Embark | h.s

Fifteen

Celia dabbed her lips with a napkin and lifted the small glass of wine in front of her, bringing it to her lips. The bitter liquid was not nearly as enjoyable as it was in Greenwich Palace, but she knew that the Paynes had clearly splurged for this evening. She set the glass down and smiled at the happy couple that sat directly across from her at the small dining table.

"Thank you so much for this wonderful meal," Celia said, "I am a horrid cook, and this was a pleasant change."

"Of course," Edward Payne said cheerfully. He was about the same height as Harry, sporting a thick mane of brown hair that was swept back and tied at the nape of his neck, a fashion that many men had been wearing as of late. He wore a goofy grin that spread happiness into the being of anyone that met him, something that Celia had lacked in her relationship with Harry. She concluded that Marisol was a lucky woman to have won him; he had given up everything to be with her, Marisol told her. "I do wish your husband could have joined us."

Celia's small smile faltered. "Yes, well, he had some business to attend to this evening that could not be ignored. I'm sorry."

"No, don't be ridiculous, I understand that he is an important man. Besides, your company is quite appreciated," he said, giving a reassuring smile.

Celia forced the corners of her lips to turn upward slightly to show that she knew that he did not mean any harm by the comment. However, a part of her ached at the sight of Marisol and Edward being so happy together, and the absence of Harry did not help the situation. She took another large gulp of her wine to finish the glass. "I must be going," she said softly. "Nerissa loves her nursemaid, but whines terribly if I don't see her off to bed."

After nods and a few words of understanding, Edward and Marisol rose from their seats, Celia doing the same. They walked her to the door, Marisol standing next to her as Edward fetched her shawl.

"It's dark out, Edward should walk you home," Marisol said.

Celia shook her head. "I'll be fine, it's a short walk."

"Celia," Marisol said, her voice hushed to a whisper, "What about Andrew Tallis?"

Celia's face went pale.

"You didn't tell your husband?"

She shook her head.

Marisol sighed. "Edward, love, will you please walk Celia home?"

"Of course," he said, rounding the corner with Celia's shawl in his hands. He handed it to her, and she wrapped it around her shoulders. "After you," he said, opening the door for Celia.

The walk from the Payne residence to her home was about five minutes, as they were quite a distance apart from each other. The sound of crickets and frogs filled the silent air between them until they came upon the Whites' home. Candles lit up the windows with an orange glow, the shadows of figures moving strangely in the light.

Celia stopped in her tracks. Edward, a few steps ahead of her, glanced back once realizing that Celia was no longer beside him. "What are you doing, Lady Styles?"

Her eyes were glued to the house, watching the shadows drift around and the listening to the dull hum of music. Nerves bubbled in her stomach, her fingers beginning to tremble and her heart beating at an erratic pace. Laughter burst from within the walls of the house. There were more than three people inside. She swallowed hard.

"I think I'll pop into the Whites' home. My husband was supposed to meet with Mr. White earlier," she said with a hitch in her voice. "Thank you for walking me and for having me over this evening. I had a splendid time."

He nodded with an unsure smile. "It was a pleasure to host you. Goodnight."

Celia nodded before turning on her heel and walking up to the front door of the house, her strides long and slow. She inhaled deeply as she raised her shaking hand to knock on the wood. Her fist hovered above the door, trembling with nerves as she contemplated whether or not to arrive unannounced and unexpected, but the thought of Harry lying to her about his reasoning for being at the Whites' home had caused a twinge of anger within her. She knocked on the door twice, quickly regretting her decision and taking a step backward, her sweating hands now dangling by her side.

There was silence. She thought that perhaps no one had heard her. With a sigh of relief, she turned around and began to walk away, but as she took her second step, the creaking of the door opening stopped her from moving any further. Hesitantly, she turned around.

"Good evening, ma'am."

Celia recognized the woman at the door as the cook, who most likely doubled as a housekeeper. Unsure of what to say, Celia strained a smile. "Hello."

"Are you here for the party?"

Celia blinked, clenching her jaw with anger. "I—yes," she said, "yes, I am."

"Right this way, ma'am," the woman said, opening the door further for Celia's entry. "You're late. If there were a larger guest list, I'm sure you would not be missed, but be prepared for all eyes to be on you when you enter. May I take your shawl, Miss...?"

"Styles," she answered as she removed the crochet fabric from her shoulders and handed it to the woman.

"They're just through that door, ma'am," the cook said before disappearing into the kitchen.

Celia inhaled a shaky breath and smoothed her gown out before walking towards the parlor. She could barely hear the music emitting from the harpsichord over her pounding heart. She stepped into the room and immediately felt her hands and feet go numb. As a woman's fingers danced across the ivory keys of a harpsichord, Harry held Eleanor's waist and hand as he led her in twirls around the room. There was a small crowd of five people watching, just as the cook had said. Entranced by the scene before them, no one noticed Celia's presence until the song came to an end and Harry released his grip on Eleanor. The young girl brought her hands together to applaud Harry, her youthful eyes shining and her smile glittering with purity, although Celia found the situation to be less than pure. 

"You did wonderfully," Eleanor said, "I find it hard to believe you've never danced before." Then the girl spotted Celia. Looking past Harry with a grave expression upon her face, she went silent, dropping her hands to her side.

Confused by the shift in her demeanor, Harry glanced over his shoulder, his eyes widening as he looked at his wife. He stumbled forward, his arms outstretched to greet her and apologize, but Celia shook her head, taking a step backward to distance herself. Her lips quivered as hot tears formed in her eyes. She felt her head grow heavier by the second. She stared at Harry as her vision faded to darkness. Unprepared for the impact, she felt her almost lifeless body fall crashing to the floor.