Seeking Philbert Woodbead ( A Madcap Regency Romance ) (The Fairweather Sisters) (25 page)

She flipped
through the pages, her finger tracing a line here and there.

“Ah,” she
softly exclaimed. This was what she had been looking for.

Love, she
read, was the most confusing of all emotions. Everyone fell in love at least
once in their lifetime, and if they haven’t, then they are either very young or
very cold.

She quickly
skipped a paragraph lauding the virtues of love. Her finger paused at another
line,

As
discussed previously, love is vague and cannot be defined. Yet, everyone falls
in love once in their lifetime and some people more than once. The trouble
starts when a bright young lady goes and foolishly falls in love with two young
men at the same time. In such a situation a dilemma occurs which may cause,
amongst other symptoms, heart palpitations and cold sweats. In such cases I
would suggest that you take some lavender drops (see recipe, chapter 4) and
constant warm baths and marry the richer of the two men. You can, if possible,
keep the other man as a lover on the side.

Celine
pursed her lip. This wasn’t exactly what she was looking for. Further research
revealed yet another golden nugget of wisdom.

Women
who are dim often cannot understand their own heart and mind. They cannot tell
if they love one man or another, and in such cases I request them to follow a
visualising, spiritual technique that never fails in determining the true love
of your life.

Celine
impatiently shifted in her seat and read on.

I have a
few options on how to determine whom you love. The first option requires some
chicken blood, ground lizards tails …

Celine
skipped to the second option.

For
women who are not only dim but also weak of heart, I can understand that
wrestling with a wild boar may not be possible. Hence, I offer you another
option, and that simply requires a short meditation technique which was taught
to me by an old, barely clothed man who spent years meditating on the foothills
of the Himalayas. Now, sit crossed legged on an uncarpeted floor.

Celine
raced to the dressing room which contained a pearly rug. Removing it she sat
down on the marble floor and crossed her legs. Opening the book once again, she
continued reading where she had left off.

Close
your eyes and take ten deep breathes and four shallow ones. Repeat for a few
minutes until you feel as if you have drunk a couple of glasses of wine. Hold
on to the happy feeling.

Celine sat
breathing in and out, in and out. When she finally started getting bored, she
decided to pretend she was feeling very happy and drunk. She opened one eye and
squinted at the rest of the paragraph.

Let your
mind’s eye conjure up a vision. In that vision you shall see the two men that
you think you love standing in the middle of a road. It is a deserted country
road surrounded by tall green trees that are swaying in the pleasant, scented
breeze. Next place an unnamed man in the middle of your two lovers.

Celine
imagined the road and placed Philbert, Lord Elmer and a faceless man in the
middle of it. Once more she peeked through one eye at
Mrs Beatle’s book for
accomplished English ladies
,

Let the
clouds part and the sun shine onto the three men. The sun is shining and the men
are squinting. The sun shines brighter and the men squint harder until a
carriage led by six wild horses comes galloping around the corner, their hoofs
hitting the ground making the dust and pebbles fly. The carriage races towards
the three men, and the men, due to the sun shining in their eyes, fail to
notice it, and therefore the carriage tramples them to the ground.

The
three men are dead.

Now, I
want you to dwell on this moment and think. Whose death do you regret the most?
I am sure you are upset that three human lives have been lost in your
imagination but focus. One lost life is hurting you more than the others. If
the death of the unnamed man is hurting you the most, then you are still
waiting for your true love. If it is the man on the right lying dead and
bleeding on the road that is upsetting you unbearably, then that is who you
love.

Think,
young lady, think. Whose bloodied body disturbs you the most?

Celine
closed the book and stood up. Her trembling hand silently saluted Mrs Beatle
and her genius. In her imagination she had seen the carriage run the men over,
and her heart had cried not for the unnamed man or Philbert. It had wept for
Lord Elmer and only Lord Elmer.

She closed
the book and reverently placed it back on the desk.

“Mrs Beatle,”
she whispered to the red and gold hard bound leather cover, “I have gone and
fallen in love with the blasted scoundrel. Love has well and truly bitten me on
my rosy buttocks. Isn’t that wonderful?”

Life had
started strutting differently for Celine ever since she became aware of her
love for Lord Elmer. The world, she felt, was tinted in shades of heliotrope,
which just happened to be her favourite colour.

When the
world did not look purplish pink, it looked grey. Grey because Lord Elmer was
no longer staying at the Blackthorne Mansion, he no longer winked at her across
the table and made her laugh, and he no longer sprang into her path to sweep
her off on yet another bone rattling adventure.

She peered
at her reflection in the back of a spoon. She wondered if Lord Elmer could fall
in love with a girl like her. Wouldn’t he want an exotic, wild and wanton
kitten? While she was a simple, sober cat with a few sharp claws ….

“If you had
been on stage, Celine,” Penelope broke into her thoughts, “you would not have
needed lines. Your expressions have changed so swiftly in the last half an hour
that I can almost hear your thoughts.”

“Would you
like some more tea?”

“Don’t
changed the topic, and tell me what is bothering you? Lord Elmer has not
written or come calling in the last two days, isn’t that it?”

Celine
shook her head and pressed her lips together.

“Have the
two of you fought?”

“Nothing of
the sort,” Celine replied crisply. “Children fight and we are no longer
children. We don’t go into corners and sulk for days without writing to the
other person simply because the other person raised their voice once. And if we
do, then we shouldn’t—”

“Here, wipe
your nose before your tears mix with drippings from your nose and fall into the
tea cup.”

Celine blew
her nose and dabbed her eyes, “I am not crying. Truly I am not. Why should I?”

Penelope
smiled, “If it isn’t because of Lord Elmer, my dear, then my condition is
rubbing off on you. It is possible, for even the duke has been getting more
emotional than usual. The other day he saw a small white kitten from our
bedroom window, and don’t tell anyone this, but he saw it nuzzle Lady
Bathsheba. He thought a goat and a kitten becoming friends was so sweet that he
couldn’t help it, he sniffled and allowed a tear or two to leak down his
chiselled cheeks.”

Celine
chuckled through her tears, “I think you made that up.”

“I did
not,” Penelope replied smiling. “Now, do you want me to send Lord Elmer to the gallows?
Have him tortured by the king or ship him off to the continent?”

“Good god,
whatever for?”

“He made
you cry,” Penelope replied grimly.

The tears
quickly dried up, “Really, Penny, I am not crying, see, and when I had tears
running down my eyes, it was because … not because of him,” she laughed loudly
and unconvincingly.

Penelope
narrowed her eyes, “Then why were you crying?”

Thankfully
Celine was saved from answering, for Perkins’ wrinkled head appeared at the
door distracting Penelope.

“A gentle—”
Perkins cleared his throat and tried again, “A person is asking to see Miss
Fairweather.”

Celine’s
heart leaped. Could it be Lord Elmer?

“Who?”
Penelope asked, since Celine looked too hopeful to speak.

“He
wouldn’t tell me his name,” Perkins replied, an almost invisible shift in his
expression showing disapproval.

“Why
wouldn’t he tell you his name?” Penelope asked.

“He
wouldn’t tell me his name because he said that I had offended him greatly by
not allowing him to enter the mansion. After such an insult, he did not think I
deserved to know it,” Perkins replied.

“Where is
he now?” Penelope asked. She was in a mood to ask questions.

“I allowed
him take a seat in the reception room. I posted a few muscled footmen outside
and one inside to keep a watch on him,” Perkins said, his voice rising in
passion. “If he tries to lift one tiny sprig out of the mansion, we will have
him. We will have him, I say. And then we will tie him up and throw him in the
dungeons with no food or water. He will starve, slowly and surely until—”

“Until?”
Penelope prompted.

“We get the
snakes from the circus and set them—”

“I smell a
Lord Elmer in the air,” Celine cut in.

Perkins
blushed, “Not Lord Elmer. It is Nithercott, Miss. He and I have become good
friends. It is like I have caught a story telling disease from him. My tongue
runs away with me.”

“I like
this disease,” Penelope approved.

“I will go
meet this guest,” Celine sprang up. It had to be Lord Elmer in disguise. It was
the sort of thing he would do.

“Miss,”
Perkins halted her, “I would suggest taking a rifle.”

“Why?”
Penelope spoke up once again.

“The
fellow, your grace, looked at best … seedy.”

Penelope
nodded and offered Celine the paring knife that she had been using to cut
apples.

Celine took
it and slipped it into her pocket and then bounded out towards the reception
room.

Perkins
hobbled after her with muttered warnings of robbers and fleas.

Celine
ignored him and flung open the doors of the reception room.

Her lashes
quivered in shock, “Good God, Gilbert Goodgeed,” she exclaimed when she spotted
the familiar parrot green patchwork coat.

“Philbert
Woodbead,” he corrected sourly.

“Yes, him.
I mean, yes, Mr Woodbead. I thought I had already sent you those poems. Did you
not receive them?”

“I did. I
also learned from the footman who gave me those poems that your stepsister is
now married to the Duke of Blackthorne. Why ever did you not tell me that,
Celine? This changes everything.”

“What do
you mean?”

“Well it
changes our circumstances which are now conducive to getting married. The duke
is a wealthy fellow. Surely he will give you a fairly good dowry and—”

“Dowry?”

“Yes,
dowry,” he repeated testily. “You will now have a decent dowry, and with the
duke and his excellent connections, we can lead a fairly good life.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Celine, I
always thought you were an intelligent young lady, but perhaps such an
emotional moment is bound to make you feel dim. I am wondering if we should
move to Bath. Buy a little cottage next to the sea—”

“Are you
saying we should get married?” Celine interrupted coldly.

“Precisely,
my dear. I have come all this way to propose. I suppose I should speak to the
duke and ask him for your hand—”

“No.”

“No?”

“I mean I
will not marry you, Mr Woodbead.”

“Don’t be
silly now. You surely don’t mean that. You said you will love me forever.”

“Yes, my
forever means the same as your forever, Mr Woodbead. It only lasts a few
months.”

“I
understand you are angry. When we met, I wasn’t in the right mood. I was taken
by surprise and perhaps did not woo you—”

“Woo me? Mr
Woodbead, you clearly told me that you no longer loved me because, as you put
it, you were now a handsome, impoverished poet and hence have plenty of women
to choose from.”

Philbert
twittered, “I was hurt. You had not replied to my letters. I thought I had been
snubbed.”

“I am
snubbing you now, Mr Woodbead. Consider yourself wholeheartedly snubbed.”

“Now, now,
my dear, see it is like this—”

“I don’t
want to see—”

“Give me a
chance to explain—”

“Good morning,
Mr Woodbead. Perkins will show you out,” Celine broke in crisply. She did not
wait for him to respond but turned on her offended heel and left the room.

Mr Philbert
Woodbead, too, turned on his heartbroken heel and left the room, but he did not
venture too far from the mansion.