Seeking Philbert Woodbead ( A Madcap Regency Romance ) (The Fairweather Sisters) Read Online Free Page B

discuss and we will
continue not to discuss in the future,” the duke said, his eyes boring into the
three faces in front of him.
    “After
today you mean, that is, after you tell us why she is not to be spoken of in
the first place,” Penelope agreed.
    “What I am
about to disclose shall not leave this room,” the duke added quietly. It was
not a request but an order.
    Celine bit
her lip wondering if she had any right to learn the duke’s family secret.
Penelope’s hand clamped down on her arm forcing her to remain.
    “Continue,”
Penelope begged her husband.
    The duke
closed his eyes, “Sophia Radclyff …”
    “Yes,”
Penelope prompted.
    “Had an
adulterous affair with a French royal.”
    “Hmm,”
Penelope said not impressed.
    “She was
twenty five at the time,” the duke continued. “And then she turned thirty and
…”
    “And?”
Penelope encouraged.
    “She had an
illicit affair with a Spanish Royal.”
    Celine’s
eyebrows shot up.
    “After
that,” the duke concluded crisply, “she ran away with a sultan. When she came
back to England, it was on the arm of a Rajah. She died at the old age of
eighty and in the arms of a flea trainer.”
    “Good
Lord,” Penelope whispered. This time she was impressed, as was Celine.
    A small
silence ensued after this revelation.
    “But I still
refuse to believe that my grandmother is this scoundrel’s great aunt,” the duke
burst out. He grabbed the bell and rang it furiously, “I am going to get my own
family tree out and then we will see.”
    Perkins’
old nose appeared inside the door, “Your grace?”
    “Get me the
Radclyff family tree,” the duke barked.
    The tree
arrived. The duke poured over it. He frowned, traced, counted, held the paper
up to the light, and finally glared.
    After
another minute of going back and forth between the two sheets, he said, “My
wife is indisposed and Celine is unmarried. I am not going to have this sort of
fellow in the house at this time.”
    “Gunhilda
and I are good enough chaperones for Celine,” Penelope broke in.
    “No,” the
duke snapped.
    “Someone is
trying to kidnap him. I can’t leave him alone in England, especially when he is
refusing to go to his father for protection. You have to keep him. If he gets
too vexing, then just let the fellows kidnap him. Let him stay for a while and
then decide,” Lord Adair requested one last time.
    “Oh, let’s
wake him up,” Penelope cried in frustration.” I am sick of the man sleeping
away while we talk about him over his head.” She picked up a crimson vase from
the table, grabbed the lilies in it and savagely flung them aside. She then
poured the water from the vase on top of Lord George Rodrick Irvin, the future
ninth Earl of Devon, currently holding the courtesy title of Viscount Elmer and
having nine thousand pounds of yearly income.
    The duke
watched her lustily, while the rest eyed her warily.
    George
Rodrick Irvin finally spluttered awake. He blinked the water from his lashes,
and his vivid blue eyes fell on Celine who was directly in his line of vision.
    Not
squinty, Celine thought, her own brown gaze caught and trapped by his bright
blue one. And for someone who had spent the night overindulging and was rudely
awakened by the contents of a flower pot he looked remarkably well. She stared
at him like a mooncalf, her breath stuck somewhere in her throat, her limbs
frozen and her wits cruising.
    George’s
lips curved up in a crooked smile.
    She shyly
smiled back.
    George
closed his eyes, opened his mouth and sang in a rich rumbling voice,
     
    Up and
down the market town,
    Wearing
a bonnet and bridal gown,
    You
hollered, you hollered and you hollered till your face was blue,
    That
your love was off to Timbuctoo.
    Now you
are free to join me in my feather bed,
    Where we
shall play heels over head!
     
    Celine’s
smile vanished and she inched closer to Penelope. “What is he doing?” she asked
from the corner of her mouth.
    “He is
singing a bawdy