Page 20 of A Perplexing Regency Romance (The League of Meddling Butlers #5)

It finally penetrated Browning’s mind. “Oh, I see. Because he is blind to those colors.” It was a well-known Finstatten quality.

Browning had never thought of it as a deficiency, the Finstattens did not have deficiencies.

It was just something that set them apart.

A distinction, as it were. The old duke’s valet used to sew descriptions on the inside of his clothes so he knew what he was wearing.

They were very descriptive too. A vest might be “a very dark green brocade with a subtle yellow edging of the pattern.”

Lady Gaddington nodded. “He’s especially colorblind with yellow and green, just like my father.

You see what I say about God being on our side?

Not only will he signal Lady Violet, he will signal Miss Fernsby too.

Her yellow will be nowhere to be seen. He’ll have no idea.

We will guide him in the right direction without an all-out war over it. ”

“But he will discover it eventually. Sir Edward is likely to say something about it before they even set off.”

“Possibly. But then the worst that could happen is Hugh sails with no shawl visible. That is still a message to Miss Fernsby. In any case, you know how disorganized Sir Edward is. I think he’ll be running round like a blind chicken just trying to keep them afloat and won’t pay any mind to it.”

“I am not certain this is a wise idea,” Browning said.

“Really. What is your brilliant idea? Tell me at once so we can enact it in all haste.”

“Well as to that, I have not precisely landed on anything as of yet.”

“That’s what I thought. It’s time to be bold, Browning. In defense of the name Finstatten.”

Lady Gaddington finished her glass of brandy, took the yellow shawl, and exited the house.

Browning stared at the canvas bag, now containing a green shawl. What should he do? Should he tell the duke? If he did, His Grace would certainly want to know how he’d allowed Lady Gaddington to take the yellow shawl.

He’d say, “Why did you not tackle her, Browning? How did you allow her to take the yellow shawl?”

He had no answer for that.

And then, had he not committed to doing something roguish to stop this infatuation with Miss Fernsby?

Had he not felt a disdain for his fellow butlers and their inaction?

Had he not vowed to himself that he would take bold action once he thought of something?

Had he not imagined meeting with The League to triumphantly relate how he steered the duke away from Miss Fernsby after they had given up on it?

Had he not just had to admit that he did not have any idea of how to do it?

It felt very wrong to collude with Lady Gaddington. That lady had been a thorn in his side for over twenty years. He could never have imagined siding with her on anything.

And yet, he did feel compelled to do something to save the duke from himself.

Perhaps the thing to do was nothing. The duke did not require him to wait up when he went to The Devil’s Den.

Once the bells of St. Margarets had rung this evening, the signal from Lord Bestwick that the weather cooperated and the regatta would commence in the morning, the duke had laid out his directions to the household.

His Grace arranged for a cold plate to be waiting for him in the morning so that Cook did not need to get out of bed so early.

His valet had even laid out his clothes so that he would match, as the duke had told him he need not rise either.

The coachman and grooms were not needed, as Sir Edward was to fetch him in his carriage.

The duke would come in late tonight and leave early in the morning for the regatta.

Browning would not even see him. There would not be time to even mention that Lady Gaddington had been to the house.

He might just leave the whole thing in the hands of fate.

If he was asked about it, he could say he had been struck down with a violent fever and when he’d woken, he thought the encounter with Lady Gaddington had only been a dream.

Browning had a great urge to hide under his blankets, so that was what he did.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Finella had gone downstairs before the sun was up.

Or maybe it was already up and just could not be seen.

A heavy fog had rolled along the streets coating everything in a grey mist. She was certain it would not last, London seemed very fond of a heavy fog to start the day, but there was no sign of rain.

They were to set off early. The bargeman had come to the house yesterday and requested to see Wagner to make the arrangements. The duchess had insisted he be brought into the drawing room to communicate the plan directly to her.

The poor fellow had looked as if he’d taken a wrong turn somewhere to have ended in a duchesses’ drawing room.

He’d gathered himself together though and mapped out how it would be.

They must set off early, or else they would not find a good spot to anchor.

They could not anchor any place that took their fancy, as they could not get in the way of the race.

The bargeman knew just where he wanted to be.

It would be just south of the bridge that would mark both the start and finish and would have a fine view of the entirety of the race.

He and the duchess worked out all the plans.

Finella and the duchess would come in her carriage and a second carriage had been hired to carry Wagner with all their supplies.

There were to be folding tables, while the bargeman would supply chairs.

A full breakfast would be packed, though the bargeman warned against hot eggs.

He’d seen it tried and it always failed.

They set the time and the location of the pier where the barge would be waiting for them. She was named The Betsy .

Finella heard it all, though her mind was elsewhere.

All she could think of was that the duke had asked her what color she favored.

She still was not certain what it meant, but Lucy was sure it meant that the duke would fly her color, just like the knights of old who jousted.

It was a very romantic notion, though Finella did not know if it were true.

But it might be true. What was she to think if she saw her color?

Finella had got herself into such a state about it that she thought she might die if the duke did have something yellow tied to the mast of his boat, and she might die if he did not.

The carriage rolled through the foggy streets, little droplets of mist rolling down the windows.

If she were at home, she would be snuggled into her velvet settee in the drawing room, a blanket on her knees, a book in her hand, and tea by her side.

It was extraordinary that she was just now in a carriage, rattling through the street, a duchess by her side, on her way to a regatta, and wondering if the duke would show yellow on his boat.

Whose life was this? It certainly did not seem like Finella Fernsby’s life.

They’d come to the wharf as the mist was rapidly burning off and the sun was ordering it to go away.

It was a hive of activity, as the duchess was not the only person who had rented a barge.

Finella suspected every barge available would be out on the river to see the regatta.

Or as Lucy had described it, “A bunch of lords pretendin’ to be admirals. ”

The bargeman brought his crew to the carriage and the young men began to unload the second carriage of its supplies with Wagner supervising. The bargeman himself led them down the stone steps to the wharf.

Behind them, Finella heard a man call. “Your Grace! Your Grace!”

They stopped to find a finely dressed gentleman hurrying toward them.

“Lord Packington, how do you do this morning?”

Lord Packington. He was the older brother to Lady Violet, the nose wrinkler and lady who sat finely on a horse. The lady the duchess thought had come to Town a year too soon.

“I am afraid my morning has gone very awry, Your Grace,” Lord Packington said, out of breath from chasing them down.

“My bargeman is refusing to take us out. He says the wood of his wheel has developed a crack. I suggested glue, but he is convinced the whole thing needs to be replaced and he will not take his chances on losing steering on the Thames.”

“I should say not,” the duchess said.

Lord Packington shook his head sadly. “My sister is devastated over it. She was quite looking forward to viewing the regatta. I suppose it cannot be helped.”

“That’s quite enough hinting around, Lord Packington,” the duchess said. “You’d best come with us.”

“Thank you, Your Grace, thank you! I will just go and fetch Lady Violet.”

The duchess nodded. “We are on The Betsy . We will see you aboard.”

They proceeded to follow the bargeman to his boat. Finella could not say she was eager to encounter Lady Violet. Aside from her general air of beauty and elegance, Finella had not forgotten the nose wrinkle.

There was nothing to be done about it, though. The duchess had invited them aboard and so they would come.

The aboard in question was a wide flat boat with ample room for twenty or so people. The bargeman’s crew were already setting up the duchesses’ tables and had retrieved chairs from somewhere while Wagner rearranged the various crates he had packed for the occasion.

Once the tables were up, two were pushed together and ringed with chairs.

One table stood to the side, set apart. The duchess had told her the separate table was to be refreshments for the crew.

Finella thought that was a fine example of the duchesses’ consideration for other people.

Her father would have done just the same.

He always said, “Feed people, it is the bare minimum.”

Wagner laid a cloth over the longer table and began setting it up. Finella was not at all surprised that he’d brought silver platters and fine porcelain. Wagner would hardly do anything else. The duchess was to be treated as a duchess whether she was at home or floating around on a boat.

Finella had never been on a boat before. It was a very odd sort of feeling to have the floor under one’s feet rocking gently as if the world were no longer solid and steady.

It was not long before she saw Lord Packington and Lady Violet hurrying down the pier to The Betsy .

“Gracious, the name of the boat is The Betsy , how positively droll,” Lady Violet said as she was being helped onboard.

The bargeman folded his arms. “Betsy is the name of my dead wife.”

“Oh, I see,” Lady Violet said. She quickly turned away from the disapproving bargeman to the duchess. “Your Grace, you have saved the day. My brother and I are both full of thanks. Ah, Miss Fernsby.”

Finella really felt as if she said “Ah, Miss Fernsby” as if she was an aside, hardly to be noticed.

Lord Packington held a picnic basket. “Our meager contribution, Your Grace.”

Wagner took the picnic basket with two fingers as if it might hold a live snake. Finella was relatively certain he would not approve of anything in it, as he had not selected it himself.

She tried not to laugh when Wagner opened it, frowned, and put it on the crewman’s table.

“We’ll shove off now,” the bargeman said. “All these other boats are waiting for stragglers and it’s our opportunity to get the spot we want.”

The duchess nodded. “I defer to the captain,” she said. “Everyone, hang on. We’re not sailing to America but we’re going far enough. I cannot be responsible for anyone going overboard.”

Finella did not think there was the least chance of it, though Lady Violet appeared alarmed. Considering the duchesses’ pursed lips just now, she suspected that was why the duchess had mentioned it and was trying not to laugh.

The sails were raised and the ropes thrown off.

The crew used oars to push off the pier and they gently drifted away from it as the sails gently waved back and forth.

Then the bargeman swung the wheel. The sails suddenly snapped stiff and they gained speed.

Finella clutched her bonnet. It was thrilling.