Page 14 of A Perplexing Regency Romance (The League of Meddling Butlers #5)

Wagner came in holding a bouquet of pink primroses. “Your Grace, Sir Roger has insisted, and I mean insisted , on leaving these behind.”

The duchess sighed. “Give me the note and put the flowers in the servants’ hall.”

Wagner nodded, handed her the folded paper tucked between the stems, and carried the flowers out with a look he might have saved for a collection of weeds.

The duchess unfolded the note. “Good grief. He writes ‘Miss Fernsby, I pray you have recovered from whatever took you to the ladies’ retiring room. Stomach complaints, bad business. I look forward to encountering you again. Sir Roger Brimley.’”

“Oh dear,” Finella said softly.

“And he sends pink primroses! Really, I think Sir Roger has lost his wits. Never mind it, Miss Fernsby, he will get the message eventually. Let us hope I do not have to deliver it directly. I will count on his good sense to alert him to the foolhardiness of this venture.”

Finella certainly hoped Sir Roger would go away with little trouble. He ought to be pursuing a lady his own age, though she realized why he could not. He was after an heir, and so would look for someone very much younger than he was. Whatever his reasoning, he was most certainly not her pot of tea.

“Well goodness, Lady Thurston’s poetical tableau is on the morrow. It is probably a good thing we will be well rested. I’ve no idea what she’s got in mind this year, but it is certain to be dreadful.”

“I understand she sets up theater boxes in her ballroom?” Finella said.

The duchess laughed. “It is one of the things that tickles me the most. Lady Thurston is forever ranting about her lack of pin money, but if she saved the money she spends on that whole set-up for her tableau, she’d be swimming in money.”

Finella had not a clue what the morrow’s evening would entail.

She did know one thing, though. The duke had said he would be there.

She would be able to look at him. Just look at him, obviously, like any other person might do in a perfectly regular manner.

Lucy had counseled her to not look at him.

Finella was to pretend she did not even know the duke was alive.

His sister had insulted Finella in the worst possible way and that meant the entire family must be shunned.

She’d heartily agreed with the advice, though she knew perfectly well she would not take it.

And then, there was every chance she might meet someone who would be more suited to her.

Certainly, that was a possibility. Lady Thurston might have invited her pot of tea.

Finella really felt like she had straightened herself out.

Her reckless imagination had been put in its proper place and her mind was now driven by facts and reality.

Just as it should be.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Hugh had no idea what Lady Thurston was planning to assault the ton with this year.

He imagined it would be worse than last year, as that seemed to be the general trend.

Last season, she’d presented herself as Oizys, the Greek Goddess of misery and woe, and she recounted how she’d sold off Lord Thurston’s favored chair.

He was not certain what could be worse than that, but as the lady seemed to have a boundless imagination, and as he suspected she’d spent a year thinking about it, he supposed she’d thought of something.

The main reason he’d attended year after year was because his club, The Devil’s Den, did an annual and very raucous recreation the very next night.

Seddie usually played the part of Lady Thurston, donning a ridiculous wig with enthusiasm, while Lord Germaine took on the outraged Lord Thurston and Sir Jeremy played the elusive actress that had been mentioned.

It was a tradition, and they were all sworn to secrecy about it.

If it were to get out, Lady Thurston and her friends would go mad.

They took the tableau very seriously, even though it was absurd.

He had another reason for coming this time, though. The charming Miss Fernsby would attend with the Duchess of Ralston.

She was so pretty. She was so soft-looking.

She was rounded rather than sharp points.

Oh, and the dimples in her round little cheeks.

He hadn’t known that was what he was looking for, but he’d known it when he saw her.

And then, her character and temperament had already proved themselves to be superior.

He had not mentioned it to Seddie, but at Almack’s he’d noted that Miss Fernsby had excused herself away from Sir Roger and she’d not come back.

That told Hugh she had a backbone too. She might be all gentle smiles and sweetness, but when it was necessary she could take action on her own behalf.

It was just what a lady should be. There was something of the noble in it.

And her hair—he wanted to bend down and kiss the top of her pretty head.

He made his greetings to Lady Thurston, who was dressed in what appeared to be widow’s weeds. He hoped she had not decided to knock off Lord Thurston to put an end to their battles.

Hugh entered the ballroom, which was already crowded.

The sides had the usual theater boxes set up, with brass plaques indicating which box belonged to which party.

Sideboards lined the bottom of the room, and Lady Thurston’s stage was at the top.

Some of Lady Thurston’s friends, the usual group who accompanied her on the stage, drifted round the room.

They were dressed in weeds too. Whatever Lady Thurston was to present this evening, her choice of wardrobe indicated all was still not well with Lord Thurston.

He did not see Miss Fernsby, but he did see Seddie. His friend was just now cornered by Lady Violet. He turned the other direction and hoped he’d not been noticed.

The other direction turned out to be even worse. There was his sister, she’d spotted him and was making her way over to him. What was she doing here? She never came to Lady Thurston’s tableau.

“Lucinda,” he said dully. He never made any effort to seem delighted to see her, but she did not seem to pick up on it. Or maybe she did and just did not care. She must be well-used to Gaddington not being delighted to see her.

“I cannot believe it,” Lucinda said.

“Already fanning yourself in faux delicacy? The tableau has not even started yet. What are you doing here, anyway? I thought this evening was beneath your notice.”

“It is beneath my notice,” Lucinda said. “I came because I have been to your house twice, and twice Browning has claimed you were not at home. I know you were though, and probably still abed, as that butler actually had the audacity to stand in front of the stairs to stop me from passing.”

Lucinda was right, he had been at home, and in bed.

She was in the habit of arriving before noon and they were not a household of early risers.

Cook was used to sending up breakfast between twelve and one.

According to his butler, the staff were well satisfied with the schedule.

Very few people ever left the duke’s employ, lest they find themselves in a situation where they were expected to commence working when the sun came up.

“Browning has been instructed that you are not to have access to the private parts of the house anymore. You might swan in whenever you like, though I wish you’d stop that too, but the furthest you’ll get are the public rooms. It is my house, not your own. ”

Lucinda waved off that idea as if he’d not said anything at all.

The fact was, he’d directed Browning to keep her from going up the stairs and if he was not mistaken his butler had been delighted to do it.

He imagined if he’d said to Browning, “And if she gives you any trouble, feel free to hit her over the head with a paperweight,” he’d be delighted with that too.

“I’ve seen her, Hugh. Miss Fernsby, I’ve seen her.”

Hugh swiveled his head, looking around. “Where? Where is she?”

“Here? I am not talking about here,” Lucinda said. “I saw her at Almack’s.”

“So did I.”

“Do be serious,” Lucinda said. “She’s not at all the thing.

She cannot be a Finstatten. Even if she was not so new, which she is, and even if her father was higher than a baron, which he is not, and even if she had a credible dowry, which she does not, she is not suited to it.

Her looks are pedestrian. She is not elegant. ”

“Pedestrian? Have you seen her hair? Her dimples?”

“She’s short. If she wore a different dress, she could be a milkmaid.”

“A charming milkmaid.”

“She is most definitely not the thing and you know it.”

“I know no such thing. Why don’t you track down your husband? I’m sure he enjoys your company. He must be desperate to be reunited with you.”

“At least Gaddington is not a mushroom.”

Hugh turned on his heel and left Lucinda standing there.

He attempted to dodge Seddie and Lady Violet but he was not successful. He should have been, but Lady Violet did not have any compunction against practically shouting a greeting. “Your Grace! We’re over here.”

We’re over here. She said it like he must have been seeking her out, as if it were a set thing that he must be looking for her.

Hugh sighed. “Seddie, Lady Violet,” he said.

Seddie was looking like a cornered animal, which was understandable. However, Hugh would kill him if he attempted to ditch him with Lady Violet.

“Guess what?” Seddie said, staring at him. “Lady Violet insists she must sit in our box. Apparently, Packington has sanctioned it.”

“My brother says I will be quite safe,” Lady Violet said, giving her fan a snap to open it and fluttering it in front of her face.

Hugh was really annoyed. Yes, she would be quite safe. Neither he nor Seddie would compromise her in any way. Not if she were the last lady in England. Now he wanted to kill Packington. How did one tell a friend that his sister was annoying?

He did not know. He could guess it was never done, else plenty of people would have mentioned the same about his own sister.

As he was pondering how to get away from Lady Violet, he saw her.

Miss Fernsby. At first, he saw the duchess.

But then there she was, her head of fair curls emerging from behind the duchess.

Miss Fernsby looked divine. She was dressed in a very dark green velvet gown that really set off her hair.

Her only decoration was a small gold cross round her neck.

“Excuse me,” he said, “I must greet Miss Fernsby.”

“Miss who ?” Lady Violet said, as if she did not know who he talked about.

Hugh did not stay longer to hear what she would say next.

He was certain Seddie did not appreciate getting stuck with the lady again, but there was nothing for it.

In any case, he supposed Seddie owed him a thousand favors for dragging him into participating in the regatta after nearly drowning him.

Seddie might have forgotten it, but he had not.

He approached and caught Miss Fernsby’s eye. She flushed, he’d seen that before. She went pink all the way down to her lovely neck. That must be a good sign, he thought.

“Duchess, Miss Fernsby,” he said.

“Your Grace,” she answered prettily.

“There you are, Duke,” the duchess said. “Are we ready to hold on to our chairs? I cannot imagine what Lady Thurston has planned this time, but I suppose that is part of the appeal of it. It is the anticipation of seeing something surprising and she never does disappoint.”

“She seems to be dressed in widow’s weeds,” Hugh said.

“Indeed, though by all reports Lord Thurston is still very much alive. The weeds seem to be a hope, rather than a reality.”

“Hugh? Your Grace?”

Hugh pressed his lips together. Lucinda.

“Do introduce me to your new friend, Hugh.”

“Lady Gaddington,” the duchess said, “I have never known you to be here in the past.”

“Gracious, yes, I suppose I have missed it until now,” Lady Gaddington said.

“I see,” the duchess said. “This is my young protégé, Miss Fernsby. I squire her around Town this season. Miss Fernsby, this is Lady Gaddington, she is sister to the duke.”

“Miss Fernsby,” Lucinda said, looking down her nose.

“Lady Gaddington,” Miss Fernsby said, in a voice just above a whisper.