Read Seeking Celeste Online

Authors: Hayley Ann Solomon

Seeking Celeste (6 page)

BOOK: Seeking Celeste
12.9Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads
“Tom, can you picture your brother hoisting Miss Danvers up onto the high perch?”
Anne's reasonable query evoked a fit of giggles. She had to smother a laugh herself, for as it was, Miss Danvers's luggage was causing something of a commotion below stairs. She had arrived, it seemed, with seven trunks, a banded portmanteau and several strange-looking objects that the parlour maid pronounced as hatboxes, but which the under butler declared to be “frigging coal scuttles, they be that heavy.” Whatever the contents, the luggage was now taking up most of the room in the chaise, and his lordship, of course, had not yet appeared.
That is not to say that Hastings, his valet, was not below stairs and furiously demanding to eject everything but Miss Danvers herself from the chaise. He pointed wildly at the elegant, gold embossed trunks, neatly packed and waiting patiently upon the flagstones for the appropriate attention. His lordship, it seemed, did not travel anywhere without twenty-four starched silk shirts and neckerchiefs, a riding coat with matching Hessians, morning wear... .
Anne would have gladly continued to eavesdrop on the catalogue of his lordship's unmentionables, but her attention became riveted on Miss Danvers, who was easing herself toward the carriage window with a decided scowl upon her frigid countenance.
“Have you no manners, young man?”
Hastings's eyes boggled. “Manners?
Manners?
You are nothing but a common—”
“Now, now, Hastings.” The earl had appeared. His tone was suitably reproving, but his lips twitched in an unholy amusement that caused Miss Danvers's ire to turn upon him as well as his long-suffering valet.
Anne's heart lurched at the sight of him, resplendent in the most indecently fitting doeskins and a coat that proclaimed itself a Weston, for its styling was severe, curiously devoid of padding and a breathlessly close fit. Lord Carmichael's golden blond curls just caught the sunlight and gleamed entrancingly in the afternoon sunshine. The beaver set at a rakish angle upon his head was black, to match the riding coat and the gleaming top boots. Anne thought she had never beheld so handsome a sight. She drew herself back into the shadows, for her conduct, like the children's, was unseemly. One didn't stare over balconies and indulge oneself in glorious masculine sights... .
She sighed. Perhaps one simply peeked. Genteelly, of course. She stepped forward again and resolutely ignored the hammering of her heart. Would he look up? Of course he would; he would want to wave to Kitty and Tom... .
“I
knew
he was a great gun!” Tom's voice broke into her reverie. “See, he is having the phaeton brought round! ”
Kitty forgot her elegant posture and curved herself over the rails once more. “It is true, Miss Derringer! I bet he means to
follow
Miss Danvers to Staines.”
“Don't be such a gudgeon, Kitty! He means to
lead
Miss Danvers to Staines.”
“Whatever! He will be taking the phaeton, at all events.”
Anne chuckled. “His lordship seems to have a pleasing sense of self-preservation. He obliges me, but still manages to do precisely as he wishes.”
The children ceased dangling over the balcony to stare at their governess in astonishment.
“But of course,” they said, almost in unison. “It is the Carmichael way. We
all
do.”
Miss Derringer sighed. “I warrant you do.”
The business of packing the eighth Earl of Edgemere's London necessities into the landau was not sufficiently interesting to arrest the children's attention for long. Especially not since, after a few brief words with the coachman and Miss Danvers herself, Lord Carmichael disappeared once more.
“Where the blazes did he go?”
“Blessed if I know! Let's find him!”
Anne opened her mouth to call them back, then shut it again. She was not inclined to waste her energies on useless ventures.
Besides, she understood their feelings. If she had not been brought up the soul of discretion, she would be running after him herself. The thought, though wanton, disreputable and faintly intoxicating, was honest. Miss Derringer could have no idea how pretty she looked with a faint flush to her cheeks and her bonnet askew from peering illicitly below.
The crack of a whip and the rolling of wheels on the flagstones indicated that Miss Danvers, at least, was on her way. Anne breathed a small sigh. With her went the certainty of twenty pounds a year and a lifetime of servitude. Her new life promised more but was less—
far
less—predictable.
“Do you always spy on your employers?”
The colour grew rosier as Anne whirled round. “How in the world ...”
“There is a secret stair. The children will show you, I have no doubt!”
“I have
every
doubt! Do you mean to say they may suddenly disappear and I shall have to hunt around for secret passageways? I thought that sort of thing went out with the Gothic!”
“It did! This, however, is a Gothic style villa. It could not claim so prestigious an appellation if it did not have its fair share of dungeons and skeletons and—”
“Now you are absurd, sir!”
“And you are beautiful, my lady! And you still do not answer my question. I believe you are being deliberately evasive.”
“About spying on my employers? You are the first one I have had, and I will have you know, my lord, that
that
was not spying;
that
was merely assuring myself—”
“That I heeded your managing advice and escorted the old witch to Staines?”
“Which I see you are not doing ...”
“Fiddlesticks! I most certainly am! My phaeton will pass the landau at the first junction, you shall see. I have at least an hour at my disposal before I need concern myself—”
“Are you aware of Aesop, my lord?”
“Aesop?” For once, the earl looked blank.
Anne smiled smugly. “The hare and the turtle ...”
“Good God, woman! You don't mean to compare me to a common hare, do you? As for a turtle, the only thing I noticed in that line was a hedgehog, and why that woman should have a hedgehog hiding in her coat pocket beats me ...”
Their eyes met in dawning comprehension. Anne's merely twinkled, but the earl so far forgot himself as to allow the corners of his delectable lips to become involved, too. They twitched now uproariously.
“Shall you strangle them or shall I?”
Six
“The hare must fly.”
“I disapprove of mixed metaphors, my lord.”
“There is apparently much you disapprove of, Anne of the bewitching eyes.”
“My lord ...”
“Yes, yes, I know. You disapprove of that, too. I shall be very proper and say farewell, Miss Derringer. Be diligent in your duties.”
“That is better, sir, but would be better yet if you released my hand and did not plant kisses upon my palm.”
“How very disappointing and dreadfully dull, Miss Derringer! Nevertheless, since I wish to remain in your good books, I shall release your delightful fingers at once and make haste to catch up with Miss Danforth or Dishwater or whatever.”
Anne giggled, though she tried vainly to be reproving.
“Danvers, my lord, as I warrant you know!”
“Shall I have to have discourse with the dragon countess?”
“Very likely, for she will wonder at the change of arrangements. I have every faith in you, however.”
“That relieves me, though does not promise for any less tedium. Still, I shall endeavour to earn one of your delightful smiles upon my return.”
“Which will be ... ?”
“Heaven knows! A couple of months, I should imagine. There are several bills being passed in the house, and I shall be attending the Tattersall sales ...”
Anne knew a stab of disappointment, though she skillfully hid it. It was no concern of hers what the earl chose to do with his time. He had not mentioned the galas and balls and ridottos, but she was not so green as to consider he would not be attending. She wondered if there was already some suitable young lady picked out for him and decided, regretfully, that there would be. A man of his rank did not go unnoticed about the ton for long.
“I shall stay away, Miss Anne Derringer, for if I did not, I may break my promise to you, and that I could not, as a gentleman, countenance.”
“Your promise?”
She looked up then and read the tender expression on his face. It was fleeting and replaced, almost at once, with one laden with a teasing irony.
“Just so.”
Anne blushed.
“Fustian! I am no incomparable to hold you enraptured in my toils! You are perfectly free to return when you choose. Stop talking flummery and admit that some other pressing reasons keep you from home.”
“Perhaps.” The earl folded his arms jauntily and grinned.
Anne wished he did not look so annoyingly pleased with himself. She bit back a scathing comment, half-ashamed that she should be so piqued at his evident desire to set off.
“You will say farewell to those rapscallions for me. I wish you joy of them, Miss Derringer!”
“You may be sure I shall take good care of them.”
“But will they take equally good care of you?”
The laughter was clearly visible in his eyes. Anne did not have the heart to persist in her disapproval.
“Very likely not! I shall write at once if I find my chamber too overcrowded with slugs.”
“What a poor spirit, you are, to be sure. Write to me, indeed! I wager you will spend half the morning crawling across my estate in search of retaliatory bugs!”
“I will not take up your wager, sir, for very likely I shall lose my first quarterly pay. I find your idea inspiring!”
“Excellent, I shall look forward to a lengthy report of the term's excitements upon my return. By the by ...”
“Yes?”
“You are not to be discomposed if you find the estate battened upon by several of my rather ramshackle acquaintances. They are dear fellows, but persist in the belief that this estate—which borders on Lord Anchorford's hunting box—is merely an extension of the same. Lord knows how they acquired such a chuckleheaded notion, but there it is. Every year I threaten to turn them out on their ears, and every year it is the same. I find I am too soft hearted by far!”
“It would appear so, my lord! How many people can one reasonably expect at any time?”
“Lord, I haven't the faintest notion. My housekeeper, Mrs. Tibbet, generally attends to their requirements. With any luck, they should not be a bother to you at all. The gentlemen tend to be a trifle foxed, but have a satisfying tendency to keep to themselves, since they are usually only accompanied by wives and do not have ...”
He cleared his throat, aware that he was just about to make a horrible faux pas.
Anne, apprehending that he was referring to the many less respectable female diversions that London had to offer, smiled in quiet understanding.
“Just so, my lord.” Her tone was an exact match of his earlier teasing banter.
“Good lord, Miss Derringer, how shocking that you are not shocked!”
“It must make a refreshing change for you, my lord, not to have to watch every sentence that slips off your tongue. It may have escaped your attention that though I am not wed, I am also not entirely a green girl.”
“Thank the lord for that! However, in the matter of kisses—and though I try not to boast upon this point, I feel I ought to point out that I am a connoisseur—I find you green, Miss Derringer. Quite delightfully green.”
“And I find you dreadfully improper! If you were a gentleman, you would not keep harping upon those kisses! Now go, I pray you, before I change my mind!”
The earl laughed. “You shall never change my mind, Miss Derringer. I shall have to spring the horses now, for you have kept me in idle dalliance far longer than I anticipated.”
Anne dimpled, for it was hard to take issue with a man so brazenly impudent as this one, or hold a groat of malice when his very smile caused a fever of excitement to rage quite unaccountably within her.
She did manage to keep her countenance becomingly demure, however, as she raised a brow at the preposterous accusation.
“Idle dalliance? My lord, you wrong me!”
His laugh still rang in her ears as he disappeared in precisely the same mysterious manner in which he had arrived. It was only long after, when she was sipping a cup of chocolate in the cosy upstairs drawing room that the children
assured
her was actually the schoolroom, that she began to wonder.
What had he meant? She shall never change
his
mind? It was a puzzle, but then, everything about the last twelve hours was a puzzle. Anne set her cup down musingly. She wished her employer were not half so young or disgustingly amiable. If her wayward thoughts were to incline too often in that direction ... but no! They would not. She set cup and saucer down with decision. As far as she was concerned, Lord Robert Carmichael was a figment of her fevered imagination.
Just as well he had chosen to fly the coop and head for the pleasures of London. It made her task so much the easier. From now on, she would don a mobcap and endeavour to play the part allotted to her with dignity, humour and yes—she would allow it—intelligence. She would earn her exorbitant wages if it was the last thing she did.
“Kitty, it is always best, when striking a pose, to endeavour to look alluring. That pout, though excellently framed, looks more devilish than charming. Here, let me show you ...”
And so began Miss Derringer's rather exceptional duties as governess.
It might be said that the Viscount Tukebury and the older Miss Kitty Carmichael had never before found their lessons quite as unpredictable, alarming and outrageously interesting as they did now.
 
 
London was bustling with activity by the time the earl reached the refined portals of Boodles at precisely eleven o'clock. He had only partially recovered his temper by the time he was greeted reverentially at the door and divested of his cane, greatcoat and elegantly crafted beaver.
Miss Danvers had proved a trying travelling companion, for despite his foresight in travelling in separate conveyances, she had somehow contrived to weasel a lunch at the Red Fox Inn and several stops for “fresh air” out of his much put upon person. As if this was not enough, explanations to the countess Eversleigh had been harrowing.
Craven, he had toyed with the idea of simply unloading Miss Danvers and her multitudinous parcels and carrying cases. Then, with a sigh, the gentleman had come to the fore, and he had helped her down obligingly, winced a little at her simpers, and handed his card on to the butler.
The dowager countess had obviously not been overawed by his crest, for she left him kicking his heels in the blue salon for well over half an hour. This incivility alone would not have bothered him overmuch, but his sense of grievance could not help mounting as he was forced to alternately listen to Miss Danvers's strictures on decorum while watching her bat excessively short eyelashes in his direction.
The grandfather clock chimed the quarter hour with regularity as his poor horses were forced to pace about the courtyard, harnessed, still, to their coaches.
Finally—finally—the dowager duchess had made her entrance. She suffered the earl to clench her hand in his and nodded distantly at his elegant bow. Then her eyes fixed on poor Miss Danvers, and even the earl—for all his sufferings—had it in him to feel sorry for her.
A lesser woman might have quailed under the glare, but it was fortunate, indeed, that Miss Danvers was made of hardy stuff. She simpered ingratiatingly at the dowager and commented how awed she was to fall under her provenance.
The dowager's beady eyes passed from her, then back to the earl.
“Who
is
this woman?”
The earl was forced to explain, his long and careful dialogue interrupted at times by the simpering interpolations of Miss Danvers, who searched her enormous reticule for the various tomes of references she invariably carried upon her person.
The countess waved them away irritably, then pointed, once again, at Lord Carmichael.
“Who
did you say she was?” With a sigh, the earl began again, only suspecting on his third retelling that the Dowager Countess Eversleigh might be a trifle deaf.
When her hearing aid was finally procured, he managed an abbreviated account into the long horn and cursed himself for a fool to get involved in the unlikely imbroglio. Only the thought of Miss Derringer's piercing, pleading tourmaline eyes kept him from making an ignoble exit down the dull marble stairs.
Finally, it was done. Miss Danvers's luggage was safely bestowed on the second lackey in the servants' quarters, and the earl was free to make his escape.
Staines was a good way away from his bachelor establishment in Mayfair, judiciously across from Grosvenor Square and overlooking several of the outstanding gardens that gave colour to the city, even in the duller, more lackluster months. So it was much later, indeed, that he made his weary entrance forcing—unbeknown to him—a footman, a valet, a housekeeper and a bevy of underservants from their beds.
By ten the next morning he had recovered sufficiently to partake of a mild repast, scan the
Morning Post
for any items of interest—there were none—and head on to his club.
Boodles was quietly active, for the season was about to begin and many other entertainments that were undoubtedly occupying the minds of member's spouses and hopeful offspring. Lord Robert Carmichael, however, had other matters on his mind.
“Morning, Edgemere!”
“Morning, Rutherford! I hear you won your wager.”
“On Black Bess? But naturally. I've set my sights on another filly, however.”
“Truly?”
“Yes, and not of the equine type.” Lord Justin Rutherford looked too smug for Robert to misunderstand his meaning.
“Another opera dancer?”
“Spare me, Robert! I have had my fill of them. No, this one is an
actress.”
Lord Carmichael's eyes twinkled, but his voice was solemn as he judiciously agreed that that made all the difference. Heartened, Rutherford rather generously admitted that Miss Martin had a friend with ravishing guinea gold hair.
“Care to make her acquaintance?”
The Earl of Edgemere regretfully declined, for there were other matters requiring his attention.
“Justin?”
“Yes?”
“Do you still have contacts in the home office?”
“By God, Robert, you know I do! Why the interest?”
Carefully, Lord Edgemere explained. He was so unusually delicate about the query that Lord Rutherford's lazy interest was piqued.
When a simple ribbing caused his good friend to make a curt and quite unnecessary reply, his suspicions were confirmed. Miss Derringer—whoever she was—had better have a spotless record. Whilst Robert was as notorious as he for delighting in the muslin set, he had never before shown any matrimonial interest in the female sex.
BOOK: Seeking Celeste
12.9Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Mia the Melodramatic by Eileen Boggess
Under Seige by Catherine Mann
Her Texas Family by Jill Lynn
Almost Famous Women by Megan Mayhew Bergman
Torn Apart by James Harden
And No Birds Sang by Farley Mowat