Read Online No Angel (Spoils of Time 01) by Penny Vincenzi - Free Book Online
Authors: Penny Vincenzi
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sparkle in the realms of literature, but to shine with a clear, steady and warm light in the home’, then ‘a healthy body with a fairly informed mind is preferable to an overtstocked brain and a delicate frame’. Oliver had obviously left it for her; she cried almost all night and could hardly bear to look at him for days, so badly did she feel at his continuing hostility and her own remorse.
Eventually, though, Oliver became worried enough about her state of mind to consult not only the family doctor, but also a gynaecologist, then a psychologist, and even a herbalist. To no avail; Celia continued in her state of blank misery.
Finally, in despair, Oliver asked her mother what she thought he should do; Lady Beckenham arrived at Cheyne Walk, complete, as usual with her maid, and after a couple of days, told Oliver she thought the best thing Celia could possibly do was go back to work.
‘She’s just lying up there feeling sorry for herself, with nothing to do; she needs occupation. I always found a week’s fishing up in Scotland put me right after one of these things. Don’t look so surprised, Oliver, I lost at least four. Bloody miserable it is too, you couldn’t begin to imagine it, being a man. Can’t imagine much about anything, if you’re at all like Beckenham. I’d rather thought you were a bit different, I must say. And she thinks you blame her; you shouldn’t. These things happen. I’ve ridden to hounds when I was pregnant with no mishaps; lot more likely to induce miscarriage than bookwork, I’d have thought. Anyway, I don’t imagine fishing would do Celia much good, but I hope you take my point. You let her get back to that work of hers, she really loves it, heaven knows why and I think you’ll find she’ll be as right as rain in no time. Only don’t get her pregnant again yet, for God’s sake. It happens horribly easily afterwards. She’s not as strong as she likes to think.’
Oliver was so appalled by the picture she painted of him that he went straight up to Celia, took her in his arms, and said tenderly, ‘Darling, I want you to know I do love you.’
‘Do you?’ she said, looking at him warily. ‘You don’t seem to.’
‘Of course I do. I’m sorry you’ve had such a rotten time. And—’ he paused, looking back at her just as warily, ‘well, I want you to come back to Lyttons as soon as you possibly can,’ adding, ‘only part-time at first,’ when she sat up in bed, her face flushed with excitement and said:
‘Tomorrow?’
‘No darling, not tomorrow. Next week, if you’re good.’
At which Celia burst into tears again.
‘Darling, please don’t. I want fewer tears now. Perhaps it’s not such a good idea,’
‘No, no, it is. I just need to have something else to think about. I’m so, so sorry, Oliver, I feel so guilty, so bad. I should have been more careful, it’s quite right what the doctors have all said; it was selfish of me, and it’s hurt you so much as well as me. Please forgive me.’
‘I do forgive you,’ he said, kissing her, ‘of course I do. And you – well you weren’t to know,’ he added with great generosity. ‘But next time, well of course you must do what the doctor says. Rest, rest and more rest.’
‘And you’re not angry with me any more?’
‘Not angry. Sad for us both, that’s all. But next time we’ll get it right. And that isn’t going to be for quite a while,’ he added firmly. ‘We must be very, very careful. Now your mother thinks you should join us for supper downstairs. Feel up to that?’
‘I do, yes.’
‘Wily old bird, your mother,’ he said, ‘lots of common sense. I like her more and more. She told me she had at least four miscarriages herself. Did you know that?’
‘Not till today,’ said Celia, ‘when she told me. I suppose it’s not the sort of thing you’d talk to your children about. But I did find it comforting. It didn’t stop her having more babies. So—’
‘Darling, I told you, no
Eventually, though, Oliver became worried enough about her state of mind to consult not only the family doctor, but also a gynaecologist, then a psychologist, and even a herbalist. To no avail; Celia continued in her state of blank misery.
Finally, in despair, Oliver asked her mother what she thought he should do; Lady Beckenham arrived at Cheyne Walk, complete, as usual with her maid, and after a couple of days, told Oliver she thought the best thing Celia could possibly do was go back to work.
‘She’s just lying up there feeling sorry for herself, with nothing to do; she needs occupation. I always found a week’s fishing up in Scotland put me right after one of these things. Don’t look so surprised, Oliver, I lost at least four. Bloody miserable it is too, you couldn’t begin to imagine it, being a man. Can’t imagine much about anything, if you’re at all like Beckenham. I’d rather thought you were a bit different, I must say. And she thinks you blame her; you shouldn’t. These things happen. I’ve ridden to hounds when I was pregnant with no mishaps; lot more likely to induce miscarriage than bookwork, I’d have thought. Anyway, I don’t imagine fishing would do Celia much good, but I hope you take my point. You let her get back to that work of hers, she really loves it, heaven knows why and I think you’ll find she’ll be as right as rain in no time. Only don’t get her pregnant again yet, for God’s sake. It happens horribly easily afterwards. She’s not as strong as she likes to think.’
Oliver was so appalled by the picture she painted of him that he went straight up to Celia, took her in his arms, and said tenderly, ‘Darling, I want you to know I do love you.’
‘Do you?’ she said, looking at him warily. ‘You don’t seem to.’
‘Of course I do. I’m sorry you’ve had such a rotten time. And—’ he paused, looking back at her just as warily, ‘well, I want you to come back to Lyttons as soon as you possibly can,’ adding, ‘only part-time at first,’ when she sat up in bed, her face flushed with excitement and said:
‘Tomorrow?’
‘No darling, not tomorrow. Next week, if you’re good.’
At which Celia burst into tears again.
‘Darling, please don’t. I want fewer tears now. Perhaps it’s not such a good idea,’
‘No, no, it is. I just need to have something else to think about. I’m so, so sorry, Oliver, I feel so guilty, so bad. I should have been more careful, it’s quite right what the doctors have all said; it was selfish of me, and it’s hurt you so much as well as me. Please forgive me.’
‘I do forgive you,’ he said, kissing her, ‘of course I do. And you – well you weren’t to know,’ he added with great generosity. ‘But next time, well of course you must do what the doctor says. Rest, rest and more rest.’
‘And you’re not angry with me any more?’
‘Not angry. Sad for us both, that’s all. But next time we’ll get it right. And that isn’t going to be for quite a while,’ he added firmly. ‘We must be very, very careful. Now your mother thinks you should join us for supper downstairs. Feel up to that?’
‘I do, yes.’
‘Wily old bird, your mother,’ he said, ‘lots of common sense. I like her more and more. She told me she had at least four miscarriages herself. Did you know that?’
‘Not till today,’ said Celia, ‘when she told me. I suppose it’s not the sort of thing you’d talk to your children about. But I did find it comforting. It didn’t stop her having more babies. So—’
‘Darling, I told you, no
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