Page 19 of A Perplexing Regency Romance (The League of Meddling Butlers #5)
Hugh was in the main room of The Devil’s Den drinking a glass of good claret.
Though he was a member of White’s for tradition’s sake, he rarely went there.
The Devil’s Den had been founded by him and his friends in the first year they’d been set loose in London.
They wished for a place that suited them and was entirely devoid of stern old fellows frowning at them, arguing about politics, and complaining about their gout.
When the time eventually came when Hugh was frowning, arguing about politics, and shifting his foot on account of his gout, he’d go to White’s then.
When they’d looked round for a space for their club, it was discovered that Lord Winters had a low one-story building owned by his family that they did not use for anything.
His father had come close to selling it, but the sale had not gone through.
Now it was leased to The Devil’s Den for one pound a quarter.
Since they did not have much rent to pay, they spent most of their membership fees on a well-stocked cellar, an excellent cook, and their intrepid steward who kept the whole thing going, Mr. Albert.
The rooms were furnished in a deliberate mishmash of whatever could be found and brought in.
A baroque piece here, a Queen Ann there, there was even a massive bird cage, large enough to walk into, that currently housed the bet book.
They did not want the place to appear carefully composed; it was not the nature of the club.
This evening, the night before the regatta, was a gathering for war plans. At least, that was what Seddie called it. Really, it was for the members to discuss the various strategies of those who would participate in the regatta.
“You see what I say,” Lord Rareton said. “If we all set out to block Barstow’s wind, he has to be beaten this year. He cannot walk away with it for the fourth year in a row. The Devil’s Den has a reputation to uphold. It does not matter as much which one of us wins, it matters that one of us wins.”
The lord had tacked sheets of paper on the wood wall to create a big map of the Thames with the starting point and the location of the turnaround buoy marked out.
Hugh noticed Seddie’s eyes glazing over as Rareton rambled about what the tide would be doing and made guesses on the wind direction and speed.
He did not think Seddie took much of it in, which was probably not a good sign.
They were likely to be a shambles on the morrow.
As he had already come to that conclusion before now, he’d demanded two life rings be brought aboard.
Hugh planned on tying a rope around one of them and then tying the other end of the rope around his ankle.
If he was thrown into the Thames a second time, he would bring a life ring with him.
A person could not depend upon a bargeman being nearby on a regular schedule.
“All right now, I think our plan is set,” Lord Rareton said.
Hugh turned to Seddie. “Do you understand the plan at all?”
“No,” Seddie said with a laugh. “You know Rareton, he always complicates things. We’ll just set off and see how we go. A to B, start to finish. Nothing easier.”
Hugh had suspected as much.
“Duke,” Lord Packington said, approaching them, “my sister asked me specially to inform you that her favorite color is French verte. Whatever shade that might be.”
“I see,” Hugh said. A heavy hint from Lady Violet on what color shawl should be around their mast. “Regarding the color we will carry, unfortunately, we are already committed. The Duchess of Ralston has made her wishes known.”
Of course, the duchess had not said anything about it. However, he did not wish to have anything uncomfortable with Packington on account of Lady Violet.
“Ah, the duchess,” Packington said, sounding satisfied with the answer, “she cannot be crossed, eh?”
“Definitely not,” Hugh said. He was rather glad he thought of laying it at the duchesses’ feet.
He’d already purchased a pretty yellow shawl for the mast and had Browning pack it in a canvas bag to be ready to go.
He’d had the tradesman describe the shade to him and was told it was sunshine yellow, which he thought was very apt to describe Miss Fernsby.
If he’d been forced into showing the color for Lady Violet he would have first had to discover what French verte was.
At least he’d heard of yellow even if he could not see what others saw on account of his blindness to that shade.
He suspected French verte went by its other more common name of green, which he also could not see very well.
Since he could not see either one of the shades, he very much preferred the simpler idea of Miss Fernsby’s lively yellow.
He laughed to himself as he recalled how flushed her face and neck had gone when he’d asked about her favorite color. She was so charming. She did not pretend to prefer French verte, she made no attempt at elegance and sophistication.
Miss Fernsby was sunny yellow and he very much preferred it.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Browning had seen the duke off to his wretched club, The Devil’s Den.
Sir Edward had come for him in his carriage, as was their habit.
They tended to drink to excess at that club and both gentlemen were convinced their horses could not abide a drunken rider.
As far as Browning was concerned, the duke was better off in a carriage so he did not get attacked by footpads in his befuddled state.
He expected a quiet night, as it always was when the duke was out. However, no sooner had the duke left than Lady Gaddington had swanned in. It was his pleasure to inform her that the duke was not at home while he blocked the stairs.
She stared at him and said, “I know he is not here, I watched him leave. I’m not here to see the duke. I’m here to see you .”
Browning had staggered back just a little, but avoided planting himself on the stairs, which would have been undignified in the extreme.
“Yes, yes, I can see you’re shocked. Do come into the drawing room. I have something that must be urgently discussed.”
Browning was in a bit of a tizzy over it.
Lady Gaddington never had anything to discuss with him and, furthermore, virtually all of her discussions were unpleasant.
She did not wait for him to answer her but charged ahead in her usual high-handed fashion.
She carried a cloth sack and he desperately hoped he was not to hear that she’d left Lord Gaddington and was moving back into the house.
He took heart that it was not a very large sack and followed her into the drawing room.
Lady Gaddington threw the sack on a sofa and poured herself a small glass of the duke’s brandy from the sideboard. “I suppose you know about Miss Fernsby.”
Browning nodded. “I have heard that person’s name mentioned.”
“It’s not on, Browning. The duke has lost his sense. That girl is a mushroom of the worst sort.”
While Browning quite agreed with her, which did not happen often, he remained expressionless.
“If this is allowed to go forward, Hugh will regret it. He will wake up one day, with a squat mushroom of a duchess, and wonder why nobody stopped him. His father-in-law will be recently of the gentry. I’m quite sure he is crass.
Out of anyone, Browning, I would think you would make some effort to stop this madness in honor of my mother and father. ”
Mr. Browning stood straighter at the mention of the old duke and duchess. He had no doubt Lady Gaddington was right in her assessment, but he did not know what he could do about it.
“Steps must be taken, Browning. Steps, for the duke’s own good. This infatuation will pass and he will wonder what he ever saw in Miss Mushroom.”
“Rest assured, Lady Gaddington, if there were any steps to be taken, I would take them.”
“Excellent,” she said. “As there is a step that can be taken. I understand that each boat is to display a color by way of a shawl tied round the mast. Lady Violet, a lovely earl’s daughter, has chosen French verte.”
“French verte?” he asked.
“Yes, yes, stupid to call it that when green will do.” She pulled out a green shawl.
“Hugh will know nothing about the tradition of shawls. Sir Edward is in charge of his boat and that means nobody is in charge. You may say you heard of the tradition and give him this shawl. Say something like it’s the queen’s color.
He’ll have no idea that he’s signaling Lady Violet.
It will give her encouragement though, to redouble her efforts.
He just needs to spend more time with the lady. ”
“He does know about the tradition of the shawls, though,” Browning put in. “He has a yellow shawl packed and ready to go. Miss Fernsby said yellow was her color.”
As usual when Lady Gaddington was crossed, her features grew even more pinched than they usually were. When she’d been a child, it had been the signal that an explosion was imminent. But then, she suddenly smiled.
“Yellow.” she said. “Where is it?”
Browning’s eyes must have drifted to the table near the drawing room doors that the duke called the coming and going table. It held mail going in or out or anything that needed to be taken or left for somebody. Just now it held the small canvas bag with the yellow shawl.
She marched over and ripped the yellow shawl from its bag.
She replaced it with the green shawl and closed the drawstrings of the bag.
“This is better than I could have possibly planned. God is on our side to arrange it,” she said.
“Now you need not say anything at all. If you are asked about it later, say I was here and insisted on waiting in the drawing room and then once I was convinced the duke was not here, I left.”
Browning stared at Lady Gaddington, trying to understand what she was talking about.
She sighed. “Don’t you see? He will proudly display that shawl, believing it is the yellow one. Hello, Browning? He is a Finstatten.”