Page 62 of Aurelia

“Did you miss me?”

She gaped up at him. “Er…”

Roland laughed, suddenly quite pleased with… everything.

“It is good to be home,” he said, grinning at the flustered woman. Too damned good, he feared.

***

Aurelia had just clasped her pearls around her neck when the door to her chambers flew open hard enough to bounce off the wall and Celsa stormed in.

“Lady Celsa,” she said flatly, giving the younger woman a level look.

“What?”

“How many times have I asked you to knock, first?”

Celsa glared and flung up her hands. “Ten? Twenty? I don’t know. Why does it matter?”

“I might have been in a state of undress.”

“I knew you would be ready for dinner.” Her lip curled into a slight sneer. “You are always down early. When Papa is here.”

Aurelia refused to be baited. Instead, she smoothed down the front of the antique gold silk gown, checking her reflection one last time before turning to the girl.

“That is a very nice gown,” Celsa said. “Did you put it on especially for my father?”

“Thank you,” she said, choosing to ignore her barb.

“I saw you arrive with him earlier,” Celsa persisted.

“I happened to be passing the pier when he was coming ashore. You could have joined us if you’d not thundered off in a sulk.”

“I suppose you told him that I was riding without you.”

“Then you suppose wrong,” Aurelia said, draping a gold-fringed wrap around her shoulders before leaving the room, not bothering to see if the surly girl followed.

She hadn’t gone far when Celsa hurried up beside her. “I suppose I should thank you for not being a tattletale.”

“Again, you suppose incorrectly. I don’t want an apology if you don’t mean it.”

The girl had the decency to blush. “I am sorry. I should have known you would not tell.”

That didn’t mean Miss Hatchet hadn’t, but it didn’t seem worthwhile to remind Celsa of that.

“Guustin is coming to dinner tonight,” the girl said after a moment.

“Oh?”

“That shocks you, doesn’t it?”

“Why should it shock me? Everyone needs to eat.”

“You are being purposely obtuse. You know what I mean—the fact that my father’s bastard sits down at the same table as the rest of us.”

“That is an unkind word.”

“What word? Table?” Celsa taunted.