Seeking Philbert Woodbead ( A Madcap Regency Romance ) (The Fairweather Sisters) (15 page)

She winked
and handed him a handkerchief to wipe his face.

“Jasmine,”
he said holding her handkerchief to his nose and inhaling the scent. This time
he winked.

She flushed
and turned away.

They walked
in comfortable silence for some time.

She was
content to gaze out at the beautiful landscape thinking restful thoughts. The
sun was bright enough to make her squint and scrunch up her face, the heat
welcome after the long cold winter months. She could feel the rays digging into
her very bones, warming her up inside and out.

“The duke,”
George said breaking the silence, “is an acquired taste. Just like fish eggs.”

“I adore
him,” she said.

“Yes, I
noticed your dubious taste in men.”

“What sort
of a girl do
you
like?”

“All
sorts.”

They came upon
an artificial lake and for a moment stood gazing at the shimmering water.

Celine sat
down on the garden bench and Lord Elmer joined her.

“Do you
have a good dowry?” he asked, closing his eyes and tilting his face up to the
sun.

“No,” she
replied opening her pale green parasol.

“Hmm, and
your poet is penniless. How will you live? I think women in love stop feeling
hungry. They fail to remember that after marriage you will need to feed
yourself and your husband. You will no longer be in your father’s house dinning
on pigs and wings.”

“I will
manage,” Celine snapped. She had always imagined her and Philly owning a sweet
little cottage draped in honeysuckle and wild roses. They would have a tiny
kitchen with a maid of all work. In winter they would sit by the fire, sing
songs and eat their supper. Now all she could see was a single pea and a boiled
potato on her supper plate that she would have to share with not only Philly
but also her six wailing children and the dog.

“The duke
will give you a dowry. Your sister will ensure it,” he mused, failing to notice
her glare.

“I shall
not take it.”

“Does
Dimber Mort know that your sister has married the Duke of Blackthorne?” he
asked standing up and walking towards the lake.

She
followed more slowly. “His name is Philbert. And I am not sure if he knows
about Penny. I don’t think I told him about it … but someone in the village
could have.”

“I see.” He
walked to the edge of the lake and bent to test the water, “Amy, don’t mention
where you are staying or that your sister is now a duchess to Bacon Fat until
the very end of your meeting with him.

After a
moment of receiving no response, he looked back to find Celine had halted a few
feet away from him.

“Come
here,” he called out to her. “I think I spotted a pretty fish.”

She shook
her head and backed away.

He frowned
and gazed back at the water.

“What is
it?” he asked coming up to her. He took her chin and tilted her face up,
searching her eyes.

Celine’s
heart stopped, her fears faded, and the world narrowed to a point. The warmth
of his fingers on her chin coursed through her veins and she emitted an
undignified squeak.

One
powerful, masculine eyebrow rose in question and she felt her knees go weak.
She had to get away from him, away from his earthy scent, away from his crystal
clear blue eyes … away from his touch.

She slipped
under his arm and hastened towards the mansion. “What is our next step?” she
asked in a falsely cheerful voice.

He looked
towards the water one last time before quickly following her. “Tomorrow we shall
visit The Winged Horse. It is an inn where a number of gamblers meet. A man
there says he has met your poet and knows where he can be found.”

“Did you
say his name right this time?”

“I wrote it
down so I don’t make a mistake.” he said producing the small piece of paper.

“The lump
of lard is called Philbert Woodbead,” Celine read. “Do you have to call him
names?”

“Yes, it is
necessary. I am offering my services for free, and in return for excellent
companionship and help, please allow me to call your fat poet names. It gives
me great pleasure.”

Her mouth
twitched as she returned the paper.

The sun
dipped in the sky and a pleasant spring evening unfurled like the wings of a
leathery bat waking up from a good day’s sleep.

Celine and George
donned their English springer spaniel hats and prepared to nose around London
once again in the hopes of catching the poet’s scent.

“Perkins,”
Lord Elmer said, taking the coat and hat from the butler, “lost any teeth
lately?”

Perkins
slightly unbent his form and his old bones quivered and rattled. He bared his
yellow teeth and wheezed.

Celine
pressed her lips together as she watched Lord Elmer slowly back away from the
butler.

“What’s the
matter with the fellow?” he whispered in her ear.

“He is
demonstrating amusement, my lord,” she replied promptly.

“Is he?”
Lord Elmer asked nervously. After a moment, he said, “I don’t like it. Tell him
to stop. At once.”

“Wonders
will never cease,” Dorothy commented from behind him. “I have never seen a
butler giggle.”

“That’s not
a giggle,” Celine began and then stopped. She couldn’t find an apt word to
describe what it was. Instead, she said, “I am going for a walk, Dorothy. Be
good and don’t tease Gunhilda. And I hope your pet is alive. You haven’t
forgotten to feed it have you?”

“Certainly
not,” Dorothy said offended. “I take very good care of him.”

“Good, and
wash your face. You have soot all over your cheek,” Celine scolded.

George cut
in smoothly and addressed Dorothy, “Miss Fairweather, you look charming as always.
Will you excuse us?”

Dorothy
blushed and dipped in an elegant courtesy. “Shall I see you at dinner?”

“I am
sorry, but I shall be dining with the duke,” Lord Elmer responded with just the
right amount of regret.

“Perhaps next
time you can come by for some light supper in the nursery. I will ask the cook
to prepare something special if you will inform me in advance,” Dorothy
invited.

“I would be
honoured,” he said bowing to her.

“You should
stop flirting with anything in skirts,” Celine said once they were outside and
on their way towards the hired carriage.

“Why?” he
asked patting his pockets.

“Because
the maids in the Blackthorne Mansion have fallen in love with you, or have you
failed to notice?” Celine huffed. “And you shouldn’t encourage Dorothy either.
The girl thinks she is in love with you as well.”

“She will
forget about me the moment she goes back home. There is no harm in making her a
little bit happy or the maids for that matter,” he said in a distracted voice.

“Is that
what you are trying to do for me too? Trying to make me a little bit happy?”
When he failed to reply, she asked, “Lord Elmer, what in the world are you
looking for?”

“For the
veil to attach to your bonnet.”

“In your
shoe?”

“I was
being thorough. I think I left the veil back in my room, and we are supposed to
be meeting Mr Bindle at The Winged Horse at five. I don’t think I have time to
run back and fetch it.”

“I cannot
go without a veil. I would be ruined if someone recognised me,” she objected.

“I have a
plan.”

“Yes?”

“I was
planning to disguise myself because as you may have noticed pirates are looking
for my head on a platter.”

“Yes, go
on.”

“Therefore,
this morning I pocketed two moustaches. One black and one grey. I couldn’t decide
between the two. I think you should wear the one which comes attached to a
beard.”

“Wear
what?”

“The grey
moustache and beard.”

“But I am
wearing a Parisian walking dress in peach down with border flounces in the same
colour and a green pomona silk hat trimmed with ivory lace and rosebuds.”

“Gloves?”

“White
kid.”

“Fascinating.
I am wearing buckskin breeches, coat and riding boots. Now, I wonder what could
make our attire even more fashionable. By Jove, would you believe it? I just
happened to find these two beautiful moustaches. It’s fate. We were destined to
wear them. They are just the thing—”

“No,” she
said firmly.

“Do you
have a better idea?”

Half an
hour later the carriage halted and two faces, one masculine and one feminine
but both sporting splendid moustaches, peeked out of the window.

“The inn is
at the other side of the river. We will take the boat. It will be faster,” he
began.

“No,”
Celine said firmly.

“No?”

“I am not
crossing the river.”

“Why not?
Don’t you want to find your poet?”

“Not if I
have to cross the river.”

“Your dress
won’t get muddy,” he promised. “I will clean your seat with a handkerchief. I
won’t let the boatman splash water on you. I will look away if you go green and
cast up your accounts. Deuced woman, why won’t you cross the river?”

She pressed
her lips together.

He sat back
in his seat, “Are you scared of water?”

She glanced
away.

“Nothing
will happen to you. I know how to swim,” he coaxed.

“I know how
to swim,” she snapped. “It doesn’t help.”

For a
moment he looked as if he would bang his head on the carriage wall in
frustration.

She said in
a trembling voice, “I was sixteen when Dorothy fell into the river that runs
near my house. She was very young. I saw it happen. I was close enough to help
and yet I stood frozen in fright. Thankfully Penelope heard Dorothy’s shouts
and came and pulled her out. I just stood there like a fool unable to move.”

“I see.
Well then let me send Nithercott. He can talk to Mr Bindle for us.” And that
was all he had to say about it.

Celine
nodded gratefully. She watched him from the corner of her eye while he
instructed Nithercott. Her heart suddenly felt full threatening to spill over.
She had not wanted false platitudes or pity regarding her fear of water. She
knew it was irrational, and he knew it as well. And yet he had said nothing and
accepted it. He understood her.

She beamed
at him and he catching her expression beamed back. And with all the back and
forth beaming, the atmosphere in the carriage reverted back to being sunny.

For the
next forty minutes Celine sat knitting a scarf while Lord Elmer took a short
nap in a sitting position. He closed his eyes, tilted his head back and slept.
Just like that. It was a talent worth admiring.

And Celine
wholeheartedly admired.

The sound of
clicking needles filled the air along with George’s soft snores. Celine’s hands
were busy, but her eyes were not. It was only natural, so she told herself,
that she happened to spend a good half an hour staring at George.

Her hands
itched to smooth away a black curl that was kissing the inside of his ears. She
admired the shape of his head, the sensual curve of his nostril, and his long
capable fingers. He shifted in his sleep, and her heart sang at the sight of
muscles moving underneath his crisp white shirt.

The
knitting was forgotten. The blue yarn unravelled unnoticed.

She felt as
if some force beyond her control had taken over her limbs. She wanted to … no,
she needed to reach across and brush that single lash poised on his cheek.

Her hand
lifted … and a rap on the window broke the domestic bliss.

Nithercott
had returned from his mission.

Celine
shoved the wool back in the bag, and Lord Elmer opened one eye to hear the
news.

Nithercott puffed
up importantly and said, “I found Mr Bindle lurking outside The Winged Horse.
He wasn’t happy about the fact that I had come instead of Lord Elmer. He
refused to talk to me and stormed off in anger.”

Celine
clucked in disappointment.

“I chased
after him,” Nithercott comforted her. “I wasn’t going to let him escape without
first doing my duty and garnering the information I had been asked to fetch. I
followed him down a darkened alley called Gin Lane. I fawned over his leather
boots a bit, complimented his dusty tie and admired the shine on his bald head.
It soon restored him to a more amiable mood, and that is when I struck.”

Celine
gasped.

Nithercott
nodded, “Yes, I struck expertly, like a viper striking its prey. The moment I
spotted that his lips were curving up in the hint of a smile, I asked him for
the information. I asked him where the poet was, and because I had put the
question to him at just the right moment, his smile did not drop. In fact, he
grinned even broader and asked me for two whole pounds for the information. I
humbly offered him a copper.”