Seeking Philbert Woodbead ( A Madcap Regency Romance ) (The Fairweather Sisters) (2 page)

“You are not
royal,” Dorothy sniffed back.

“I could be
royal,” Lily said. “After all, if Penelope managed to snare the Duke of
Blackthorne, then I can surely find a prince.”

Celine
pressed her lips together and refrained from comment. She had told everyone
that Penelope had requested that she bring Dorothy along when quite honestly
Penelope had done no such thing.

The truth
was that Lily was a facsimile of her mother. Celine could have overlooked
Lily’s greed, biliousness and temperamental liver, but what she could not
ignore was the fact that Lily was not only all these things but she was also
nosy, and that was simply unacceptable.

“Dorothy,
ask Gunhilda to hurry,” Celine said turning her back on Lily.

“Can’t we
leave her behind?” Dorothy asked hopefully.

“Afraid not,
my love, your governess has to come,” Celine replied, patting her sister’s
head.

“Taking
care of the duchess is not going to be fun,” Lily said watching Dorothy race
towards the house.

“It will be
hard work,” Celine agreed.

“Is she
going to yield up the ghost?”

“Penelope
is perfectly healthy, Lily. She is going to give birth within two months and
she simply needs someone to help her run the mansion for a while.”

“She has
the dowager to help her.”

“The
dowager has broken her leg in Bath. She and the duke’s sister Anne had gone
there to visit an ailing relative.”

Lily
smirked, “You won’t have a minute to yourself. ”

“True.”

“You know
nothing of how to run a duchess’ household.”

“The
steward, housekeeper and Penny can guide me.”

Lily smiled
more widely. “It sounds tedious. I doubt you will get a chance to visit the
sights or attend parties.”

“Penelope
cannot leave Blackthorne, and I cannot possibly go exploring London on my own.”

Lily leaned
on her parasol looking far more smug and pleased with the situation. “I wonder
how you convinced mother to let you go. It is no secret that she dislikes
Penelope.”

“She may
dislike her stepdaughter, but she does care about her own children.”

“Meaning?”

“I reminded
her that the duke has plenty of friends.”

“Male
friends?”

Celine
nodded.

“Unmarried
friends?”

“Looking
for wives.”

The dark
glower returned to Lily’s face.

Thereafter,
the two sisters waited in silence until Dorothy came skipping back towards
them. The governess and Celine’s lady’s maid followed close behind.

The next
ten minutes were spent rearranging the bags inside the carriage to make it more
comfortable, and another twenty minutes were spent detaching Lily from the
carriage wheel.

Finally,
goodbyes were said and the carriage with the Blackthorne symbol emblazoned on
its doors rolled out of the Fairweather household and onto the road that lead
to London.

Blackthorn,
the shrub, is as its name suggests a thorny species with a bark that is almost
black in colour. The leaves of this plant masquerade as good old tea leaves
while the fruits are mostly useless.

This shrub
is generally used to create a sharp, warning hedge to contain animals within a
particular area or to prevent pests from sneaking in from the outside.

The
Blackthorne Mansion shared many of the characteristics of this plant. Its
formidable grey walls protected its inhabitants by keeping out unscrupulous men
while keeping in the balmier members of the household.

Nestled
squarely in the middle of London and surrounded by lush manicured lawns, the
mansion was like a beautiful cactus sprouting boldly from the ground.

The mansion
itself had been built in the fourteenth century, and as the years went by and
the residing families lived and died so did the original structure grow,
flourish and expand. And since fashions change with the ages and tastes differ
from one family to another so did the mansion grow and evolve until it had
Roman, Greek, Gothic and Oriental elements in its structure.

When so
many beautiful styles of architecture are squished together, the result is
bound to be petrifying, and Blackthorne was no exception.

The
Blackthorne Mansion was undoubtedly an unsightly structure. A forthright person
was often tempted to say that it wasn’t just unsightly. It was, in fact, a monstrosity
and a blight upon the good English soil. But the Radclyff family which
currently resided in this building defended their beloved home by saying that
‘It may be frightful to look at, but no one can deny that the Blackthorne
Mansion has character.’

Celine
wished it had less character. In fact, she would rather it had no character
whatsoever, for the mansion was not only large with cubby holes that were
difficult to clean, but walking through its corridors at night was a daunting
prospect. She had been here for a week and she still needed the occasional help
of a maid to find her way around its long meandering passageways.

She hung
now over the ledge of a window in the breakfast room contemplating life. The
London lifestyle, she mused, was so different from her own country world. Her
days in Finnshire had been like a wooden boat bobbing down a tranquil stream,
while here a whole week had sped by as fast as a frog hurling its sticky tongue
out to catch a tasty fly.

The fresh
cold morning air bathed her face as she watched clear skinned milk maids
fluttering their lashes at the mansion’s male servants. A few lads dared to
wink at the blushing maids and still others hung around to leer for a bit.

Celine was
told that this flirtation between the milkmaids and the servants had become a
custom of sorts and not a morning went by when this mating dance was not
performed.

She started
to roll her eyes at the men and their foolishness when she spotted something
odd from the corner of her eye and froze mid roll.

She gasped
and squinted leaning further over the ledge.

“Are you
trying to kill yourself? Do you want me to push you over the ledge?” Dorothy
asked helpfully.

“You should
be asleep,” Celine said whirling around.

“It is time
to feed my pet. I was going to the kitchens to ask the cook for some milk,”
Dorothy replied trying to slip under Celine’s arm to look outside the window.
“What were you looking at?”

“Pet?”
Celine asked, deftly pushing Dorothy away from the window and moving towards
the Grand Staircase. “When did you procure a pet, and did you ask your
governess Gunhilda or the duke for permission? This is not our home, Dorothy,
and—”

“Why are
you running, Celine?” Dorothy interrupted.

“I am not
running. I am walking quickly,” Celine panted as she leaped over a housemaid
scrubbing the marble floors. She continued bounding up the stairs making the
parlour maid and the housekeeper, Mrs Cornley, spring apart to let her through.

Dorothy had
no trouble keeping up with her sister. “Gwerful is about to go into hysterics.
She has never seen you run before. Celine, stop. Don’t run into poor Perkins,
you will kill him.”

“I repeat.
I am not running. I am walking very, very fast. A lady.Never.Runs,” Celine
gasped. She barely glanced at the ancient butler frozen in terror as her feet
danced out of the way and up the stairs and onto the Tapestry Corridor.

Dorothy
halted momentarily to check if the butler was still breathing.

He was.

She
sprinted after Celine once more. “Who are you looking for? What did you see?”

“Duke,” Celine
panted in reply, “I am looking for the duke.”

Down the
corridor she hurried avoiding the bustling servants readying the house for the
day. She checked the morning room, dining room and the visitors' area.

She finally
found him in the study.

The duke stood
in front of the fireplace locked in a passionate kiss with Penelope.

“You should
have knocked,” Dorothy whispered in her ear.

Celine did
not reply. Her face turned bright red as she surveyed the scene.

The duke
had every right to kiss Penelope. After all, they were married. But the duke
was kissing Penelope in his study, and that, too, a very pregnant Penelope. He
had to lean forward quite a bit, since the belly was in the way.

Celine
narrowed her eyes.

He was most
decidedly bending forward at a seventy two degree angle over the protruding
belly to attach his lips to her lips. On top of that the kiss was a little too
ardent, too long … The whole thing somehow seemed improper.

She sniffed
disapprovingly. The sniff turned into a sneeze and that one sneeze was rapidly
followed by four short delicate little achoos.

“Charles,
have I told you about Celine’s infamous sneezes? I think that is the only silly
thing about her,” Penelope said stepping away from the duke and smoothing her
hair.

The duke
scowled. “You should have knocked. And you look like you have been running. I
am depending on you, Celine, to keep this house sane and together. My mother
had to go and break her leg, and Penelope is in no condition to run the
household. And here you are the only rational female running around the house—”

Penelope
sidled up to the duke again and rubbed his arm. “Oh, do stop scolding her. She
must have had a good reason. Celine is always sensible. Her long dark hair is
always tied up sensibly. Her clothes are always sensible, and her way of
dealing with every situation is sensible. Truly, the only things not sensible
about her are her sneezes and her name.”

Celine
bristled, “Your grace, I need to speak to you urgently. We can discuss my
sneezes at a more appropriate time, but—”

“I told you
she had to have good reason for running,” Penelope interrupted triumphantly.

“Can I have
a pet?” Dorothy piped up.

“No,” the
duke said to Dorothy.

“Your
grace, a moment,” Celine said urgently.

“Your
grace,” Dorothy pleaded.

“Your grace,”
Penelope crooned fluttering her lashes seductively.

“I need a
drink,” the duke muttered.

“It is half
past six in the morning,” Celine said shocked.

“I will
feed and clothe my pet, and I won’t let it escape the nursery or my bedroom.
Even Penelope has a goat. Why can’t I have a pet?” Dorothy cried, her eyes
brimming over and threatening a tantrum.

“Keep the
pet, Dorothy. Penny, a moment,” the duke said gently depositing his wife in a
chair. He wrapped a shawl around her shoulders taking care to cover as much as
possible of her ample bosom. “Now, Celine, what is it you wanted to tell me?”

“Your
grace,” Celine started to say and then stopped. Her eyes darted to Penelope.

“Oh,
please, Celine, don’t keep me out,” Penelope begged catching the look. “If it
is urgent, then it means it is something dreadful, and if it is dreadful, then
it means that it is exciting. My condition has confined me to the four walls of
this mansion. I have had no excitement. Not even walks. I have been told not to
move from my bed, since I am close to giving birth. I have had footmen carrying
me to and fro on a giant mattress. It has all been very distressing—”

“A handsome
gentleman is coming to meet the duke. He will be here any moment,” Celine
interrupted.

“Ah, and
you have fallen in love with this gentleman? Love at first sight, is it?”
Penelope asked mistily.

“No, though
he is the handsomest man I have ever seen,” Celine replied.

“Must be
Lord Adair,” Penelope said.

“Is that
all?” the duke asked, his eyes straying to the clock.

Celine took
a deep breath, “I was counting the silver in the breakfast room when I happened
to glance out of the window. I saw from the window … I saw …”

The duke
nodding encouragingly.

Celine gripped
her skirts and blurted it out, “Through the window I saw this handsome
gentleman walking towards the entrance of the Blackthorne Mansion. And he was
being followed by an equally handsome man dead … No, I mean, a dead man.”

“Are you
feeling alright, Celine? You are talking funny,” Penelope asked concerned.

“Dead
people can’t walk,” the duke added.

“He wasn’t
walking. He was being carried by two men,” Celine said indignantly.

“It is a
pity,” Penelope sniffed. “A handsome man dead … Tragic.”

The duke
frowned, “It would have been tragic even if he had been ugly—”

“They will
be here any moment, your grace,” Celine interrupted. She opened the door and
searched the corridor outside. “Shall I ask a maid to fetch some tea? It is too
early for breakfast, but perhaps the cook can rustle up something.”