She anticipated her parents’ arrival any day, and the wedding would then take place. Celia was unsure of Gabriel’s plans after that, nor did she know what to expect. Most bridal couples went away on extended honeymoons, but in their case, Gabriel had serious, pressing duties now. His presence would undoubtedly be required for various estate business.

Heath cheerily suggested the new couple begin with a visit at Greenbriar Fields, his home in Oxfordshire. Gabriel’s reply was noncommittal.

“Later, perhaps. I wish to acclimate myself to my new station and marital status at Rosenthorne. And there is work being done there requiring Lady Celia’s approval and input.”

“Already ripping out the old wallpaper and tossing the furniture, I suppose?” Heath mused with a nod of approval. “Can’t say that I blame you there, brother. The entire estate needs a good overhaul.”

Celia sensed Gabriel was perplexed by this somewhat affable newfound brother of his. He seemed unable to decide if Heath was truly an ally or a threat in disguise.

She admitted having the same thoughts initially, but Heath never exhibited the slightest indication he could be a villain in the making. In fact, Viscount Banbury was very much like Gabriel. Straightforward. A little arrogant. A great deal charming. His reputation would bolster Gabriel’s own as he entered the dragon’s lair otherwise known as the ton. For although many would accept a previous bastard’s rise to prominence, there would be others refusing to acknowledge Gabriel’s claim to the marquessate. It might not even matter to some that the queen herself sanctioned the old marquee’s will. Gabriel would be shunned. And Celia along with him.

When the other ladies decided they would migrate to the drawing room following supper, Celia stood up from the table. A helpful footman quickly eased her chair back out of the way.

“If you will excuse me, I believe I shall retire for the evening.”

“I do hope you are not unwell, Lady Celia,” Sara said, with a concerned frown.

“Oh, just a slight headache. Caused by an afternoon in the sun on horseback, no doubt. I’ll be perfectly fine by morning.” Celia shot a glance at Gabriel.

He’d still not uttered a word about her riding Arion. She hoped he did not mind that she borrowed his mount. In fact, she’d considered the act one of helpfulness as the stallion required the exercise.

The men began discussing their own plans. They would remain in the dining room where they could smoke their cigars and indulge in a glass of port while discussing various business dealings.

Gabriel, after a second of hesitation, followed her to the dining room doors.

“Rest well, Celia,” he said, briefly touching her elbow, his hand a firebrand of heat on her skin. “Knowing this is likely your last night of going to bed alone.”

Celia stared up at Gabriel’s ruggedly handsome face. His statement should not leave her feeling as though she were melting. It was greatly irritating. She could not go through a lifetime with this man feeling constantly aroused by the simplest of words.