Seeking Celeste

by Solomon, Hayley Ann

  Edgemere increased his pace until Dartford once again came into view. Tom seemed to be hanging dangerously to the left, almost as though he had been unseated but had refused, stubbornly, to release his grip of the saddle. Even now, he seemed to be struggling to regain his seat, slowing the horse down in his efforts. Edgemere seized his opportunity and caught up.

  Tom shuddered as he heard Robert’s calm, authoritative voice behind him. “Easy does it, Dartford. Steady on, steady there, Tom.”

  Tom gulped. He knew he was in a great deal of trouble, but he didn’t care. Robert was a comfort, even if he was a gudgeon for choosing Lady Caroline over their dear, adorable Miss Derringer.

  “Can you dismount?”

  “I don’t think so. He still feels restive.”

  Edgemere nodded. “I shall lead you back. Can you pass me the reins?”

  “I can try.”

  It took so long for the horses to be positioned side by side that Anne had time, in the interim, to saddle one of the mares and fly—fly across the heather to the stream. Somehow, she suspected Tom might head for this haven. When he was not there, she deliberated whether to head on home or push onward toward the Anchorford estate. The child might, after all, simply be reading in the schoolroom. She should have checked! Out of the corner of her eye, she could dimly see carriage wheels—early guests. If they did not see Tom in the mists ... if he had been thrown, perhaps... . She urged her horse forward, taking care that Tom was nowhere underfoot.

  “Tom! Tom!” She called out wildly, but her words were lost on the wind. At last, she thought she heard hooves upon the small track in the clearing. The rain had stopped, but her sheer gown was now nothing but a tangle of gold organdie and lace. She squinted into the fog and caught her breath.

  A tall, burly man was seated on horseback just a few yards from the fir trees. Anne did not take note of his torn breeches or his grubby stocks. She was more interested in the blunderbuss that was directed squarely at her chest. The rains were ceasing almost as quickly as they had started, but this fact was little comfort as the dripping weapon was cocked and primed.

  “Got yer now, me beauty!”

  Anne’s heart sank. She would know that snigger anywhere. It was the same throaty, heartless noise she had heard when she had been abandoned quite three miles from her agreed upon destination of Kingsbury. She straightened her back, her eyes kindling with anger and an unknown mix of fear and determination.

  “Samson! What on earth are you doing here? And put down that weapon at once! It could misfire and cause grievous harm.”

  “That it could, missy, so climb down from that prime piece of livestock there before I ’ave a mind to try it.”

  “Dismount? Whatever for?” Anne played for time, her eyes cannily fixed on the ancient blunderbuss. The coachman was so remiss in his duties, the weapon was probably not well enough oiled. Should she risk making a bolt for it? Calling out? The earl was probably in the vicinity, for he was searching for Tom. Tom! Gracious, Samson could not be so iniquitous as to have captured the boy for ransom? A cold chill swept over her.

  “Do you have Tom?”

  “Tom? What git is ‘e?” Samson leered, and, the clinging gown offered little consolation to his victim. “I ’opes ‘e aint no gentleman toff what’s given yer no slip o’ the shoulder!”

  Anne shuddered at his vulgarity but offered up silent thanks. If he thought Tom a lover, he obviously had no notion of the whereabouts of the young Viscount Tukebury.

  “It is none of your business, Samson! Now put that gun away. This is the eighth Earl of Edgemere’s property, and consequently you run a great risk. If he does not find you, his gamekeeper will. Either man will not hesitate to put a bullet through your head.”

  “Then, they ‘ad better not find me ’ere, ’ad they? Now climb down, Miss Derringer, before I lose wot little patience I ’ave. Yer and I got business to attend to.”

  “Business?” Anne strained her ears to listen for Edgemere. If she could call out, then leap from her mare, the earl might create enough diversion for her to run—or roll, as the case may be—into the thicket. She did not think much of this plan, but it was better than no plan at all. She held her voice steady as she listened for hooves upon the footpath.

  Samson looked smug as he edged Lady Somerford’s prize bay a little closer. “It be yer lucky day, Miss Anne! I am not going to ravish yer without making sure yer first ’ave yer marriage lines nice and snug in yer pocket. Yer can say that fer Samson Weatherby! Right refined I am and that’s a fact.”

  “Marriage lines?” Anne felt her stomach churn. There was more to this incident than mere bad feeling; she could sense it in her gut.

  “Aye, yer ‘eard me right. Now ’urry up and slide down from yer ‘orse before I change me mind and ’ave me way wiv yer before we find the parson.”

  “You mean to marry me?” Miss Derringer could think of nothing but the blunderbuss that was now pointing rather unsteadily at her stomach. If he had some outlandish notion to wed her, she had less to fear than she had thought. He would not dare to fire for fear of killing her.

  “That’s wot I said, ain’t it? Now that yer as rich as a nob, I’d be dicked in the ’ead not to leg shackle yer all right and tight.”

  So! Samson had pieced together news of her good fortune and was bent on turning it to his advantage. She felt sick, for a man with a motive as strong as his would stop at nothing. It was useless to point out that no parson would marry her until banns had been posted. He would merely ravish her and sit out the necessary time before a license could be procured. Anne knew his type. Ruthless and stupid. It was a terrible combination and one that she did not underestimate, for all Samson’s clodpole manners.

  How could Mr. Clark have betrayed her trust in this manner? Only he, Mrs. Tibbet and Lord Edgemere himself knew of her windfall. She noted the self-satisfied smirk on her captor’s face and trembled slightly, though she still made no move to slide off the mare.

  “Who told you I had come into a fortune? I am sure I have not heard of such a marvel! If I had, I assure you I would not still be hiring myself out as a governess.”

  Samson’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. For the first time, he had doubts. It was true what the wench said. If she was as rich as was whispered, she would be queening it in London rather than acting the servant. He released his breath as rosy visions of the future receded before his very eyes. There would be nary a guinea for his trouble if the rumour had all been a sorry hum. His ruddy face reddened in frustration.

  It did not help that Miss Derringer was not so much as whimpering. Cool as a cucumber she was. Not for the first time, he wondered what it would be like to make her lose her studied poise. He would enjoy it, he would, and he needed something for his trouble. He licked his lips. Somehow, he must find out the truth. There was no sense in shackling himself to the ice maiden if there was no fortune to be bought for the cost of a ring. Bedding alone would be much more to his tastes. Despite the tension of the moment, he did not miss the intriguing outline of her slender form. It was excessively palatable against the revealing, wet and devastatingly flimsy organdie.

  “Not well ‘eeled? But I ’ad it off Lord Featherstone’s undermaid—a cosy little piece if I say so meself—that yer ship ’ad come in in more ways than one.”

  Anne heard the slow trot of hooves behind her. Just a little nearer and she would seize her chance and scream.

  “Lord Featherstone? What has he to do with anything?”

  “Toffee-nosed chap. ‘as windmills in is ’ead ’e does. Gambles on practically everything that moves. ’as a losin’ streak as long as me arm. Mind yer, won by a long shot on that there Polaris or whatever. No but thought ’e’d ’ad it in ’im.”

  Anne nodded. Then, Ethan Clark had not revealed her secret. No doubt his partner, Mr. Wiley, had had a loose tongue when revealing Lord Featherstone’s share of the investment. Despite her dire situation, she felt a weight removed from her chest. Betrayal pained her more th
an greed and vengeance. The hooves—did she hear four pair?—were now close enough to chance her luck. Anything would be better than allowing Samson to carry her off unchallenged into the mists.

  “Ere!” Samson saw her move and leveled the weapon just inches from her head.”

  “Take it easy, Samson! You asked me to dismount, and I am doing just that. I would hardly be any use to you dead or even injured, so I suggest you put away the infernal gun.”

  Samson wavered for a moment. Anne seized her chance and screamed as she jumped from the side of the horse farthest from the gun. She fell to the ground and gasped as the air was pushed from her lungs from the landing. Almost reflexively, Samson’s gun fired. Then she could remember no more but an answering shout and the thundering of hooves.

  When Anne opened her eyes, Mrs. Tibbet’s was the first face she saw. After that, it was a confusing medley of bobbing copper curls and an overpoweringly exuberant Lord Tukebury, who looked alternately like the cat who had got the cream and a strutting cockerel.

  “What happened?”

  “Oh Miss Derringer! You missed the most famous fun!”

  In spite of her aching ribs, Anne’s lips twitched, though her voice was dry as she commented, “Evidently.”

  “Robert was leading me back—on Dartford, you know—”

  “Yes, I know, and I advise it is best not to remind me!”

  “Yes, well, anyway! We heard the gun and your scream, and Robert dropped my reins and thundered forward like—like—”

  “Like lightning!” Kitty interpolated with relish.

  “How do you know? You weren’t even there!”

  Kitty obliged her brother with the most disgusting of faces, causing her beloved governess to lie back against the cushions in despair. Had she taught the little vixen nothing?

  “Sorry, Miss Derringer, but sometimes Tom can be the most provoking, pig-headed—”

  “Enough of that, children! If you do not stop your quarreling, I shall forbid you Miss Derringer’s chamber!”

  Mrs. Tibbet was surprisingly fierce. She had just returned with a cup of chocolate and several slices of mouth-watering Madeira cake, and her threat was met with squeals of protest. Nevertheless, it had the desired effect. Tom was allowed to continue with his story uninterrupted, despite several rather baleful glares from his sister.

  “The man—heaven knows who he was—reloaded and took a shot at Robert—”

  “What?” Anne sat up with a shock.

  “It was nothing—winged him, merely ...”

  Mrs. Tibbet nodded to confirm, so Anne unclenched her fist and allowed her arrested breathing to resume a little more normally.

  “Then—then comes the best bit!” Tom bounced on one foot and hopped up to Anne.

  “He came up to Robert—who was cast from his horse—and tried to ...”

  “There, there, Tom! Come to the point! Miss Derringer is looking faint!”

  “Well, he came up to Robert and was about to kick him in the ribs when he stumbled and his gun fired again. Dartford took fright—he is a very frisky animal, you know ...” Anne suppressed a smile at his superior attitude.

  “... and plunged into the fray. I was nearly unseated, but I clung on fast—as tight as I could—and we charged. Goodness! The man gulped with fright and dropped his weapon. He was nearly crushed, but I pulled the reins as hard as I could and missed him by a hairsbreadth!”

  The recitation ended with such an excited flourish that Anne laughed out loud.

  “Stuff and nonsense, Tom! Then came the best bit!” Miss copper curls could not help this outburst despite a warning frown from the housekeeper.

  “Robert grabbed the varmint by the scruff of his neck and landed him such a facer I warrant he shall not think straight for weeks!”

  Tom was scornful. “How do you know?”

  “I was standing looking down from the gazebo. I’d come out to look for you.”

  “You couldn’t have seen anything! The place was covered in mist!”

  “It had just cleared. See.” Kitty pointed outside. “It is all gone, and the air smells heavenly.”

  Anne could not contain her curiosity. “What happened then?”

  “Then?”

  “Yes, after his lordship gave him his comeuppance?”

  “Oh, then! Then he clear fainted.”

  “Who? Samson?”

  “No, silly! Robert.”

  Anne spilt her chocolate over the crisp counterpane.

  Mrs. Tibbet tut-tutted furiously and sent the little varmints from the room. They took one look at her and scarpered.

  Twenty

  “He is fine, Miss Derringer. He simply lost a small amount of blood from the wound and the exertion of planting the man a facer ...”

  “He is all right, now?”

  “As right as a trivet. He begged me pay you his compliments and inform you that Samson Weatherby shall bother you no more. As we speak, he is bound in custody. It is fortunate that the magistrate is a passing acquaintance of the earl’s, for he attended to the matter at once. He was so diligent in his duties that I reckon Samson will not be driving anywhere for a while.”

  Anne nodded absently, for in truth her concern was less with the scandalous behaviour of the coachman than with the condition of Lord Edgemere.

  “You are certain his lordship is not ill? Should a doctor not be called for?”

  Mrs. Tibbet smiled. “Call a doctor for such a paltry wound? Certainly not! My lord would not countenance such a thing! His man bound up the wound tightly, and the last I saw of him, he was greeting some of the early arrivals.”

  “Has Lady Caroline arrived?”

  “Not yet, and I expect we won’t see her till quite late.”

  “Why ever not?”

  “Lady Caroline, I am afraid, always makes a grand entrance. She will arrive when all heads can turn to see her. That, Miss Derringer, was ever her way.” Mrs. Tibbet pursed her lips and said no more. By the time she had seen to the tea things, Anne’s mood had darkened considerably.

  If Lord Edgemere was well enough to welcome guests, he was well enough, surely, to check on her. In her slightly dazed state, Anne neglected to consider the propriety of such an action. It would be unseemly, indeed, for his lordship to make such a gesture when she was confined to her chamber. Mrs. Tibbet glanced at her anxiously.

  “Are you certain you have taken no harm, Miss Anne? I mislike those circles under your eyes, and your cheeks seem so pale ...”

  “I am perfectly fine, thank you!” The cheval glass reflecting her image did not seem to think so, but Anne had no patience with such trifles.

  “Go, Mrs. Tibbet! I am sure you have a thousand and one things to do what with housing the orchestra, overseeing the food ...”

  “Gracious! The orchestra! I hope I have allowed enough space for the instruments. I settled for the far corner by the potted palms, but I am afraid it is going to be a tight squeeze.”

  “It shall all be perfectly delightful, I am sure.” Anne was not sure, for her heart was breaking. The earl had refused her rash offer—she felt foolish enough about that—and was now going to plunge himself into a betrothal with a woman who was quite contemptible. At best, she was unworthy of the earl’s inestimable merits. And for what? For the simple sake of masculine honour. The earl would not stand to be sued for breach. The scandal to his noble name would, incomprehensibly to Anne, be impossible to bear.

  Anne hoped she could trust her instincts enough to believe the earl had never been trifling with her regard. He loved her, she could feel it. The undercurrents between them were too strong to dismiss out of hand. So then? So it seemed he was now reduced to having his hand forced by a woman brazen enough to be a doxy. It was a shame, a crying shame. True, he had told her to be patient. But he had also told her he meant to become betrothed that night. And since he had refused her humble offer, it could only mean that the detestable Miss Dashford had won.

  Anne’s indignation was hard to bear. Mrs. T
ibbet was looking at her queerly, so she forced a smile to her lips.

  “I am much better now, I assure you! Off you go, for the success of the ball depends upon it, I am certain! If I need anything, I have only to ring.”

  Agatha Tibbet relented. “There is a pitcher of iced lemonade on the dresser. I shall mend your gown, but in the meanwhile, I have put out a rose satin that belonged to Lady Lucinda, the previous Countess Edgemere. She would have liked you.”

  The words were softly spoken, but Anne divined a hidden quality to them that she could not quite define. It was almost as though Mrs. Tibbet was conferring a blessing upon her. But there! The fall must have shaken her senses, for she was being woefully fanciful for such a prosaic young lady.

  “Thank you, but I shall not be attending the ball, you know.”

  “I know, but it would be a shame to waste such a pretty gown. You are exactly the right size for it, and I cannot think of a better person to wear it.” The housekeeper said no more. She couldn’t, for she was inexplicably overcome. She squeezed Anne’s listless hand once, then shut the door quietly behind her.

  “Ah, Sir Archibald! A word with you, please!”

  Lord Edgemere looked dapper in a Weston creation of deep emerald green, nipped tightly at the waist and sporting a diamond pin that sparkled from his eminently fashionable waterfall cascade.

  Sir Archibald eyed the cravat with distaste. His valet had spent the better part of an afternoon trying to achieve just such an effect but to no avail. Several discarded neckerchiefs lay upon the bed to tell their sorry story. And as for that pin ... it must be worth a small fortune at the very least. The best he could manage was a meagre gold clasp encrusted with a rather poor paste ruby. Life, at times, was singularly unfair.