Page 33 of A Perplexing Regency Romance (The League of Meddling Butlers #5)

The evening Finella had dreaded had finally come.

The house had been readied and after all the activity to prepare for it, Wagner had assumed his more usual calm and unruffled demeanor.

The duchess said that her butler always adopted a ‘surrender to the fates’ attitude at such moments.

He’d done everything possible to prepare and now the party was in the hands of destiny.

Finella wore a dress of lightweight velvet in a claret color with a silk lining which she very much favored.

In fact, she very much favored the material in any color at all.

Though the dress was undecorated with anything to draw the eye, the nature of the fabric meant that it draped well on her.

It had a little more structure than silk alone.

It also had a lovely soft feel to it. It felt comforting, which she needed just now.

It had occurred to her as Lucy helped her into the dress that she might have made a mistake with answering the duchesses’ question about husbands and flowers. She recalled that the duchess had said the fun of the evening was her guests attempting to guess who a particular answer referred to.

She had written her answers so that there could be no doubt as to who it referred to.

Lucy had soothed her by pointing out that if there was anything wrong with her answers, the duchess would simply not read them. In any case, who wrote those responses would be forever a secret. Nobody would know it was her unless she told them.

She would see the duke and she must be cheerful about it.

She had every reason to be cheerful. She was an extraordinarily lucky young lady who had been given the rare opportunity to be sponsored for a season in Town by a duchess.

Had she allowed certain things to go to her head?

Yes, of course she had. But it had been a learning experience and she felt a deal older and wiser now.

Certainly she did feel that way.

Finella could be further cheered by knowing she would not see Sir Roger at the event.

It was just as well, and she had no idea what one would say after one’s maid had beat a person round the head.

Wagner had apprised the duchess of the events that had occurred during Finella and Lucy’s walk around the square.

Finella had worried that the duchess might be angry with Lucy for striking a lord, but the lady had found it hilarious and claimed she always did like a spirited lady’s maid.

She’d then written Sir Roger a sternly worded letter and told him he was never to approach Finella again and he was not to set foot in her house, despite any prior invitations.

He was to go away quietly, lest he invite her more public ire.

She reminded him that he would look very foolish if it became known that he was bested by a lady’s maid’s parasol.

Finella did feel relieved over the whole thing. Sir Roger had not seemed to take her opinion seriously, but she did not believe he would dare cross the duchess.

She’d since gone downstairs and stood in the receiving line with the duchess, steeling herself to see the duke with a friendly smile on her face.

He would say something nice, as he always did, and she would read nothing into it.

It would be just the Duke of Greystone being pleasant, as he was to everybody.

And who knew what else might happen? She might very well meet a gentleman more suited to her. She must keep that in mind too.

People came and came and came some more.

The Secrets Exposed party appeared to be very popular.

The duke did not come though. This began to frighten her.

She was certain the duke would not purposely let down the duchess by failing to appear.

Had something happened? Had he taken a turn?

She had been worried about a turn and now she could not think of what else would keep him away.

The duchess did not like to dawdle and so after three quarters of an hour greeting people at the door they made their way into the ballroom.

The duchess took her by the hand and led her toward the top of the ballroom.

Finella might have had trouble making her way that far through the crowd, but the duchess had the ability to part the seas, and they made their way forward easily.

Wagner was already there to meet them, and he helped the duchess up to the dais.

As the duchess spoke from her stage, the duke suddenly appeared by her side. Finella felt both a thrill, a very stupid thrill, and relief. He’d not taken a turn, he was just late. She supposed going anywhere was a complicated operation for the duke now that he was confined to a chair.

If she was to flatter herself, she might even believe he’d arrived to her side intentionally. After all, how did he get through that crowd in a wheeled chair? It must have taken a lot of effort.

She had experienced the disastrous consequences of such assumptions and had learned her lesson with them.

As she was no longer subject to ridiculous fancies, her fact-driven mind instantly concluded that his footman had pushed the chair with determination, forcing people out of the way.

It would be necessary for the duke to be near the front to be able to see anything from his location in a chair. That was the rational explanation.

Finella noticed how easy it was to come to a rational conclusion once a person became determined to do it.

Her conclusion that he’d not sought her out was very rational, too.

Lady Violet was just as fast by the duke’s side.

One might almost imagine they’d planned to meet and she’d been waiting for him.

It was very right, of course it was. Those two glorious-looking people certainly belonged together. Nothing more usual.

Gracious, she was really getting experienced with looking at the world through fact-filled glasses.

It was becoming almost natural. One might not always see what one wished, but one would see what actually was.

That was important, she thought. The truth must always be faced, even if one did not like it.

The duchess had read the comment she’d made, or rather the comment Lucy had composed, about Sir Edward being Wolfsbane.

Finella stared straight ahead so she would not give herself away as the author.

Then the duchess had read what she’d written about the duke.

He was a daffodil for his smiles and sunny temperament.

Finella was quite certain she’d turned purple while attempting to look unconcerned.

If the duke asked her about it, if he asked her if she had written it, what could she say?

She could lie, but then she was a very bad liar.

She did not wish him to know. It came too close to her feelings and the duke would be embarrassed to know her feelings. Any gentleman would be mortified to know they had caused disappointed hopes, even if the hopes had been absurd to begin.

Before she had a moment to decide on anything, Lady Violet loudly claimed the duke had sent her daffodils and spoke of new beginnings.

It was too much. Finella might have transformed herself into a rational sort of person, but she was not unfeeling.

Her heart had not had a chance to catch up to her mind.

She turned and hurried away. She could not leave the event though she wished she could.

She’d much rather run up the stairs and be with Lucy.

But the duchess would be offended, and she would never knowingly offend the lady.

She could at least get away from the happy couple.

Accepting the truth was one thing, but a person did not need to stand around and stare at it.

Finella hurried toward the reception room.

It would be devoid of people as of yet, but it would have the sideboards ready for the crowd.

As a usual thing, a biscuit might soothe her, but just now she thought wine would do better.

Or both together. Her body felt as if she had been struck by lightning, her fingers and toes tingled almost painfully.

She dearly hoped it was not a precursor to a faint.

This night was bad enough without being discovered splayed on the floor like an idiot.

She found the room empty and poured herself a generous glass of Riesling. Then she took an almond biscuit and dipped it into the wine.

As she was chewing, the duke sailed into the room in his chair.

He flew by her at an alarming speed, barreling toward the far wall.

He leaned forward and took the crash into the wall with his hands.

His chair bounced backward under the force of the collision and the pawprint of Intrepid crashed to the floor.

“Sorry, Your Grace!” the footman said, chasing after him.

It seemed that, somehow, the duke’s footman had been pushing the duke too fast and then lost hold of the chair.

“Turn me round and then get out, Frederick,” the duke said.

Finella was frozen at the sideboard. Why was he here? Did he need a glass of wine? Had he chased after her?

But no, her rational mind must rule. He needed something. Of course he did.

The footman hurried to the duke and turned him round. “Am I dismissed from service, Your Grace?” the footman asked in a low voice.

“No, no, just dismissed from the room if you please.”

“Very good, Your Grace.” The footman, looking happy to have flung his employer across a room without losing his place, fled the room.

“Might I get you some wine, Your Grace?” she said. Or whispered, as it sounded to her ears.

“Wine?” he said in an incredulous tone.

“Tea, then?” she asked, not entirely certain why he sounded so appalled by the mention of wine.

“Miss Fernsby,” he said. He used one foot to slowly push his chair forward. “Ah, I cannot get far in this manner. Do come over here.”

Finella set down her glass of wine and biscuit and she slowly walked over. She still did not know what he required.