Seeking Celeste (19 page)

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Authors: Hayley Ann Solomon

BOOK: Seeking Celeste
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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!”
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.

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