Sinful in Satin by Madeline Hunter Page B

and not the present. That means, Bella, if you never want to tell me about your family, or how you came to be alone, I will never ask it of you.”
    Bella cocked her head, puzzled by this right to keep her own counsel.
    “We will each contribute to the household as we can. You have both already agreed to that, in offering to help with its upkeep. And if we leave the house and intend to be gone more than the normal time, we will inform the others, so no one worries.”
    “That sounds sensible,” Marian said, nodding away.
    “As independent women, we must protect each other, and each learn to protect ourselves,” Celia said, explaining another important precept under which she had lived for five years with Daphne.
    “No problem with that. I’m well practiced in defending myself, and Bella here once or twice. Ain’t that right, Bella?”
    “Then we are all agreed on the basic rules,” Celia said. “There are a few others of less importance that I will explain later.”
    Marian stood. “I’ll be fixing baths for us down in the kitchen now. Best to wash the past off, so we can start fresh in the morning.”
    “Yes, that would be good,” Bella said. It was her first contribution to the conversation. Celia hoped it showed Bella had overcome her fear.
    Bella started to follow Marian to the door, but faltered in her steps. She scurried back, took Celia’s hand in her own two, and raised the little pile to her lips.
    Her eyes closed hard while she pressed a kiss on the hand she held. Then she was gone, hurrying to catch up with Marian.
     
     
    N oise from the kitchen below eventually gave way to giggles and footsteps on the back stairs. In the library, Celia set down her book and listened to Marian and Bella trod up to the attic passage and the room they would share.
    There were other chambers up there, besides theirs and Mr. Albrighton’s. One was used for storage. Celia had spied into it while she showed Marian the choices. She had needed to use her key to enter, and in the dark noticed only that it held an old trunk.
    Tomorrow or the next day she would go up there, finally, and see what her mother had left in this retreat. Here, perhaps, there might be a clue about her father’s name.
    It had been a full day and a long night, and Celia knew that she should go to bed herself. Mr. Albrighton had not returned, but he would ensure the doors were secure when he did, if he returned at all.
    The day’s events made her too restless for sleep. The house, all but empty these last days, now felt crowded with the new spirits inhabiting it. Lifting her cloak from its peg, she bundled herself well, and left the house to take a quiet turn in the night garden before retiring.
    She strolled down to the shrubbery, and the fallow bed stretching in front of it. Verity had probably taken one look at it and known exactly what to add to it in spring. Verity had found a true calling while living at The Rarest Blooms, first learning all she could from Daphne, then turning to books and journals and experimenting herself. Her earl permitted this avocation’s continuance now, and Lady Hawkeswell’s correspondence with horticulture experts all over England was always answered.
    Verity had been too kind to mention that this entire garden showed neglect. Mama’s brief stays did not facilitate regular upkeep, no doubt. There would be a lot of work to do here this spring.
    She mused about that, and the improvements she would make. Her thoughts turned to Mama herself after a few minutes. She pictured the other house, and the afternoon salons that Mama liked to hold in the French manner, and the dinner parties at which she would have Celia sing.
    The men who attended were all of good blood and high incomes, whether they had titles or not. She should have remembered that. Of course Jonathan must have had one or the other as well, if he had been included.
    She tried to ignore how the thought of that made her oddly sad again. It was silly to react