Something sounded again.
She frowned.
“Such a horrible racket,” Theodosia said. “What is he doing? I cannot believe my mother wants me to marry him.”
“I don’t think the sound is coming from downstairs,” Celia said. “It seems to be coming from outside.”
She went to the large windows. Perhaps icicles were falling from the ledge. Likely she just needed to shut it again.
Bham.
She blinked.
The sound came again. Right at the window. It was unlikely the roof was collapsing, but she still glanced up to see...
A perfectly proportioned masculine face. The man’s chiseled features could have come straight from Matchmaking for Wallflowers. In fact, she was fairly certain it had come from the cover of Matchmaking for Wallflowers latest Men to Adore list as well as various sketches of the ideal man.
“Vicomte?”
“What are you going on about, Celia?” Theodosia called out.
“I mean...” Celia blinked.
But it was undeniable.
There on the snow, an elegant silk cravat tied around his neck, and his beaver hat at a daring angle, was Vicomte Espadon. Theodosia’s Pierre. In his arms were red roses strewn over the balcony ledge. They must have cost a fortune. He would have had to have dragged them from London.
He plopped down into a kneel, uncaring or sufficiently unobservant, of the snow.
“Where is my darling Lady Theodosia? Light of my eyes, fire of my soul?”
“Pierre?” Theodosia’s voice sounded behind Celia, followed soon by the sound of noisy footsteps.
In the next moment Theodosia pulled the window up further, shoving Celia out of her way.
“Darling Pierre!” She clutched her heart, and her eyes shone still brighter. “Wherefore art thou here?”
Celia cringed at the unconventional word use. Theodosia had always preferred the sound of the words to whether they were still in use.
Vicomte Espadon though seemed wholly unconcerned. “Mon ange!” he shouted enthusiastically. “I have traveled to you!”
“You have,” Theodosia confirmed, equally enthusiastically.
“You are my love!” He fumbled in his pocket.
Celia’s chest hurt.
She’d read Loretta Van Lochen books before.
She knew what was coming next.
It was something she could never experience.
She was happy Theodosia would.
The vicomte swept out his hand, and despite the snow, Theodosia could see the sparkle of a diamond ring.
“Lady Theodosia,” he said gravely. “Will you do me the immense, monumental, stupendous honor of becoming my wife for all eternity?”
Theodosia stretched her hand through the open window. Snowflakes fell onto the wooden floor, and Celia hoped they would not leave a stain.
“Naturally! It would be my utmost pleasure, delight, joy,” Theodosia exclaimed with glee, and in the next moment she grabbed her cloak and scrambled from the window.
“Theodosia!” Celia shouted. “What are you doing?”
“I am spending time with my beloved!” Theodosia said.
“B-but,” Celia glanced around.
Had she just become a dreadful chaperone?
“Your mother won’t approve,” Celia said.
Perhaps Vicomte Espadon had a title, but it didn’t equal that of a duke.
Theodosia’s mother had been intent on her daughter marrying Lord Salisbury.
She would be devastated.
And perhaps Celia would be dismissed.
“You needn’t worry about her,” Theodosia said. “My life is with Pierre now. And it will be marvelous, magnificent and incredible.”
Pierre squeezed her hand. “And I’ll add that it will also be wonderful, lovely and awe-inducing.”
“My darling,” Theodosia murmured, and they kissed, uncaring that Celia was there.
“What should I do?” Celia asked.
“Oh, stay here. We are just going to frolick in nature, cradle of our happiness. It wouldn’t do for anyone to find Pierre in my room.”
Celia was fairly certain it wouldn’t do for anyone to find him at all. She sighed. “Please put on a coat. Let me find your muff.”
“Love will keep me warm,” Theodosia said, but she waited until Celia dressed her in her warmest outerwear.
Pierre swept Theodosia in his arms and held her over the balcony. “Grab hold of that branch, mon ange, and place your sweet delicate foot onto the one below. My white stallion is below, ready to carry us off to happiness.”
“My love!” Theodosia said.
“Mon ange!” Pierre exclaimed.
They kissed again and Theodosia grabbed hold of the branch in an uncharacteristic show of athleticism.
“Come back soon,” Celia cried.
“Do not tell anyone of my adventure.” Theodosia dropped down.
Judging from the lack of horrified screams of Pierre, Celia assumed her descent had been successful. Pierre followed Theodosia down the tree, and in the next moment they galloped off into horizon.
Celia shut the window with a thud.
The room seemed far too silent without Theodosia’s chatter.
She was happy, she reminded herself. Happy for Theodosia.
She still wrapped her hands together. The room seemed too cold, and she wondered at the duke, valiantly working his mysterious formulae, incognizant his would-be wife had already abandoned him.
Chapter Five
Normally his laboratory was his sanctuary, but Frederick’s recent visit to Cambridge had imbued the glass testing tubes with a more sinister glare.
He scrunched his fingers together. Perhaps waterproof clothing was too fanciful.
Something sounded from the balcony upstairs.
Likely snow was falling from the roof. Frederick concentrated on his experiment.
He needed something...new.
Snowproof.
He beamed.
If he’d succeeded in keeping out the rain, why not the effects of the snow? All he needed to do was produce a warm material as thin as the waterproof material.
Frederick jotted ideas in his notebook, scrawling various elements from the periodic table. He’d never done an experiment so quickly. Normally he checked and double checked his equations, but he needed a triumph today.
He poured various chemicals together and stirred them in his cast iron cauldron. Small bubbles formed, but the anticipated chemical reaction did not occur.
He frowned.
Heat.
It needed more heat.
He directed his blacksmith bellows toward the coal fire and pumped it with air. The chemicals turned an interesting shade of blue.
Now to mix it with the other material.
He took a beacon and poured it and—
Boom.
Smoke stung his eyes.
The room appeared different.
He coughed.
Loudly.
He would have recalled if the basement was prone to being smoky. It was the sort of detail a scientist was bound to remember.
Strangely the room seemed...brighter.
He glanced toward his lantern, in case he’d set the manor house on fire, but it was extinguished.
Thank goodness.
He wouldn’t want to evacuate everyone into the snowstorm, and he was fond of the manor house. It would be a shame to see it sacrificed, even to science.
Sadly he had a suspicion the formula for creating snowproof clothing did not work.
Perhaps because such a thing was impossible.
He hurried through the laboratory and glanced...up.
Damnation.
Light gaped through the ceiling.
His calculations had erred. The cauldron had slammed into the ceiling, and now he was glancing up into the room above.
He gazed at the sweeping curves of bedroom furniture.
Lady Theodosia’s suite.
H
e was tempted to smile.
Likely even her mother wouldn’t be able to convince her to marry him now.
This was the sort of action wives did not support.
Footsteps padded to him from above.
“Are you hurt?” A girlish voice asked.
“I-I’m fine.”
He shouldn’t be stammering.
But having an experiment go so wrong was embarrassing.
Her voice was appealing.
It was almost enough to excuse the woman’s dreadful uncle, and his blatant effort to get them together. He wouldn’t be surprised to find the admiral or his sister hiding behind some shrub, eager to push a half-naked Theodosia in his direction and claim he’d unclothed her and would have to marry her.
Fortunately all the shrubs were covered with snow.
Shuffling sounded, and a face appeared in the hole.
Warm, dark eyes rounded with worry gazed at him.
His heart clenched.
Frederick was certain he’d never seen anyone so beautiful. Perhaps he’d seen her profile before as she was entering with her maid, but now...
“I’m fine.” He coughed. “Just a...mishap.”
“Is that a frequent event?” the woman asked.
He shifted his feet, and rubble crunched beneath his boots. “I hope not. Though I suppose—er—it could start a new pattern. One cannot predict whether an occurrence is a single isolated incident or the beginning of an incident to be oft repeated.”
He raked his hand through his hair. Soot and ash dabbed against his hand in a manner even he knew must be unfashionable.
“Climb up here,” she said. “I wouldn’t want the room to collapse on you.”
“Oh I doubt it would do that,” he said. “At least this isn’t an important part of the house.”
For a moment hurt seemed to flicker over her face, and he quickly added, “Though you are important. Very important.”
More important to him than he would have imagined.
“But,” he said, “Structurally this was a section that is easily replaced. There’s not much chance the room will cave in.”
She gave him a horrified look.
“And of course, if it did, you won’t have a long descent. It might be beneficial to wear bulkier clothes in case you do topple.”
She smiled. “I might have some bulky and shapeless attire.”
“I can’t imagine anything could look shapeless on you,” he said.
His voice sounded hoarser than he would have liked.
Though then again, he had been gulping ash.
Her cheeks pinkened, and he smiled.
Lady Theodosia differed from the ladies of the ton who seemed prepared for anything he might say, as they fluttered oriental fans this way and that in practiced signals for flirtation.
He brought a chair to the opening, climbed on top and pulled himself through the hole.
Lady Theodosia assisted him, and briefly their fingers touched. Heat coursed through him, rippling through him with all the ferocity of a stream.
Water, he’d always thought, was a powerful life source, but somehow Lady Theodosia rivaled it.
“You’ve torn your jacket,” she said.
He glared at the offending article. Anything that changed his gaze from Lady Theodosia deserved suspicion. “One of the maids can mend it.”
She nodded. “Give it to me.”
His eyes widened. Women knew how to sew. In fact he’d seen the careful stitching on handkerchiefs matchmaking mamas brandished at balls and house parties, as if they were holding the Holy Grail and not some meager expression of their child’s creativity and attention to detail. Still, he’d never seen a woman who was not a servant mend anything.
He removed his jacket, and she took it. She found a needle and thread, sat down and mended it.
Her mouth moved in an adorable manner from her concentration.
“You are quite unlike any woman I met,” he said.
Her cheeks pinkened again.
He beamed, and she soon returned the jacket to him. The stitches were perfect. Each one was small and matched the one beside it. Had he not known where the offending hole had been, he would not have noticed at all.
“Splendid,” he said. “You’re very good at that.”
She gave a modest shrug.
He glanced around the room. “Where’s the other girl?”
Lady Theodosia hesitated, and her eyes darted to the side. “Oh, she was not feeling well. She went on a walk in the garden.”
“In the snow? Is that wise?”
“She was not worried. Fresh air after all.”
Frederick glanced out the window. It might be snowing, but she should be able to recognize the manor house. It did serve as an excellent landmark.
A flicker of worry passed over Lady Theodosia’s expression, and she glanced down at her dress again.
“What are you working on?”
He blinked. Most women didn’t ask him for his thoughts, assuming he might enter a diatribe on the merits of working with certain chemicals.
There was a reason he was content for the women of the ton to call him the Mad Duke.
The more time they seemed skeptical of him, the more time he had for himself: to be in his laboratory, concocting experiments and writing scientific papers.
He’d had no desire to enter into a painful conversation on sports or politics, the chief interests they seemed to believe men held.
But Lady Theodosia had asked him what he was thinking about, and for some reason, he believed she truly meant it, and was not merely attempting to have him speak about himself as recommended by the frivolous Matchmaking for Wallflowers pamphlets so consumed by the fairer sex.
“I’m working on creating waterproof material.”
“Is that what your recent presentation at Cambridge was on?”
He grimaced and nodded. “It should have been perfect. I’d planned to take them outside to test out my waterproof cloak. But unfortunately it wasn’t raining. Nor was it snowing.”
“So you couldn’t test it?”
He frowned. “I wish I hadn’t attempted to do so.”
He shouldn’t tell her.
He shouldn’t reveal secrets to such a beautiful woman.
Yet from the sweet caring look she gave him, he could not help himself.
“I’ve always found that people learn better when they can remember something easily,” Frederick said. “So I asked someone to demonstrate. Someone important.”
“And you poured water on his cloak?”
“He did not like the sight of me emptying a jug of water over him, attempted to escape and managed to run straight into the stream of water.” He grimaced again, but was surprised when he was interrupted by Lady Theodosia’s laughter.
“How absolutely horrid for you,” she said, still smiling.
“Yes,” he said curtly, and her gaze seemed to soften.
“Perhaps I can help,” she said.
“You?” He blinked.
“The cape might not be suited to such experiments. If you give me the material, I can sew you a frockcoat that closes. I think that would be less susceptible to showers of water.”
“That would be wonderful.” He grinned. “I’ll fetch the material now.”
The duke descended into the hole.
He’d seemed surprised at her offer to help. Lady’s maids did possess some expertise with a needle and thread, and as she’d mentioned, she was now alone.
He was entirely different than she’d assumed.
Perhaps he was more absent-minded than most, necessitated no doubt by his need to hold all sorts of details in his mind, but he was in no manner mad.
In fact he seemed genuinely dedicated to the idea of helping others through his research, and she found his enthusiasm delightful.
He hadn’t seemed upset Theodosia would not dine with them. Perhaps he was not passionate about her fortune. Certainly, apart from the explosion, everything in the
house seemed immaculate and well-cared for.
Personally Celia found the duke preferable to the vicomte. The duke’s intelligence and passion were magnetic, even if the vicomte’s valet showed creativity with cravats and attire selection.
But most importantly...
He didn’t dismiss her as a maid.
He’d seemed genuinely grateful when she’d mended his clothing, and he hadn’t thought it odd to tell her about his day. Most men strove to retain a lofty impression to their servants, wishing to be seen as kings in their household, no matter how unkinglike they might appear whenever they ventured away.
The duke poked his head through the surface of the floor and put some glossy fabric on the oriental carpet.
The material appeared dull against the vibrant colors and patterns of the rug, but when she picked it up, it felt slick beneath her fingers.
“The material is unlike anything I’ve ever felt,” she exclaimed.
He beamed. “You’re correct. I made it in the laboratory. You won’t find a lamb or a calf sporting such material. It’s less expensive than leather and even more effective.”
“How wonderful. I’ll have to think about how best to sew it,” she said, running the various needle and thread options through her mind.
Celia tended to spend much of her day mending and pressing various items of clothing. She made dresses frequently, since Lady Fitzroy professed a preference for Celia to create garments than have a stranger sew them together somewhere else.
Finally she decided on a needle width which would suit the material.
Her shoulders sank when she took a seat. “I need to measure it. My measurements are only for females, and I assume none of the Royal Academy of Science members are women.”
“Your assumption is correct.”
She sighed. She was accustomed to her role as a servant, but it seemed unreasonable that no woman anywhere was capable of being acknowledged as a scientist.
“It’s not just,” he said more solemnly.
Butterflies took up residence in her lungs, and speaking was something to be abandoned.
The man respected her, not dismissing her as a woman and one too young to be imbued with the respect men claimed to give older women. He didn’t even dismiss her as a servant.
He grinned at her. “I look forward to seeing you at dinner.”
Lords, Snow and Mistletoe: A Regency Christmas Collection Page 4
