Seeking Philbert Woodbead ( A Madcap Regency Romance ) (The Fairweather Sisters) (18 page)

***

“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.

“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 goodness’ 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.