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

by Wylde, Anya

  Dorothy had no trouble keeping up with her sister. “Gwerful is about to go into hysterics. She has never seen you run before. Celine, stop. Don’t run into poor Perkins, you will kill him.”

  “I repeat. I am not running. I am walking very, very fast. A lady.Never.Runs,” Celine gasped. She barely glanced at the ancient butler frozen in terror as her feet danced out of the way and up the stairs and onto the Tapestry Corridor.

  Dorothy halted momentarily to check if the butler was still breathing.

  He was.

  She sprinted after Celine once more. “Who are you looking for? What did you see?”

  “Duke,” Celine panted in reply, “I am looking for the duke.”

  Down the corridor she hurried avoiding the bustling servants readying the house for the day. She checked the morning room, dining room and the visitors' area.

  She finally found him in the study.

  The duke stood in front of the fireplace locked in a passionate kiss with Penelope.

  “You should have knocked,” Dorothy whispered in her ear.

  Celine did not reply. Her face turned bright red as she surveyed the scene.

  The duke had every right to kiss Penelope. After all, they were married. But the duke was kissing Penelope in his study, and that, too, a very pregnant Penelope. He had to lean forward quite a bit, since the belly was in the way.

  Celine narrowed her eyes.

  He was most decidedly bending forward at a seventy two degree angle over the protruding belly to attach his lips to her lips. On top of that the kiss was a little too ardent, too long … The whole thing somehow seemed improper.

  She sniffed disapprovingly. The sniff turned into a sneeze and that one sneeze was rapidly followed by four short delicate little achoos.

  “Charles, have I told you about Celine’s infamous sneezes? I think that is the only silly thing about her,” Penelope said stepping away from the duke and smoothing her hair.

  The duke scowled. “You should have knocked. And you look like you have been running. I am depending on you, Celine, to keep this house sane and together. My mother had to go and break her leg, and Penelope is in no condition to run the household. And here you are the only rational female running around the house—”

  Penelope sidled up to the duke again and rubbed his arm. “Oh, do stop scolding her. She must have had a good reason. Celine is always sensible. Her long dark hair is always tied up sensibly. Her clothes are always sensible, and her way of dealing with every situation is sensible. Truly, the only things not sensible about her are her sneezes and her name.”

  Celine bristled, “Your grace, I need to speak to you urgently. We can discuss my sneezes at a more appropriate time, but—”

  “I told you she had to have good reason for running,” Penelope interrupted triumphantly.

  “Can I have a pet?” Dorothy piped up.

  “No,” the duke said to Dorothy.

  “Your grace, a moment,” Celine said urgently.

  “Your grace,” Dorothy pleaded.

  “Your grace,” Penelope crooned fluttering her lashes seductively.

  “I need a drink,” the duke muttered.

  “It is half past six in the morning,” Celine said shocked.

  “I will feed and clothe my pet, and I won’t let it escape the nursery or my bedroom. Even Penelope has a goat. Why can’t I have a pet?” Dorothy cried, her eyes brimming over and threatening a tantrum.

  “Keep the pet, Dorothy. Penny, a moment,” the duke said gently depositing his wife in a chair. He wrapped a shawl around her shoulders taking care to cover as much as possible of her ample bosom. “Now, Celine, what is it you wanted to tell me?”

  “Your grace,” Celine started to say and then stopped. Her eyes darted to Penelope.

  “Oh, please, Celine, don’t keep me out,” Penelope begged catching the look. “If it is urgent, then it means it is something dreadful, and if it is dreadful, then it means that it is exciting. My condition has confined me to the four walls of this mansion. I have had no excitement. Not even walks. I have been told not to move from my bed, since I am close to giving birth. I have had footmen carrying me to and fro on a giant mattress. It has all been very distressing—”

  “A handsome gentleman is coming to meet the duke. He will be here any moment,” Celine interrupted.

  “Ah, and you have fallen in love with this gentleman? Love at first sight, is it?” Penelope asked mistily.

  “No, though he is the handsomest man I have ever seen,” Celine replied.

  “Must be Lord Adair,” Penelope said.

  “Is that all?” the duke asked, his eyes straying to the clock.

  Celine took a deep breath, “I was counting the silver in the breakfast room when I happened to glance out of the window. I saw from the window … I saw …”

  The duke nodding encouragingly.

  Celine gripped her skirts and blurted it out, “Through the window I saw this handsome gentleman walking towards the entrance of the Blackthorne Mansion. And he was being followed by an equally handsome man dead … No, I mean, a dead man.”

  Chapter 3

  “Are you feeling alright, Celine? You are talking funny,” Penelope asked concerned.

  “Dead people can’t walk,” the duke added.

  “He wasn’t walking. He was being carried by two men,” Celine said indignantly.

  “It is a pity,” Penelope sniffed. “A handsome man dead … Tragic.”

  The duke frowned, “It would have been tragic even if he had been ugly—”

  “They will be here any moment, your grace,” Celine interrupted. She opened the door and searched the corridor outside. “Shall I ask a maid to fetch some tea? It is too early for breakfast, but perhaps the cook can rustle up something.”

  “No tea for the dead man,” Penelope giggled and then promptly burst into tears. “I am a horrible human being.”

  “You are just moody. Women in your condition are always moody and often say the oddest things. Miss Berry back in Finnshire told me all about it,” Dorothy consoled her.

  “How does Miss Berry know? Is she married?” the duke asked tentatively.

  “Miss Rosie Harlington Berry can’t marry yet,” Dorothy informed him, “on account of her being ten years old. But she does know all about Penny’s condition because her mother has produced—”

  “Dorothy, go to your room,” Celine ordered.

  “I will not,” Dorothy replied horrified.” How could you even suggest such a thing when you know I have never seen a dead fellow before? I am staying.”

  “Go to your room,” the duke tried this time.

  Dorothy eyed him for a moment and then said meekly, “As you wish, your grace.”

  The duke’s eyebrow rose in disbelief.

  Everyone knew that since all thirteen year olds are a morbid lot, Dorothy would lurk outside on the landing until the dead guest came through. Only after having a good look and perhaps prodding and poking the poor fellow would Dorothy retire to her room.

  The duke stroked his temple, his eyes shooting to Celine.

  Celine sighed and nodded. “Dorothy,” she warned, “if you see the corpse, then his ghost will haunt you forever.”

  “I am thirteen not five.”

  “Well, then you should behave responsibly and feed your pet,” Celine retorted.

  “My pet,” Dorothy squealed, “I completely forgot about Tommy, though he insists on being called Littlebury.”

  “Your pet talks, does he?” the duke asked amused.

  “Not very well, but I am trying to teach him.”

  Penelope chuckled and called her darling, while Celine eyed her younger sister in apprehension. Something was not right, but before she could question her further, the butler knocked on the door.

  Perkins stuck his white head in and announced, “Lord Adair, his servants and a dead gentleman here to see you, your grace.”

  ***

  The study door flung wide open, the wind blew and
Lord William Ellsworth Hartell Adair, the Marquis of Lockwood, strode in.

  Celine, Dorothy and Penelope let out a collective gasp, the duke straightened his back, the furnishings looked brighter, and even the dying candles blazed with a sudden renewed spurt of energy.

  Lord Adair was handsome, and Celine wholeheartedly agreed with Penelope that she had never seen a more attractive specimen. His shoulders were broad, hips slim, features sensual, and his eyes were hooded, heavily lashed and intelligent.

  Lord Adair greeted the women in a deep, delectable voice and then proceeded to instruct the servants to lay the dead man on the carpeted floor.

  Once the women had fanned away the effects of Lord Adair’s good looks from their senses, they turned their attention towards the unfortunate dead body.

  The dead man had finely cut features. His chin was stubborn, lips generous, nose aquiline, and his inky, curled hair was rebellious and soft enough to be the envy of all English dandies. He was handsome and perhaps as handsome as Lord Adair, but it was difficult to tell due to his unfortunate pallor which was a sickly mixture of yellow and green.

  “Adair, I hope you have a good reason for depositing a dead man on my Turkish carpet,” the duke commented irritably.

  The dead man emitted a soft snore.

  Penelope and Celine emitted ear splitting screeches.

  “Your grace, how could you think that I would be so insensitive as to bring a dead man into your home, especially when,” Everyone waited for Lord Adair to say the word expecting, confined or indisposed aloud. His eyes skittered away from Penelope’s stomach and he finished lamely,” when you have ladies present in the house.”

  The duke’s shoulders relaxed. “So have you knocked the fellow out?”

  “Nothing of the sort. We were at the Blue Cap last night and had a little too much to drink. George here has a delicate constitution and a great liking for the strong stuff. You can see the two don’t mix well. He has been unconscious for the last four hours.”

  Celine peered down at George lying on the floor. “He does not look delicate,” she commented.

  “No, in fact, his shoulders are broad, arms muscular, hips—” Penelope began, and the duke growled. Penelope ignored him and continued, “Hips, I imagine, are firm. I cannot tell, since he is lying on his back.”

  “You are married,” the duke reminded her, “to me.”

  “Pity,” Penelope sighed.

  “He has lovely dark curls,” Dorothy gushed.

  “Dorothy, leave or your pet goes to the butcher,” Celine whispered.

  Dorothy left.

  “What do you think, Celine?” Penelope asked indicating the sleeping man.

  Celine stared down at the sleeping man, her hands twisting her skirts. She finally gave up the battle and whipped out a pristine, rose embroidered handkerchief which she used to scrub away the dirt mark on the man’s left cheek. She went on to straighten his boot, push away the curl from his forehead and smooth out a wrinkle in his sleeve.

  “He is not a couch, Celine, whose cushions need to be straightened,” Penelope remarked. “Now, stop adjusting his limbs and tell me, do you find him handsome?”

  “His countenance is a trifle green,” Celine replied, “but other than that he is very handsome. Only a squint eye can take away from his fine features. Is he squinty, Lord Adair?”

  “Ah, tea is here,” Penelope interrupted. Her eyes followed the plates laden with fruits and toasts.

  “Sugar?” Penelope asked pouring Lord Adair a cup.

  “Yes, please,” Lord Adair replied.

  Celine chewed a biscuit. Here they were standing over a man lying prostrate on the duke’s excellent Turkish carpet drinking tea out of the duchess’ excellent china. This whole situation felt a little bit odd, and yet no one else seemed to find it in the least bit strange.

  “I think I dribbled some tea on him,” Penelope announced peering down at the sleeping man.

  “I think we should sit,” the duke said, hastily steering his wife towards the couch. “Then you can tell us, Adair, what brings you here at this hour and who in the world is this fellow.”

  Lord Adair sipped from the cup. The china looked ridiculously tiny in his large hands. He drained the cup in one gulp and set it aside. “This intoxicated gentleman happens to be Viscount Elmer.”

  “Adair, you are mistaken. Elmer is twice this man’s size with soft bits and two sprigs of oiled hair on his head,” the duke said.

  Lord Adair sighed. “I see, you have no doubt been busy and are as yet unaware of the slight upset in the Earl of Devon’s household—”

  Penelope lifted a palm up. “Lord Adair, could you please start from the very beginning. I have been confined to the four walls of this mansion ever since I discovered that I was expecting … Celine close your mouth, Lord Adair knows far more about women than you can ever fathom. Now, Lord Adair, I want you to tell us about this viscount in detail and slowly. Charles, don’t you dare interrupt. I have not seen a single soul for months and months and months. I need to hear another human speak, to tell a tale, a tiny spark of entertainment ….”

  “You are surrounded by almost three hundred servants, your two sisters, a husband, and up until last month my mother was constantly by your side … and of course Sir Henry, “the duke began. A glare from his wife shut him up.

  “Yes, well, let me start from the beginning,” Lord Adair said once the duke and duchess had settled down. “The ninth Earl of Devon has two sons. The elder of the two, Richard Irvin, recently decided to marry a Spanish girl who knew not a lick of English. The Earl of Devon threw a grand ball to celebrate the occasion. The king himself asked to dance with the bride, and after that disaster struck. The warm blooded, sharp tongued girl was a bit too vocal in her protestations when the king’s fingertips started roaming a little too freely during the dance. She failed to comprehend that the fingertips were royal, for her translator and companion, a charming Miss Daisy, failed to enlighten her, since she lay sprawled in the gazebo after drinking a few too many glasses of punch.” Lord Adair smiled. “And it was only natural that Richard’s new bride should pluck a glass of wine from Dame Melford’s hand and dump it on his highnesses’ head.”

  “She didn’t,” his listeners gasped.

  “She did, and what’s more she proceeded to pinch the fleshy bit near his waist when he refused to release her. Richard and his bride escaped for Spain that very night.”

  “Naturally,” Penelope commented.

  “After that,” Lord Adair continued, “the Earl of Devon was afraid of losing his title. He therefore disinherited his eldest son and claimed his younger son, George Irvin, to be his heir. This young man is George Irvin, Viscount Elmer, and the future Earl of Devon.”

  “Good lord, so this is the infamous George,” the duke said, eyeing the fellow with renewed interest.

  “Infamous?” Celine asked.

  Lord Adair nodded, “He was a terror as a child and he grew no better in his later years. He was thrown out of Oxford which embarrassed his father. As a result the Earl of Devon threw him out of the house. After that began George’s truly colourful life. He spied for the French against the English, but really it was for the English against the French. He caused countless scandals by flirting with married women. Half of England’s husbands would love to get their hands on him.”

  “I don’t care about his escapades,” the duke grumbled, “What I want to know is why have you brought the blasted man here?”

  “He is hiding. His father is looking for him, since he is the heir and he wants to bring him back home and train him. But he does not want to be found, and apparently he cannot sail for the time being and he won’t tell me why. So he came to stay with me.” Lord Adair shut his silver snuffbox with a snap. “I cannot keep him. He steals my tobacco and then dares to puff away in my face. He wears my dressing gown, wakes me up at odd hours, he has people chasing him, I cannot venture out of doors with him. He flirts with my cook, he has charmed my valet
—”

  “But why have you brought him here? He sounds ghastly,” the duke repeated, his facial muscles twitching in warning.

  Lord Adair turned his back on the duke and faced Penelope, “He is charming, extremely charming … a big hit with the ladies. I am fond of the fellow. Perhaps I got carried away and exaggerated his unfortunate habits—”

  “When you speak well of him, you don’t sound convincing. You forget I live in London too and therefore have heard enough about his shady character,” the duke growled.

  Lord Adair straightened his back and looked the duke in the eye, “I am his third cousin, whereas you, Blackthorne, are his second cousin. Therefore, it is your responsibility to keep the fellow. I have to go abroad on an urgent matter for the king and can no longer have him in my house. It is a sensitive issue. You will have to do your family duty and give this man a roof over his curly head.”

  Chapter 4

  “I think you are making up this urgent matter just to fob him off on me. You told me you had retired from the spy business,” the duke scowled.

  “I had decided to retire, but the case is extremely intriguing. I had to take it,” Lord Adair replied.

  “I don’t believe he is my second cousin. You are making it up.”

  “I spent all of last night looking up my family tree searching for the right person to inflict … I mean, leave him with. Here, I brought proof,” Lord Adair said triumphantly handing the duke the family tree. “Now, my great grandmother Beatrice is George’s great grandmother’s sister. Therefore, George’s great, great aunt Rebecca is my great grandmother.”

  Three confused faces frowned at the large family tree.

  The duke spent a few minutes examining the paper.

  “He may be your third cousin, but I don’t see any connection,” the duke crowed, “to my family. I knew he was no blasted relative of mine.”

  Lord Adair leaned closer to the duke, “Sophia,” he coughed out.

  The duke paled.