Page 26 of A Perplexing Regency Romance (The League of Meddling Butlers #5)

This seemed to be the moment that Seddie noticed the chair, as he laughed hysterically.

“Just get on with it,” Hugh said. “This is, all of it, your fault.”

Seddie tapped his right eyebrow to remind Hugh of the time he burnt it off.

It had been quite the operation to get Hugh into the carriage and the chair securely roped to the back of it. A groom was to ride on the running board alongside the chair to ensure it did not fall off. Or stop the carriage if it did.

The ride to Carlton House was filled with Seddie’s attempts to jolly him along.

It was as it always was between them. Hugh was eventually talked round into forgiving him.

After all, two men who had been friends since childhood were bound to have almost killed one another dozens of times.

It was just the nature of the thing. It also occurred to Hugh that he’d placed himself in that situation when he should have known better about getting on that boat.

Arriving at Carlton House demanded another convoluted operation in getting the chair untied from the back of the carriage and him into it. It was irritating in the extreme, but Hugh put up with it. He had no wish to end up lame for life because he failed to follow Sir Henry’s instructions.

In any case, he had more important things to think about.

As ridiculous as he would appear at this moment, he must seek out Miss Fernsby.

He must say something to Miss Fernsby about the green shawl.

He had not thought up precisely what that would be, but he wished to communicate the message that he’d intended to display yellow.

He supposed he’d have to tell her about the peculiarity of his vision.

Daltonism, as it was formally called. He wondered if she would hold it against him.

She might not care that he was blind to certain colors, but might she not worry about her children inheriting it?

It was a deficiency. Browning liked to claim it was some mark of a true Finstatten as if it were a hallmark of perfection, but then Browning thought everything about the Finstattens was perfection, excepting only his sister Lucinda.

Hugh paused. He might be getting ahead of himself. He had not reason to think that Miss Fernsby might be imagining children with him. He had not imagined it himself until this moment. Though now it seemed as if the idea had been there all along and he’d just got round to noticing it.

“There we go, all tucked in,” Seddie said once he was settled in the chair. “Should we take one of the blankets from the carriage and drape it across your lap to protect you from a chill, Grandmama?”

“You ought to remember I will not always be incapacitated,” Hugh said.

“Too soon for a jest, I see that now,” Seddie said, wheeling him in.

The prince was in the receiving line, flanked by Lord Alvanley and Mr. Brummel.

Hugh could already see Brummel’s raised brow, that irritating idiot.

He really did not understand what the prince saw in the fellow.

Hugh did not mind that he was a relative nobody, what he minded was that Brummel viewed himself as a very special somebody who was far above everybody else.

He suspected that Brummel even thought himself above the prince.

He also thought the prince was bound to notice it at some point, and that would be the end of Brummel.

“Your Royal Highness,” Hugh said, executing a ridiculous half bow from his chair.

“Duke, what’s happened to you? Have you broken something from your adventure in the water today?”

“Just a suspected fracture, Sir Henry says,” Hugh answered.

The prince’s eyes drifted to Sir Edward.

Seddie bowed, “Your Royal Highness.”

“You are a dangerous sort of fellow, Sir Edward. Duke, I give you credit for coming in such a condition.”

Hugh nodded, and resisted mentioning that he’d been commanded to appear.

Lord Alvanley, one of the few of the prince’s inner circle that Hugh liked, nodded approvingly and said, “Very stoic, Your Grace.”

Mr. Brummel peered down his nose and said, “Interesting conveyance.”

Hugh lifted his chin and replied, “I’d like to repay the compliment and note something interesting about you , but I am at a loss. I cannot quite recall your name, old fellow, though I believe it is a mister?”

This caused a snort from the prince and raucous laughter from Alvanley.

Brummel was positively red in the face. Hugh did not much care.

If Brummel wanted to cross verbal swords with him, he was happy to parry back.

He suspected that would be the last time Brummel tried it.

The fellow depended on people being intimidated by his judgments and when they were not, he had no real weapons.

Seddie wheeled him through the crowd to the refreshments room. He handed him a glass of claret.

“Ah,” Seddie said, “she has finally arrived to Town.”

Hugh looked about and spotted Lady Genevieve.

As she was from their own neighborhood, they’d known her forever.

First, she’d been horrible because she was a girl, then she’d been frightening because she was a girl, then she’d been deeply admired by Seddie because she was a woman.

Hugh presumed Seddie would win her over at some point, though for now she kept him at arm’s length.

She was the only person Hugh knew of who called his friend Edward, and usually in a condemning, scolding, or disgusted tone.

Lady Genevieve did not approve of what she referred to as “hijinks,” and she had told Seddie in no uncertain terms to alert her immediately when he decided to act like a grown man. Hugh did not really blame her for it.

As for Seddie, Hugh got the idea that his friend did not at all mind being scolded by Lady Genevieve. He also claimed he did not know what would be involved in satisfying the lady’s demands, but she was bound to give them up as hopeless at some point and just take him as he was.

“She looks annoyed to see me,” Seddie said. “I’d best go to her.”

Before he knew it, Hugh was left alone as Seddie made a beeline toward the lady.

He had not really worked out how he was to move through Carlton House.

He’d not really thought through the idea that he’d require a pusher for his chair.

Perhaps he’d just assumed Seddie would do the duty, which had probably been a foolish assumption.

If Hugh had known Lady Genevieve would make an appearance, he’d have known for certain it was a foolish assumption.

It was unlikely Seddie would give him another thought and he’d be lucky to be remembered when it was time to depart.

It was bloody awkward. He did not have such a close friendship with anybody else here that would allow him to demand they push his chair. He should have brought a footman. At least he’d been handed a glass of claret before he’d been abandoned.

Hugh tried using his good foot to move the chair forward.

It worked. A little. He’d managed to move himself forward a few inches.

It was entirely awkward. He would have a chair that he could wheel himself as soon as it was ready, but for now he was stuck in the old dowager’s chair.

That lady had apparently had no interest in producing her own propulsion.

The wheels were situated too far back to try it.

As he was considering what other strategy he might employ, he heard her. Lady Violet. If he’d been on his feet, he might have sped out of the room, pretending he did not hear her. He was trapped in his chair.

“Your Grace! You are injured,” she cried, fluttering into the refreshments room.

“Lady Violet,” he said, recalling that he did not just have to convince Miss Fernsby that the green shawl had been a mistake, but Lady Violet too. He would not like that lady to get ideas and she seemed to be an expert at getting ideas.

“And look here, nobody attends the injured man,” Lady Violet said. “Never fear, Your Grace, you did not dive into the river for nothing! It was very gallant, though.”

At first, Hugh could not imagine what had seemed gallant about ending up in the River Thames. Then it dawned on him that Lady Violet might imagine he’d jumped into the sea chasing after the shawl he’d thrown over the side.

Before he could say anything about it, Lady Violet got behind his chair and pushed him forward. “I must show you the prince’s music room, it is most interesting.”

“I have seen that room, Lady Violet.”

“Excellent.”

He was wheeled round people at speed, as if he were an express mail coach. How in the world had he fallen into the hands of Lady Violet? How was he to extricate himself without offending Packington? Where was Packington and why did he not keep a closer eye on his younger sister?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Finella had got through it. She’d met the prince.

She thought she’d acquitted herself well enough, at least with His Royal Highness.

The prince seemed fond of the duchess and as often happened, he seemed inclined to think well of any lady a friend of his chose to dispense favor upon.

Lord Alvanley was very cordial too and seemed a rather genial sort of person.

Mr. Brummel was another thing entirely. Finella was very attuned to looks of disapproval or distaste. That particular skill was not needed in this case. The look of disdain on Mr. Brummel’s expression was clear enough.

Had she been a bold sort of person, which she most certainly was not, she might have said…well she did not know what she would have said. She would probably have blurted out that he was an asparagus, to no purpose whatsoever.

The duchess, on the other hand, was rather falcon-eyed and had not missed the moment. She said, “Brummel, I can see well enough that your valet has tied your neckcloth too tight again. It gives you an off-putting expression. I do not know why you put up with it.”

Both the prince and Lord Alvanley laughed at the salvo. As Finella and the duchess walked away, she heard Lord Alvanley say, “You are catching it from all sides this evening. Perhaps we ought to call you Pummeled Brummel.”

“I do not like that man,” the duchess said in a low tone. “He thinks too much of himself and too little of everybody else.”

“I believe you frightened him,” Finella said.

The duchess laughed. “The privilege of an old duchess. Ah, there is Lady Souderton, do go and talk to her about The Impoverished Pupils Fund. It is right, as a newcomer to the ton , that you begin to involve yourself in such things. I must speak to the Marchioness of Newgarden, I have an amusing anecdote to communicate that would not be suitable for your rather innocent young ears.”

Having been given her marching orders, Finella crossed the room to Lady Souderton, who was just then in conversation with another fine-looking lady.

“Ah, Miss Fernsby. Your Grace, this is Miss Fernsby, she is sponsored by the Duchess of Ralston this year. Miss Fernsby, this is the Duchess of Barstow.”

Finella should have guessed it, since she had already been told that her duke flew a red silk in honor of his wife’s red hair. She curtsied. “Your Grace. The duke had a rather resounding victory today.”

“Yes, indeed he did and he is delighted,” the Duchess of Barstow said. “When I first met him, it did not go as well and he was rather glowering at this party. It was the beginning of a rather fraught courtship between us.”

Lady Souderton laughed. “You cannot claim it was more fraught than mine, though. Nobody will soon forget my determined naivete in setting up my charity.”

As the Duchess of Barstow laughed and recounted the story of Lady Souderton advertising for impoverished pupils and putting her own address into the newspapers, Finella saw an extraordinary sight over the lady’s shoulder. Lady Violet was wheeling the duke down a corridor.

Her heart clutched in her chest for several reasons. One, he had been injured! He was confined to a chair. And two, he was with Lady Violet. The lady had been right, he’d shown the green shawl for her.

Of course, she was not at all surprised. No, of course not. It was exactly as she’d known it would be.

“My poor father,” Lady Souderton said. “He was most discomfited to understand there had been a line of men outside our door on account of the advertisement.”

“Gracious,” Finella said, though she’d hardly been listening. Lady Violet had just wheeled the duke into a room further down the corridor.

“How do you get on, Miss Fernsby?” the Duchess of Barstow asked. “Has anyone caught your eye?”

Someone had indeed, though she would not admit it under torture. She would not look an idiot who did not understand her own place in the world. Nobody but Lucy would ever know the first thing about her foolishness regarding the duke.

“Me? No, Your Grace. I’m afraid the duchess has put out so much effort for naught.”

“I am surprised,” Lady Souderton said. “Those fair curls of yours must be the envy of the season.”

“I second that notion,” the Duchess of Barstow said. “I must have spent most of my youth longing for fair curls. Though, my duke does prefer my more fiery shade so I must be satisfied with it.”

Lady Souderton said, “What do you think, Duchess? Ought we give Miss Fernsby some hard-earned advice?”

They both laughed at the idea. The duchess said, “Let’s do. Miss Fernsby, do not get in your own way, that is my advice.”

Lady Souderton nodded in approval. “And avoid hardheadedness if you can.”

Finella nodded as if she were taking in this advice, though she really did not think she suffered from hardheadedness.

At least, it had never been mentioned to her.

As for getting in her own way, it might be rather too late for that particular piece of wisdom.

She had managed to cause herself no end of problems by failing to keep her wild imagination in check.

Just then, there was a dinging glass and Lord Alvanley called, “Gather round, everybody. We have a trophy to hand out. And perhaps we have another prize this year too.”