackenzies & McBrides #9)(64)
The house Alec had drawn looked familiar, but then England was dotted with large homes in similar styles as men who made fortunes around the world built mansions for themselves and their families. Celia’s mother sneered at these upstarts, men of no title or background, basing their dynasties on nothing but money. Celia’s father, more pragmatic, said it was the times they lived in, and if these fellows were lucky enough to make a packet, they ought to enjoy it. Celia’s mother only sniffed and condemned him with a glance.
“Who lives in the houses?” she asked.
“This one is rented out by Sir Amos Westwood, but I don’t know about the others,” Alec said. “I am not acquainted with all the aristos in England.”
“But I am,” Celia said eagerly. “If you show me these houses, I can tell you who lives there or nearby and whether they are likely to have Scottish soldiers kept prisoner in their outbuildings.”
“Lady Flora also knows them,” Alec pointed out. “I’d rather risk her jaunting about the countryside, not you. Or Mrs. Reynolds, whom Lady Flora will likely send in her place.”
“Bugger that,” Celia said decidedly.
Alec’s eyes widened, then a sparkle lit their depths.
Josette burst out laughing. “You’ve shocked him, my dear. I never thought it possible to shock a Mackenzie.”
Celia shrugged, but she felt amused triumph. “My brother is a soldier. He taught me all sorts of bad words. I’ll not sit here and embroider, Alec Mackenzie, while you risk your neck poking around places guarded by British soldiers. In fact, I ought to go scouting with Mrs. Reynolds while you stay well out of sight. If we are caught, the guards will roll their eyes and send us two lost gentle-born ladies on their way. You would be clapped in chains the moment you opened your mouth.”
Josette continued to chuckle. “She has a point, my friend.”
Alec’s brows came down. “Like hell I’m letting ye rush about the countryside on your own. Mrs. Reynolds is a competent woman, but every highwayman from here to the coast will sniff out a fine carriage with only two ladies inside.”
“You could send your man, Padruig, to protect us. I don’t believe highwaymen would bother him.”
“If I can find him, if Gair will spare him, and if I didn’t think Gair would gouge me for every shilling I had. No, if you’re determined then I and my pistol are accompanying you, wife.”
Celia lifted her coffee cup, pleased. “That is settled then.”
Alec studied the ceiling. “May God grant me patience. You are right, lass, that ye’ll know the countryside and the people living in it better than I. But ye stay in the coach, no matter what we find, no matter what I decide to do. Agreed?”
“I doubt rushing about through wet fields would be good for my constitution,” Celia said. “And Mrs. Reynolds is always good company. Do you know, she’s been to China? How exciting.”
Josette began to laugh again as Alec looked pained. Josette beamed at Celia, which made her lovely face even more beautiful. “I do believe you will be very good for him, my dear.”
Alec took Celia upstairs to spend the next hour with Jenny. Josette had sent off a lad to deliver the letter to Celia’s father, and Alec sent a verbal message by a man he knew and trusted to Lady Flora, telling her he wanted to further explore country houses. She’d know what he meant. Now to wait for her response.
Jenny sang out when she saw Alec, squirmed down from her chair, and took two toddling steps toward him. Alec caught her in his arms and lifted her high.
Jenny clung to him and pressed a very wet kiss to his cheek, then she pushed from him and launched herself at Celia.
Where did tiny children come by such strength? Jenny was out of his arms before he could stop her, and Celia staggered as she caught the babe.
Celia laughed, her face lighting. She didn’t seem to mind the drool coming out of Jenny’s happy mouth to stain her fichu, or the way Jenny burrowed into Celia’s shoulder, her tiny hands clenching the finely woven wool of Celia’s gown.
Sally hovered nearby with a distressed expression, but Celia only held Jenny more securely and looked down at her with wonder. “Good afternoon, little one,” she said, her voice holding a tenderness Alec hadn’t heard in it before. “I’m your new Mama.”
Jenny cooed, pleased. When Celia looked at Alec, her eyes were shining with tears.
Alec drew both Celia and his daughter into the circle of his arms, a pain that had been lodged in his heart for a long while easing.
The coachman who’d met them outside the gardens at Vauxhall halted at Josette’s door an hour later. Celia, wrapped in a dun-colored cloak, her hair covered by a broad-brimmed hat, took Alec’s hand to let him help her in. He sprang up behind her, wearing Mr. Finn’s brown, rather worn frock coat and breeches she’d first seen him in, and boots rather than stockings and shoes.
With his hair tied back in a simple tail and a tricorn pulled low over his forehead, Alec looked like any other man hurrying about London on a weekday morning. Alec and Celia might be a plain middle-class husband and wife running errands, deciding what sort of furniture they’d like for their house, and what food to buy for the baby.
It was a strange sensation, being like everyone else. Celia had been shut away in a cushioned world of privilege her entire life, servants at her beck and call to bring her anything she wished. This could have turned her into a horrible, spoiled shrew, but the example of her haughty mother had made her shrink from it. Celia had aimed to be more like her father, conscious of his own position but also conscious of his duty to use that position to benefit others.