Seeking Philbert Woodbead ( A Madcap Regency Romance ) (The Fairweather Sisters) (17 page)

Celine
fixed her eyes on the tablecloth, her insides in turmoil. She wondered how Miss
Swan had achieved that last mysterious expression. She picked up a spoon and
squinted at her reflection.

“What are
you doing?” Penelope asked, taking the lavender stuffed rat out to examine it.
It had eyes.

“Trying to
look mysterious.”

Penelope
tilted her head to the side. She searched Celine’s face. “You look like you are
about to cast up your accounts.” When Celine threw the spoon down, she
continued. “Are you jealous of Miss Swan?”

“Nothing of
the sort,” she said shortly.

“I saw you
stick your tongue out at her back when Lord Elmer touched her elbow.”

“I did
not.”

“You also
called her a laced mutton. A refined lady using such words.” She shook her head
and added slyly, “It shocked my bonnet.”

“Miss Swan
did not tell you if you were having a boy or a girl, and the duke will have to
wear a petticoat, and you will have to carry around a dead rat,” Celine replied
instead. “You have spent the whole morning being bamboozled.” She blew out the
candles and tossed the incense sticks into the bowl of water.

Penelope
held out the stuffed rat towards her as a sort of peace offering. “Would you
like to hold him?”

Celine
shook her head.

Penelope
continued, “I am thinking of giving him a name. What do you suggest?”

Celine
grinned.

“You made
the duchess name that dead stuffed rat … George?” Lord Elmer growled.

“You
brought Miss Swan,” Celine said slamming the bundle of poems down on the table.
“Penny thought it was apt if we named it after you.”

“Miss
Elizabeth Swan happens to be a very fine young woman,” he began.

“She is a
fraud.”

“Perhaps,
but it was fun.”

“The duke
will have to wear a petticoat.”

Lord Elmer
grinned. “Never in my wildest dreams did I think that things would go so well.”

“You really
shouldn’t tease him so.”

“I can’t help
it. The man never smiles. And don’t open that yet,” Lord Elmer said, stopping
her from untying the string around the bundle of poems. “I am tired of this
library. We need a new place to scheme.”

“Where?”

“Under the stars,”
he said pulling her along. “We are going to the rooftop of the Blackthorne
Mansion. It is enchanting. I have gone and sat up there two nights in a row.”

“Don’t be
ridiculous. I am not going up on the roof.”

“You are,”
he said plucking the bundle out of her hand and moving towards the door.

“I will be
cold.”

“I will
give you my coat” he called. His long legs already had him at the entrance.

“You are
unbelievable,” she muttered racing after him.

A few
minutes later they were sitting under the stars and a big fat full moon.

“Now, isn’t
this nice?” he asked gazing up at the sky.

Celine
watched the candle flicker out for the fifth time. “It is too windy for a
candle. How will we write?”

He pulled
out a bottle of brandy. “Would you like a drink?”

She shook
her head and repeated, “How will we write?”

He took a
gulp from the bottle. “Do we have to write?”

“I suppose
not,” she replied frowning. After a moment she said, “I am cold.”

“You are
wearing my coat.”

“It is not
helping,”

“Take a sip
of the brandy. It will warm you.”

After a
suspicious look at him, she took a cautious sip.

“You trust
me,” he said in a pleased voice.

“We are
friends are we not?” she replied, enjoying the tiny bit of warmth that raced
through her.

“I suppose
we are.”

She took
another sip and then firmly put the bottle away.

They sat in
silence for a while. Soon the strong breeze wriggled under her hair pins and
coaxed a few locks to misbehave. She slapped at her hair desperately trying to
keep what she could under control. Her hair rebelled and won.

“Lud,” she
exclaimed. Why was everything becoming unmanageable these days?

Lord Elmer
offered her another sip of the brandy.

Lord Elmer,
she decided, was the crux of the problem. How he had managed to pull the earth
from under feet, flip it around twice and then replace it with a bumpier
version, she would never know.

“Tell me
something about your poet. About the romance between you.” Lord Elmer said
pulling out a cigar.

“What would
you like to know?” she asked sniffing appreciatively. The scent of crushed
stale roses, a hint of brandy and the sweet smell of expensive tobacco had
filled the air.

“What sort
of a man is he?”

“Well, he
has a large body, but inside that he is a very tiny person. It is as if he
doesn’t realise just how big he is.”

He nodded
understandingly. “What did you like the most about him?”

“He was
shy,” she said softly. “Insecure. He did not think he deserved a girl like me.
His entire face would turn red every time he saw me.” She felt Lord Elmer smile
in the darkness as she continued. “His favourite colour was blue. I tried to
wear something blue every time I met him. He always noticed. It had become a
game between us. I tried to add the lightest touch of blue to my attire and he
would have to guess where it was.”

“Where did
you meet him?”

“In the
woods behind my house. He used to enjoy writing surrounded by nature. I would
sneak out of the house and meet him. He would press a letter into my hand or
leave a poem on the back doorstep early in the morning when the entire house
was asleep.”

“I hope we
can find him for you,” he said taking a sip from the bottle.

She said
softly, “You have a good heart.”

“I am
helping you to allay some of my own guilt. My presence here endangers your
entire family, for if the pirates discover my whereabouts …” He trailed off.

“I never
thought of that. Well then you are a scoundrel.”

“Birds in
their little nests agree,” he replied unhappily.

“You are a
scoundrel,” she said consolingly, “but a good scoundrel. A likeable one. A
layered one.”

“Layered?”

“Yes, you
have a lot of layers. On the very top you are nice, and at times I think that
if anyone can catch sunlight in their fist and keep it, then it is you.
Underneath that you are a touch … no, plenty mischievous. Then comes a layer of
injured innocence. But deep down at the very core you are either very good or
pure evil. I haven’t figured out which one yet.”

 “You
are not making any sense.”

“I am
trying to cheer you up. You sound blue,” she mused. “Why don’t you tell me one
of your outlandish stories? It will make you feel better.”

“No, we are
here to discuss our next step.”

“Next
step?”

“Sometimes,”
he said closing his eyes, “I think that if a stranger observed us together,
they would come to the conclusion that I love Nesbit and not you. I seem more
passionate about finding him.”

“Nesbit?”

“Your
poet.”

“I don’t
feel like discussing him tonight. Instead, tell me a story.”

“You are
acting a little strange, Amy. Are you well?” he said catching her chin and
tilting it up to the moonlight.

“More than
well,” she hiccupped.

“You, my
dear, are drunk.” His eyes dropped to her lips. “Pity,” he whispered under his
breath.

Her eyes,
too, dropped to his lips. He had a tempting mouth. The bottom lip was full, and
she wanted to lean over and give it a small nibble. She suddenly raised her
lashes and with her eyes wide announced, “I kissed Philbert. More than once.”

Lord Elmer
grabbed the bottle from her and shook it. It was empty. “I don’t think you want
to tell me more.”

She grabbed
the bottle back and hugged it to her chest. “I kissed him and it was … nice.”

“I see.”

“Once he
licked my cheek. I did not like it. What should I do if he licks it again?”

“Punch him,”
he advised as he wrestled the empty bottle out of her hand.

“As you
say,” she said and staggered to her feet. “I am warm now. You can take the
coat.”

“I think
you should go to bed.”

She yawned,
“I will. I am sleepy.”

“Good,” he
said relieved.

A minute
later she still had not moved.

“Come along
now,” he coaxed tugging on her arm.

“Fine,” she
said again, but instead of moving she sat down on the ground.

Cursing
under his breath he picked her up and flung her over one shoulder.

She hung
passively over his shoulder, her head hanging upside down. She watched the
ground move through the fog in her brain.

Her eyes
slipped to his back and then lower and lower still. She grinned and her arm
reached down and pinched his buttock. The action once completed allowed the
tension to seep out of her. Her body went limp and her eyes closed in blissful
sleep.

“I am not
going to drink that. It has green bits floating in it,” Celine said turning her
face away from the glass.

“Lord Elmer
asked me to give it to you, Miss. He said you would need it,” Gwerful insisted,
“for your headache.”

“My head
does not ache,” Celine yawned and stretched.

“Are you
sure?” Gwerful asked. “Lord Elmer said it was bothering you all evening.

Celine
frowned and shook her head from side to side, up and down, and then round and
round. No, her head felt fine. When had she complained to Lord Elmer of a
headache? Last night when … Her eyes widened. On the roof top, the brandy …
Some of it came flooding back.

“Miss?”
Gwerful gingerly poked Celine’s shoulder, “are you sure you don’t have a
headache. You are turning grey.”

“My head is
fine.” Celine splashed cold water on her face. “Is Penelope awake?”

“She woke
up a long time ago, Miss. She asked me not to disturb you.”

“What time
is it?”

“Eleven.”

“Oh my
goodness,” Celine squeaked. “Why did you let me sleep for so long? Where is
Dorothy?”

“Lord Elmer
took her horse riding.”

“She missed
her lessons?”

“Miss
Gunhilda was teaching Miss Dorothy how to play the piano in the music room, and
while the governess was busy playing a tune, Miss Dorothy escaped from the
window and went off for a ride with Lord Elmer.”

“Where is
Gunhilda?”

“In the
music room playing the piano.”

“You mean
you did not inform her that Dorothy is no longer in the room?”

“I did not
think it was my place to do so, Miss.”

Celine
moaned softly. She quickly pushed her arms into the morning dress. “Give me the
brush. Now run down to Mrs Cornley and ask her to meet me in the morning room.
And the pillows need to be fluffed. Is it sunny? Wonderful, get some footmen to
drag the mattresses out from the guest wing and lay them out in the sun. The
duke’s previous guest who had stayed in the floral room had fleas—”

“Miss, the
cook has vanished,” Gwerful interrupted.

“He has
what?”

“Vanished.
No trace of him. He went to the village for a drink and a cuddle last night. He
has not been seen since.”

Celine sat
down on the bed. “Dorothy missed her lessons and the cook has disappeared. Any
other disasters unfold while I slept? And don’t feed it to me in doses. Tell me
the whole of it.”

“Well,”
Gwerful said, “I think that is all, unless … No, I shouldn’t say.”

“You really
should.”

“I
shouldn’t.”

“Gwerful,
we don’t have time to play this game today. I agree that you are a good maid
who does not gossip. You are simply doing your duty by telling me what you
happened to by accident overhear or see. It is for the betterment of mankind
and all that sort of thing. Now out with it.”

Gwerful
shuffled her feet.

Celine
sighed and tossed her a coin.

Gwerful
caught it expertly and pocketed it. “The duchess chased the duke out of the
bedroom. She threw the entire contents of her dressing table at him.”

“That’s not
unusual.”

“He was
wearing a petticoat.”

“That is
unusual.”

“That is
all.”

“Right,”
Celine said pulling on her slippers and standing up. “I don’t have time to eat
breakfast. Take the tray away. And don’t forget to send the housekeeper to me.
We have to find the cook.”