Seeking Celeste

by Solomon, Hayley Ann

  The night was adrift with stars. Anne looked out of her window in amazed wonderment. This was the first evening, since her fateful appointment as governess, that she had had the leisure to peer out of the tall lattice windows and thoroughly scrutinise the sky. She was right. The stars of the country seemed brighter and more numerous than those of the city. For an instant, she felt a pang, for the sky that she knew so well, the black velvet that had become her intimate friend, seemed suddenly vaster, a trifle aloof from the easy familiarity with which she had become accustomed.

  But then, staring steadily, she located her old friend Polaris ... then the blazing light of Venus, Arcturus, Sirius, Canopus, Rigel, Procyon... . She relaxed and allowed the known to guide her to the myriad unknown. The naked eye could not lead her to the farthest planet known to man, Uranus, nor could it reveal to her its two recently discovered satellites, Ariel and Umbriel. With diligence, however, she could make out Saturn’s rings, the red glow of Mars, the constellations and clusters and trails of nebulae... . She felt the heady thrill of the adventurer, the explorer into the unknown, the unchartered. It was waiting for her, this night sky. Sometimes she felt its presence as a living thing. She moved from the window and retrieved her notebook where it was still tucked away at the bottom of her portmanteau. She need have no fear now of being labeled a bluestocking. There could be nothing more fitting, after all, for a governess.

  Throwing a serviceable cape over her shoulders, she tiptoed downstairs with a newly lit taper and tried the door of the sewing room. It was locked and looked unlikely ever to open, judging by its age, lack of oiling and dust upon the handle. Annoyed, she walked down to the west wing. There she found a much more promising exit. The door, whilst locked, appeared to be in good repair. It would be a small matter of retrieving the key in the morning. For the moment, however, short of waking the house staff, there appeared to be no way outside.

  Unless... . She remembered that Carmichael Crescent lived up to its name in that it was shaped in a semicircle. If it was symmetrical, as she suspected, there would be a balcony on the other side. If she could not stroll through the gardens, then stepping out onto the first-story balcony might serve her purpose just as well.

  It was a good ten minutes later that Anne rounded the curve of the east wing and found her way into the room she suspected might serve her purpose. When she did, she blushed, for it had that distinctively masculine smell of leather and apple blossom that was never far from her unmaidenly thoughts. There was no question that this was his room, for the shelves were lined with books of masculine appeal and the far corner harboured the most enormous globe Anne had ever laid eyes on, set in beechwood and highly polished.

  When she stepped closer, the corners of her lips tilted upward, for the globe was celestial rather than terrestrial, a further indication that my lord’s mind wondered in close synchrony with her own. He had not lied, then. Nor, she realized, had he boasted when he spoke of his two-inch telescope. There it was, enticingly beyond her reach. It was in a glass cabinet crafted, almost certainly, specifically for the purpose.

  She wondered if there was a key somewhere at hand. Never in her life had she had the opportunity ... but no! He had promised to show her, and at the earliest opportunity she would tax him with that promise. It would not be fitting to go through his private drawers.

  With a sigh, the very proper Miss Derringer realized that if she were not to be plunged into darkness by her flickering candle, she had best return to her chamber. Still, there would be other nights, and yes, the door eased open onto the balcony. She decided to use this wing rather than the more circumspect wing on the other side. Somehow, the room reminded her, touchingly, of Robert, Lord Edgemere.

  The heavens seemed limitless. Anne suppressed her growing eagerness. Tomorrow, she would bring several precautionary tapers and resume her study of the firmament. It could only enhance her authority on the subject, and that, she reasoned, was the responsibility of an excellent governess.

  Smiling a little, she made her stealthy way back to bed. It would have surprised her a little had she known she was not the only one roaming the enormous house that night. Tom and Kitty had been adventuring, too.

  “Yawning your heads off at ten o’clock? I believe you must be sickening for something!”

  Tom grinned a little, but Kitty had the grace to look uncomfortable.

  “Shall we begin again? Tom, you may read from the top. Kitty, you may correct his pronunciation. That way, I shall know that you are both paying attention!”

  “Miss Derringer, it is such a dismal thing to do, Latin proverbs at this hour. I am positive Robert would not wish it.”

  “Just as you are positive that this, and not that poky little chamber across the passage, is the schoolroom?”

  Kitty giggled. “It is much more comfortable!”

  “Granted, you little minx! Now read those proverbs before you drive me to an apoplexy.”

  Tom made a face that was exactly mirrored by his sister. Despite the grimaces, Anne thought there could not be a pleasanter looking pair of copper-curled scamps in all the world.

  “If you get all ten correct, you shall have a reward.”

  “Reward?”

  It was Miss Derringer’s turn to grin. “We shall play truant and fish at Tom’s creek. I have ordered up a picnic hamper, so desist, I beg you, from yawning, and get on with the wretched lessons!”

  It did not need much more encouragement. The proverbs were dealt with in a satisfyingly short time, an excellent indication that the children had good brains if only they were extended a little. Anne tucked this newly gleaned information away for another day, then jauntily reached for her chip straw and borrowed parasol.

  “Thank you, Kitty. The fringes are delightful, and the colour is exactly my favourite shade!”

  “They match your eyes perfectly, Miss Derringer! Keep it. I dare swear I have twenty such parasols! Robert is forever buying them—to hear him, you would think I had a dozen freckles at the very least!”

  “With your skin colouring you have to be careful, Kitty. Lord Edgemere sounds like the best of brothers to care about such trifles. Besides, I can see a good couple of sun spots peeking out from the bridge of your nose. Remind me to make up some of my elder flower water solution. Used with Venice soap, oil of rhodium and half an ounce of lemon juice, it is a truly excellent remedy. I know, for I used to run to the same problem myself.”

  “Now you are bamming us! Your skin is creamy smooth.”

  Anne smiled. “Perhaps because I am diligent in my use of a bonnet and parasol.”

  “Do you always have the last word, Miss Derringer?”

  “Very nearly! It is satisfying, is it not?”

  The days passed more quickly than Anne could have imagined. The mornings were far fuller than she had anticipated, for Mrs. Tibbet had taken to consulting her on household matters, reasoning that two heads were better than one, especially if the other was another female’s.

  What Jefferson, the gardener, and Carlson, the head groom, had to say about this state of affairs shall not be discussed here. Suffice it to say that a new regimen was instituted where all servants were required to bathe at least twice a week and were provided with crisp new liveries made up, in the evenings, by both Anne and the faithful Tibbet.

  Between horse riding, fishing, star gazing and traditional lessons, the children were generally—but not quite—too tired for any real mischief. Anne had only the occasional frog in a tea cup and apple pie in bed to contend with. Since she was more than capable of dealing with such calamities whilst maintaining her endless good humour, the first month came and went with a remarkable rapidity.

  Anne had never known such happiness. Even when she was eligible Miss Derringer of Woodham Place, comfortable in the first circles of society, she had never known such peace. As her fortune had been whittled away by a derelict father and equally spendthrift brother, she had endured two sorry seasons of ignominy, forced to hide her bookishness an
d her bright interest in the classics, in mathematics, in astronomy. She had been dressed in hideous pink confections cast off from her cousins, the Ladies Somerford and Apperton.

  To hide her confusion she had adopted the pose of the ice maiden, making herself unapproachable even to the kindliest of suitors. Being a wallflower, she found, was preferable to the other type of attention she was prone to receive. Even with noble bloodlines—Anne was distant cousin to the Marquis of Gilroy—young men were prone to think dowerless ladies more inclined to certain liberties. She was not, of course. Her virtue earned her disapprobation and censure all round.

  Funny to think Lord Edgemere was the man that finally provoked her wanton impulses. He, who had no need to dally with young improvidents. He could have the pick of the ton at his feet if he wished.

  Anne thought, rather glumly, that he probably did. Then she caught herself up short. There would be no more of this maudlin daydreaming. She was as far beneath Lord Carmichael’s touch as that pleasant gentleman at Wiley and Clark’s had been below hers. That had not stopped her being polite to him, just as it had not stopped Robert—she must stop thinking of him as that—being pleasantly attentive to her.

  Pleasantly attentive? He had been more than that, surely! Anne felt that strange warmth stealing over her body again. Lord Edgemere had been teasing, incorrigible, deliberately provocative. She could not deny it. He had been attractive despite his reprehensible ways.

  And what she was to do with a sensual predilection way out of kilter with her normally stern, puritanical thoughts, she could not imagine. Admiring Lord Edgemere was like throwing a cap at windmills—she was not such a gapseed as to believe his flirtatious manner signified anything but an absurd propensity to levity. No doubt she was an amusing pastime. Certainly, he was curiously amusing—but no. It was dangerous for her thoughts to trail down that all too well worn path.

  Anne glanced at the children. For once, they appeared to be concentrating on the lessons she had set them. Tom was musing on the life cycle of a frog and whether toads, like lizards, could endlessly regrow their tails. His study, thanks to some resourceful fishing by his governess, was practical as well as theoretical. He was therefore enjoying himself with unremitting relish. Anne smiled and thanked the heavens she was not born a tadpole.

  Kitty was engaged in translating some fairly eyebrow raising French texts. The delectable novels had not previously been introduced into respectable schoolrooms. Again, delectable cherry lips widened in silent laughter. By the end of the week, Miss Carmichael’s French would be flawless, even if her hazel eyes were slightly more saucer round than usual. There was nothing, Anne knew, so efficacious as a Gothic horror for bringing on a sudden dose of literacy.

  Her gaze moved to the window, and she sighed. Her limbs were unusually mobile, her hands restless as she paced the cosy chamber the young Carmichaels had adopted as their own. She wondered if she might creep stealthily from the “schoolroom” and harness one of the horses the earl had obligingly stabled for their use. A little exercise might eradicate the salacious images that seemed burned into her wandering thoughts.

  Images, always, of a blond Adonis. Handsome, strong, golden-haired and impossibly amusing. She thought of his mouth, his muscled arms entangled round her waist... .

  “Miss Derringer, you look ill!”

  “I am fine, Kitty, just a little out of sorts.”

  “You are pale and peakish! Perhaps you will swoon!”

  “Stuff and nonsense! It is those ridiculous novels I loaned to you! Swoon, indeed!”

  Tom looked up from his dissection. “Kitty’s in the right of it, Miss Derringer! You look like a regular porridge brain.”

  Anne’s lips could not help curving slightly. “I thank you for the compliment, young man!”

  “It is not a compliment! It is the truth!”

  “I see we shall have to have lessons in etiquette shortly. Tom, one never, never, never casts aspersions on a young lady’s looks.”

  “Oh, I know that. But you are not young, Miss Derringer!”

  “A flush hit, Tom! I concede it and concur with your wisdom. Perhaps you young varmints can be trusted not to leave your seats until I return?”

  “Shall you be sick?” The hopeful tone was unmistakable.

  “I am devastated to disappoint you, young man, but no, I shan’t. My constitution is distressingly hardy. I shall merely take a brisk walk around the topiary gardens and hope to revive my sagging spirits.”

  “Oh! How perfectly tame! I should saddle Dartford and—”

  “Have me dismissed without a character! Vile boy, Lord Edgemere would be livid if you attempted Dartford without permission. He is frisky even for the stable hands.”

  “I could manage him, though!”

  “Don’t be such a gudgeon, Tom! I wager all my allowance you could not get close enough to touch the reins!”

  “Done!” Tom’s hand shot out and grabbed his sister’s in a boyish grip that was too exuberant by far.

  “I forbid it!”

  Anne endeavoured, through her headache, to control the pitch of her voice. She therefore appeared blithely untroubled, though her heart missed a beat at the sheer foolhardiness of what she was hearing.

  Tom and Kitty dropped their hands and surveyed her with close absorption.

  “Forbid it?”

  “Absolutely.” She held her breath and prayed her tone was suitably stern. Apparently it was, for they nodded and returned, at length, to their absorbing pastimes.

  “I shall take my walk and shake the beastly cobwebs from my brain By the by, children, never say ‘beastly.’ It is a most reprehensible term and one you have never—definitely never—heard issue from the lips of your governess.”

  They giggled and promised to “be good,” but Anne was not so green as to place much reliance on this gratifying indication of good will. She was dying to get out, however, so she gathered up her shawl and the apple green parasol and left the room quickly.

  The topiary gardens were a splendid testament to Nash’s careful design. They overlooked the formal rose gardens whilst retaining a unique character of their own. The hedges, trimmed with frivolous disregard for symmetry and an almost whimsical humour, appealed to Anne’s sense of the ridiculous. As she admired some of the more absurd creations, she felt her ill humour vanishing, though the strange, deliciously light headed sensation brought on by errant daydreams remained with her.

  She plucked a few of the primroses permitted to grow wild. Their colours were vivid and delightfully sunny. Tucking them into her modest, square-necked bodice, she looked up at the rows of windows towering in pleasing arches several floors up. Somewhere, the remains of poor Mr. toad lay scattered on a table near the beguiling Gothic fantasy. Poor Kitty! She would no doubt be in spasms of anxiety for the next week at least.

  Northanger Abbey would be an excellent antidote, if the earl’s library were to house such modern and frivolous texts. Anne thought it would. Lord Edgemere, she suspected, had eclectic and civilised tastes. He also had the necessary sense of humour. She sighed. Her thoughts, it seemed, were destined to stray to the forbidden. No matter how much she scolded herself, she could not erase the annoying image of Lord Robert Carmichael from her mind.

  Not for the first time, she wished her employer was kindly, round, humourless and in his dotage. He had no right to be so handsome, virile and unusually beguiling. Crossly, she stamped her foot on the beautifully kept lawns. She felt a little stab of pain where there was still a weakness in her ankle, but she was glad of it. At least the twinge diverted her thoughts.

  And where were Kitty and Tom? She counted across and calculated that the large window on the second floor was probably the schoolroom more likely than not. Impulsively, she moved to the water fountain and chose herself a pebble. She aimed and unerringly hit the shaded, stained glass pane. There was no response.

  “Playing truant, Miss Derringer?”

  She swung round. There he was, amiably leaning aga
inst a beech tree and surveying her with eyes flecked with hazel that were quite improperly appreciative.

  “Lord Edgemere! I was not expecting you!”

  “For shame, Miss Derringer! Could you not have been waiting, in breathless anticipation, for my tread upon the footpath? Much more dramatic, I feel, and far more interesting!”

  “Do you always talk such flummery?”

  “Only when I mean it.” He took two steps closer, and already she could feel the heat rising to her cheeks and her errant pulses begin their inevitable race to her throat, her wrists... .

  Anne stepped back. “You promised.”

  “I promised not to compromise you. I did not promise not to talk to you in my own gardens.”

  “Then find, I beg you, a more edifying topic of conversation!”

  “Very well, Miss Derringer, though I might say that you are unique among your sex if you find flirtation to be unedifying.”

  “So I have been told. How delightful of you, my lord, to remind me I am an unnatural female!”

  “You delight in twisting my words.”

  “You delight in cutting up my peace!”

  “Do I? I shall take that as encouragement.” The earl smiled benignly and quite ignored the glare Anne bestowed upon his elegantly clad person.

  “You would take anything as encouragement!”

  “Very likely. I am especially happy to note that you desire to communicate with me in the most satisfyingly clandestine manner. The next time you throw a pebble at my window, however, do ensure I am within!”

  Anne stared at him, open-mouthed. Lord Edgemere regarded her thoughtfully. Her lips were hopelessly kissable. He closed his eyes against the temptation, then continued his lazy, teasing tone.

  “A moonlight rap would suffice most delightfully, though I implore you not to use too much force. Your aim, I note, is remarkably accurate—for a female—but a smashed window at midnight is something my valet cannot bring himself to approve of.”

  “Stop bamming me sir! That is the schoolroom window! I counted the panes most carefully.”