Seeking Philbert Woodbead ( A Madcap Regency Romance ) (The Fairweather Sisters) (3 page)

“No tea for
the dead man,” Penelope giggled and then promptly burst into tears. “I am a
horrible human being.”

“You are
just moody. Women in your condition are always moody and often say the oddest
things. Miss Berry back in Finnshire told me all about it,” Dorothy consoled
her.

“How does
Miss Berry know? Is she married?” the duke asked tentatively.

“Miss Rosie
Harlington Berry can’t marry yet,” Dorothy informed him, “on account of her
being ten years old. But she does know all about Penny’s condition because her
mother has produced—”

“Dorothy,
go to your room,” Celine ordered.

“I will
not,” Dorothy replied horrified.” How could you even suggest such a thing when
you know I have never seen a dead fellow before? I am staying.”

“Go to your
room,” the duke tried this time.

Dorothy
eyed him for a moment and then said meekly, “As you wish, your grace.”

The duke’s
eyebrow rose in disbelief.

Everyone
knew that since all thirteen year olds are a morbid lot, Dorothy would lurk
outside on the landing until the dead guest came through. Only after having a
good look and perhaps prodding and poking the poor fellow would Dorothy retire
to her room.

The duke
stroked his temple, his eyes shooting to Celine.

Celine
sighed and nodded. “Dorothy,” she warned, “if you see the corpse, then his
ghost will haunt you forever.”

“I am
thirteen not five.”

“Well, then
you should behave responsibly and feed your pet,” Celine retorted.

“My pet,”
Dorothy squealed, “I completely forgot about Tommy, though he insists on being
called Littlebury.”

“Your pet
talks, does he?” the duke asked amused.

“Not very
well, but I am trying to teach him.”

Penelope
chuckled and called her darling, while Celine eyed her younger sister in apprehension.
Something was not right, but before she could question her further, the butler
knocked on the door.

Perkins
stuck his white head in and announced, “Lord Adair, his servants and a dead
gentleman here to see you, your grace.”

***

The study
door flung wide open, the wind blew and Lord William Ellsworth Hartell Adair,
the Marquis of Lockwood, strode in.

Celine,
Dorothy and Penelope let out a collective gasp, the duke straightened his back,
the furnishings looked brighter, and even the dying candles blazed with a
sudden renewed spurt of energy.

Lord Adair
was handsome, and Celine wholeheartedly agreed with Penelope that she had never
seen a more attractive specimen. His shoulders were broad, hips slim, features
sensual, and his eyes were hooded, heavily lashed and intelligent.

Lord Adair
greeted the women in a deep, delectable voice and then proceeded to instruct
the servants to lay the dead man on the carpeted floor.

Once the
women had fanned away the effects of Lord Adair’s good looks from their senses,
they turned their attention towards the unfortunate dead body.

The dead
man had finely cut features. His chin was stubborn, lips generous, nose
aquiline, and his inky, curled hair was rebellious and soft enough to be the
envy of all English dandies. He was handsome and perhaps as handsome as Lord
Adair, but it was difficult to tell due to his unfortunate pallor which was a
sickly mixture of yellow and green.

“Adair, I
hope you have a good reason for depositing a dead man on my Turkish carpet,”
the duke commented irritably.

The dead
man emitted a soft snore.

Penelope
and Celine emitted ear splitting screeches.

“Your
grace, how could you think that I would be so insensitive as to bring a dead
man into your home, especially when,” Everyone waited for Lord Adair to say the
word expecting, confined or indisposed aloud. His eyes skittered away from
Penelope’s stomach and he finished lamely,” when you have ladies present in the
house.”

The duke’s
shoulders relaxed. “So have you knocked the fellow out?”

“Nothing of
the sort. We were at the Blue Cap last night and had a little too much to
drink. George here has a delicate constitution and a great liking for the
strong stuff. You can see the two don’t mix well. He has been unconscious for
the last four hours.”

Celine
peered down at George lying on the floor. “He does not look delicate,” she
commented.

“No, in
fact, his shoulders are broad, arms muscular, hips—” Penelope began, and the
duke growled. Penelope ignored him and continued, “Hips, I imagine, are firm. I
cannot tell, since he is lying on his back.”

“You are
married,” the duke reminded her, “to me.”

“Pity,”
Penelope sighed.

“He has
lovely dark curls,” Dorothy gushed.

“Dorothy,
leave or your pet goes to the butcher,” Celine whispered.

Dorothy
left.

“What do you
think, Celine?” Penelope asked indicating the sleeping man.

Celine
stared down at the sleeping man, her hands twisting her skirts. She finally
gave up the battle and whipped out a pristine, rose embroidered handkerchief
which she used to scrub away the dirt mark on the man’s left cheek. She went on
to straighten his boot, push away the curl from his forehead and smooth out a
wrinkle in his sleeve.

“He is not
a couch, Celine, whose cushions need to be straightened,” Penelope remarked.
“Now, stop adjusting his limbs and tell me, do you find him handsome?”

“His
countenance is a trifle green,” Celine replied, “but other than that he is very
handsome. Only a squint eye can take away from his fine features. Is he
squinty, Lord Adair?”

“Ah, tea is
here,” Penelope interrupted. Her eyes followed the plates laden with fruits and
toasts.

“Sugar?”
Penelope asked pouring Lord Adair a cup.

“Yes,
please,” Lord Adair replied.

Celine
chewed a biscuit. Here they were standing over a man lying prostrate on the duke’s
excellent Turkish carpet drinking tea out of the duchess’ excellent china. This
whole situation felt a little bit odd, and yet no one else seemed to find it in
the least bit strange.

“I think I
dribbled some tea on him,” Penelope announced peering down at the sleeping man.

“I think we
should sit,” the duke said, hastily steering his wife towards the couch. “Then
you can tell us, Adair, what brings you here at this hour and who in the world
is this fellow.”

Lord Adair
sipped from the cup. The china looked ridiculously tiny in his large hands. He
drained the cup in one gulp and set it aside. “This intoxicated gentleman
happens to be Viscount Elmer.”

“Adair, you
are mistaken. Elmer is twice this man’s size with soft bits and two sprigs of
oiled hair on his head,” the duke said.

Lord Adair
sighed. “I see, you have no doubt been busy and are as yet unaware of the
slight upset in the Earl of Devon’s household—”

Penelope
lifted a palm up. “Lord Adair, could you please start from the very beginning.
I have been confined to the four walls of this mansion ever since I discovered
that I was expecting … Celine close your mouth, Lord Adair knows far more about
women than you can ever fathom. Now, Lord Adair, I want you to tell us about
this viscount in detail and slowly. Charles, don’t you dare interrupt. I have
not seen a single soul for months and months and months. I need to hear another
human speak, to tell a tale, a tiny spark of entertainment ….”

“You are
surrounded by almost three hundred servants, your two sisters, a husband, and
up until last month my mother was constantly by your side … and of course Sir
Henry, “the duke began. A glare from his wife shut him up.

“Yes, well,
let me start from the beginning,” Lord Adair said once the duke and duchess had
settled down. “The ninth Earl of Devon has two sons. The elder of the two,
Richard Irvin, recently decided to marry a Spanish girl who knew not a lick of
English. The Earl of Devon threw a grand ball to celebrate the occasion. The
king himself asked to dance with the bride, and after that disaster struck. The
warm blooded, sharp tongued girl was a bit too vocal in her protestations when
the king’s fingertips started roaming a little too freely during the dance. She
failed to comprehend that the fingertips were royal, for her translator and
companion, a charming Miss Daisy, failed to enlighten her, since she lay
sprawled in the gazebo after drinking a few too many glasses of punch.” Lord
Adair smiled. “And it was only natural that Richard’s new bride should pluck a
glass of wine from Dame Melford’s hand and dump it on his highnesses’ head.”

“She
didn’t,” his listeners gasped.

“She did,
and what’s more she proceeded to pinch the fleshy bit near his waist when he
refused to release her. Richard and his bride escaped for Spain that very
night.”

“Naturally,”
Penelope commented.

“After
that,” Lord Adair continued, “the Earl of Devon was afraid of losing his title.
He therefore disinherited his eldest son and claimed his younger son, George
Irvin, to be his heir. This young man is George Irvin, Viscount Elmer, and the
future Earl of Devon.”

“Good lord,
so this is the infamous George,” the duke said, eyeing the fellow with renewed
interest.

“Infamous?”
Celine asked.

Lord Adair
nodded, “He was a terror as a child and he grew no better in his later years.
He was thrown out of Oxford which embarrassed his father. As a result the Earl
of Devon threw him out of the house. After that began George’s truly colourful
life. He spied for the French against the English, but really it was for the
English against the French. He caused countless scandals by flirting with
married women. Half of England’s husbands would love to get their hands on
him.”

“I don’t
care about his escapades,” the duke grumbled, “What I want to know is why have
you brought the blasted man here?”

“He is
hiding. His father is looking for him, since he is the heir and he wants to
bring him back home and train him. But he does not want to be found, and
apparently he cannot sail for the time being and he won’t tell me why. So he
came to stay with me.” Lord Adair shut his silver snuffbox with a snap. “I
cannot keep him. He steals my tobacco and then dares to puff away in my face.
He wears my dressing gown, wakes me up at odd hours, he has people chasing him,
I cannot venture out of doors with him. He flirts with my cook, he has charmed
my valet—”

“But why
have you brought him here? He sounds ghastly,” the duke repeated, his facial
muscles twitching in warning.

Lord Adair
turned his back on the duke and faced Penelope, “He is charming, extremely
charming … a big hit with the ladies. I am fond of the fellow. Perhaps I got
carried away and exaggerated his unfortunate habits—”

“When you
speak well of him, you don’t sound convincing. You forget I live in London too
and therefore have heard enough about his shady character,” the duke growled.

Lord Adair
straightened his back and looked the duke in the eye, “I am his third cousin,
whereas you, Blackthorne, are his second cousin. Therefore, it is your
responsibility to keep the fellow. I have to go abroad on an urgent matter for
the king and can no longer have him in my house. It is a sensitive issue. You
will have to do your family duty and give this man a roof over his curly head.”

“I think
you are making up this urgent matter just to fob him off on me. You told me you
had retired from the spy business,” the duke scowled.

“I had
decided to retire, but the case is extremely intriguing. I had to take it,”
Lord Adair replied.

“I don’t
believe he is my second cousin. You are making it up.”

“I spent
all of last night looking up my family tree searching for the right person to
inflict … I mean, leave him with. Here, I brought proof,” Lord Adair said
triumphantly handing the duke the family tree. “Now, my great grandmother Beatrice
is George’s great grandmother’s sister. Therefore, George’s great, great aunt
Rebecca is my great grandmother.”

Three
confused faces frowned at the large family tree.

The duke
spent a few minutes examining the paper.

“He may be your
third cousin, but I don’t see any connection,” the duke crowed, “to my family.
I knew he was no blasted relative of mine.”

Lord Adair
leaned closer to the duke, “Sophia,” he coughed out.

The duke
paled.

“Who?”
Penelope asked.

“Sophia,”
the duke mumbled, “my grandmother.”

“She is
also George’s great aunt,” Lord Adair said.

Penelope’s
face cleared, “the one whose name has been crossed out in the family—”

“Yes,” the
duke cut in sharply.

“Why is her
name crossed out?” Penelope asked, failing to interpret the duke’s warning
look.