Seeking Philbert Woodbead ( A Madcap Regency Romance ) (The Fairweather Sisters) (29 page)

“A dance?” George
asked intrigued. “Please can we see it once?” he requested Celine.

She nodded
grudgingly.

They
watched the poet dance for a few moments.

“Perhaps
you can describe what you are doing, it may help your case,” George advised
him.

The poet
threw him a grateful look and said, “Do you recall, Celine, the time we met at
The Devil’s Pitchfork, I told you I wanted the poems back?”

“Yes,” she
replied irritably.

“Well, I
told you that was because my poems were taken by a renowned highwayman called
the Falcon. He told me that if I ever wanted to win a woman back, then I must
do the falcon dance.”

“So you are
doing the falcon dance?” George asked in fascination.

“Yes, you
see, you must bob and flap, bob and flap, and then bob, bob and flap, flap …”

“I beg you
throw him overboard,” Celine pleaded in disgust.

“As you
say,” George bowed and then picked up Philbert and threw him back into the
water.

After a
moment, Celine asked, “Do you think he knows how to swim?”

“I hope
so,” George said looking down. He suddenly exclaimed, “Goodness.”

“What is
it?”

“Your poet
is climbing back up the rope. He ignored the boat bobbing next to his head.”

“He is a
little persistent.”

“A
little
persistent?”

“A lot
then. How will we get rid of him?”

“Leave it
to me and follow my advice. I am skilled in the matters of love.” He threw a
wink at her.

She rolled
her eyes and nodded.

“Now tell
him you love him,”

She didn’t
question him but poked her head over the edge and told the dripping poet, “I
love you.”

“Now tell
him that you are so thankful that he still wants you, since you have nowhere
else to go. The duke found out that you had visited him at The Devil’s
Pitchfork which is no place for a lady. And now that you are on a pirate ship
he will surely disown you rather than have his family name besmirched.”

Celine
faithfully conveyed this to the poet.

“What is he
doing now?” George asked.

“He has
paused halfway. I think he is thinking things over.”

“Wonderful,
now tell him you are going to climb down the ladder and together you can run away
to Gretna Green. Thereafter, you can live in a small cottage covered with roses
and live on peas, since the duke has refused to give you a dowry.”

Celine put
a leg over the edge of the ship and once again repeated everything George had
told her.

“Now what
is he doing?”

“He is
rapidly climbing down the rope,” she informed George and then called down to
the poet, “What did you say? Speak louder.”

“What is he
saying?” George asked hopping from foot to foot.

“He is
saying goodbye. He suddenly recalled that a printer is waiting for him at the
inn. He is now on a boat and sailing away.” She pulled out a handkerchief and
waved to the departing poet, “Goodbye.”

“Was that
fellow bobbing and flapping?” Penelope asked coming up behind her. “I knew it
would catch on.”

“Penny,
what in the world are you doing on the ship?” Celine screeched.

“I think it
was highly unfair of you to expect me to stay in the carriage when all of you
are here having fun on the ship. Where is Charles?”

“We have to
rescue him,” Celine replied irritably. “Now the plan is that you will stay
here. George will climb down the ladder and swim to the shore and get some
help. Meanwhile, I will rescue the duke.”

“What am I
supposed to do with him though?” George asked.

Celine
turned to George, “Him? Who him?”

“Him,”
George pointed behind himself.

Celine
frowned and looked over George’s shoulder and gasped.

One Legged
Tim being a good head shorter than George had been standing and listening to
them for some time. And all through that time he had kept a fully loaded gun
digging into George’s fourth lumbar vertebrae.

Celine’s
eyes widened in fright.

“Don’t be
scared,” George told her. “I can handle this.”

“How?” she
asked, her heart beating fast and loud.

George
grinned. His hand shot up, gripped Tim’s wrist and twisted it.

The gun
slipped out of Tim’s fingers and into George’s waiting hand.

George
pocketed the gun and spun on the spot. He spun so fast that Celine could barely
see him, and while he was spinning, his leg shot out and kicked Tim’s sole leg.

With a howl
of annoyance, Tim crashed to the ground.

George
dipped in an elegant bow, his dimple winking in satisfaction. It had taken him
but a moment to win that particular battle.

Penelope
clapped her hands in pleasure, “Oh, that was wonderful. Now do that again with
the rest of them,” she begged.

Celine
turned to look at what Penelope meant by the rest of them.

She gulped.

The Black
Rover with his menacing grey eyes, cruel lips and scarred cheek stood a few
steps away flanked by at least thirty of his men.

The duke,
too, stood in one corner staring at his wife in horror.

Somehow
people always congregate where the action is. If two strangers start a brawl in
the middle of the road, then magically a large crowd surrounds them. Here on the
ship it was no different. Every one of the Black Rover’s men and Penelope’s
blushing maids that were aboard
The Desperate Lark
raised their noses up
in the air and smelled that something was afoot. They followed the scent and
quickly arrived on the deck to witness the unfolding events.

“I wonder,”
the Black Rover mused scratching his cheek with the gun, “who to shoot first.”

“You can
keep me and let the rest go. I stole the recipe not them,” George said stepping
forward.

Celine’s
heart melted at her brave George. He was so sweet, she thought lovingly,
wanting to give up his life to save them. She was pleased at how responsible he
had become recently, though she had to admit she adored his mischievous side as
well.

“I think
Elmer is right,” the duke spoke up. “Keep him.”

“No, I have
a better proposition,” a new voice spoke up.

With the
advent of this new voice, the wind seemed to perk up and pick up speed.

Everyone
turned towards the spot from where the voice had originated. They spotted a
man’s hat slowly appearing over the edge of the ship.

The sun
shone brighter and the early morning air became crisper as more and more of the
black, exquisitely crafted hat came into view.

Everyone
sharply sucked in air when the smooth dark forehead greeted them. The men straightened
and the women brightened with the arrival of the nose. Ladies and gentlemen
quivered in suppressed excitement when finally the lips and the chin emerged.

Lord
Adair’s handsome looks and strong physique blasted them all in the face forcing
a few to close their eyes against the beauty of it all. Three maids swooned and
some of the pirates were moved to proclaim their patriotic side by shouting,

“May
England’s enemies be pickled in brine.”

“Porcupine
filled saddles to England’s foes.”

“Let the brains
of the enemy bumfuzzle and their mouths fill with rotting fish from
Billingsgate.”

Lord Adair
smiled and gracefully swung onto the deck followed by Nithercott and six old
women.

“I have a
proposition,” Lord Adair repeated in a dark hypnotic voice.

The Black
Rover ignored him, his eyes on the shortest of the old women. “Ma, ye have
returned,” he said worriedly.

The four
feet tall, wrinkled person standing behind Lord Adair eyed her six feet five
inches son in disgust, “Willy, what is this I hear, ye have decided to murder a
duke? What shall become of yer future if ye go around killing important people?
How many times have I told ye to choose yer victims carefully?”

“Can you
please not call me Willy, Ma? At least not in front of them.”

“I shall
call ye what I like. And it was never this curly haired lad’s fault. Lord Adair
explained it all to me. Belcher made him drink. But ye, Willy, what excuse do
ye have? What sort of a pirate allows an important artefact to be stolen under
his watch?”

The Black
Rover wilted, his mouth turning petulant. “I said I am sorry, Ma, what more do
you want. I have your recipe back now.”

Sordid
Sandy placed her hands on her hips, a sign that she was settling in for a good
long scold.

The Black
Rover eyed his men from the corner of his eyes and hastily whispered, “Don’t
scold now. Not in front of them. My reputation is already wavering after the
way you went on and on … I will have to shoot someone now, ma, to build it all
back up. You have left me with no other choice.”

His mother
shrugged, “Do as ye like, but quickly now. I haven’t had me breakfast yet.”

The Black
Rover hurriedly agreed. His gaze swept over the assembled interlopers finally
settling on the duke.

Penelope
waddled forward and took her place in front of her husband, “I would like to
offer you someone remarkable in return for our freedom,” she said bravely. “He
will keep your crew entertained for hours, or you can shoot him. We won’t mind
either way. His name happens to be Philbert Woodbead and he is a brilliant poet.
I saw him row away but a moment ago. If you look—Arrgh,” she finished on a
scream.

The Black
Rover watched Penelope patting her belly nervously. “Do you have a babe in
their?”

“No, I ate
a horse on the way over,” Penelope replied, her eyes red and her breath coming
in shallow gasps.

“Har har,”
the Black Rover laughed in forced amusement.

No one
joined him, their attention on Penelope who was now clutching her belly with
both hands, her eyes squeezed shut and her face alarmingly scrunched up.

The captain
stopped laughing and eyed the duchess fearfully. “When is the baby coming?”

“Now,”
Penelope replied.

“You mean
soon?” the Black Rover asked hopefully.

“No, I mean
now,” Penelope insisted, glaring at the captain.

“What do
you mean now?” the duke asked rushing to his wife.

“I am
having the baby now,” Penelope repeated through gritted teeth, “and don’t you
dare make me say so again.”

“You
can’t,” everyone screeched in horror. “Not on the pirate ship!”

Penelope
replied with a full throated yell, “Oh, this … blasted, blooming, rotten, flea
bitten, beastly farting crackers. This hurts.”

“No, no,
Penny. You cannot do this now. I cannot have my child born on a pirate ship.
You stay in there,” the duke begged her belly.

“Get a
chair,” the Black Rover roared, his hands twisting together nervously, “with
cushions.”

“Get her
some water,” George shouted. “Hot water.”

“Bollocks.”
screeched Penelope.

Sordid
Sandy pulled out a gun from between the valley of her bosom and fired three
times into the air. When all became quiet, she said, “It is time for someone
older, wiser and more experienced to take charge. The baby is coming,” she told
the duke, “no matter how much you beg, plead or pray.”

“But Dr
Johnson, the midwife—” The duke was cut short by another curse from Penelope.

“Get
Willy’s chamber ready,” Sandy ordered the six old women who were her lady’s
maids. “I want plenty of clean sheets, water, rum, a knife, and anything else
you can think off.” Next, she turned to the young maids who had arrived with
Penelope, “Carry the duchess to the room at once.”

“She is my
wife, I will carry her,” the duke warned striding up to the duchess.

The maids
fell back and allowed him room to approach.

He went and
put his arms around her legs. He heaved, pulled, exhaled and inhaled without moving
an inch. He finally gasped out, “I will carry her with some help.”

Thereafter,
the writhing, screaming duchess was swiftly carried by the duke with the help
of eleven maids into the Black Rover’s private chamber. Celine raced after
them.

“I want all
the men to leave and anyone else who has a weak stomach or swoons at the sight
of blood,” demanded Sandy.

All the old
women stayed, while six of the eleven young maids departed dragging the
reluctant duke with them.

The door
was closed, and Sandy after lighting plenty of candles turned to Penelope,
“Strip out of yer clothes, wrap this sheet around yerself and open yer legs.”

“No,”
Penelope replied in shock. “Not in front of everyone.”