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

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Seeking Philbert Woodbead ( A Madcap Regency Romance ) (The Fairweather Sisters) Page 13

by Wylde, Anya


  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.

  Chapter 21

  “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.”

  ***

  “My lord, I think we should give up,” Celine said staring out of the carriage window. They had left yet another inn, and the result had been the same as usual. They had asked the barman about Philbert. The barman had snickered in reply, ‘Fat poet, hehe. Not seen that ever. Try the British Museum.’

  “We will find him. Until then the cook’s apprentice is doing a fine job. The toast was edible and only a touch burnt,” Lord Elmer soothed.

  “I don’t mean the missing cook. I mean Philbert.”

  “You don’t mean that,” he said shocked.

  “I do. It is hopeless. The painting can mean a hundred things. It is foolish to even try and decipher it. You were right. He would have never made it so difficult had he really wanted me to find him.”

  “He wrote to you from London. He wants to be found. You simply had the misfortune of not getting those letters.”

  “Lord Elmer, don’t you see, London is big. Much bigger than Finnshire. We have one tiny inn, and here in London there are shops, inns, gambling houses, eateries. How will we find one man among this crowd? I am wasting my time and yours. I am sorry, Lord Elmer, but …”

  “Amy, you love him,” George reminded her softly. “You will regret not looking for him.”

  Celine squeezed her eyes shut. “I am wasting your time,” she said.

  “I have nothing else to do.”

  “Well I do,” she snapped and then immediately felt terrible. He was, after all, helping her.

  “Not much of a love is it?” he muttered under his breath.

  Celine heard him and scowled, “You should go back home. And—”

  “That is none of your business,” he growled.

  “Philbert is none of your business either. But that surely is mine.”

  “That?” he asked, his voice rising a touch.

  “That,” she said pointing out of the window at the carriage keeping pace with them. “We are in yet another life threatening situation, my lord. That carriage is stuffed full of your friends, and I am certain that they are, in fact, your friends, for they have nasty looking guns pointing right at us. Now, my friends are a good deal more polite. They would never behave in such an unseemly fashion.”

  “Duck?” he suggested.

  She ducked and that is when the firing started.

  “This time let me play the hero,” Lord Elmer pleaded, his survival instincts all fired up. He growled.

  She shrugged and took out her knitting, “As you wish.”

  Lord Elmer smiled a dangerous smile. His body tensed like a panther about to strike a great crested newt. He remained in a crouching position, for if he raised his head, it would be blown off. In a flash he had a knife in his hand which he threw outside the window in the general direction of the carriage.

  A shout proved he had hit someone.

  “One Legged Tim has got help this time,” she said, rummaging around in her reticule for the blue wool. She was knitting a sock.

  He did not reply, for he was too busy crawling like a hungry lion entering a wolf’s den. He moved closer to the window and in rapid succession started pulling out knives and throwing them out of the window.

  She watched from the corner of her eye as he retrieved the knives from inside his shoes, coat, behind his shirt, inside his breeches and underneath his hat.

  “All my knives are gone,” he informed her. “Can I have a needle?”

  “No,” she said clutching it protectively.

  “Then this will have to do,” Lord Elmer said picking up his pointed shoe and flinging it out of the window.

  “You wouldn’t have to live like this if you went home,” Celine said. “It cannot be that bad.”

  He suddenly dived sideways pushing her head lower still. They narrowly missed another volley of gunfire. “I don’t want to be the heir. My father tossed me out of the house because I was thrown out of Oxford. Now that his golden son has offended him I am forgiven?” he gasped.

  �
�The truth is that you are afraid of responsibilities,” she replied pushing him off herself.

  “And if I am?” Lord Elmer asked, lying down flat on his back at the bottom of the carriage. He nudged her away with his toe to make more room and then proceeded to wriggle out of his breeches. He continued to speak through the entire process. “Imagine spending days locked in the study with an old man who drones on and on about the greatness of my dead ancestors. Imagine me making decisions that affect the livelihood of humans when I cannot be trusted with a healthy turtle. Furthermore, if I do return home, then I will have to stay put in London. No more exotic lands to discover. I will have to marry a tittering young woman—”

  “I think we are slowing down,” Celine interrupted in alarm.

  “Now is the time,” George announced dramatically.

  “Time for what? Are you standing up? No, you will be shot!”

  He ignored her and stood up. He had the breeches in one hand and the coat in another. He first swung the coat around his head in a circle and aimed. The breeches soon followed.

  Celine tackled him to the ground.

  “Are you crazy?” she screeched.

  “I threw the coat at one of the horse’s head and the breeches at another. Let me up, I think it worked.”

  Nithercott’s pleased head peered inside the carriage window. “The breeches fell neatly on the black one, my lord. Made it panic and veer off in another direction. The rest of the horses became confused. We have lost them.”

  “Thank goodness,” Celine said thrilled, and after smiling at Nithercott’s upside down head for a while, she asked, “Where is the rest of you?”

  “I am hanging onto the roof using my toenails, Miss,” Nithercott replied modestly.

  “Eek!”

  “My toenails are strong, Miss,” Nithercott comforted her.

  “Both of you are stuffed in the head,” she scolded, “Did you have to take such a chance? And Nithercott go back to your seat please. We have had enough excitement for the day.”

  “It was that or we were dead. We were dreadfully outnumbered, Amy,” George defended himself.

  “Stop calling me, Amy,” she snapped as she pushed herself away from his tempting breechless body.

  He caught her hand and tugged.

  She glared down at him.

  He offered her an apologetic smile.

  “Did you have to throw your breeches? Couldn’t you throw your shirt instead?” she asked.

  “In situations of urgency I have only had to dispense off my breeches and never the shirt. It was only natural that in such a life threatening situation I would do what was an engrained habit.”

  She wondered what sort of urgent situation required him to take his breeches off. She stilled. He was moving towards her with an odd look in his eye.

  His breath tickled the back of her neck. She gripped her skirts and was about to move away when he bent his head and licked her cheek.

  “Forgive me or I shall do it again,” he threatened mischievously.

  “You are impossible,” she said but with a big wide smile and her wet cheek slightly pink. She couldn’t stay angry with him for long, and they had, after all, survived against all odds yet again.

  ***

  They made their way towards the Blackthorne Mansion. The duke caught them right outside the entrance.

  “Lord Elmer, where have you been?”

  “For a walk,” he replied. “Lovely day.”

  “You went for a walk?”

  “That is what I said,” George assured him.

  “You went for a walk,” the duke repeated, “wearing one shoe?”

  “Yes,” Lord Elmer said testily.

  “And without a coat, hat, cane,” the duke continued, “or for that matter breeches.”

  “I fell into the river and lost some of the clothes while splashing around.”

  “You are not wet.”

  “It was sunny. I became dry in no time.”

  “Are you done inventing falsehoods?”

  “I am telling the truth.”

  “Celine, why are you wearing a moustache?”

  “Err ….”

  The duke eyed the two of them in disgust. “Perkins informed me that you had hired a carriage which was then hidden on the Blackthorne Estate. He saw you and Miss Fairweather leave the premises alone and unchaperoned.”

  “We did no such thing,” Lord Elmer said trying his best to look outraged. “Perkins is a lumping squealer and dicked in the nob for inventing such falsehoods. How can you trust him? Instead, ask her, your own wife’s beloved sister, who happens to be young, intelligent and perfectly sane. She will tell you the truth. Tell him, Amy.” He turned to look at Celine. “Tell him the truth. Did we or did we not leave the premises unchaperoned? Amy?”

  Celine didn’t answer, for she lay prostrate on the ground in a dead faint.

  Chapter 22

  “Celine?” someone called her name. She kept her eyes closed. Her head was pounding.

  “Here, make her sniff this.”

  “I am not going to make her smell Perkins’ shoe,” someone else replied.

  “Trust me—”

  “Lord Elmer, really this is all your fault.” That sounded like Penelope.

  “It is not. I am not the one who forces her to work all day. She never has a minute to herself.”

  “Miss did not eat anything today,” Gwerful wailed. “Nothing, not even a measly lick of butter.”

  “They went racing around London unchaperoned,” the duke roared loudly.

  Somewhere Lady Bathsheba bleated.

  “I told you Gunhilda was with us,” Lord Elmer insisted. “She told you that.”

  “I think she lied,” the duke glowered.

  “Don’t be silly, Charles. Gunhilda would never lie to a duke,” Penelope protested. She waved a bottle under Celine’s nose. “The smelling salts are not working, though I could have sworn her nose wrinkled a bit.”

  “Nooo,” Dorothy came racing into the room, “Celine can’t be dead. I will not have it—”

  “I am not dead,” Celine said heaving herself upright.

  Dorothy promptly turned to Penelope. “Can I have a biscuit?”

  Penelope shoved a few biscuits into Dorothy’s hand and turned to Celine. “I am so sorry Celine. This is my fault. I have been expecting too much from you.”

  “That you have,” George muttered.

  Penelope ignored him. “I will ask the housekeeper to take over most of your duties from now on. She is highly capable, Celine. After all, she has been taking care of Blackthorne for fifteen years. I will deal with my own letters, Dorothy will behave herself—”

  “Only until she gets better,” Dorothy spoke up.

  “I am sorry,” Celine started to say.

  “It is not your fault,” Penelope interrupted. “It is Charles’ fault.”

  “I object,” the duke said.

  “I agree with the duchess,” George added.

  The duke spluttered at the injustice of it all.

  “Dr Johnson is here,” Dorothy announced through a mouthful of biscuit.

  “Doctor?” Celine squeaked.

  It took half an hour for the doctor to satisfy Penelope that Celine was all right. It took another twenty minutes for George to stop asking questions.

  The doctor’s prescription was food. Celine had to be fattened up. Penelope took this advice to heart.

  “How did you manage to produce fifteen trays of food without a cook?” Celine asked eyeing the mounds of fruits, meats and breads decorated around her bedside.

  “Lord Elmer worked as a chef in France. It was part of his disguise as a spy for England,” Penelope replied.

  “Penny, are you crying?” Celine asked.

  Penelope burst into tears. “Please eat something,” she wailed.

  Celine quickly took a bite.

  “Chew,” Penelope howled.

  Celine chewed. “I am fine, Penny. I am eating, I am eating, but for go
odness’ sake stop crying. This is not your fault.”

  “No, Charles is to blame,” Penelope agreed wiping away the tears.

  Celine made a noise.

  Penelope took that as an agreement and it cheered her up somewhat.

  “Now, you go to sleep for a while. I will see you at dinner,” Penelope said, gesturing to a maid to close the curtains.

  “I am not sleepy.”

  “Yes, you are,” Penelope informed her before closing the door behind herself.

  Alone in the darkened room Celine stared at the roof. She turned over and stared at the wall. After a minute, she turned back to once again stare at the roof.

  She felt as if something supernatural was holding her eyelids wide open. Her eyelashes felt as if they were glued to her eyebrows.

  Was this room haunted?

  She had never before wondered about Sir Henry’s wife who could easily be a deeply unhappy spirit moaning around the mansion—”

  A shout had her springing out of bed. She snatched her robe lying atop a chair, and barefooted she hurtled down the corridor to see what the commotion was about.

  She paused at the top of the stairs, her ears cocked. All she could hear was an odd ringing sound.

  She looked down the winding staircase which quickly proved to be a dreadful idea. Her head started spinning alarmingly, and she teetered on the topmost step of the Grand Staircase.

  She was going to fall.

  Fall down the stairs and break her head.

  She closed her eyes and rocked on her feet.

  To and fro her body weaved while she wondered if there would be blood when she splattered on top of the Persian carpet lying on the bottom step. And if there would be blood, then would it be enough to ruin the carpet? She wondered if Mrs Cornley would be able to get rid of the stain.

  She also wondered when the falling would begin.

  “You fool,” someone roared in her ears. A hand grabbed her waist and lifted her away from the edge of the staircase.

  Her head stopped spinning, and the scent of whoever held her worked far better than smelling salts would have. And apart from smelling delectable, the person was also tall, warm and comforting.

  She snuggled closer.

  The arms tightened around her.

 

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