Seeking Celeste

by Solomon, Hayley Ann

  Anne was so bemused by his hypnotic effect upon her person, that she quite forgot her recently assumed role of siren. Instead, she rather crossly remarked that he was talking a good deal of fustian.

  At this, he chuckled good-naturedly but denied the accusation. He eyed her thoughtfully, however, and Anne could not help wondering wither his thoughts were turning. To lady Caroline? Surely not, when his hands were playing idly with her laces and... .

  “You promised!”

  “That I would act the gentleman?”

  “Yes!”

  “I promised that so long as you were in my employ I would act the gentleman!”

  “Well, then ...”

  “Miss Derringer, for a woman of your intelligence, your memory is remarkably short! I dismissed you yesterday, if you recall!”

  “Dismissed? My lord, I take leave to inform you I resigned!”

  “I rest my case! Since you are no longer a member of my household staff, I am released from any rash promise I chose to make!” He triumphantly nestled her closer to him, despite a muffled protest and a valiant effort to extricate herself from the deliciously muscular arms that encased her.

  Anne relaxed for an instant, savouring the sensation of being held so securely by the man she undoubtedly loved. He had stopped making advances upon her virtue and seemed content, now, to rest his arms about her and place her head upon his shoulder.

  “Robert?” The time for pretense between them was gone.

  “My love?”

  “Are you truly going to announce your betrothal this evening?”

  “Did Lady Caroline say I was?”

  “Yes.”

  The earl smiled in grim satisfaction. “Good. Be patient, my little Celeste.”

  Joy surged in Anne’s heart. He would not call her that, surely, if he was promised to another.

  “She was very confident about the matter!”

  “Just as she was confident that my gift to her was a necklace of diamonds?”

  “Yes.”

  The earl nodded in satisfaction. “Excellent. The plot thickens.”

  Anne frowned. “Does that mean you are not parting with the necklace?”

  The earl merely smiled and placed his immaculately gloved finger to his lips.

  “You are being wickedly mysterious!”

  “You are being wickedly tempting! Meet me at midnight on the library terrace.”

  “If you are betrothed, I cannot!”

  “Not even to use, at last, my precious Herschel telescope? It is two inches, you know.”

  Anne knew. She also knew he had deliberately evaded the implicit question.

  “It is pouring with rain, and the clouds are as thick as darkness itself!”

  “It will clear.” His lips curved upward in amusement. He could see that his beloved little bluestocking would not pass up the chance, on her last night, to at last glimpse the heavens with an instrument that far surpassed the capability of her naked eye. He watched her mull the proposition over thoughtfully.

  “Are you omnipotent, my lord, that you can say it will clear?”

  Robert sighed. He was “my lord” again. Still, she had not refused him outright.

  “No, but I have lived in this region a long time. There will be the devil of a storm, and then it will pass as quickly as it came. I warrant that by the time the first carriages are called out, the sky will be as clear as crystal and only the soaking land will be testament to the elements. That is the way of it in Kingsbury. Has been for generations. Tonight, the shepherds will heave a great sigh, for the dawn will be sparkling and the sun, tomorrow, will dry out the pastures.”

  As he spoke, he patted her tendrils into some sort of order and replaced the pins that had set her topknot tumbling. The hair was still slightly damp and the colour on Miss Derringer’s cheeks was high. For an instant, he feared she had caught a chill and was feverish. Then he gazed directly into the sea of tourmaline and knew that if she was, it was not from the cold.

  “Come, my dear. I promised an end to this charade and an end there shall be this very night. Let me help you set yourself to rights. Though you look bewitching, you also look distressingly, improper! Not that I mind, mark you, but the gallery is appallingly public. All we need is for Lord Willoughby Rothbart to take it into his head to peruse the portraits of my late predecessors ...”

  “What a horrible thought!”

  “Indeed, particularly if he chooses to sport that lavender and puce waistcoat again for luncheon. My eyes are still recovering from the garishness. By the by, what has become of your suitor?”

  “I am more concerned with what shall become of Psyche. Can you have her repaired?”

  “Bother Psyche! She was put to an excellent, if unorthodox use! I hope, though, that Sir Archibald is a fair way to recovered.”

  Anne could not help raising her classical dark brows in surprise. “I should not think you would care overmuch, one way or another! ”

  “Oh, but I do, fair Celeste! It would not suit my plans to have Sir Archibald absent from tonight’s festivities.”

  “Plans?”

  “I play a deep game, Miss Anne. I suspect you know it.”

  Anne nodded. “I collect it has more than a little to do with the matter of the diamonds.”

  “The diamonds? They are a paltry trifle not worthy of my attention. Be patient, little Celeste, and all shall be revealed. Has anyone attended to Sir Archibald this morning?”

  Anne grimaced. “Mrs. Tibbet took in a cold collation at around eleven. He looked like death, by all accounts, and appears to be sporting an egg-sized bump upon his head. Mrs. Tibbet says it looks absurd with the moustaches, and by the state of his temper, he appears to know it.”

  “Grouchy, is he?”

  “Oh, very! He is threatening all sorts of uncivilised consequences. I suppose it is fortunate that I shall not be here, past tomorrow, to see the outcome of these.”

  The earl looked at her hard. “I hope that is not true. I also hope you know me enough to trust me.”

  “Then, you shall not get yourself engaged this night?”

  “In all truth, it is my fervent hope that I do.” He placed his hands upon her shoulders but was interrupted by the near door of the gallery opening and old Lord Carnaby—the most ageing of the house guests—stepping inside.

  It was fortunate that this venerable gentleman was partially blind, for he did not seem to see anything amiss with Miss Derringer’s makeshift coiffure, or the fact that she was standing unpardonably close to the gentleman of the household.

  He muttered good day, amiably deplored the downpour, poked his stick at several of the portraits in a hazy but agreeable fashion, doffed his ancient beaver skin hat and ambled slowly past. It appeared, for all the world, as though he was promenading in Hyde Park or Covent Street Gardens. Perhaps, thought Anne, he believed he was.

  The pair exchanged amused glances. Anne felt a familiar pain, for they thought so alike, shared such a sense of the ridiculous, that the sheer notion of Lady Caroline coming between them was like gall. And yet ... yet he had not denied his plans to become betrothed. She had asked him as directly as she knew how.

  He had said be patient, but what value was patience when the man she loved was throwing himself away on a common slut? And Lady Caroline was that, despite her haughty air and imperious breeding. Was she pressuring him again? Very likely.

  Anne took a deep breath. “Lord Edgemere, it is not necessary to sacrifice yourself to that woman! If she is threatening you, call her bluff!”

  The worst the world can think of you is that you are a jilt. Not pleasant, perhaps, but believe me, they will get over it. There are much more scandalous on dits to dwell upon. Look at Lord Carnavon ... the Prince Regent, even, though one grows weary with tales of his excesses.”

  “I find myself singularly disinclined to be placed in that category.” The eyes and tone were habitually lazy, but Anne was not deceived. There was a dangerous drawl to his voice, and she co
uld have sworn that the luxurious hazel eyes flashed for an instant.

  “Then, she is threatening you!”

  Robert vouchsafed no reply. Anne closed her dreamy, sultry eyes, took a deep breath, then plunged herself headlong into a world where there was no turning back.

  “Your lordship, I beg you to consider! If you must marry, marry me instead! I care not the snap of a finger for society! Let them wag their stupid little tongues and call you a cad and a jilt. The worst they can do is give you—and, by extension, myself—the cut direct. Think I care? Not I! Sticks and stones, my lord, break bones. Not whispers and lies.”

  The earl’s eyes darkened with an arrested expression Anne could not quite fathom. He regarded her quietly for a moment or two before allowing his habitual sardonic attitude to return with the slight tightening of his jaw.

  “I do believe, my very proper Miss Derringer, that I am receiving my first proposal of marriage! Flattering, albeit highly irregular!” He snapped open a gold embossed snuff box and inhaled deeply.

  “A pox on flattery! And as for irregular ... I had not previously thought you too mindful of proprieties, my lord!”

  The earl’s eyes gleamed at this palpable hit. “Forgive me, my little Celeste. I am a creature of surprises. When it comes to proposals of marriage, I find that I am singularly inclined to propriety!”

  “At the expense of happiness? Don’t be such a toplofty gudgeon!” Anne could not believe how bold she had become, throwing caution to the winds like a cast-off mantle. Lord Edgemere loved her. She did not know why, but she was suddenly convinced of that fact. Perhaps it was the stubborn set of his chin, so uncannily like that of Kitty’s.

  She pressed her advantage home in the moment of slight hesitation. Amused eyes raked her up and down in the type of scorching manner that caused her words to tumble out in a rush of confusion rather than in the orderly manner in which they had been intended.

  “I believe the connection is not entirely ineligible. I have good bloodlines, I am a lady born and bred, I believe I am healthy enough to ... to ...”

  “Bear my children?” There was now more than a little laughter creeping into the earl’s honeyed accents.

  “Precisely!” She dropped her gaze, but carried on hurriedly, before she lost the courage. “I would never dream of suggesting this course but for the fact of my newly acquired fortune. You, my lord, shall not doubt my motives.”

  “Oh, but I do!”

  “Beg pardon?”

  “I doubt your motives entirely! You speak of breeding and bloodlines. You disappoint me vastly, for I had hoped you’d mention my compelling attraction, my irresistible nature, my—”

  “You see fit to tease, my lord!” Anne’s tone was reproachful.

  “I am in deadly earnest! I do not regard marriage in the same manner that I regard the qualities of my brood mares. Perhaps that is remiss of me, but there, you may set it down to my recalcitrant nature and to the fact that I have always preferred Socrates to Debrett’s when it comes to matters of import.”

  And that, precisely, is why I love you. The words sprang unbidden to Anne’s thoughts, but she was not yet so brazen as to voice them. Instead, she assumed her severest tones and scolded him for taking the matter of his lineage so lightly. She deftly skirted the question of his masculine magnetism. She was not so far beyond the pale that she would admit to the undercurrents that threatened to engulf her. If she did, they were both sadly in danger of steering off the point.

  Still, Lady Caroline would have him locked in her clutches forever if a willing damsel did not rescue him from her coils smartly. She pressed her case home.

  “I assure you I would not take so improper a course if I did not think it appallingly essential!”

  The earl responded to her earnestness. He dropped his bored, slightly amused pose and drew her to him. The charade would have to play itself out, but by God, he wanted a conclusion by evening!

  “Anne. My beautiful Anne. I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

  “Then, you will listen to reason? Lady Dashford—”

  He held up his hand. “Hush. I am devastated to have to inform you that I decline your most generous offer.”

  “Decline?” Anne’s heart faltered, and she dropped the hand that had reached out to gently stroke his clean-shaven chin.

  “Decline.” His voice was firm and his eyes unwavering upon her. “Do not appear so downhearted. I have feelings of the deepest and tenderest ... no, I shall hold my peace. Tonight, if all the pieces of my well-laid plans fall satisfactorily into place, the boot shall be on the other foot. It is I who shall be—damnation!”

  “What is it?”

  “That is Dartford! I would know the sound of his hooves anywhere!”

  “But who could be riding him? The weather ...”

  “Anne, where is Tom?”

  “Oh my God! Surely he wouldn’t ...” Even as she said it, Anne knew it was a forlorn hope. Tom had been peculiarly out of spirits that morning. Lady Caroline had been so definite about the betrothal ... perhaps he had taken it into his head to challenge her. Perhaps he was just in a wild, stormy, defiant mood. He knew Dartford was forbidden to him.

  “I shall check the nursery wing.”

  “There is no time. I shall go after the horse. It might just be some high-spirited groom, but I cannot take the chance.”

  “No!”

  My lord did not wait for a reply. He swung out of the gallery and down the front steps with the swiftness of Hercules.

  It was left to Miss Derringer to help Lord Carnaby make his second circuit of the room. It was the mark of her breeding that she was able to maintain a civil tongue as she helped him with his cane and rang for a footman.

  When the excellent gentleman arrived, she smiled politely and fled.

  Nineteen

  Lady Caroline purred with pleasure. She had barely greeted Lady Anchorford, her hostess, as she had passed her on the stairs. Miss Wratcham, however, had received a courteous nod of the head. Lady Caroline had not survived the rigours of the season with her reputation intact without knowing who to kowtow to when required.

  Once within the portals of her chamber, she had dropped her gracious society pose and rushed feverishly to the dressing table, where she hoped she might find the gift. She was disappointed to find, instead, a posy of flowers. They were perfect blooms—red and scarlet scattered with dewdrops—but sadly, they went unappreciated for all their lovely scent. She noted the luxurious scrawl across the card: Edgemere.

  Lady Caroline knew a moment of panic. Had he been teasing her or leading her on? Had he really retrieved the diamonds from Sir Archibald Dalrymple, or was she simply dreaming? Come to think of it, all that morning the talk had been about nothing but Sir Archibald’s “dashed good luck.” What if the necklace was back in his possession? Fury blinded her, so she did not see the small package tucked neatly by her pillow. Hastings had gone to a lot of trouble to get it there.

  “Jane!”

  “Your ladyship?” Jane entered from the dressing room.

  “Was a package left for me?”

  “Package? Oh, the flowers you mean! Jeeves—we are walking out together, you know—asked me to set them upon your table. They are charming, I’m sure.”

  “Don’t be foolish, woman! I said package ...” Caroline’s voice trailed as she caught sight of the item on her bed. Her relief was profound, though she noted it had been discreetly covered in brown paper. Not the best presentation, perhaps, but so long as it was the genuine article, she cared not a fig for such trifles.

  “Thank you, Jane. You are dismissed.”

  Jane’s eyes wandered lingeringly to the bed in synchrony with her mistress’s gaze. She was curious about the parcel, but knew it was more than her job was worth to question her mistress in such a mood. No doubt, if she was wily—and she was—she would be able to weasel it out of her at some later stage. She bobbed a curtsy and returned to her work.

  There were still several
buttons to stitch before the night’s flowing creation was ready.

  Lady Caroline was heedless of her riding habit as she dived on the bed. She ripped open the parcel, and seconds—a few glorious seconds—later, she was holding her prize. The necklace sat heavy in her hand and sparkled up at her invitingly.

  “Yes!” She threaded it through her fingers and lay back upon the high, well-aired bed. Lord Edgemere would be trapped that very night. He might regard the gift as an expensive parting present, but he would never be able to extricate himself from the interpretation she would publicly place on it.

  She shook out the parcel for a note, but found nothing but a blurry half memo “ad... .” Admirer! So he was not so indifferent, then, Lord Robert! He must have just stopped himself penning the rest of the missive. Caroline smiled. They would not, after all, deal too badly together.

  The rain was pouring down in torrents as Dartford thundered down the meadows. Tom was by now too frightened to press on to the Anchorford estate, where he had had every boyish intention of confronting Lady Caroline. Up behind him was Edgemere, terrified of calling, lest he startle the boy and cause him to lose his grip upon the saddle. Dartford was the most flighty of his beasts, though undoubtedly the swiftest. The little Viscount Tukebury was a skilled rider and contrived not to tumble as he pulled in the reins and caused the animal to turn. He was flat upon the saddle, drenched to the skin, but he hardly noticed this circumstance, for his eyes were wet with unshed tears. His heart was hammering painfully in his chest, for Dartford was much, much higher than he had seemed in the comfort of the stables. If he fell ... he shuddered and tightened his grip on the reins. He would not fall! That beastly Lady Caroline would not win so easily. She wanted to be rid of him, he knew it... .

  “Tom!” The earl’s words were soft and gentle, but Tom did not hear them. Instead, he clung on for dear life as the horse lost patience and took off into the gloom. Edgemere thought he could detect a wail of fright as the hooves settled into a canter. Restlessly, the earl kicked his own heels in and set off after. If he had had time to brood, he would have been filled with the deepest dread. As it was, he concentrated only on the sound of the hooves galloping in the shadows. If he was to be of any assistance at all, he must keep up. The sounds of running water entered into his consciousness. They were heading for Tom’s stream. If Dartford took fright, he might make a bolt for it across the track where Edgemere had first come upon Miss Derringer. Any number of carriages were due to head out in that direction, many to avoid the pike, but most, he was horrifyingly aware, to attend his ball. A collision with one of these would be fatal. The hooves were becoming fainter.