Seeking Celeste

by Solomon, Hayley Ann

  Mr. Clark was looking at her fixedly, and Mrs. Tibbet, though politely patient, was cocking an inquisitive eyebrow in her direction. Anne’s feelings were tumultuous and must have been expressed in her eyes, when she opened them, for both guest and housekeeper simultaneously moved forward to support her. Ethan opened the small arch window and let in some of the fresh. afternoon air.

  “Miss Anne ... a little water, perhaps? Or some of the lemon cordial...”

  “No, thank you. I shall be quite all right. It is unlike me to succumb to such a silly fit of the flutters.”

  “You have every call to. Miss Derringer, my apologies. I believe I was too precipitate. Believe me, it was only my delight at your changed circumstances that—”

  Anne held up one slender, though quite properly gloved, hand. “Mr. Clark, you have no call to apologize. You have done me a great service this day, far above your call of duty. It was I, after all, who was so scatter brained as to not leave a forwarding address.”

  “And why should you, when you believed yourself penniless beyond hope?”

  Comprehension was beginning to dawn as the housekeeper looked from one to the other.

  “Miss Anne! You don’t mean...”

  “That I am no longer in reduced circumstances? Mrs. Tibbet, I have to tell you that Mr. Clark has just brought me excellent tidings in that regard.”

  “Then, we must celebrate at once! That is ...” Mrs. Tibbet looked suddenly hesitant and a little sad.

  “That is?” Anne was forced to prompt her, for she had let her sentence die mid-utterance.

  “Oh, Miss Anne! I am afraid we are no longer good enough company. It is not fitting! You shall take your place above stairs and—”

  Anne voiced the thought that was uppermost in every one’s mind. “Mrs. Tibbet, there is no place for me above stairs! I am no relation of Lord Edgemere’s, and therefore it would be most unfitting for me to remain under his protection another day. As for your company not being good enough, why, I am most hurt! That you can hold me in so little esteem as to think good fortune makes me desert my friends...”

  “I think no such thing!” The housekeeper looked indignant despite the consternation on her expressive features. However unpalatable the truth, Miss Anne must leave at once. All very well for brazen hussies like Lady Caroline, sponsored by the Countess Lieven, to use hunting parties as a convenient excuse to put up at Carmichael Crescent. For the less well-placed Miss Derringer, it would be fatal, quite beyond the pale.

  And what a crying shame that was, especially since Mrs. Tibbet fancied herself a closet matchmaker. Whatever the world thought, she still harboured the niggling suspicion that Lord Edgemere was not sufficiently epris to offer for Lady Caroline.

  Laws a mercy! The very thought churned her stomach. It would be wonderful to have a mistress at Carmichael Crescent again. And one the likes of Miss Derringer, a lady born, not that dreadful Dashford woman, with her airs and graces.

  “Mrs. Tibbet, I wonder...” An outrageous idea was germinating in Anne’s head. Still, she had been outrageous before. Permitting Lord Edgemere to persist in his ridiculous misapprehension had been outrageous. Throwing her cap at windmills and placing all of her competence on Polaris had been equally so. Surely stretching the truth a little... just a little, would be permissible.

  Anne did not labour the point, for she had a quite dreadful inner conscience that would undoubtedly be shocked. Blithely, she ignored its irksome twinges and plunged herself headlong into trouble.

  “Is it possible, Mrs. Tibbet, to keep this news quiet for a while? Just until I see the children settled or have a chance to speak with the earl myself? I could continue to governess as usual and no one need be any the wiser!”

  Ethan frowned. There was paperwork... but bother it! Why shouldn’t Miss Derringer continue to teach if she wanted to? It was a scandal that a good mind should be wasted just because it belonged to a lady of quality. Mr. Wiley, he knew, would be happy to see the funds reinvested rather than retired into her keeping. He would not mind the small deception. To be certain, Ethan resolved not to tell him of this visit. It was, after all, his half day.

  He nodded a little at the housekeeper. Taking her cue, with relief, from a gentleman of the world, Mrs. Tibbet smiled.

  “Bless you, dear! Of course I shall ’old me peace! I am not such a jaw-me-dead some others what I can name!” She glared balefully at the door, for the under butler was carrying a salver of fruit through to the kitchens. Jeeves, she knew, was a regular gabster.

  Lord Edgemere ordered his carriage sent round. There was still time, he judged, to stop by Lord Anchorford’s and speak to a few interesting individuals before springing the team and making Carmichael Crescent by nightfall. It was not what he had planned, but then life was never a smooth path. Tonight, he would give Lady Caroline something to think about, and if it wasn’t a stinging good spanking applied to her curvaceous little derriere, he was probably a better man than he gave himself credit for.

  By God, he was angry! Breach of promise, indeed. In all conscience, he had no recollection of offering for her. Even if he had, a decent woman would have permitted him to cry off without having him branded a cad in the process. He sighed. By this stage he should have realized Lady Caroline was not a decent woman. Moreover, she was not only not decent, but she was downright dangerous.

  He signed one of his papers, skillfully adjusted his cravat into a highly stylized cascade and took up his cane. Lady Caroline and Sir Archibald Dalryrmple had better look to their laurels. He had a score to settle with both.

  The kitchens were abuzz with the talk. Jeeves, glad of the attention, expounded at length. What he did not precisely know, he embroidered. After all, a little attention to detail was all that was needed to grant him pride of place at table, with a delicious ladle full of Mrs. Tibbet’s best turtle soup to aid digestion and unseal his long, slightly wooden lips.

  Mrs. Tibbet, a small, satisfied smile hovering on her own homely lips, allowed this unprecedented scene to continue. There was no love lost between her and Jeeves, but tonight he earned his keep. No one would be thinking of Miss Anne when it was the scandalous Lady Dashford who was uppermost in everyone’s thoughts. And Sir Archibald, the sly dog! There were ribald bets placed on who visited whose chamber on this particular house visit.

  Miss Anne, when applied to, continued filling her picnic hamper with an assortment of fruit, light cheddars and thick slices of ham. The latter she wrapped carefully as she pressed her lips together and declined to comment. She wished, however, that just half of the rumours were true. Unfortunately, she knew that Jeeves, for all his knowing airs, was talking nothing but a load of unadulterated codswallop. Lady Caroline would not jeopardise an elevation of rank simply for the sake of a clandestine roll in the hay. More was the pity!

  Something as scandalous as this rumour would scotch any claims she might be making on the present earl. Besides, if Sir Archibald’s roving interest was fixed on Lady Caroline, Anne could breathe easy. She would not have to suffer the importunities she feared. Rather guiltily, Miss Derringer let the servants’ gossip take its course.

  Thirteen

  Lord Anchorford’s hunting box was a festive affair, festooned with ribbons and little coloured gaslights. As the Earl of Edgemere reined in, he caught the smooth rustle of silks and the bright damasks as the extensive gardens were utilized by the ladies of the party. Not that there would be many, strictly speaking, to fall into that category. Lord Anchorford’s “ladies” were generally high fliers rather than high sticklers.

  Robert grinned and winked at a pert little thing who glanced rather boldly at him as he dismounted. If Miss Derringer had not already wreaked havoc with his desires, he was perfectly certain he might have spent a creditable evening with the lass. Certainly, her silvery gauze overlay was all that one might wish for, especially since it appeared that her petticoats had been dampened and there did not, from his experienced vantage, appear to be much in the way of corsetr
y to hamper any masculine curiosity.

  From within, he was shocked to hear the stentorian tones of Lady Anchorford and Miss Delia Wratcham, her trusted companion. The presence of Miss Wratcham was a particular shock. She, Robert knew, merited the distinction of having the sharpest, most tattle bearing tongue of all her generation.

  Gracious heavens! Surely Charlie was not so addlepated as to mix the company? He was just pondering on the unsolicitous circumstance when Lord Anchorford himself approached him on the wide, cobbled footpath.

  “Robert! I am in the devil of a hobble!”

  “So I infer, if that is your lady I hear within!”

  “It is, and not only that, she has brought the whole dashed family down!”

  “Never mind the family—was that Miss Wratcham I heard?”

  His lordship permitted himself a sigh of unutterable wretchedness. He nodded and rolled doleful eyes heavenward.

  Lord Carmichael raised quizzical, masculine blond brows at this obvious calamity. His lips twitched, however, and his hazel eyes harboured a slight, almost imperceptible, twinkle. He and Lord Charles Anchorford went back a long way.

  “Charlie, mincing your beaver is not going to help the situation, unless, of course, your case is so bad that you actually wish your valet to kill you?”

  “What?” Lord Anchorford looked at his close friend as though he had run mad. “Oh, my hat! I’d forgotten I was holding it.”

  “So I infer by its current reprehensible state. My advice is to discard it at once. Here, you may have mine.”

  Robert whisked the dashing, velvet-brimmed top hat from his head and tossed it to his friend.

  It was caught, but only absently, and without any palpable enthusiasm.

  “See here, Robert! How the lord can a person think when his best friend persists in talking like a milliner?”

  “Very true. My apologies, Charlie, but one should always, I feel, have a certain sensibility for priorities.” The teasing note altered as he realized Anchorford’s very real distress.

  “Is there anywhere we can talk?”

  “There is the library, but I had the notion of turning it into a gaming room ...”

  “Poor Charlie! You really are in a hobble!”

  “That is what I said! See here, Robert...”

  “Why does my heart sink when I hear those words in that particular tone? You are up to something, my dear Charles! Whatever may it be?”

  “Nothing of any consequence, Edgemere! I merely implied—only implied, mind—that the guests were up from Carmichael Crescent.”

  There was a stunned silence. “Let me understand this, my dear friend, and esteemed neighbour! I house the ex- cess of your party—none, I might add, in any way felicitous—”

  “Balderdash! What of Lady Caroline?

  Robert stared at him hard. “I repeat, none of them in any way felicitous ...”

  “By George, Robert, you must be blind! Lady Caroline is a regular pattern card of perfection. Her angel gold hair, her cherry lips, her sparkling white teeth, not to mention her fulsome cleavage and—”

  “Careful, Charles! You are like to bore me to death. Besides, when you wish to turn out sonnets, get some help. Your similes are hackneyed.”

  Lord Anchorford glared at his best friend and staunchest ally. Then he threw aside both hats with a carelessness that would have brought down the wrath of heaven from at least two trusted manservants, and laughed uproariously.

  “Beg pardon, Robert! I am overset!”

  “So I understand. Now begin again. Lady Anchorford believes me so debauched as to house ten opera dancers and at least two other bits of muslin.”

  “Exactly. It is no more than the tiniest stretch of truth, Robert, for you are not unknown to the muslin set.”

  “Indeed, I should hope not! ”

  “So you see, switching the composition of our guests was not such a great tarradiddle ...”

  “Mmm... was your good lady satisfied?”

  “Well, she is off to bed with a hot posset from the shock, and then I have convinced her to return, forthwith, to London. Miss Wratcham is administering sal volatile and looks depressingly cheerful.”

  “Well, of course! Think of all the scandal mongering she can spread!”

  His lordship, the fourth Viscount Anchorford, lifted his hands in despair. “What can I do to stop her? Thank goodness the stables are extensive enough to allow for a change of fresh horses. Tomorrow, they shall be off.”

  “Not so fast, my fellow. I think I can solve your difficulties and perhaps my own at the same time.”

  “Robert, you are a savior!”

  “Before you ruin your doeskins by slobbering over me, I should mention there is a catch.”

  “A catch?” Charles sounded alarmed.

  “Indeed, yes. It is the muslin set that is to return tomorrow. Right now, I have urgent need of a few well born ladies. Come, walk with me and I shall tell you all ...”

  It was easy for Robert to slip, unseen, onto his estate. He wished, for tonight, at least, to avoid Lady Caroline’s poisonous tongue. It was almost dark when the horses were finally tethered, the coachman tipped, the grooms alerted to their new charges and the first available drain pipe shinned with effortless ease and supreme disregard for the handsome riding coat of powder blue that was so artfully coupled with darker stockinet breeches. The Hessians still sparkled, despite the dust of dirt tracks and busy city roads. He eased a window open and noted, with annoyance, that it was stiff and creaked.

  Uttering a small oath, he edged the pane upward, tensed a little, then eased his deliciously muscled legs inward.

  They were viewed making their entrance by an amused, prim and altogether discomposed young governess who wickedly resisted the proper etiquette of averting her eyes.

  There! He was in, and Miss Derringer was not sure whether it was her heart or his feet that had caused the definite thud her ears detected. Whatever the case, she now folded her arms sternly and demanded to know the cause of the invasion.

  Robert drew in his breath. Seated there, at the little table with nothing but the flickering taper of a candle to guide her way through the paperwork before her, was the woman of his dreams.

  She had thrown off her mobcap and it lay, forlorn, like a discarded dish rag on the empty chair beside her. She had obviously been thinking, for he could see faint shadows where her hands had cupped her chin. Several of her pins were coming loose about her forehead, telltale signs that she had been absently playing with her long, lustrous tendrils.

  He could smell her, deliciously clean and hinting, a little, of rose water and something curiously elusive. Whatever it was, it was beguiling. Robert was hard pressed not to take the few steps that breached the distance between them. Instead, he stood like a naughty schoolboy, caught out in some iniquitous act.

  “Is this the schoolroom? It was dark, and I must have miscalculated ...”

  He enjoyed the relish with which she chuckled. “Indeed, sir? Then, you are well and truly hoist by your own petard! Who was it who was badgering me, not so long ago, about the same mistake?”

  “Touché, Miss Derringer! Like a gentleman, I concede defeat! Whilst I am mortified to have made so palpable an error, I nonetheless cannot regret its results.”

  His meaning was obvious, and Anne felt the heat rising to her cheeks. Also, there was that curious warmth again... damnation! Did Lord Edgemere have to be so unbearably attractive?”

  She reached for the mobcap but he was swifter. His wrist held hers, and again, she had the sensation of burning. “Leave it! It is a dreadful confection that has no business in your hair!”

  “It has every business! It reminds you, I hope, that I am not to be trifled with ...”

  Robert’s eyes darkened all of a sudden, and he dropped her hand. “I should hope, Miss Derringer, that you know I do not trifle with you. I am a gentleman of my word.”

  “Then, why have you come back?” The words suddenly were an anguished whisper.


  Robert watched her, motionless. She was so startlingly beautiful, so unconscious of the dark, fluttering eyelashes and the searing tourmaline eyes. Even with the heavy calico skirts and the modest bodice of finer chemise, her figure was as tantalizing as if she were wearing the sheerest silk or chintz. She carried herself with blithe disregard for her extraordinary beauty, but no man—certainly not one as experienced as he—could be deceived. Miss Derringer was a diamond of the first water. If she had failed to take in her first two seasons, the blame must be laid squarely at her father and brother’s door. Were they not such a squandering, philanderous bunch of hen-witted jaw-me-deads, Anne would have been well settled by now. He supposed he should be grateful to them—and the jealous tabbies who labeled her a bluestocking—that she wasn’t.

  Now! Now was the time to apprise her of her changed fortune. Now, when she suffered the indignities of being labeled an upper servant and of spending night after night alone either in the confines of this schoolroom, or blanketed by myriad silent stars. For all their dazzling light, there was not one among them that could offer her human warmth or companionship or comfort. Robert hesitated. If he told her, he would set her free. He was not sure he could bear that. And yet... he was a man of honour. He must tell her! He cleared his throat and took both of her hands in his. He was conscious, as he drew her up, that her mouth was but inches away from his own. It was novel but not unpleasurable, to have a woman almost match him in height.