Seeking Philbert Woodbead ( A Madcap Regency Romance ) (The Fairweather Sisters) (10 page)

“Putting on
these white gloves. It helps spot the dust.”

“And after
that?”

“I will
walk around the mansion spotting dust.”

“Can you
spare a few moments from your dust spotting? I need to—What was that?”

She tilted
her head to one side, “I don’t hear anything.”

“Hush,” he
said placing a finger on her lips. “There, did you hear that?”

“It sounds
like someone is screeching.” She glanced at him worriedly.

“I am sure
it is nothing, but perhaps we should check?”

“It sounds
like Penny,” she said racing towards the music room.

She skidded
to a halt outside the library when she spotted a bosom heaving, vein throbbing,
enraged duchess facing a subdued duke.

“Have you
listened to a word I have said in the last six months?” Penelope asked in a
soft dangerous voice.

“I thought
you liked fruit cake,” the duke replied confused.

Penelope
eyed the duke and then the large fruit cake he held on a silver dish. “You did
not want to cheer me up. This is your underhand, evil plot. You want to make me
fat.”

Celine and
Lord Elmer retreated a few steps.

“I did not
want to make you fat. You could never be fat … a little plumpish but that is
pretty—” the duke spluttered.

“Plumpish?”
Penelope asked taking a small step towards the duke.

“Not that
you are plumpish. But even if you do become plumpish, I will still find you
just as beautiful.”

“Charles,
do you recall on our wedding day I told you about the sign, the sign that made
me realise that I loved you?”

The duke
frowned, “Your toes curled every time we kissed and that is how you knew that
you loved me. But what does that have to do—”

“I can no
longer see those toes.”

The duke
cleared his throat nervously, “Penny,” he began and then trailed off into an
indistinct mumble.

Penelope
took the cake and squashed it on top of the duke’s head. “You eat it,” she
growled.

Bits of
cake slid down the duke’s hair and onto his excellent shoulders.

Penelope
snatched a mop from a trembling maid and took a step towards him. “Let me clean
you up, your grace.”

The duke
thought the time had come to run and he did. He flew the coup, deserted the
army, and abandoned ship. In other words, he turned tail and sprinted down the
corridor as fast as his muscled legs could carry him.

Penelope
narrowed her eyes to slits and waddled after him. She chased him down the
corridor throwing all manner of things at his fast disappearing back including
a priceless ornament, an ancestral bust, a branch pulled out of a potted plant,
and a rolled up rug.

She glared
at her hands. Her aim was terrible. Everything she threw fell just a few paces
away from her. She roared in frustration making the walls of the mansion
vibrate. She gritted her teeth, lifted her skirts, and once again shuffled
after him.

She stormed
down the passageway like a lion headed, serpent tailed Chimaera breathing forth
flames of red tipped fire. She was an unnatural creature, a creature not quite
human and yet mortal.

She
slithered and hissed her way towards the carved pillar behind which Celine and
Lord Elmer were attempting to hide, her eyes pinned to the duke’s disappearing
coat tails.

But before
the bugaboo in the garb of the duchess could discover them, Lord Elmer grabbed
Celine and dragged her through the nearest door.

They found
themselves in a coat closet where they decided to bide their time until the
threat looming outside receded.

A fur coat
tickled Celine’s nose. She sneezed.

On the
fifth sneeze Lord Elmer launched into speech, “Now, listen to me, I want you to
meet me in the library tonight after dinner. Get the painting that has the clue
of your fat poet’s whereabouts. Don’t forget, at nine sharp I will see you
there.”

“But—”

“No buts.”

“But—”

He made an
impatient noise, “The doting grandmother that is the dowager will come flying
home the moment the new babe is born. And you, my dear, will be politely but
firmly sent back to Finnshire. The babe will be here soon, Amy, and we are
running out of time. Your chance of finding Puff Guts, I mean your poet, is
now.”

“I know
that.”

“Then why
are you wasting so much time. We have to work quickly. I will see you tonight.”

“I don’t think
it is seemly.”

“You are
having an affair with a fat poet called Woodbead. You are doing this behind
your beloved sister’s back, and you are telling me that my innocent offer of
helping you is not seemly?”

“I don’t think
you should get involved. This is my problem.”

“Celine,
this job needs a man of wit, sensitivity, poise, creativity and good looks. How
can you even doubt that I am not the man for the job? This problem of yours
needs me, Celine, me,” he said jabbing a finger into his chest. “Besides, I am
a man and you can’t do half the things that I can without questions being
asked.”

“If we are
caught?”

“You should
have thought about that before you went and fell in love.”

“Well….”

“Do you
even love him?”

“Undoubtedly.”

“You seem
reluctant to find him. I mean a woman in love is passionate. She is desperate
to find her beloved, willing to jump off cliffs and whatnot, and here you won’t
meet me at nine in the evening to research?”

“I shall
meet you at nine.”

He smiled like
a well fed cat, “Good, now let me leave first and you can follow in five
minutes.”

“Fine,” was
all she could manage before he had reached the door in one stride and was out
in another.

***

The clock
struck nine. It was time to meet Lord Elmer, but Celine did not move. She
closed her eyes and leaned against the cold window pane in her bedroom. She
wondered where her Philly was with a slight twinge in her heart.

She opened
her eyes and gazed across the garden at the glistening lily pond. She did not
notice the pretty yellow lamps reflected in the dark, opaque water. Instead,
she saw her beloved Philly racing towards her on a bright summer morning.

She
recalled how he had come skipping towards her, his bulbous cheeks pink with
pleasure. His feet had pounded on the grassy meadow frightening the birds and
the bees, his dumpy form lit from behind by the sun. He had looked like a
cherub without wings, his smile frenzied and rolling towards her at great
speed, clutching in delicate soft hands his latest poem.

She
clutched that very poem to her chest now. Her mouth moved silently while the
words danced in her head,

My love
for you, my dear red haired lass, is eternal,

I
promise, my love, it is not nocturnal but diurnal.

You are
my Neapolitan ice on a hot summer’s day,

And
stuffed game and wine when the world is cold and grey.

My heart
beats harder when I see you smile,

Than
when I am confronted by hungry tigers and poisonous reptiles.

Let me
confess, I spotted your ankle uncovered,

I blush when
I think how it left me bewildered.

Believe
me, my dear, I love you eternally,

Truly,
my darling, it’s a love not external but arising internally.

She heaved
a great sentimental sigh. Philly had said it was a love poem for her. He had
spent an entire week agonising over every sentence. Her Philly was a
perfectionist, she mused fondly, with his big cornflower blue eyes fogged up in
excitement and his … She frowned. Did he have a dimple in his chin? A variety
of puffy weak chins floated by in her mind. None of them seemed to fit her
Philly. A horrible thought struck her. If she loved him, then shouldn’t she
remember what his chin looked like? Surely a woman in love remembers her
lover’s chin.

She gripped
the curtains, her bosom heaving in turmoil. What sort of a woman in love was
she? A cruddy sort, that’s what. Not remembering her own lover’s chin, the
horror.

She shoved
the poem into her pocket. Women in love, Lord Elmer had said, were willing to
jump off cliffs for their beloved. Would she, she wondered, jump off a cliff
for Philbert?

What if she
did jump, and instead of hitting solid earth she found a deep dark sea waiting
to engulf her?

She gulped.

Perhaps
jumping off cliffs was a little dramatic. After all, her mother said that she
most decidedly at times loved her father, and her mother wouldn’t jump off a
hay cart for her father, let alone a cliff.

She did
love him she told herself firmly. After all, the feelings were still fresh in
her mind. She may not recall his chin, but she well remembered the anticipation
and excitement she felt whenever she met him. The tickle in her belly when they
had kissed for the first time and how her heart had skipped a beat when he had
confessed his love for her one frigid winter morning.

She watched
a servant go by holding a flickering lamp in her hand. She wondered why she was
dithering. Lord Elmer was offering her his help, and with his help, she was
sure Philbert could be found … and yet her feet refused to move in the
direction of the library where no doubt Lord Elmer sat pulling out his hair in
boredom.

It had been
a year since she had seen Philbert and six months since she had last heard of
him. What if he no longer loved her?

The servant
disappeared from her view, and with the fading light, she came to the conclusion
that she would find him. She would risk taking a stranger’s help, telling him
her secrets, not for sensible Amy, but for the Celine in her. This would be her
adventure, and after that she would devout her life to being good, dutiful and
an ideal accomplished lady.

With a firm
nod, she picked up her diary and the sheets of poetry and made her way towards
the library.

“I don’t
think this is a good idea,” she said the moment she spotted Lord Elmer in the
library.

He eyed her
quizzically.

“I mean
finding Philly and—”

“You call
him Philly?”

She ignored
him and continued, “I don’t want your help.”

“But why? I
already know your secret, and if you live in fear that I may tell someone, then
isn’t it better to take my help in finding the fellow and marry him before you
are disgraced in society.”

She didn’t
reply.

“Do you
even love him?” he persisted.

She caught
the sneer in his tone. “I do. I just …”

“You just
wanted to play at finding him. You did not really intend on acting out your
fantasy. Is that it?”

Her mouth
trembled.

He took her
elbow and gently pushed her into a seat. “Shall we try to see how this evening
goes? Now that you are here we might as well make use of the time. If you decide
not to take my help from tomorrow, then I promise not to bother you. I will
find something else to amuse me.”

She glanced
at him and then looked away. The blasted man was looking kind. Not scornful but
kind and slightly sympathetic. She nodded reluctantly.

He
immediately spurred into action. The sheets of paper were spread out, the ink
and the quill readied, more candles lit, and various maps pulled down from
shelves. Finally, he turned to her and asked to see the painting.

A little
breathless from how quickly he seemed to get things done she unravelled the
parchment.

He eyed her
actions with pursed lips.

She
scowled. If he did not find her manner of unrolling a scroll sufficiently
romantic, then she didn’t care. She wasn’t going to spend ten minutes cooing at
the paper and caressing it with loving hands. If he could be quick, then she
too was efficient and practical. Romance would come later once she met her
darling Philly.

The
painting was unrolled efficiently, not romantically, and she smoothed it out
and placed it on the table.

They stared
at the painting.

He picked
it up and turned it over.

They
frowned.

He brought
the candle closer, letting the light illuminate the back of the painting.

They chewed
their lips.

He made her
hold the painting and then walked across the other end of the room and looked
at it.

They
strained their eyes.

He walked
back towards her, and this time he peered at it with one eye closed and the
other open. He then switched things up by closing the open eye and opening the
closed eyed. He finally closed both eyes and fingered the paper testing its
weight and texture.