Seeking Celeste

by Solomon, Hayley Ann

  Anne’s tone was reproving, though a merry little dimple appeared in her cheek. His lordship, she knew, had some decidedly improper Latin proverb in mind. His lips were twitching most suspiciously, and his eyes raked hers with teasing mirth. The mirth, however, was tinged with something else. Especially when his gaze rested on the glory of her trim ankles, momentarily exposed by the overshort serge gown. It was altogether decidedly disquieting and made Anne feel vulnerable and breathless. Despite the chill as grey clouds enveloped the sky, she was enveloped in a rosy warmth that placed a blush on her cheeks and caused her to touch them consciously before pulling her skirts firmly about her.

  My lord laughed. “How very disappointing!”

  Anne did not know whether he was talking of the proverbs or her ankles, but was too canny to question him. Probably, by his deplorably reprehensible smile, he meant both.

  “I...”

  He stopped as another rider appeared on the horizon.

  “Bother!”

  “My lord?”

  “It is Lady Caroline! What need has she to go haring about the countryside ...”

  Kitty tossed her copper curls crossly. “She has every need! She is coursing you, Robert! You are the rabbit!”

  “Hush, child! ” Anne’s tone was sharp, though privately she agreed with Kitty. Lady Caroline, she thought, had no shame. She was stalking Lord Edgemere. It did not take long for her chestnut to pull up alongside the earl.

  “Darling! I thought I spied the Arab ...”

  Lady Caroline was a breathtaking vision in a riding habit of amber velvet, trimmed with embroidered gimp and interspersed with several large pearls. She wore, on her head, a bonnet of chip straw. This was a very modish creation, streaming an amber velvet ribbon the identical shade of her habit and sporting three guinea gold feathers. These, needless to say, offset her flowing locks perfectly.

  Anne, despite her own striking features and magnificent dark lashes, felt positively dowdy. Her feelings must have been mirrored in her eyes, for Lady Caroline laughed a little consciously and murmured that all could not be blessed with high good looks, and if Miss Derringer wanted, she could recommend a very good rouge pot... .

  The governess declined politely, but was surprised to find her fingers curled in a tense grip at the impertinent condescension.

  Lord Robert appeared oblivious to these feminine undercurrents, for he stroked Lady Caroline’s mare absently and produced a lump of sugar.

  Lady Dashford turned honeyed eyes upon his person. Indeed, he was a magnificent sight, resplendent in cream breeches that left little to the feminine imagination and a multicaped Carrick coat that though heavy and warm, nonetheless moulded to his person in such a way that it was obvious no padding had been employed in its making. The ensemble was finished by gleaming Hessians and a cravat that though loosely tied, was nonetheless the epitome of careless elegance.

  Kitty cared nothing for these matters. She glared at Lady Caroline and pulled one of her deplorable faces. Tom giggled and followed suit. Miss Derringer wanted to sink through the ground, for undoubtedly she would have to admonish the youngsters for such a breach of common etiquette. She was spared the trouble by Robert, who frowned frostily and demanded that they apologize.

  Grudgingly, they did, though Anne could tell from their mulish looks that they would soon be up to pranks. Lady Caroline, glad to be the focus of his attention, feigned a conciliatory manner and obligingly forgave them, though she did mutter to Robert that clearly they needed a mama. At this, Lord Edgemere was noncommittal, but his former high spirits faded into a polite but impersonal demeanor.

  “Are you headed back to Lord Anchorford’s, Lady Caroline?”

  “Yes, I shall ride with you, Edgemere! I am agog with excitement! It is the night of the ball and you know that you promised—”

  The earl cut in quickly. “Let us hope all your heart’s desires are satisfied. I certainly hope that mine shall be this evening.”

  Anne could hear by his tone that he was sincere. She dropped her gaze and stared at her spangled serge hem. Her heart hammered quite painfully, for she had thought Edgemere’s connection with Caroline quite at an end. Now she saw—or thought she saw—that she had been mistaken in this matter.

  Because her lashes were cast miserably downward, she did not see the tender and meaningful glance that was cast her way. Lady Caroline did, and her beautiful lips pursed spitefully. Only a few more hours and Lord Edgemere would be trapped. As soon as the diamonds were about her neck, she would announce her engagement to all her dearest and closest friends. The diamonds would be proof—everyone knew them to be his. They also knew he was not the sort to trifle with ladies of quality. His gift would be a declaration in itself. Let him try to cry off then! It would be impossible. No gentleman of honour could show his face under such circumstances. And the little governess ... well! It would be a pleasure to give her her marching papers.

  She cooed. “Oh, Edgemere! You have such a way with words! Shall I race you back? I believe you have a gift, of sorts, for me.”

  “There is no need, Lady Dashford. I have pressing concerns at Carmichael Crescent. You go on, though. I collect that the gift to which you refer is already in your chamber. I bribed a lady’s maid to smuggle it through the doors.”

  Anne felt sick. So! She had always known the diamonds were destined for Lady Caroline, but to be so brazen about it... .

  Lady Dashford positively preened with pleasure. “Excellent! I shall do it justice, you may be certain! I have had a gold-striped organdie with delicate taffeta—”

  “Spare me the details, my dear! I am certain you shall look charming! Now, if you will excuse me, ladies ... ?” He cast an inquiring look at Anne, but she did not trust herself to meet his eye. Undaunted, he mounted his Arab with effortless grace and bade his siblings behave. Then, as quickly as he had come upon them, he was gone.

  “Well!” Lady Caroline looked at Anne in satisfaction. Miss Derringer concentrated on keeping her back straight and her feet carefully tucked under her skirts. She would not have Caroline see her at any disadvantage.

  “Cat got your tongue?” Now that Lord Edgemere was no longer with them, Lady Dashford felt free to be impertinent.

  “The only thing catty around here, Lady Caroline, does not, I am sad to say, walk on four legs. Now pray leave us. I have a lesson to finish.”

  Tom choked and Kitty snorted behind her, but Anne was too furious to notice.

  “Finish it, then. Your choice of words is apt. Tonight Lord Edgemere and I announce our betrothal. I advise you to pack your miserable bags immediately. I have relatives who might possibly need some hired help and shall suggest the notion to Robert on the morrow.”

  Anne allowed amusement to curve her lips. It was a valiant and determined effort, for she felt the world was crashing about her ears. Betrothed! She could hardly credit it, but for the evidence of her eyes. Lord Edgemere had been singularly polite to Lady Dashford. He had promised her the diamonds and had flattered her vanity by pretty compliments. Anne suffered, for honesty compelled her to acknowledge that Lady Caroline would look charming.

  All this flashed through her mind in less than a proud instant. It dawned on her, of course, that Lady Caroline still considered her to be no more than a destitute upper servant. She would naturally be devastated to learn of her change of fortune. It was on the tip of Anne’s tongue to tell her so. But no! She would learn it soon enough, and the chagrin would be so much the worse if the earl confirmed its veracity... .

  “Suggest away!” She smiled sweetly, though again, her fists were tightly clenched.

  “Be sure I shall, you impertinent baggage! And now, if you please, I have a necklace of diamonds to attend to. So much more pressing! Good day, Thomas! Good day, Katherine!”

  She did not wait for any particular response. Instead, she tapped her mare expertly with the tip of her riding crop and set off at a canter toward the Anchorford estate in the far distance.

  Anne didn
’t bother to unpack the picnic basket. It was drizzling now, and only the trio’s spirits were as black as the clouds above them. Any moment, she knew, they would be soaked through to their skins.

  “Can you mount, Kitty?”

  “Of course I can!” The tone was unusually scornful, and Anne knew that she was upset. Tom said nothing as he lifted his foot into the saddle and waited for the others to do the same.

  “Is it true? Is Robert truly going to marry that ... that ...”

  “Let us not dwell on Lady Caroline’s descriptions. For myself, I have no notion whether they are to wed or not. Why should I? I am not, as you both well know, in your brother’s confidence.”

  “Oh, but we had quite thought—”

  Hush, Tom!” Kitty poked him in the back with her parasol.

  The conversation did not progress much further, for the heavens opened and the thorough wetting that they had anticipated came to pass. By the time they arrived at the back door of Carmichael Crescent—Anne would not have dreamed of traipsing through the front, soaked and muddied as they were—there was nothing to be heard but the odd splash and grumble as a particularly large droplet lodged itself somewhere uncomfortable. So much for Miss Derringer’s elegant attire! The flowing scarves were as drenched as her gown. Not that she minded overmuch—the day matched her mood perfectly.

  The party handed their horses on to the grooms and trailed through the kitchens, where Mrs. Tibbet was frantically ordering the decorations to be salvaged from the rain and deciding whether the increased number of people likely to be indoors rendered opening the second ballroom an essential.

  Anne, when applied to, nodded. She was glad to see that even when her heart was aching, her common sense, at least, prevailed.

  “Set the supper room up between the two so there is a good ebb and flow. The dowagers can seat themselves quite comfortably in one while the orchestra and dancers occupy the main ballroom as planned. You still have the card and smoking rooms, so it should not be too dreadful a squeeze! Besides, I understand Lord Edgemere has only invited a select few. It is not as if we are expecting the whole of London!”

  “At Lord Carmichael’s first ball? You’d better believe it, Miss Derringer! By the by”—Mrs. Tibbet leaned closer to Anne and muttered conspiratorially—“do you attend? There is no reason, after all, why you should not.” Anne wanted to wring her hands in despair and cry that there was every reason. Instead, she replied coolly that she had a headache and could think of nothing better for the evening than a hot posset and light supper tray in the nursery.

  Mrs. Tibbet took time from her own troubles to note the drawn features and the frown that worried at her creamy brow. If she suspected she knew at least some of the cause, she was far too polite to speak of it. Instead, she discreetly mentioned that my lord was “pacing up and down the gallery as though he were a lion at Astley’s circus” and intimated that Miss Derringer might like to join him there, for she had a “soothing manner” and the trick of setting even the hardiest gentleman at ease.

  Miss Derringer would like to have retorted that it was unlikely that her appearance would have any bearing on my lord’s demeanor. She held her peace, however, and nodded vaguely that she might have a word with the earl if he were not otherwise engaged.

  Had she been on true form, she would have chuckled at the double entendre, for it was precisely because he was about to be engaged that he was behaving so abstractedly. Anne, however, was in no mood for chuckling, so the unintended witticism passed unappreciated.

  By the time she had escorted her charges to their rooms, handed them over to a waiting dresser and ancient but benign nurse—much to Tom’s disgust—it was half past the hour. She then had her own dripping gown to attend to, and recalcitrant locks to set neatly in a topknot. It was the quickest way she knew of dealing with such an abundance of damp strands. Then—and only then—did she allow herself to think of my lord pacing the gallery below stairs. The thought was as unnerving as it was hypnotic.

  She thought that this would be the last time in all her life that she would see him as she had learned to love him—single, impossibly debonair and hopelessly, hopelessly eligible.

  She slipped into the only gown in her ensemble worthy of its elevated name. It was a morning gown of burnished gold, laced impossibly tight and fastened fashionably high. Its understated spencer of emerald velvet was modest, yet nevertheless skillfully revealed the contours of her creamy bosom. The shade exactly matched her remarkable tourmaline eyes, just as the black lacing mirrored the long, sultry lashes that forever framed them.

  Anne caught her reflection in the mirror and startled. My lord may think lady Caroline charming. He would have difficulty, however, in regarding her as an antidote. For the first time in her life, Miss Anne Derringer realized she was something rather more than pretty. She was beautiful. She took a deep breath, pondered a while on her motives, then prepared for battle.

  Eighteen

  “Mrs. Tibbet bade me ask whether your preference is for iced orange or for chocolate.”

  The earl swung round. Though Anne had been in his thoughts constantly, he had not expected to see her again, in the flesh. Yet here she was, more wild, more wanton and more temptingly beautiful than ever in an organdie creation that left little to the imagination despite its high neck and stiff lacing.

  He took a moment before replying, for he was mesmerized by her loveliness and by the dazzling smile she bestowed upon him. He thought he knew her, his gentle, honest, forthright and impudent Anne. He had long since recognized the wit and intelligence that lay buried behind the fear of being labeled a bluestocking. Her humour was an exact complement to his own—acerbic, understated and quite definitely funny.

  But this! This was a siren, a wild, desirable dream that smiled upon him with knowing eyes and promised of delights beyond bearing ... yet she was talking of truffles and tea and commenting on the livery of his butler... .

  “Augustus?”

  “Yes, my lord. It appears it is a six month since he has been supplied with a dress uniform. He would not have mentioned it, you understand, but for the ball that was thrust upon him with such—I hesitate to quote him—‘unseemly haste.’ ”

  In spite of himself, Lord Edgemere’s lips twitched.

  “Baggage! I know you well enough, Miss Derringer, to know that you will not cut up my peace with such nonsensical trifles. I wonder, then, why you tempt me now, in my own gallery, with those beguiling looks and those transparent excuses—diverting, I might add—to hold me in close discussion. If you were Kitty, I would be very much alarmed.”

  “Well I am not Kitty, Lord Edgemere!” Anne resisted the temptation of warning him that this was no reprieve. She was, after all, in battle mode. If Lord Edgemere was about to throw his life away on a common strumpet like Lady Dashford, she would jolly well enter the fray. If required, she would bat her lashes and brazen it out with calm defiance. In the meanwhile, she would offer him a strawberry from the basket on the table. Mrs. Tibbet had thought of every particular.

  Lord Edgemere declined, though he regarded her with puzzled amusement. Anne stared at him a full moment before placing a ripe fruit between her rosy lips and slowly nibbling as though nothing in the world mattered except the sensuous enjoyment to be elicited from such a pastime.

  Lord Robert, immune to most feminine wiles, watched fascinated as a delectable tongue slowly engulfed the strawberry until nothing was left but the healthy green leaf from which it had been plucked. This Miss Derringer disposed of in a silver salver set aside for just such a purpose.

  “Vixen! You seek to disarm me!”

  “Disarm you? My lord, whatever can you be talking about?” Anne feigned innocence, though her eyes twinkled brightly, partly from humour, partly from the strange excitement she felt at this particular game. Only, it was not a game. In four hours or less, the Earl of Edgemere would announce his countess. If he made a mistake, he would be forced to live with his decision forever. On the other hand
... Anne hardly dared to think about the other hand.

  Her heart was beating wildly again, and Lord Edgemere was two paces closer to her than he had been before. She stepped back a trifle, but he caught her sleeve and somehow—she knew not how—she was in his arms again. This time, the kiss was fierce and questing and as passionate as ever she could require. This time, his roving hands did not stop at the faint crest of cleavage that peeked modestly from her high-cut gown. They moulded to her contours, and though there was velvet and organdie and kidskin gloves between them, she gasped from the pleasure of it and felt burned as though it had been flesh upon flesh.

  Her arms tangled up his back, and she could hear his faint sighs as her topknot loosened to allow her sleek black tendrils a life of their own. They twined in his hand and down his shoulders as she shook her head and opened her lips for more of his sweet mouth upon her own.

  As he obliged, she could feel his thigh against hers, and she blushed for the joy of it. He laughed a little, cheek to cheek, then carried her over to the rather grand chaise longue at the far corner of the gallery. The long strides were bliss to her senses until, at last, she recalled a modicum of propriety.

  “My lord!”

  He laughed and snuggled close to her ear. She could feel his breath tickling her as he spoke. His tone, though mellow beyond belief, was also slightly teasing.

  “It is usual, under such intimate circumstances, to revert to less formal terms of address. If I were a duke, for example, you might wish to refer to me as ‘lord,’ rather than ‘grace.’ As I am a mere earl, however, I believe it permissible to drop the lord entirely and address me simply as Robert or Rob or—”

  “Do be serious!” With an effort, Anne rejected his silent offer of another delectable caress. His gaze had dropped to her ankles, and they were tingling quite unaccountably, despite the fact that he had made no move, as yet, to touch them.

  “I am serious! When offered a vision of such utter perfection, there can be no possible alternative to a severe fit of seriousness. It is positively damaging to the senses. I feel my doctor would not allow it. Or only,” he amended, “in very small doses!”