Seeking Philbert Woodbead ( A Madcap Regency Romance ) (The Fairweather Sisters) (26 page)

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.

Philbert did
get the message, but it only seemed to fire up the creative wheels inside his
large bony head. Celine watched in horror as he pulled out a violin and started
playing it directly below her window. It was clear Philbert had never played
the violin before in his life, but he had decided now was the time to try and
take a stab at it.

Celine
emptied a few buckets of water on the poet’s head in order to deter him.

He was not
deterred. Instead, he attacked the violin with renewed energy and frantic glee.
His hands moved the bow rapidly over strings while water droplets sprayed from
his hair like a dog shaking its coat after a long swim in a pond.

Celine
tried begging, placating and even threatening him. She tried everything she
could to make him see sense and leave her alone.

Philbert,
in turn, spoke of his everlasting love and how this time it truly was
everlasting. Poets, he informed her, had sensitive souls and romance and misery
was their food and air.

Celine
banged her head against the window in frustration until finally she had to ask
the duke to do something. The persistent poet was driving her insane.

The duke
picked him up and threw him into a carriage. The carriage now containing
Philbert was sent to the other side of town to be deposited at a respectable
inn.

Celine
sighed in relief. Never again, she swore, would she fall in love with a poet.
She also had to confess some of the facts to Penelope who was thankfully
sympathetic and too distracted by roasted carrots to dig deeper into the
matter.

With
Philbert gone, an entire day went by without another incident. It was the next
afternoon that Celine watched Philbert crawl back towards the Blackthorne
Mansion. This time Philbert was more careful. He kept watch like a wild animal
poised on hind legs, nose sniffing the air for a scent of danger. And every so
often he would aim a flower or a poem wrapped around a pebble at Celine’s
bedroom window.

Which was
why Celine had avoided the bedroom all day. But now it was bedtime. She tiptoed
into the room and with the help of Gwerful and a single candle, changed into
her nightclothes. She slipped into bed, pulled the sheets over her head and
closed her eyes tight. She didn’t think she would sleep a wink, but she did.
Within a few minutes she was asleep and dreaming of poetry spouting poets
chasing after her in a large green field.

It was past
midnight when someone scratched at her window and woke her up.

Celine
moaned into the pillow.

She decided
that she had had enough. She would break the jade vase on Philbert’s head. His
persistence had stretched every nerve in her body. Every time she saw his long,
thin face she wanted to thwack him.

Another
scratch at the window had her throwing back the quilt and scrambling out of
bed. She lit the candle and clutching the jade vase tiptoed her way to the
window. Her eyes were red and wild, her lips almost snarling in frustration.

She pushed
open the curtains, unlatched the window and with a barely contained roar
brought the vase down.

It landed
not as she had expected on Philbert’s hard head.

Instead, it
smashed into Nithercott’s softer one.

“I am
sorry,” Celine cried. “Did I hurt you? I thought it was Philbert. Oh, do come
inside, Nithercott. I am awfully sorry about this.”

Nithercott
hung upside down on the ivy clutching the tendrils for dear life. It took a few
moments for his vision to clear. Thereafter, he smiled apologetically and
climbed in through the window.

“It is
fine,” he said wincing, “I deserve it for coming to your room at this hour,
Miss. But if things were not so dire …” He trailed off.

“Here, sit
down,” Celine said pushing him down on the chair. “I hope you are not bleeding
… no … You are alright? Would you like a glass of water?”

“Truly, I
have been knocked about worse. Don’t worry about me,” he mumbled embarrassed.

“I thought
it was the poet.”

“I sent him
to the pub for a few drinks,” Nithercott informed her.

“How did
you manage that?”

“Was easy,
I gave him a few coins.”

She eyed
him with respect.

Nithercott
blushed.

“You said the
situation was dire,” Celine reminded him. “Is … Is he alright?”

“Who, the
poet?”

“No … I
mean …” She bit her lip.

He waited
for her to continue, and when she didn’t, he said, “It is about Lord Elmer.”

Her heart
stopped.

“I don’t mean
he is dead,” Nithercott soothed, noting her expression, “at least not yet.”

Her feet
gave away and she sank into a chair. “Could you … could you perhaps start from
the beginning?”

“It was
like this. After leaving the Blackthorne Mansion, Lord Elmer secretly returned
to his father’s house. He hid in his room and came and went via the tree
outside his window. Bless Lord Devon, he knew not a thing. He was looking all
over England for his son,” Nithercott chuckled, “and here was Lord Elmer
staying right under his nose.”

“Go on,”
Celine begged.

“Well, that
was supposed to be the plan. He would stay hidden in the room until the pirates
forgot all about him. That was until he found the poet and …” Here Nithercott
paused.

“And we
fought. Is that what you wanted to say?” she asked.

He nodded
soberly, “After that Lord Elmer seemed to change. I have never seen him like
that, Miss. He spoke about responsibilities and how he should accept them. He
wanted to confront his father and take on his duties. He wanted to return the
recipe to Sordid Sandy, and would you believe it, he wasn’t even drunk.”

“He didn’t,
did he?” Celine asked in horror.

Nithercott
nodded, “I don’t know what you said to him, Miss, but he refused to listen to
reason. That evening after returning home, he opened his bedroom door, walked
right up to his mother and hugged her. He hugged her, Miss, for no good reason.
And then it gets worse. He promised his father he would return. He said he had
something important to see to, and right after that he would come back home and
take his place in society.”

“Nithercott,
has he returned to the pirate ship?”

“Yes, Miss.
He took the recipe and returned to the ship. He told me to wait outside for
him. He was only going to sneak back in, replace the recipe and then sneak back
out. It has been two whole days since I left him, Miss, and he has not snuck
back out.”

Celine
lifted a stricken face up to Nithercott.

Nithercott
wiped his brow. “I thought you would be the best person to ask for advice in
such a situation. I have seen you poke One Legged Tim in the eye with a kitting
needle. Fast thinking that was. Clever too, in fact—”

“Nithercott,
I have a plan.”

“I knew
it.” Nithercott brightened.

“Listen to
me very carefully. Only two people can help us now. One is Lord Adair and the
other is the Duke of Blackthorne. I am going to try and convince the duke while
you try and find out if Lord Adair has returned from his trip or not. If he
has, then tell him everything truthfully. I am sure he will know what to do.”

“Aye, aye
picaroon,” Nithercott saluted smartly before flinging himself out of the
window.

***

Celine
waited until Nithercott had safely climbed down the ivy and disappeared into
the night. After that she quickly dressed in a dark brown travelling dress and
soft brown riding boots and stuck a few pins in her hair just to keep it away
from her face. A glance in the mirror confirmed her suspicions. She looked
ghastly.

Shrugging
her shoulders at her reflection she plucked an ostrich feather out of a blue
satin bonnet and made her way towards the duke’s room.

The duke
and the duchess to the horror of London society chose to share a room together.
The duchess’ chamber was retained for Penelope’s afternoon naps, whereas the
nights she most assuredly spent with the duke. Hence, Celine needed a plan that
would wake the duke and make him follow her outside without waking Penelope.

It had not
taken long for Celine to come up with just such a plan, and accordingly she
crawled into the duke’s chamber, crept up to the duke’s side and pulling out
the ostrich feather tickled the duke’s nostrils.

The duke
swiped at the feather, but Celine persisted with the tickling until the duke’s
eyes snapped open. In a trice Celine clamped a hand over his mouth and with the
other touched her lips.

His shock
turned to understanding and he nodded.

She then
jerked her head towards the entrance.

He nodded
again.

She thanked
god for giving the duke brains as she made her way outdoors still on all fours.

The duke
followed also crawling on his hands and knees.

They stood
up only after reaching the dowager’s room which lay empty and on the other side
of the corridor.

“Is
everything alright?” the duke asked quietly.

“I am
sorry, I had to wake you in such a fashion, but I did not want to distress
Penelope, and it was an urgent situation—”

“Celine,
calm down. What is it? Here, sit down, you are trembling.”

“I need
your help,” she blurted out. “Lord Elmer has been kidnapped by pirates. He is
being kept hostage. Please say you can help.”

“Tell me
everything,” he said shortly.

So Celine
quickly told him everything that Nithercott had told her. She finished with, “I
know the ship is called
The Desperate Lark
. Lord Elmer has mentioned it
plenty of times, and Nithercott confirmed the name. The pirate’s name is the
Black Rover and Nithercott said that he is so frightening that every strand of
hair on his head splits in two at the sight of him.”

“I will
leave as soon as the carriage is ready,” the duke said calmly.

“You will?”
Celine asked in surprise.

“Penelope’s
younger sister is as good as my own,” he smiled, “and I cannot have your future
husband shot before the wedding.”

“Your life
could be in danger,” Celine warned.

“I am
married to Penelope. My life is always in danger.”

“I …”
Celine gripped her skirts, “I don’t think this is a good idea anymore. I am
sorry, I should have thought this through. I cannot put your life at risk … I
don’t know what I was thinking waking you like this and—”

“Do you
have an alternate plan?”

She shook
her head.

“Are you in
love with him?”

She nodded.

He sighed.
“Then I have no other choice but to save the blasted man.” Another thought
seemed to strike him, for he brightened, “You don’t think you could love
someone else, do you? I can produce a lot of fine specimens, and since I am the
duke, they won’t dare to refuse. Elmer is a touch evil don’t you think? I know
a lot of good fellows who are positively angelic compared to him. Let me see …
Perhaps Lord Harley? He has a remarkable physique or so I have heard Penelope
say. And Sir Greenwood is the best shot in England. We went hunting together
last winter. He shot down three pigeons and not a bullet wasted.”