A Reckless Encounter

“So am I,” Celia said frankly, and they both laughed.

It was wiser to change the subject, and Celia took a seat on an upholstered settee placed before a marble hearth. A fire burned brightly in the grate.

“Tell me all about the plans for your wedding this summer,” she said, “and of course, your betrothed. Are you excited about your future, Caro?”

Shrugging, Carolyn reclined on the lounge chair near the fire and said, “Melwyn is pleasant enough. I’ve known him since I was very young. It’s all been arranged for so long that I suppose I never thought about any other future. I’m content enough.” She smiled slightly. “What of you? What is in your future?”

“My future? I hadn’t thought about it beyond the next year, I suppose.” Celia smoothed a hand over her skirts. It wouldn’t do to think about Northington, or Moreland. Or what she would do once she had achieved her goal.

“I envy you,” Carolyn surprised her by saying. “You are so brave, and so—adventurous! I could never have done what you’ve done, traveled so far and seen the things you must have seen.”

“But you’ve been to France, and I’ve only come from America. I’ve not done the things you must have done.”

Carolyn waved a hand airily. “Oh, everyone goes to France. And it’s not so very far, though I did get a little green on the Channel crossing. We shopped mostly, hardly an adventure, such as coming to live in a new land where everything and everyone must seem so strange to you. I could never be so brave. My life has always been boring and staid. I know what I’ll be doing tomorrow, and it’s the same thing I did yesterday.”

Celia couldn’t answer for a moment. How could she confess how much she envied her that boring life?

“It doesn’t seem so very adventurous to me,” she said at last, “but rather frightening at times. If not for your mother, I don’t know what I would have done.”

“Yes, Mama is very generous. I suppose I take her for granted, when I shouldn’t.”

“Yes, be very glad you have your mother,” Celia said softly, and looked away from the sudden sympathy she saw in Carolyn’s face. “Is she still on the terrace?”

“No, she came up with me. Celia, I must ask, have you set your cap for Lord Northington?” Carolyn laughed softly when Celia merely lifted a brow. “Oh, it’s none of my business, but why shouldn’t you? He’s a splendid match for any woman, and all of London knows that every eligible female over the age of ten has been after him even before he became heir to the Moreland title. It’d be a feather in your cap to be the countess one day, don’t you think?”

“I’m sure it would be.” Celia smiled. “I hardly think it a possibility,

however.”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought of it!” Carolyn sat up, staring at her with interest. “Why do you think he has invited us all here this week? Certainly not to woo Miss Freestone. Mama and I were only invited so that you could come without risk of scandal. I think it’s simply delightful.”

“I think you are mistaken.”

“No, I don’t think I am. Oh, Celia, I saw him looking at you at the last ball, and then only a day later came the invitation to join him here at his country home. You do know that very few people have been invited—or perhaps I should say respectable people.”

“That bodes well for his intentions,” Celia said dryly, and Carolyn giggled.

“Tell me—” she leaned forward to stare intently at Celia “—have you ever…ever…been with a man?”

“Been where? Oh, you mean—Caro, what a question to ask!”

“Well? Have you?”

Celia was beginning to regret the impulse to invite her in for a talk.

“No,” she said, “not in the way that you mean.”

“Is there—how many ways are there?”

Really, what a naive little goose Carolyn was. But it was probable that she was as innocent as she seemed.

“Perhaps you should ask your mother these questions,” she hedged, but Carolyn shook her head.

“I would be mortified. For all that Mama is so sophisticated, she isn’t at all comfortable talking with me about certain things. I haven’t known who to ask. Once, I asked my old nurse about…about my wedding night, but she said that it’s not something decent girls think about. And when I asked Charlotte—my friend who married only a few months ago—about it, she made a face and said it was dark and she just closed her eyes and tried to pretend she was at Brighton, as her mother had advised her to do.”

“Hardly helpful,” Celia said faintly, and Carolyn agreed.

“Yes. But you seem so wise about everything, Celia. I’m sure you must know more than Charlotte. Oh, not that you’re experienced, but you do seem resourceful.”