Page 67 of A Night of Secret Surrender
A twist of anger gripped Celeste. ‘Well, I intend to be there for every second of my child’s life.’
‘Even when the censure of others brings you to your knees?’
‘I don’t need society or its approval.’
The returning laugh was harsh. ‘No one lives in a vacuum, Celeste. No one is immune to condemnation and if you think this fatherless child of yours is never going to be called out on such a fact, then you are wrong. My name can give some measure of protection, of course, but after that...’
She turned away, but not before Celeste saw her hands shake.
‘I should not have come here...’
She was stopped before she could utter another word.
‘Of course you should have come home, for no matter what your father said of me I will always protect family. You and your child will be welcome at Langley until the day I die and beyond it. Know that I would swear such even on my deathbed.’
Celeste was astonished. She had not been asked for the details of her child’s father. She had not been castigated for becoming pregnant. Any censure had been directed at those who might be cruel about their situation. Her grandmother was standing between her and condemnation like an avenging angel as she swore guardianship until the day she died.
It was astonishing. In a woman whom Celeste had imagined she would find little compassion, she had received fearsome and unwavering support. Even her own papa had been unable to promise as much.
‘Thank you.’ The words were small and insufficient, but her grandmother tipped her head and watched her closely.
‘If I could give you one piece of advice, it would be this—write to the father of your child and tell him of Loring’s existence. You might be surprised by what happens, Celeste, for if my advanced age has taught me anything it is that while one holds on to life, nothing is impossible.’
Impossible.
Some things just absolutely were. For a man of Summer’s worth to be tied to a woman like her simply because of a pregnancy was impossible and Vivienne Shayborne had just told her of his interest in one of the most beautiful and lauded daughters of theton.
He could have found her in France, should he have wanted to, for he had both the contacts and myriad ways of obtaining information. But he had not. He had taken the boat to England from Nantes and forgotten her.
Summerley Shayborne was a good man, a moral man and a hero. Her own mother had had to marry her father because of an unplanned pregnancy and look how that had turned out. They had crucified each other with their unsolvable differences, punishing each other until neither knew any other way to be, even had they wanted to.
She shook away any romantic notion of Summer arriving and professing his undying love the moment he knew she was at Langley. He was probably thanking his lucky stars for such a timely escape.
Life had never been a fairy tale. She could stay here until she worked out exactly what she was going to do and their paths never need to cross again.
The ache of such a realisation almost brought her to her knees, but she had a child to think about and a grandmother two feet away who was watching her carefully.
‘I shall not be sending any correspondence, Grandmère.’
‘So what is done is done?’
Such words had her nodding. ‘It is just us. Me and the baby. There will be no one else.’
* * *
Later, walking with Loring across the wide green lawns to the lake, she fell to her knees behind a low stone wall and let the tears fall.
‘I will keep you safe,’ she whispered to the small sleeping child. ‘And I will always love you.’
Another image rose as she said these words, shimmering velveted eyes soft after the throes of lovemaking.
He’d told her she was beautiful and brave on their journey from Paris together, but now he was gone, from here and from her, the lure of London society drawing him in no doubt. She could imagine him in the city with his sense and his calmness, with his ability to negotiate the nuances of language and his easy way of leading people from all walks of life.
Out of uniform he would be war-weary yet tough. How he must have drawn the interest of every lady young and old in court with his danger and mystery!
Celeste picked a wild flower and stripped off its petals, lifting them up in the wind to scatter on the grass before her. She had become superstitious since losing Summer at Nantes and often now balanced one unlucky outcome against another. The way the petals landed. The number of ducks that crossed her path on the way to the river. Sneezing to the right, seeing spiders in the morning, birds flying low in the sky. Every step she took now held the terror of bad omens, the possibility of ill fortune in each living thing coming down to land on her shoulders.
Once she had been brave and certain. Once she had been a woman who walked her world with boldness, daring and fortitude.
