Seeking Celeste Read online

  “I should send you to Kestridge, after all! You shall do very well, now, I am certain!”

  A look of alarm crossed his sibling’s face until the penny dropped that he was a victim, once again, of his brother’s unsporting tongue. A severe pummelling ensued, during which a straight-faced butler just managed to prevent a salver of lobster sauce from oversetting all over Kitty’s newest and most modish evening gown.

  Amid the ensuing shrieks, Anne’s voice of calm prevailed.

  “Have done, Tom! My lord, I shall not be so brass-faced as to reprimand you in your own dining room, but I shall, perhaps, venture to mention that antics like common brawling are best left to after dinner, when the ladies have retired.”

  Kitty shot her a piercing glance and giggled. She liked being classed as a lady and hearing her dear, adorable, bullying brother being politely ticked off for impropriety. It made a delightful change and one which she highly commended. When she ventured to say so, she received a pinch on her cheek for her trouble. A darkling glance was cast Miss Derringer’s way, but the smile that accompanied it entirely eradicated any alarm she might have suffered.

  Smoothly, the earl allowed his wineglass to be refilled and directed the conversation toward Miss Derringer. He asked her whether she had found the stars to be satisfactory, since Carmichael Crescent was such a satisfying distance from London. She blushed with pleasure, pleased and a little surprised that the earl had remembered her interest. It was a fortunate choice of topic, for her face lit up and she described, in surprising detail, the sightings she had been fortunate enough to view.

  “Have you seen the planets?”

  “Most, my lord, although not, unfortunately, our newest planet.”

  “Georgus Sidum?”

  Anne smiled. “I believe they are calling it Uranus, now, my lord.”

  “So they are! You keep up extraordinarily well with the Royal Astronomical Society.”

  “I try to read their transactions, although they are not always easy to come by.” Anne neglected to say especially if you were a young lady eager to avoid the debilitating label of “bluestocking.”

  The earl, however, believed he understood. He nodded his head absently and flicked a sweetmeat across the table. It was neatly caught by Tom.

  “Shall I show you my telescope?”

  Anne blushed. How could she say that she had already seen it and that it was the most wonderful instrument she had ever laid eyes upon? She had no business, she knew, entering the earl’s private apartments, much less the inner sanctum of his library. And yet, she had. Night after star-filled night.

  “I would love to, my lord.” Perhaps, later, she would be able to tell him the truth.

  He nodded. “Excellent. After dinner, then.”

  He was rewarded with such a breathtaking smile that he could not help but add the words in a low, somewhat teasing, somewhat caressing tone, “When it is quite dark.”

  Anne felt the crimson rise to her cheeks. She could not scold him for such blatant innuendo in front of the children, so she addressed herself almost entirely to her lemon pudding for the remainder of the evening.

  Her indignation did not abate, however, when she heard a faint, masculine chuckle escape his lips. She could almost feel his breath upon her nape, for he was seated to her left and she had studiously turned her head toward the floral arrangement on her right. All her senses tingled, and she wondered, for an instant, whether he suffered the same agonies. She hoped he did.

  Tom and Kitty noticed none of the subtle tensions that beset their elders. It was between a third helping of custard and jam tartlet that Tom commented on the commotion outside. Kitty ran to the window and flung open the drapes in a most disreputable way.

  “Look! It is a high perch phaeton and a chaise and a ...”

  “Where?” Tom didn’t wait for her to finish, but jumped down from his seat in a manner that made poor Miss Anne cringe. The earl must think little of her ability to teach common table etiquette!

  “Oh, no!”

  “What?” the earl inquired.

  “It is Lord Willoughby Rothbart and Lady Caroline!”

  “Bother!” Kitty pulled a nasty tongue, and Tom emulated her with the unique gusto of his age. The earl frowned, but did not admonish them as perhaps he ought to have. The names meant little to Anne, so she turned inquiring eyes to the earl. He did not seem unduly pleased, but managed to hide his annoyance admirably. It was left to her to wonder if she had imagined the infinitesimal pause that had followed the announcement.

  “Is there anyone else?” his lordship asked.

  “Scores of people!” Tom announced this with relish. The earl sighed.

  “It must be the hunting party for Lord Anchorford’s. I had forgotten it was that time of year again.”

  “Children, I believe it is time we retired.”

  “No!” the earl objected.

  Anne turned inquiring eyes upon her employer.

  For once, he seemed uncertain. “That is ... I bid you a very good night, Miss Derringer. Kitty, Tom.” He took their hands briefly, then turned from the room.

  Anne blinked. What had she done? The earl seemed suddenly so shuttered, so terribly formal. She swallowed and picked up Kitty’s little posy. Both children appeared unusually subdued. They trailed after her up the winding stairs that led to the nursery chambers. Somehow, the night seemed entirely dimmed.

  Nine

  Although he was panting heavily and sporting a bloody nose that threatened to ruin forever his smart neckerchief and elegant shirt points, Mr. Clark could not help smiling. He felt singularly at peace with the world, for not only had all his assiduous training at Gentleman Jackson’s paid off, but he had also planted a facer on Samson the coachman that would likely as not leave him with a black eye for weeks.

  Further, that gentleman was now lying face first in the cobbles and moaning pitifully. Mr. Clark was not a vengeful man, but he had not liked Samson from the start and could not help but feel that the man had got what was coming to him. Evidently, the chandler, the tailor and at least two unidentified onlookers felt the same, for they were clapping and cheering in a most satisfactory manner.

  Mr. Clark grinned and wondered, fleetingly, what his staid and cautious partner, Mr. Wiley, would think if he were to see him now. But he wasn’t going to, of course, so on this basis Ethan smilingly accepted the offer of a round of ale up at the White Hart. Before this momentous occasion, however, he had business with Mr. Samson.

  It was the small matter of Miss Derringer’s whereabouts, she being nowhere next or nigh Staines. Ethan’s reliable sources had already checked.

  Samson sat up in the dust and glared belligerently at Ethan, though his countenance held a grudging, if reluctant, respect.

  “Never would ’ave thought yer lily white mawleys would stand up to a drubbing!”

  “I live by my wits, but it is always good to have a handy bunch of fives.”

  Samson nodded in agreement, then scowled.

  “I suppose you want to know about that... that ...”

  “Lady.” Ethan stressed the word and stared hard at his adversary.

  Samson, tired of the spectacle and of the dust rubbing into his swelling eye, capitulated. “Oh, orl right, lady, then!”

  “That is better! Do you have her address?”

  Samson snorted. “Am I ‘er keeper? Orl I can tell yer is, I dropped ’er off three miles from Kingsbury.”

  “Why, Samson, yer lazy good for nothing...”

  The dragon approached him threateningly. Ethan almost felt sorry for the coachman, but his concern was more with Miss Derringer.

  “Before the toll or after the toll?”

  “Dunno.” Samson twitched his shoulders.

  “Samson, there is black puddin’ for dinner tonight and I swear yer shall ’ave not a morsel if yer don’t tell this ’ere gennelman all that yer ken.”

  Ethan secretly blessed Mistress Parson, for her threat seemed to be having the desired e
ffect. Samson’s mouth was opening. He scowled and dusted himself off. The butler and the liveried servants drifted back into the house. Now that the mill was over, there was no point making a spectacle of themselves. If the master should appear... .

  “Dropped ‘er off a little way back from Kingsbury on a dirt track. ’Andy little shortcut it be if yer know what yer doin’.”

  “Is it on a map?”

  “Warrant not. Private property, yer see.”

  Ethan’s heart sank, and his hand fisted into a ball. He would like to cut out Samson’s liver. Miss Derringer had been a delightful young lady. The thought that harm might have come to her... that she might have been arrested for trespass... .

  “Do you know whose property she was abandoned upon?” He tried to keep his voice calm.

  “Think I’m green be’ind me ears? Of course I know what land it was!”

  “Whose, then?”

  “Some big toff. Lord Carmichael or whatever.”

  “Thank you.” Ethan released the man’s shirt buttons. He doffed his cap at Mistress Partridge, smiled engagingly at both the upper and the lower housemaids, stanched his blood heroically with an ice white handkerchief and bade them all good day.

  Anne watched from her window as several carriages stopped by the courtyard. She released her hair from its decorous prison and brushed it soundly. Who were they, she wondered, and why had the children scowled so fiercely? She had not liked to press them into confidences, for the earl’s guests were, after all, his business. Still, she could not help feeling a slight stab of disappointment. She would have to wait for another time to view, at last, the modern, deliciously intriguing telescope that sat so invitingly in its cabinet. That was all she was disappointed about, she told herself crossly.

  She had no desire for midnight trysts with Lord Carmichael. He might cause her pulses to race mercilessly and her instincts to turn against her in the most deplorably wanton of ways, but she was still a lady born. Young ladies did not yearn to be kissed with passion and to be held, trembling, in fiercely tight arms. They did not throw caution to the winds and... .

  Good God! She was behaving like a veritable schoolgirl! The very proper Miss Derringer pulled herself up short. Tom and Kitty, she hoped, were sleeping like babies. She blew her candle and shut her ears to the revelry below stairs.

  It was midnight—past that, if the darkness was anything to go by. Anne woke up with a start. Something had disturbed her. Was it footsteps? Perhaps it was a stray valet or maidservant. Judging by the carriage loads that had arrived today, the house would be full of them by morning. It was fortunate that house guests tended to bring their own staff. Mrs. Tibbet would be quite overset, otherwise. At all events, she would have her work cut out with the extra guests to feed, linen to provide for... . Anne would see what she could do to help in the morning.

  She tried to sleep again, but she was tense and unusually jumpy. Too many thoughts crowded her head at once. She needed to clear it, so she could think straight in the morning. Perhaps a breath of fresh air... . Her eyes, by now, were accustomed to the dark, so she did not need a candle to light her way to the window. She pulled the drapes and gazed at the wilderness of stars. There was something about them that fascinated her, compelled her to do more than just blink and acknowledge their existence. They called to her, called and cajoled. They invited her to partake of their glitter, to plumb their depths, to understand their light, their distance, their greatness. The night sky had always acted as a restorative to her soul. Her spirit drew thirstily on its magnitude and retained, in a small way, some of the sparkle.

  She threw a dressing gown about her. The house was quiet. She must have been mistaken about the footsteps, for there was not a single creaking floorboard. Her ears were sharp, so she was confident she was not mistaken.

  She lit a taper using the tinderbox by the hearth. The room flickered to light, casting strange shadows that reflected her sultry mood. She crept from the room and shut the door quietly behind her. The path she would take was well known to her, for she had used it time and time before.

  The earl’s library was in total darkness. She knew that, because there was no telltale light beneath the crack in the door. Relieved, Anne pushed open the now familiar door. Lord Carmichael, she reasoned, was now as soundly asleep as the rest of the household. She walked over to his desk and lit another, longer, candle with the flame of her taper. It was wax, so she could rely on its gentle half light for some hours.

  Briefly, she looked at the cabinet. The telescope was still there, nestled snugly in its glassy cocoon. She sighed at the temptation as she had on every night she had visited this chamber.

  Then she eased open the door and walked outside. The fresh air struck her like a splash of cold water. It was a shock, but refreshing to her strangely deflated nerves. She pulled the gown about her a little more closely, then looked up at the world’s greatest wonder. In the constellation of Leo, there was a comet, bright and unmistakable. It blazed a trail of fire that seemed, to Anne, like a faint haze of dust. She knew it was brilliant beyond imagination, hot beyond belief, fathomless yet indisputably real, as predictable as the sun’s rising and setting. It had an orbit that was definable and calculable. It was the incarnation of rational and scientific thought, yet it inspired in a qualitative rather than quantitative manner. She settled to watching it, wishing she had remembered her log book. The last few nights had been cloudy, and though she had been expecting it, she had not yet been granted the felicity of seeing it.

  “Celeste.”

  Anne swung round. Lord Carmichael had been watching her. In that sudden, breathtaking instant, she knew it. How long had she been star gazing? She knew not, but it was true the sky was lighter than she remembered.

  “My lord ...”

  “Don’t you think, in these circumstances, Robert would be more appropriate?”

  Anne tried to still the beating of her heart. It was hard to answer when he was watching her so closely, and with such obvious amusement. Why did he stare so hard at her lips? And why, when she took two steps backward, did he follow her, so that she was almost leaning against the rails of his balcony? There, that was better; his eyes had left her mouth. Perhaps she could, in a moment, breathe again... but no, now he was staring at her gown. Even in the flickering candlelight she could see the blaze in his eyes... good God, she had to do something... .

  “Robert.”

  He smiled. “Better, much, much better. And I shall call you...”

  “Not Anne!” Too late, she remembered propriety. He smiled indulgently.

  “No?”

  “No!”

  “Then, I shall call you, my dear Celeste.”

  Anne was confused. “Beg pardon?”

  “I shall call you Celeste, for your eyes shimmer like stars and your heart is as bold and as bright as the firmament.”

  Anne could not speak. He drew her hair to him in long, silky strands, so she was forced to step forward, closer to him than was perhaps entirely sensible. He smiled mysteriously and placed his finger on her chin. Then he tilted it upward and looked into the tourmaline eyes made dark by the night. “Do you still claim such a knowledge of the celestial globe?”

  She nodded.

  “Share it with me.” His whispered words aroused such a passion in her that she mistook his sense and wrapped her arms around his taut, deliciously well proportioned back. She heard an intake of breath, and then his mouth was upon hers, teasing, passionate and everything her imagination might have desired but dared not dream, even to herself.

  “Celeste, Celeste...” The words were whispered endearments on her throat, her neck, her chaste dressing gown with its chintz trim and its high neck ruffles. He struggled with it, moaned slightly, then pushed her away.

  She staggered a little against the rail, her eyes wide and uncertain.

  “You torture me, you enchanting little witch! I wish I had never given you my promise. But I have, so I shall play the gentleman and spare you the
trouble of slapping me.”

  Through her daze of physical passion, Anne understood. She nodded her head dumbly, feeling foolish and more than a little contrite that it was he, not she, who had called a halt to the madness.

  “I shall be gone tomorrow, so you shall not be troubled by my attention again.”

  Anne was always honest. “My lord, you must know that I appear to have lost all sense of virtuous propriety. Though I am troubled, I have to admit that it is not by your attentions!”

  At this, he cocked his head to one side reflectively. Then he eyed her again, the telltale hint of laughter lightening his brow. The sky was pinkening up at every moment, so she could see his square jaw and soft curls just brushing his shoulders. The golden hair glinted tantalizingly close, and she could feel his eyes upon her blushing cheeks. For, although she knew full well she was behaving like a hoyden, she still felt unaccountably shy.

  “Honest to a fault, my little Celeste! And I shall have to bear this confession in mind, for though I return to London tomorrow, you may be perfectly certain my return shall be swift and sweet.”

  “Your lordship!”

  “So formal, again?”

  She nodded. “I may have perversely enjoyed your attentions—no doubt they are well tested—but I nonetheless remain a virtuous woman. I cannot think your imminent return can bode well for either one of us, so I beg you to stay away. If you do not, I shall have to terminate this position.”

  “You are an uncompromising woman, Celeste.”

  “I have two wills to fight, my lord—yours and my own.”

  “Have you ever considered what it would be like not to fight?”

  “That is like saying have you ever thought of behaving dishonourably? I am certain, my lord, that you would not countenance such a thing.”

  He laughed. “Not, I have to admit, until I encountered you, Miss Derringer! Very well, I shall stay away. When I return, you may be satisfied that this engagement, at least, is terminated.”

  Anne nodded. He was being scrupulously fair. It was quite ridiculous that her heart should feel so heavy or her hands reach out so instinctively to keep him with her.