Seeking Celeste Read Online Free PDF Page B

seemed unusually silent when they realized that Anne was forced, by reason of imminent poverty and self-imposed spinsterhood, to reduce herself to service. It seemed that despite their merry, scapegrace ways, they were not entirely insensitive to other people’s distress.
    Tom broke in on the stillness to ask whether it would not have been better, after all, to have accepted the offers of either Mr. Stokes or Sir Archibald Dalrymple.
    Kitty crushed him with scorn, stating that if the gentlemen in question were truly as Miss Derringer had described, she would have had to be “dicked in the nob” to get shackled to either one. Anne had to smile. The analysis, whilst careless and quite deplorably cant, was nonetheless highly accurate. Miss Kitty Carmichael had perceived almost instantly that which she herself had battled with restlessly. Marriage without love was not a release; it was a prison. At least, as a paid companion her savings and her soul would remain entirely her own.
    She smiled cheerfully and said as much. Kitty’s eyes shone at the thought of such great independence, and Tom promised grandly that as soon as he was of age, Miss Derringer would come and live at the dower house.
    Miss Derringer did not laugh at this supreme and lordly gesture. Instead, she thanked him gravely and swept herself into a curtsy that, had her ankle not wobbled precariously, would have been most elegant indeed.
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    Dawn broke more swiftly than Anne could ever have imagined. She had been dreaming luxurious dreams that lingered, slightly, in the crisp chamber as she woke. Almost she could smell the scent of apple blossom and soap that had driven her sleeping senses wild and caused such tousled havoc with the bed sheets. She allowed her lips to soften into a lazy, secretive smile before awakening, at last, with a shocked start.
    â€œGood lord! I shall miss the stage!” She searched for a clock in the unfamiliar room, but found nothing so prosaic at hand. Instead, her glance alighted on a bowlful of cherry red peonies and her second best morning dress laid out neatly at the bedstead.
    â€œIt must be later than I think!” Sun streamed through the damask curtains, still drawn, but nevertheless allowing bright beads of light to escape into the small chamber. Anne groaned as kestrels and humming birds chirped prettily outside her window. The day must be far more advanced than she had anticipated. Dawn would have been a few hours ago at the very least.
    She swung herself off the bed and felt the floor carefully. The hot posset and cold pack must have worked their magic, for the swelling was down and thankfully the pain had eased tenfold. She felt a slight tenderness, but nothing that her serviceable boots, well laced, could not deal with. She hoped the earl had not, after all, unduly troubled the village doctor. If he arrived, she would undoubtedly feel more foolish than she already did.
    Miss Derringer dressed quickly, leaving only her back buttons undone before placing her nightwear and tooth powder back in the sturdy brown bandbox. She pressed this shut and corded it with expert adeptness, resolutely closing her eyes to all stubborn pictures of dreamy-eyed gentlemen with soft golden curls and lips that curved deliciously. They were like ... but no! It was pointless and dangerous to follow that idle path.
    The peonies smelled heavenly. She wondered who had set them there and why. Probably a kindness of the bustling kitchen staff. She could do with all the kindness that came her way. Relentlessly ignoring her rising dismay at the day’s prospects, she plucked a blossom and set it cheekily against her creamy skin. It looked delightful.
    She set it down, quickly coiled her lashings of dark hair into a single knot, then thread the blossom through before pinning the whole loosely upon her head. She would have been the picture of elegance had her morning dress not been a drab and serviceable maroon, unadorned by