Page 10 of Lady Ferocity (A Series of Senseless Complications #1)

P ercy had spent a further two days at Lady Albright’s house in a manner he would not like to ever repeat. The doctor, a good sort of fellow, had kept him well-dosed with laudanum, else he would have gone mad.

It was not so much the pain of the wound, which was slowly lessening, but Lady Albright.

She came into his room at all hours of the day and night, talking and talking and talking. He was to know everything about the charming qualities of Tiberius. She’d had him since he was a cub and he’d been very cuddly then. She claimed she did not know how the padlock had been off the enclosure. She swore it was not her who locked the door to the house against him.

After those querulous arguments, she seemed to gain some confidence and did an about face. Suddenly, the diatribes were all about her velvet sofa. She had discovered it bloodstained and she could only lay the blame on Lady Felicity.

Why had that lady sat on her velvet sofa when she had blood on her dress? That was what Lady Albright wished to know.

Percy could make a guess that Lady Felicity had been fully aware of creating a stain on the lady’s sofa and had not given a toss about it.

On day two, a flower arrangement of daffodils had arrived for him. It had been signed Household of the Duke of Pelham . The note had rather given it away though.

Tigers, eh?

Clearly, the arrangement was from the duke himself, which gave Percy pause. The duke had come right out and said Percy ought to “make a run” at his daughter.

He had convinced himself the duke had only meant to shock. Half the things the fellow said were meant for that purpose, he was sure.

Were the flowers some kind of pushing forward? A hint that the duke had been serious? He was not certain. Nor was he certain what he thought about it.

Lady Felicity had shown herself to be a woman of substance when facing down a tiger. He could only admire that. There had been no hysterics or faintings, and thank the gods there wasn’t. She hadn’t attempted to run. Anything like that would have done them all in.

He could only think that Rustmont was not worthy of her.

Yes, she was a bit eccentric, but really it only seemed so if one were to compare her to other ladies of the ton . There was a regularity to the ladies of society, as if they all had the same governess. Of course, one could not expect the duke’s children could have had that governess, whoever she was. They lived too remote in the Dales.

As well, she was very pretty.

But, those ideas aside, he must stick to his purpose. He would not be chained! Not even to a lady who was beginning to seem like she had a lot of charms he had not initially been cognizant of.

The duke’s flowers were not in his room long. His father had made a visit and been apoplectic over them, throwing them in the nearest bin. The note, Tigers, eh , was considered more proof of the duke’s derangement.

Finally, by day three, the doctor pronounced him past the danger of a setback and fit to leave the house.

Percy found that as long as he stayed upright and did not lean back on anything, the pain was tolerable. Getting on his horse was not to be attempted though, and so he found himself the borrower of Lady Albright’s carriage. He knew very well that his father would arrive in an hour to take him home, but he did not wish to go home.

He wished to go to White’s. He wished to have a word with Hardwick. That gentleman had waved the roses under Lady Felicity’s nose and was the author of the whole disaster. Percy thought he knew why—he wished to win the bet he’d started in the bet book.

Entering that institution, he went straight to the bet book. The bet on Lady Felicity had been whether or not she would have another sneezing fit. He scanned down the page. It was marked void. Below the bet was the following:

As it has been confirmed that Lord Hardwick:

Did attempt to steer the outcome of the bet in his favor by assaulting Lady Felicity with roses,

And that attempt created great danger to the Duke of Pelham, Lady Felicity, and Mr. Stratton,

And caused grievous injury to Mr. Stratton,

The bet is cancelled. All monies will be returned from whence they came, but for Mr. Hardwick’s, which will go into the club’s coffers. Mr. Hardwick has been asked to resign his membership and has proffered such. May he find his place at Boodles.

Percy had been prepared to give Hardwick a severe dressing down, but there could be no firmer dressing down than a call for resignation and being directed to Boodles. It rather took the wind from his outraged sails.

He wandered into the morning room and found Wiles and Magnon at a table by the window.

“What ho, the returning conqueror,” Magnon said.

Percy made his way over under the glances of everyone else scattered round the room.

“Well, you’re alive,” Wiles said, “that’s something, I suppose.”

“It is something, actually,” Percy said. “You seem to have disappeared like a shot out of that garden.”

Wiles shrugged. “As you should have done. There was a tiger.”

“Who locked the door to the house?” Percy asked. “When we were finally able to get away, the door was locked.”

“That was Lady Albright, I believe,” Wiles said. “She absolutely panicked and forced everyone out the front doors and then carriages were coming, and well, considering she said that nobody can escape a tiger, I did think you were done for. You know, there was nothing more I could do for you.”

“Nothing more , you say. You did nothing at all!”

“I was very sorry about you being trapped out there with a tiger, I did that .”

Percy declined to answer Wiles’ heroics by way of feeling sorry. “What was Rustmont doing, I’d like to know. Where was the brave Corinthian when he was needed?”

“Oh, he called Hardwick an idiot and skipped right out. I believe he may have knocked Lady Mayberry out of the way.”

“I knew it,” Percy said.

“Don’t be so down in the dumps over it, Stratton,” Magnon said. “You’re alive and get to strut around like a big hero. I understand they’re calling you Tiger-Slayer.”

“I didn’t kill the tiger.”

“So what?” Magnon said. “Would you rather be called Tiger-locker-up?”

“Yes, so what?” Wiles said. “And as a further reason to be cheerful, guess who has not showed his face here since? Rustmont.”

“Good. It’s about time people saw him for what he really is. He’s all show.”

A waiter brought Percy a coffee and, oddly, a note on a salver.

He picked it up as Magnon said, “See, you’re famous now, getting notes sent to you at your club.”

“It’s probably from my father. He would have gone to Lady Albright’s to collect me and found me already left. I supposed he guessed where it was I went.”

Percy unfolded the note, but to his surprise it was not from the viscount. He read it twice to be certain of understanding its contents.

Stratton—

Jolly good of you to come to dine this evening, considering… tigers, eh? As agreed, we will see you at eight.

Pelham

“Dinner? When did I agree to go to dinner?”

Magnon took the note and Wiles read it over his shoulder.

“The duke invites you to his house?” Wiles said. “I thought that old rascal could not even remember your name.”

“But he saved the duke’s daughter from a tiger,” Magnon said. “That has to soften anybody’s feelings. Clever he sent the note here, as your father would have torn it to shreds.”

“I really do not remember having any conversation about a dinner,” Percy said.

“Maybe you were delirious from your injuries,” Magnon suggested.

“No,” Percy said thoughtfully, “it was the laudanum. It really mixes a person up. Sometimes I would wake and wonder if it were dawn or sunset. Sometimes a footman would bring in a tray and I thought I’d already eaten. Or vice versa. I’d inquire if Lady Albright planned to starve me to death and then the footman would explain I’d eaten eggs, a pile of bacon, and three rolls just an hour before.”

“Well, you agreed to this dinner, nothing to be done about it now,” Wiles said.

“In any case, it will keep your old soldier on the back foot,” Magnon said. “It will convince him more than ever that you are set on Lady Felicity.”

“Yes, it would,” Percy said. Though, that might not be all it would do.

It might encourage the duke, if he had any ideas of pushing him forward for his daughter.

Percy set his cup down with a clatter. What if Lady Felicity was having the same kind of ideas? It would follow that a lady who had just been saved from imminent death might develop feelings for her rescuer. What if that was where the duke was getting his ideas to begin?

“Oh no,” he said, “I believe Lady Felicity may be falling in love with me.”

Wiles looked rather slack-jawed. Magnon erupted in laughter. “Hoisted by your own petard, Stratton,” he said.

Percy glared at him. He did not have time to compose a retort, though. Before he could say a word, his father’s booming voice made him nearly jump from his chair.

“There you are! Scarpered out of Lady Albright’s? Well I knew where I would find you. Come home. We are to have a quiet dinner this evening where we can rationally talk about your future.”

As his father so little liked to talk in a rational manner, Percy thought that was a pipe dream. It would be a dinner full of rants and raves, his mother’s taunts, and shouts of “I warn you!”

However, he had a way out of it. He picked up the sheet of paper that Magnon had set down on the table. “Unfortunately, I am already engaged. Otherwise, it sounds as if it would have been a delight.”

The viscount snatched it from his hands. He very reliably began huffing and puffing.

“Why should you go to that lunatic’s house? Why did you agree to it?”

“I have no idea why,” Percy said. “I suspect it was the laudanum.”

“Cancel it! Tell him you’re not coming! Tell him you would never have accepted if you had not been drugged out of your senses!”

“It is too late to cancel attending a dinner, as you well know. In any case, I suspect I am just brought in to even out the numbers. As well, I am certain Lady Marchfield will be there and we would not like to offend her in the process of offending the duke.”

“Harumph, I don’t like it.” The viscount said.

Of course, Percy knew he’d complain and complain about it, but in the end the viscount would have no wish to insult Lady Marchfield. Not even if he wished the duke would throw himself in the Thames. Or the oft wished-for idea that he would be discovered dead on the moors. There was something about being a fairly new-minted, titled gentleman that made one cautious about crossing a well-regarded matron. Especially a countess who was the daughter of a duke, even if that countess did not like the current duke very much.

As for his own opinion of apparently having accepted the duke’s invitation, his feelings were rather mixed. He would not mind encountering Lady Felicity again after their recent adventure. Though, he ought not make it a habit.

Was his heart attempting to tell him something his head was not interested in hearing? No, that was ridiculous, He would not be chained. He’d said so many times.

*

Mrs. Right was well-pleased with how things were progressing in the plan to send Mr. Sykes-Wycliff screaming from the house. Her girls had seemed to have done their part, considering the questions she was just now being asked.

“Mrs. Right, I demand to know the full circumstances of what happened to this young footman—Jimmy was his name.”

Demand, does he? All right.

“Very naturally, Mr. Sykes-Wycliff,” Mrs. Right said smoothly, “I will happily answer any questions you may have. I am only trying to understand why there is a question. It was simply an unfortunate accident.”

“So I heard. I want to know how it occurred, exactly. How does a footman get shot in the leg?”

“Well, I suppose we might have predicted it, in retrospect. As always, the men-staff had been given a head start and set out for the moors at dawn. An hour later, the duke followed, the idea being to hunt them down as they ran this way and that. When the duke spotted a servant, he was to fire over the fellow’s head and then they were out of the game and must return to the house. All very amusing.”

“How did it go wrong?” Mr. Sykes-Wycliff whispered.

Mrs. Right made a great attempt to peer at the butler as if he were not very fast on the uptake. “The duke became a bit too… enthusiastic. He was firing in all directions. Jimmy was situated on a cliff above the duke. So, when the duke attempted to fire over his head, he simply didn’t aim high enough. Naturally, he put his gun down instantly when he heard Jimmy scream in agony. The duke was very sorry over it, I can tell you.”

“I suppose he would be! I suppose Jimmy was rather sorry too! But certainly, Mrs. Right, after that disaster such an ill-omened activity would never be tried again.”

“Of course you are right—the duke is nothing if not full of good sense. This year, he’s only going to hunt the servants with his knives. The ones he would use to skin a deer. You know, the really big ones that look like they could chop down a tree.”

“Large knives?”

“He’s only to bring two—one for each hand. As long as everybody is quick on their feet, there should be no harm done.”

“Quick on their feet? Do you mean running?”

“Just so.”

“But Mrs. Right, I am not quick on my feet!”

Mrs. Right seemed to give that information some deep reflection. Then she said, “I know what you ought to do. You ought to practice. You could run round the square every morning after the duke has had his breakfast. That will build you up!”

As she watched Mr. Sykes-Wycliff actually consider this bizarre notion, Mrs. Right had great hopes that the neighbors of Grosvenor Square would very soon see the duke’s deranged butler running round the square to no purpose.

With any luck, he’d keep running and never be seen again.

*

Felicity had been under the impression that they were to have a cozy family evening. It would not be as cozy as they were in the Dales, as Lady Marchfield was coming and would no doubt have a lot to say about Lady Albright’s tiger, but she supposed they could sneak by a few things the lady did not approve of.

Grace might pitch a roll at their father’s head and hit a footman with it instead, which would really cheer the lads. They had always been in the habit of laying bets regarding where the roll would land, and Felicity suspected it was one of the highlights of their evenings.

She also supposed their father would give his usual speech about getting his daughters out of the house as fast as possible and barring the door at Christmas. Then, they could all call him a liar and be very jolly.

They might even stay on at table to keep their father company while he drank his port. Lady Marchfield did not like the habit, but she had seen the results when the duke was left on his own with the bottle and she’d found it very uncomfortable.

All of that seemed very usual, so she was surprised when her father casually said, “By the by, I expect Mr. Stratton will turn up.”

“Turn up?” Felicity asked. “For dinner?”

“Yes, dinner, what else? I sent him a note at his club. I pretended he’d already agreed to it, hah!”

“But why?” Felicity asked.

“Well now, he did come through with that tiger, after all. Mind you, I want all you girls out of my house as fast as possible, but being eaten by a wild animal is extreme, in my view.”

Felicity looked down at her dress, feeling she might have made a different choice if she’d known there would be a guest outside of Lady Marchfield. She wore a neat but plain muslin that did not do anything particular for her.

Of course, there was no reason why she should concern herself over her appearance on account of Mr. Stratton. It was not as if Lord Rustmont was coming.

Felicity paused. Her feelings about those two gentlemen were so mixed up. Her first impressions had been muddled. Lord Rustmont had abandoned her to her fate with the tiger and she dearly wished to encounter him and hear an explanation that washed her doubts away.

Mr. Stratton had not abandoned her. He had saved her. Though that would have been the last thing she would have predicted. And then, she had to admit her feelings had softened toward that gentleman when she’d seen the injuries he had incurred in doing it.

“But Papa,” Valor said, “won’t Mr. Stratton know that he never did agree to come?”

The duke shrugged. “We’ll see. I suspect that the doctor loaded him up with laudanum. If that was the case, he would have believed he could fly if someone told him so in a convincing manner.”

“Do you suppose he will show us his injuries from the tiger?” Winsome asked.

“Certainly not,” Felicity said. “They will be under his clothes.”

Felicity felt a certain flutter at the mention of anything being under Mr. Stratton’s clothes. It was highly ridiculous.

They heard carriage wheels rumble to a stop in front of the house.

“Well then,” the duke said, “here is either Lady Misery, otherwise known as my sister, or it is the tiger-managing mister.”

Felicity found herself unaccountably nervous. She really was making a cake of herself, even if she were the only one to know it.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, she really did not know which, it was Lady Marchfield.

“Roland,” she said in her usual disapproving tone. “Felicity, I was told you were unharmed from that scurrilous evening at Lady Albright’s. I did tell you both not to attend it. I do not see why anybody goes—first it was that stupid monkey assaulting people and now it is a tiger. Somebody ought to put a stop to it.”

“Have a seat, Lady Misery,” the duke said, entirely ignoring her diatribe and seeming pleased that he’d invented a new moniker for her. “We only wait for the mister.”

“Do not call me names, Roland. You are no longer five years old. What mister?”

“Mr. Stratton, Aunt,” Felicity said.

“Mr. Stratton? Why?”

“Because even though Papa wants us all out of the house as fast as possible,” Patience said, “he does not care for the idea of one of us eaten by a tiger.”

They all nodded gravely at this idea, though Lady Marchfield did not seem to see the sentiment in it.

“We were hoping we could have a look at Mr. Stratton’s wounds,” Winsome said, “but Felicity said no because they are under his clothes. We’ve never seen a man’s back, under his clothes.”

“I should say not!” Lady Marchfield exclaimed. She whipped out her fan and took to creating a windstorm on her face.

“We cannot be sure he will come,” Valor said. “Papa only pretended to Mr. Stratton that it was already arranged, and now we have to see if he was drugged up enough to believe it.”

“What?”

Fortunately, or unfortunately, Felicity could not tell which, a second set of carriage wheels was heard stopping.

“Oh Papa!” Patience said, “Mr. Stratton believed you!”

“I am very believable, my girl,” the duke said jovially.

“Really?” Lady Marchfield asked, staring at her brother. “I find you rather unbelievable.”

The duke snorted. Mr. Stratton was led in.