Seeking Philbert Woodbead ( A Madcap Regency Romance ) (The Fairweather Sisters) (8 page)

Celine
released Penelope’s sleeve. The duke was an intelligent man. Penelope was
right. He would never dare. Now the only worry was getting the letter back.
What if Lord Elmer decided to hold on to it until the next time he needed
something from her?

Her
troubled thoughts received a brief respite at the sight of Lady Bathsheba,
Penelope’s pet goat, prancing into the room. She bounded into the room wearing
a flowery bonnet, and a pink ribbon was tied to her tail.

“This is
Lady Bathsheba and this, Lady Bathsheba, is Lord Elmer,” Penelope introduced.

Lord Elmer
politely bowed to the goat and offered it a bit of his apple.

Penelope
was charmed. “You chose well,” she whispered to Celine.

Celine
forced her lips to lift at the corners.

“Your
mother loves animals as well doesn’t she, Lord Elmer?” Penelope asked,
scratching Lady Bathsheba’s glossy back. “I remember meeting her at Lady
Davenport’s ball.”

“You must
be mistaken,” Celine said uncomfortably. Since Penelope had become pregnant,
she had also become forgetful. How painful for poor Lord Elmer to hear her
sister speak about his dead mother.

Penelope
shook her head adamantly, “I am not mistaken. I clearly recall meeting Lady Elmer.
I am certain of it, for she had a charming little pug with her, and I could
never forget a face that has dared to bring a living animal into Lady
Davenport’s home. I fondly recall how Lady Davenport had a silent fit, her
mouth contorting in the most fascinating ways as she watched Lady Elmer feed
the choicest bits to the pug off the refreshment table. What was the little
dog’s name? Oh yes, Mr Smith. It was a gentle little thing. I fed it a bit of
biscuit and he licked my fingers clean. Lord Elmer, am I right? Doesn’t your
mother have a pug called Mr Smith?”

“Penny, his
mother has been dead for years. He has a horrible stepmother who has lost her
mind and a snarling, drooling giant dog,” Celine whispered urgently.

“Nonsense,
Celine. Lord Elmer, is your mother dead? Has your father married again?”

Lord Elmer
pushed his plate away. He avoided their eyes as he said, “I wonder where the
duke is?”

“He is in
his study,” Celine said through clenched teeth, “but before you go let me ask
you again, Lord Elmer, do you have a stepmother?”

“It is a
lovely day,” Lord Elmer said standing up. “I would love to spend some time with
you, your grace, but I just recalled that I have not informed my valet
Nithercott that we are staying. If you will excuse me.” And without waiting to
be excused, Lord Elmer disappeared from the room.

“Celine,
you can’t whisper such ridiculous things to me. He must have heard you. Saying
his mother is dead and all that nonsense. Truly, Celine, I did not expect this
of you.” Penelope admonished. “Now you have hurt his feelings. Go and
apologise.”

“But—”

“No buts.
Go.”

Celine
stabbed the sausage a few times before abandoning it and going in search of
Lord Elmer.

How could
he tell her all those outlandish stories? Telling her his mother was mad, locked
in an attic with a large rabid dog when, in fact, she was a sweet old thing
with a little dog … She stopped and a reluctant smile tugged at her.

She
giggled.

The story
that had seemed only too plausible in candlelight seemed preposterous in broad daylight.
It was partly her fault for being so gullible and believing him. Sensing a
slight softening in her stance she firmly reminded herself that Lord Elmer
still had the letter. She had to find him.

She found
him in the library.

“You lied,”
she accused.

“I was
desperate, Celine. I have to stay here. I was trying to gain your sympathy. You
see the truth is that—”

“I don’t
want to hear any more lies. Just give me the letter.”

“I am
sorry,” he whispered, hanging his head in remorse. He peeked at her hopefully,
his blue eyes shimmering and begging for forgiveness.

She looked
at him and felt a tug at her heart strings. “The letter?”

“Here,” he
said quickly producing it. “Am I forgiven?”

She nodded
and turned to leave.

“Celine?”
He caught her sleeve.

“Yes?”

“Where are
you going?”

“To talk to
the housekeeper.”

“After
that?”

“After
that, I will go over the household accounts with the steward,”

“Why do you
have to do them?”

“Because
Penny has been told to rest. I am here to help her and temporarily take over
her duties.”

“After you
do the accounts?”

“I will go
to Penny’s room and she will dictate letters—”

“What are
the other members of the house doing this morning?” he interrupted.

“The duke will
be working in his study, Penny takes a nap after breakfast and then again in
the afternoon and evening. Dorothy is busy with her lessons, and Sir Henry
never leaves his room unless for dinner.”

“I see.
Thank you.”

Celine
hesitated.

An adorable
lock of hair fell onto his forehead. He looked at her mournfully, his eyes
dirge-like at the prospect of nothing and no one available to entertain him for
the rest of the day.

She
wrenched her eyes away. He had tried to blackmail her, the cad. Squelching
every bit of sympathy for him she ignored the blasted curly lock, the mournful
eyes, and the pouting lips, and walked out.

She refused
to be responsible for his amusement.

You did
your part

You tore
my heart

Into
tiny, tiny, tiny, tiny shreds

“Lord Elmer,”
Celine gasped. She quickly slammed a book on top of the maps and turned around.
“Give me back the poem.”

“This one
is truly terrible,” he grinned. “Hold on, I will give it back to you, just let
me finish reading it first.”

Celine
lunged and grabbed the sheet out of his hands.

“You
shouldn’t have done that,” He snatched another sheet off the table, “And since
you did, I will read this one aloud just to see you blush.”

She
blushed.

He grinned
and cleared his throat,

Observe
here, my dear friends,

The
sentimental night sky.

It
expects to twinkle upon kissing lovers in dark lanes,

Instead,
it brightens the path for rogues, thugs and prisoners in chains.

Observe
here, my dear friends,

The
sentimental velvet couch.

It expects
to warm the buttocks of lords and ladies, earls and viscounts,

Instead,
it heats up the backsides of footmen that bounce the kitchen maids in return
for small amounts.

Observe
here, my dear friends,

The
sentimental window pane.

It expects
lovely women
to
peer out of it and observe the world outside,

Instead,
it finds your ugly nose squished to its panes,

And your
putrid breath fogging up the glass on the inside.

Stop
observing, my dear friends,

For you
are blocking my view through the new optical lens.

Didn’t
you hear me, you fool,

You
mangy blockhead, go away, shoo shoo,

For you
are covering my shoulders with green hued drool.

A small
silence ensued after he had finished reading.

“I
shouldn’t have read that,” he said in a small voice. “I feel wronged somehow. I
cannot believe I read the deuced thing and the whole of it. I couldn’t stop. I
tried, but the words they were so … I was compelled to read it until the end. I
feel tortured, abused—”

“What are
you doing here?” Celine cut in.

“I was
looking for a book.” He continued slyly, “Why were you looking at maps?”

“I wasn’t.”

“You are a
bad liar. You should spend a few minutes every day in front of the mirror
practising how to lie. It is a talent worth nurturing. Now, look at me, widen
your eyes … not too much, a little less … very good. Now tell me without
twitching that you were not looking at maps.”

“Lord
Elmer–”

“You are
blinking too much,” he interrupted. “It is an art, my dear. Do not disrespect
it. Now, let’s try something different. I can clearly see a map peeking out
from below those tomes in front of you. Therefore, look into my eyes, and this
time without blinking and with complete earnestness tell me that you like maps,
you adore them. In fact, you simply have to carry one everywhere you go. You
cannot live without maps. Maps are your life. You were looking at them because
they make you feel adventurous or something of the sort. Whatever you do don’t
deny their existence or look guilty.”

She blinked
at him lugubriously, “I am sorry. I am busy. Can you go plague someone else?”

“No.”

“Penny will
appreciate your company.”

“I was with
her in the morning room. I had to escape. She was slathering blackberry jam on
chunks of venison and eating it.”

“It doesn’t
sound so bad.”

“The venison
was swimming in gravy.”

“I see.”

“Before
that she was crying.”

“Why?”

“Because in
her words, I have a head full of ringlets, and the curls are so poetic that she
couldn’t help it. She had to weep.”

 “I promise
you, Penny is perfectly sane. But I am sorry, I have work to do, I—”

“Let me
stay here. I will sit quietly in that corner and read. I promise not one word
will escape my lips,” he requested.

“Has Penny
made you uncomfortable?”

“No, she
has terrified me. I am scared in broad daylight.”

Celine
giggled. “Stop, she is not so bad. You can stay, but please don’t try to read
any more of my letters.”

“I wouldn’t
dare,” he said and then pulling out a book from the shelves sat down to read.

Celine
dragged another letter towards herself and got to work.

Half an
hour later the silence was broken.

“I cannot
stand here and let you continue like this,” he exclaimed. “Miss Amy Montrose
Fairweather, what in the world are you doing?”

“Penny told
you my name?” Celine cried.

“Yes, and
Amy suits you far more than Celine does,” he said gazing at her, “Amy. Short,
sweet, simple.”

“Don’t call
me Amy.”

“Amy, tell
me what are you doing?”

“No.”

“Please.
Perhaps I can help.”

“I don’t trust
you,” She shook a quill at him, splattering his stark white shirt with droplets
of ink, “and why would you want to help me?”

“Because it
will give me something to do, and you did help me by asking the duchess to let
me stay. It was done reluctantly, but you still did it.”

“I am not
sure.”

“And I
think you are pretty. A pretty damsel in distress, and it goes against my
nature to leave you suffering like this—”

“I am not
suffering,” she replied blushing.

“Disturbed
then. I want to help.”

“No.”

“What if I
told you something about myself that no one knew?”

She pushed
away the letter and looked at him. She hated to admit that she was intrigued.

He smiled
and fluttered his lashes, “Ask me anything, Amy” he said huskily.

Celine
wanted to slam the book on top of his head. She eyed his practised romantic
expression, all pouting lips and dreamy eyes, and frowned.

A sudden
thought struck her. Perhaps it was better to learn some of his secrets. After
all, he knew hers, and in case he decided to blackmail her again in the future,
she would have something to protect herself with.

But to
ensure that he did tell her the truth she would have to behave like a
simpleton. Inwardly grinning she let her shoulders relax, her chin slightly
tilt up and her eyes grow large. A soft smile played on her lips.

His dreamy
expression faded and his hooded lids sprang up, his entire body going into
alert mode.

“Tell me,”
she asked, a single finger making concentric circles on the wooden desk. “Why
don’t you want to go home?”

He gazed at
her as if he had never seen her before. “I don’t want to be the ninth Earl of
Devon. My father threw me out of the house and I had to make my own way in the
world. Now that I have found my place he wants me back because it is convenient
for him.”