Seeking Philbert Woodbead ( A Madcap Regency Romance ) (The Fairweather Sisters) (27 page)

“Your
grace, I think I have well and truly fallen in love with Lord Elmer. I don’t
think I will be wading out of it any time soon.”

“I see,
well then that settles it. I will have to go save that despicable second cousin
of mine.”

“You don’t
have to.”

“No, I
really do,” the duke muttered.

“Will you
let Penelope know?”

“I will
leave a letter for her. I will leave it with Perkins and he can hand it to her
if I don’t return.”

“But you
will return.”

“I truly
hope so.”

Celine
nodded and soberly shook hands with him.

“I am glad you
didn’t spit before shaking my hand,” the duke remarked.

“Eh?”

“Penelope
had spat … Never mind.”

“This is
goodbye then.”

“I am not
going to die, Celine. Don’t look so miserable.”

“I hope
not.”

“This is
getting morbid. I am leaving now … And, Celine, I know you Fairweather sisters.
Don’t you dare follow me.”

“I won’t,”
Celine lied boldly. She already had a plan on how best to follow him, and the
moment the duke departed, she set that plan into motion.

Celine’s
footsteps pounded on the garden path. Her heart thumped in tune. Last evening’s
rain licked her ankles as she raced towards the stables. Sneaking past a
snoring stablehand she made her way towards the fiery red mare called Storm.

The horse
knew her, yet she approached the beast cautiously. A few precious minutes were
wasted while she soothed the horse and saddled it. She tugged the reins and led
the mare out into the open past the sleeping stablehand and towards the
entrance of the Blackthorne Mansion.

She hid
behind a large statue of Minerva, a tall marble figure which had an exquisitely
carved owl perched on its shoulder. She stuck her head between Minerva’s
crooked elbow and watched the entrance, waiting for the duke’s carriage to
arrive.

The duke’s
carriage rolled out and came to a smooth halt near the entrance.

Her breath
froze. She clutched the reins harder, inwardly begging the mare to stay quiet.

The duke,
too, arrived moments later dressed in his travelling gear. He leaped into the
carriage calling out something indistinguishable to Perkins standing by the
door.

Perkins
saluted in response, and the carriage started moving towards the road.

Celine
clambered up on top of Storm and nudged the animal with her foot.

Storm
ignored her.

According
to Mrs Beatle a lady can have one fault provided she conceals it well from
others. Celine’s fault was that she was hopeless around horses. She knew not
what in the blazes to do with them.

Celine
spent a few minutes coaxing the mare to move.

The mare
stubbornly stood her ground.

She tried
bribery, trickery and soft spoken words, her heart sinking with every passing
moment, for the duke’s carriage was almost out of sight.

“Fine,”
Celine groaned, “do as you like. Stay.”

And with
that Storm started sprinting forward.

Celine
quickly learned how to efficiently control the contrary horse. Her commands
simply had to be opposite of what she wanted the horse to do.

With her
nose pointed straight ahead, her eyes narrowed, and the wind streaking through
her hair, Celine and not the mare tried to keep the duke’s carriage in sight as
best as possible. London unlike Finnshire had lamps lit on the side of the
streets, and even though the moon was shy and hiding behind a hat shaped cloud,
she could see fairly well.

Celine
didn’t know when they passed Gin Road, Mayfair Street or Marley lane. She knew
nothing of London apart from Hyde Park and the Blackthorne Estate. If she lost
sight of the duke for even a moment, she would be hopelessly lost.

The dark
roads with double rows of twinkling gas lamps were a beautiful sight in an
eerie sort of way. The swaying inky silhouettes of trees and the occasional
shouts from drunkards kept her on edge throughout the journey.

More than
once a night watchman spotted her and halted in his tracks. One of them was
brave enough to abandon his declaration of ‘Tis' past three and almost four, no
thief shall come, for we watch the door’ and chase after her. He leaped over
potholes, rubbish and drunkards waving his stick in one hand and swinging the
lamp in the other. He didn’t stand a chance, for a man on foot is no match for
a woman with a mission on a swift horse. She escaped unscathed.

She rode on
even though the drays and carriages started rolling out onto the roads
splashing her with dirty water. The milkmaids started appearing on street
corners holding back yawns and squeaking out a few sleepy yodelling cries. A
few mountebanks crept along the sides, while the musicians started setting up
shop pulling out tambourines and whatnot.

The thought
that gave her courage and propelled her through the streets was that at the end
of the journey she would see Lord Elmer. Not Lord Elmer, she corrected herself,
she really should start thinking of him as George.

“George,”
she said aloud, letting the wind carry his name. Her eyes briefly closed, and a
delicious thrill went through her at the sound.

Her focus
returned to the road, and in shock she realised that the duke’s carriage had
disappeared. Her heart in her throat she frantically searched the road ahead.
She could see nothing but dark looming houses and an empty road. Were they even
in London any longer? She felt as if they had been riding for hours, long
enough to have left the city entirely.

Storm
continued to gallop at high speed, turning neither right nor left but straight
ahead, and Celine let her. She did not know what else to do but ride on in the
hope that the duke’s carriage was around the corner.

It was the
scent of rotting fish and water that renewed her hopes. They were near a large
body of water. She was sure of it.

A faint
rosy glow in the sky indicated that the sun was about to rise. In the pink
light she spotted small empty boats bobbing near the shore, and further down
floating in deeper shimmering waters was
The Desperate Lark
with its
pirate flag temporarily replaced with a friendlier one depicting a bunch of
yellow mangoes on a white background.

Celine told
the mare to keep moving, and the obedient animal halted on the spot. Celine
leaped to the ground and quickly tied the mare to a nearby tree. She couldn’t
spot the duke’s carriage, but it did not matter any longer. He would be on the
pirate ship trying to save George, and she too had to get on the ship in case
the duke needed to be saved in turn.

She moved
towards the edge of the water wondering which boat to take in order to reach
the ship. A loud rattling sound, a snort and a squeak made her whirl around.

A carriage
had skidded to a halt behind her. It was not the duke’s carriage. It was the
duchess’ carriage.

Penelope’s
happy head poked out from the window. Her equally ecstatic hand waved at
Celine.

“Penny,
what are you doing here?” Celine gasped.

Penelope
carefully descended with the help of her maid Mary and the carriage driver.

“I will
speak quickly for we have two men to save. I was awake when you entered the
room and tickled the duke—”

“But I
heard you snore.”

“I am
pregnant and that means mostly idle. I have been practising all sorts of things
in my spare time and pretending to gently snore while I am wide awake is just
one of the tricks that I have learnt. It is a talent worth acquiring.”

“Continue,”
Celine muttered.

“I followed
you both out of the room and into the dowager’s room. I stuck my ear to the
door, overheard most of the conversation and waited until the duke departed to
ask Hopkins to get the carriage ready. I then woke Mary, got a second carriage
ready and followed you here.”

While
Penelope paused to take a breath, Celine said, “Now get back into the carriage
and go home.”

“I will
not.”

“You are
not coming, Penny.”

“I shall
wait here, and if you do not return soon, then I will go looking for runners or
the king.”

“The king?”

“I believe
he is fond of the duke.”

“I cannot
leave you here alone and defenceless—” Her speech was cut short when Penelope
pulled out a mean looking rifle.

“That is
not enough,” Celine objected.

Penelope
quietly produced three dainty pistols from inside her corset. Two more were
inside her riding boots, and yet another was retrieved from the hidden pocket
in her skirt.

Celine took
one of the pistols and pocketed it. “Still no—”

Celine
didn’t get to finish her sentence, for Penelope clapped her hands next and
twelve maids poked their heads out of the carriage.

They showed
Celine their weapons which consisted of rolling pins, cast iron kettles, more
pistols, rifles, and a couple of exceedingly low gowns with large bosoms on
display.

Celine
stared at one of the maids in horror.

The tall,
long faced bony woman with a brooding expression holding a spear fluttered her
lashes back at her.

“Who is
that?” Celine asked pointing to the woman.

“I am not
sure ….” Penelope frowned.

“I will
tell you who that is, Penny. It is the blasted poet Philbert Woodbead in
disguise. Why did you bring that fool along?”

“I didn’t
know what he looked like, Celine. I have been confined to the Yellow Room and
only heard of the pest,” Penelope replied testily.

“Well, the
deuced man is moving towards me, Penny. Now, I don’t have time to argue with
you. Please return to the mansion and perhaps get the runners ready or the
king’s men. Hurry,” Celine begged before racing towards the ship. She did not
have time to untie one of the boats or the poet would be upon her, so she
leaped into the cold, icy water and started swimming towards
The Desperate
Lark
.

“Celine,”
Penelope called.

Celine spat
out the water and turned to look at the duchess.

“Are you
certain that you are doing the right thing?” Penelope yelled. “Is it proper?”

“An
accomplished lady always follows her man in order to save him, and men always
need saving,” Celine shouted back. “And stop screaming or the bloody pirates
will hear you. Go home.”

Penelope
grinned, and Celine turned back around and once more made her way towards the
sloop style, hundred ton pirate ship that could easily hold seventy full grown
men.

She used
the rope ladder hanging on the side to climb up and slip onto the deck at the
back of the ship.

She bit her
lip and glanced at the pistol with a mother of pearl handle that the duchess
had presented to her. Next, she looked towards the cannons dotting the deck and
gulped.

Taking a
deep breath she bravely moved forward.

Squelch,
squelch, splurt went her water laden slippers.

She clamped
down on fearful thoughts, pulled off the slippers and shoved them into her
pocket. Any further exploration would have to be done on bare tippy toes.

She had
never been on a ship before and knew not where to go or what to expect, and it
was too late to turn back now, so she slithered forward and found what seemed
to be a small cabin door on the right.

A sleepy,
lethal looking creature opened the cabin door and looked upon Celine in
surprise.

Celine
quickly yanked her corset lower and smiled.

“Arr,” the
man grinned back, his eyes pinned to her bosom.

While he
was thus entranced Celine grabbed the cabin door, slammed it on the creature’s
head, and as soon as he fell unconscious to the floor, she pushed him back
inside the cabin praying that he would not wake too soon from his unwanted nap.

She once
again slithered forward, keeping her eyes, ears and nose peeled at all times.
She could hear a few men singing a pirate song. She caught an occasional line
or two which sounded like,

‘Barrels
of rum, wenches and bum, together we shall sail to Ballynoonum.’

She stopped
next to yet another cabin door and rubbed her arms. The wind flirting with her
drenched clothes had chilled her to her very bones. She hummed the catchy
pirate song as she spent a few precious moments planning her next step. Where,
she wondered, did pirates keep prisoners?

She tried
to attack the question from a different angle. If she wanted to imprison and
torture someone in the Blackthorne Mansion, where would she hide him? The
dungeon she concluded with certainty. Therefore, it was a great possibility that
George too was hidden in the ship’s equivalent to a dungeon.