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

by Wylde, Anya

  Penelope noticed him and her eyes widened further.

  He smiled and walked towards her, and on cue the orchestra started playing a beautiful waltz.

  “May I have this dance?” he asked bowing to her.

  “Gack!” Penelope managed to say.

  The duke took that as a yes and taking the duchess in his arms whirled around on the dance floor.

  The servants parted to let the couple through. This was their dance and no one dared to join in for the moment. A few maids sniffed into their handkerchiefs, and Celine had to admit as she dabbed her own eyes, Penelope had never looked more beautiful.

  Celine and Hopkins too danced for a bit on the landing before Hopkins departed with the scullery maid who was wearing a chicken feather hat.

  Celine watched Penelope laugh at something the duke said. The duchess’ face was flushed in happiness. She wiped away another tear. Penny was the luckiest person in the world to have someone love her so passionately. And Lord Elmer would have enjoyed this moment. It was the sort of thing he would think of ….

  “Why are you sitting here?” Dorothy asked coming up beside her.

  “I can see everything better from up here,” Celine replied.

  Dorothy sat down next to her and stuck her nose between the bannisters, “True.”

  “Who adopted your chimney sweep?” Celine asked, her voice still husky from crying.

  “Gunhilda. She thought that since she was the governess she was best suited for the job. The duke agreed.”

  Celine nodded.

  “Are you very sad?” Dorothy asked, putting her head on Celine’s shoulder.

  “No, why would you say that?”

  “I overheard Penny telling the duke that—”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Here, keep this coin. Now out with it.”

  “Are you trying to bribe me?”

  “No.”

  Dorothy scowled, “Why not? I like being bribed.”

  “Dorothy,” Celine threatened.

  “Wait, I am telling you. Penny was telling the duke that you have been moping because Lord Elmer has left. She said you are in love with him. Is that true? Do you love Lord Elmer?” After a moment Dorothy asked again, “Celine, did you hear me? I asked you if you love him or not?”

  “Not.”

  “Are you sure? You don’t sound sure.”

  “I am sure,” Celine replied in an unsure voice.

  “Why ever not? I think he is loveable. If I was you, I would adore him. He is rich.”

  “Wealth does not equal love, Dorothy.”

  “It should. I have seen plenty of pretty girls marry old gnarly men for their wealth. Now if wealth did equal love, then this world would be a happier place.”

  “Your philosophising is giving me a headache. Go to bed.”

  Dorothy caught Celine’s face in her small hands, “You love him, Celine. Admit it.”

  Celine’s heart almost stopped. Her sister’s eyes suddenly looked old and learned, “Since when have you become so wise?” she asked softly.

  “Since I started practicing for a play that Rosy is writing. I simply changed Mary to Celine and said the dialogue. What did you think of my delivery? Was it convincing?”

  “Your neighbour Rosy? The ten year old Rosy? How does she come up with such lines?”

  “She gets inspiration from the novels hidden under the mattress in the—”

  Celine put her hand on her ears and shook her head, “Dorothy, go to bed now or …”

  Dorothy reluctantly left and thereafter she too decided to go to bed. She ignored the laughing people, the music and the food, for her heart and mind were desperate to mull over Dorothy’s words.

  Had she gone and fallen in love with the scoundrel, the blackguard … the adorable Lord Elmer?

  ***

  Back in her room Celine firmly closed the door, and with only the faint sounds of the orchestra filtering through, she got to work.

  She took a seat in front of the large mahogany writing table and pulled out a sheet of paper. Next she sharpened the quill and unscrewed the ink pot. Finally she pulled out Mrs Beatle’s book for accomplished English ladies.

  She flipped through the pages, her finger tracing a line here and there.

  “Ah,” she softly exclaimed. This was what she had been looking for.

  Love, she read, was the most confusing of all emotions. Everyone fell in love at least once in their lifetime, and if they haven’t, then they are either very young or very cold.

  She quickly skipped a paragraph lauding the virtues of love. Her finger paused at another line,

  As discussed previously, love is vague and cannot be defined. Yet, everyone falls in love once in their lifetime and some people more than once. The trouble starts when a bright young lady goes and foolishly falls in love with two young men at the same time. In such a situation a dilemma occurs which may cause, amongst other symptoms, heart palpitations and cold sweats. In such cases I would suggest that you take some lavender drops (see recipe, chapter 4) and constant warm baths and marry the richer of the two men. You can, if possible, keep the other man as a lover on the side.

  Celine pursed her lip. This wasn’t exactly what she was looking for. Further research revealed yet another golden nugget of wisdom.

  Women who are dim often cannot understand their own heart and mind. They cannot tell if they love one man or another, and in such cases I request them to follow a visualising, spiritual technique that never fails in determining the true love of your life.

  Celine impatiently shifted in her seat and read on.

  I have a few options on how to determine whom you love. The first option requires some chicken blood, ground lizards tails …

  Celine skipped to the second option.

  For women who are not only dim but also weak of heart, I can understand that wrestling with a wild boar may not be possible. Hence, I offer you another option, and that simply requires a short meditation technique which was taught to me by an old, barely clothed man who spent years meditating on the foothills of the Himalayas. Now, sit crossed legged on an uncarpeted floor.

  Celine raced to the dressing room which contained a pearly rug. Removing it she sat down on the marble floor and crossed her legs. Opening the book once again, she continued reading where she had left off.

  Close your eyes and take ten deep breathes and four shallow ones. Repeat for a few minutes until you feel as if you have drunk a couple of glasses of wine. Hold on to the happy feeling.

  Celine sat breathing in and out, in and out. When she finally started getting bored, she decided to pretend she was feeling very happy and drunk. She opened one eye and squinted at the rest of the paragraph.

  Let your mind’s eye conjure up a vision. In that vision you shall see the two men that you think you love standing in the middle of a road. It is a deserted country road surrounded by tall green trees that are swaying in the pleasant, scented breeze. Next place an unnamed man in the middle of your two lovers.

  Celine imagined the road and placed Philbert, Lord Elmer and a faceless man in the middle of it. Once more she peeked through one eye at Mrs Beatle’s book for accomplished English ladies,

  Let the clouds part and the sun shine onto the three men. The sun is shining and the men are squinting. The sun shines brighter and the men squint harder until a carriage led by six wild horses comes galloping around the corner, their hoofs hitting the ground making the dust and pebbles fly. The carriage races towards the three men, and the men, due to the sun shining in their eyes, fail to notice it, and therefore the carriage tramples them to the ground.

  The three men are dead.

  Now, I want you to dwell on this moment and think. Whose death do you regret the most? I am sure you are upset that three human lives have been lost in your imagination but focus. One lost life is hurting you more than the others. If the death of the unnamed man is hurting you the most, then you are still waiting for your true love. I
f it is the man on the right lying dead and bleeding on the road that is upsetting you unbearably, then that is who you love.

  Think, young lady, think. Whose bloodied body disturbs you the most?

  Celine closed the book and stood up. Her trembling hand silently saluted Mrs Beatle and her genius. In her imagination she had seen the carriage run the men over, and her heart had cried not for the unnamed man or Philbert. It had wept for Lord Elmer and only Lord Elmer.

  She closed the book and reverently placed it back on the desk.

  “Mrs Beatle,” she whispered to the red and gold hard bound leather cover, “I have gone and fallen in love with the blasted scoundrel. Love has well and truly bitten me on my rosy buttocks. Isn’t that wonderful?”

  Chapter 28

  Life had started strutting differently for Celine ever since she became aware of her love for Lord Elmer. The world, she felt, was tinted in shades of heliotrope, which just happened to be her favourite colour.

  When the world did not look purplish pink, it looked grey. Grey because Lord Elmer was no longer staying at the Blackthorne Mansion, he no longer winked at her across the table and made her laugh, and he no longer sprang into her path to sweep her off on yet another bone rattling adventure.

  She peered at her reflection in the back of a spoon. She wondered if Lord Elmer could fall in love with a girl like her. Wouldn’t he want an exotic, wild and wanton kitten? While she was a simple, sober cat with a few sharp claws ….

  “If you had been on stage, Celine,” Penelope broke into her thoughts, “you would not have needed lines. Your expressions have changed so swiftly in the last half an hour that I can almost hear your thoughts.”

  “Would you like some more tea?”

  “Don’t changed the topic, and tell me what is bothering you? Lord Elmer has not written or come calling in the last two days, isn’t that it?”

  Celine shook her head and pressed her lips together.

  “Have the two of you fought?”

  “Nothing of the sort,” Celine replied crisply. “Children fight and we are no longer children. We don’t go into corners and sulk for days without writing to the other person simply because the other person raised their voice once. And if we do, then we shouldn’t—”

  “Here, wipe your nose before your tears mix with drippings from your nose and fall into the tea cup.”

  Celine blew her nose and dabbed her eyes, “I am not crying. Truly I am not. Why should I?”

  Penelope smiled, “If it isn’t because of Lord Elmer, my dear, then my condition is rubbing off on you. It is possible, for even the duke has been getting more emotional than usual. The other day he saw a small white kitten from our bedroom window, and don’t tell anyone this, but he saw it nuzzle Lady Bathsheba. He thought a goat and a kitten becoming friends was so sweet that he couldn’t help it, he sniffled and allowed a tear or two to leak down his chiselled cheeks.”

  Celine chuckled through her tears, “I think you made that up.”

  “I did not,” Penelope replied smiling. “Now, do you want me to send Lord Elmer to the gallows? Have him tortured by the king or ship him off to the continent?”

  “Good god, whatever for?”

  “He made you cry,” Penelope replied grimly.

  The tears quickly dried up, “Really, Penny, I am not crying, see, and when I had tears running down my eyes, it was because … not because of him,” she laughed loudly and unconvincingly.

  Penelope narrowed her eyes, “Then why were you crying?”

  Thankfully Celine was saved from answering, for Perkins’ wrinkled head appeared at the door distracting Penelope.

  “A gentle—” Perkins cleared his throat and tried again, “A person is asking to see Miss Fairweather.”

  Celine’s heart leaped. Could it be Lord Elmer?

  “Who?” Penelope asked, since Celine looked too hopeful to speak.

  “He wouldn’t tell me his name,” Perkins replied, an almost invisible shift in his expression showing disapproval.

  “Why wouldn’t he tell you his name?” Penelope asked.

  “He wouldn’t tell me his name because he said that I had offended him greatly by not allowing him to enter the mansion. After such an insult, he did not think I deserved to know it,” Perkins replied.

  “Where is he now?” Penelope asked. She was in a mood to ask questions.

  “I allowed him take a seat in the reception room. I posted a few muscled footmen outside and one inside to keep a watch on him,” Perkins said, his voice rising in passion. “If he tries to lift one tiny sprig out of the mansion, we will have him. We will have him, I say. And then we will tie him up and throw him in the dungeons with no food or water. He will starve, slowly and surely until—”

  “Until?” Penelope prompted.

  “We get the snakes from the circus and set them—”

  “I smell a Lord Elmer in the air,” Celine cut in.

  Perkins blushed, “Not Lord Elmer. It is Nithercott, Miss. He and I have become good friends. It is like I have caught a story telling disease from him. My tongue runs away with me.”

  “I like this disease,” Penelope approved.

  “I will go meet this guest,” Celine sprang up. It had to be Lord Elmer in disguise. It was the sort of thing he would do.

  “Miss,” Perkins halted her, “I would suggest taking a rifle.”

  “Why?” Penelope spoke up once again.

  “The fellow, your grace, looked at best … seedy.”

  Penelope nodded and offered Celine the paring knife that she had been using to cut apples.

  Celine took it and slipped it into her pocket and then bounded out towards the reception room.

  Perkins hobbled after her with muttered warnings of robbers and fleas.

  Celine ignored him and flung open the doors of the reception room.

  Her lashes quivered in shock, “Good God, Gilbert Goodgeed,” she exclaimed when she spotted the familiar parrot green patchwork coat.

  “Philbert Woodbead,” he corrected sourly.

  “Yes, him. I mean, yes, Mr Woodbead. I thought I had already sent you those poems. Did you not receive them?”

  “I did. I also learned from the footman who gave me those poems that your stepsister is now married to the Duke of Blackthorne. Why ever did you not tell me that, Celine? This changes everything.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well it changes our circumstances which are now conducive to getting married. The duke is a wealthy fellow. Surely he will give you a fairly good dowry and—”

  “Dowry?”

  “Yes, dowry,” he repeated testily. “You will now have a decent dowry, and with the duke and his excellent connections, we can lead a fairly good life.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Celine, I always thought you were an intelligent young lady, but perhaps such an emotional moment is bound to make you feel dim. I am wondering if we should move to Bath. Buy a little cottage next to the sea—”

  “Are you saying we should get married?” Celine interrupted coldly.

  “Precisely, my dear. I have come all this way to propose. I suppose I should speak to the duke and ask him for your hand—”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “I mean I will not marry you, Mr Woodbead.”

  “Don’t be silly now. You surely don’t mean that. You said you will love me forever.”

  “Yes, my forever means the same as your forever, Mr Woodbead. It only lasts a few months.”

  “I understand you are angry. When we met, I wasn’t in the right mood. I was taken by surprise and perhaps did not woo you—”

  “Woo me? Mr Woodbead, you clearly told me that you no longer loved me because, as you put it, you were now a handsome, impoverished poet and hence have plenty of women to choose from.”

  Philbert twittered, “I was hurt. You had not replied to my letters. I thought I had been snubbed.”

  “I am snubbing you now, Mr Woodbead.
Consider yourself wholeheartedly snubbed.”

  “Now, now, my dear, see it is like this—”

  “I don’t want to see—”

  “Give me a chance to explain—”

  “Good morning, Mr Woodbead. Perkins will show you out,” Celine broke in crisply. She did not wait for him to respond but turned on her offended heel and left the room.

  Mr Philbert Woodbead, too, turned on his heartbroken heel and left the room, but he did not venture too far from the mansion.

  Over the next two days Celine rapidly learned that poets are persistent fellows. Nothing excites them more than unrequited love, and Philbert, after all, considered himself a good poet. He threw himself heart, body and soul into winning back his beloved Celine.

  First sheets and sheets of terrible poems arrived for Celine. Next, it seemed Philbert had exhausted his finances and could no longer afford paper. Therefore, poetry arrived written on socks, torn shirt pockets, moth eaten ties, leaves strung together on a thread, and even a blue spotted undergarment.

  Celine made the mistake of opening one of the rags and reading the contents. She found the following,

  Dear Celine,

  Here is a poem for you,

  Here lies buried not a he nor a she but an it.

  Love,

  Woodbead

  She read it twice and realised that was it. That one line was supposed to be the poem that was meant to win her back. She let the fact sink into her annoyed bosom and then asked Hopkins to build a fire on the doorstep of Blackthorne Mansion. She then threw all the poems that Philbert had recently sent her into the fire. She proceeded to cook a few potatoes in the same fire and eat them. Philbert watched the whole thing from his position on top of a fairly leafy tree.

  Celine went indoors licking her fingers. The potatoes had been poetically delicious. She hoped Philbert would now get the message and leave her alone. Besides, the duke and Penelope had started asking questions about him and she hadn’t known what to say.