Page 15 of Lady Ferocity (A Series of Senseless Complications #1)

F elicity was quite impressed with Mr. Stratton just now. He’d been waiting near the doors for her arrival, had handled her father with good humor, and when it came to Lord Rustmont… Well, she must think that Mr. Stratton had kept the upper hand in that exchange. It was beginning to seem as if there were more to Mr. Stratton than she’d originally thought.

Felicity paused. What did he think, though? He seemed to like her, but that had been their original agreement. He was to trail her about to make Lord Rustmont jealous, thereby driving that lord to her side.

It was just, she found herself not entirely certain she wished Lord Rustmont to be driven to her side. Did Mr. Stratton like her? Or was he a consummate actor, enjoying his part in the ruse?

Mr. Stratton had since brought her to her father. Lord Rustmont was down for her first and would collect her soon. Mr. Stratton said he would take his leave as he could not be trusted to be civil to that gentleman.

She’d quite liked that, actually. Mr. Stratton’s incivility was very attractive. For that matter, her father rather approved of this new, more unbuttoned, Mr. Stratton.

Felicity had watched him stride away and noticed he did not approach another lady, but rather his friend, Mr. Wiles.

“Lady Misery blew her tiara off when I gave her the news of her butler,” the duke said, enjoying looking back on that encounter. “Then I went right into the pence and broken window at Lady Albright’s house—she was staggered!”

“Oh dear, where is my aunt now, Papa?” Felicity asked. “I do not wish to be scolded on your behalf.”

“She’s making the rounds; she wants to ensure everybody knows she was tricked into attending a cyprian’s party and that her wretched brother left her there. She intends to drag my name through the mud, but we’re from the Dales—what care we for a bit of mud?”

“Really, Papa, you ought not to have left her at that party.”

“And ruin Mrs. Right’s diabolical plan?” the duke asked. “I admire our housekeeper’s diabolical plans—she saves me no end of trouble. I do not want a butler, and one, two, three, I don’t have a butler.”

Felicity could not argue that. Mrs. Right was the backbone of the house. She was housekeeper and mother and butler combined. Most of all, she understood the duke as well as his own daughters did.

“Young Stratton seems in spirits this evening,” the duke said.

“Indeed he is,” Felicity said. “He was very naughty in teasing Lord Rustmont for not staying behind to face the tiger.”

“Hah!” the duke said, “as well he should. Those like Rustmont are all the same—they put on a good show but when it comes to it, they’re good for nothing. On top of that, he seems a rather sour sort of fellow.”

“Sour?”

“Oh you know what I mean—all wrapped up in his dignity with a damp blanket of seriousness. His household will be as dull as dirt.”

Dull as dirt. That had not been at all what Felicity had imagined. She’d somehow conceived the idea that life with Lord Rustmont would be one of romance and daring. He would be adoring clay in her hands, but her hands only. As for the rest of the world, he’d be rushing off to one Corinthian thing after the next, all with that one sardonic brow raised.

“Whatever you do, Felicity, do not choose a humorless man. You are too prone to fun to tolerate it.”

Humorless. Is that what Lord Rustmont was? She had taken his serious mien as manly maturity… or something like that.

“Here he comes, Lord Rusty.”

Felicity turned and found Lord Rustmont, looking as grim as ever. Still, she could not entirely dismiss her earlier feelings. He was very handsome and he might prove to redeem himself. Perhaps.

“Your Grace. Lady Felicity,” he said, holding out his arm for her hand.

“Cheer up, Rustmont,” the duke said, laughing.

Lord Rustmont looked startled. He really did not understand her father’s temperament.

She laid her hand on his arm and he led her to their places.

“Lady Felicity, I believe I must address at once the shocking events that occurred at Lady Albright’s party.”

Felicity stayed silent, as she very much agreed with him.

“It was a very chaotic moment, and when Lady Albright locked the door to the garden, I believed everyone had escaped. I then asked her how we were to go about securing the tiger. That was when she informed me that there was nothing to be done at that moment. She had sent a footman to retrieve meat from the kitchens, and he was to go round the back wall of the garden and throw it through the bars into its cage, hoping to lure it back in. He had a long hook he was to use to reach through the bars to shut the cage door.”

“So,” Felicity said slowly, “you did not know there was anyone trapped out there?”

“Not… initially. It did then come out that there were three persons still out there. I told the lady I would retrieve my pistols, but she said they would be useless against a tiger’s hide and would simply enrage the beast. Lady Albright did assure me though that there was nothing to be done. The tiger would either attack or not, and an attack could not be stopped.”

Felicity was not certain how she felt about that explanation. “I must point out, Lord Rustmont, that Mr. Stratton did stop an attack.”

Lord Rustmont looked uncomfortable to have it mentioned. “Yes, well, I suppose none of us could have known a thrown shawl would lure the creature back into his cage.”

Felicity did not point out that Mr. Stratton had known it. That was why he’d done it. She was not entirely satisfied with Lord Rustmont. He was less the conquering hero than she would expect a Corinthian to be. Nevertheless, it was one incident and not a situation that would be likely to ever occur again.

Perhaps she ought to take her father’s advice and attempt to discover more about Lord Rustmont. Was he as humorless and staid as the duke imagined him to be? How he was in the day to day of life was bound to be more important than how he was when a tiger turned up.

The orchestra began to play and they stood waiting their turn as another couple danced their steps. She did not know the couple, but they seemed very admiring of one another. She wished she felt the same.

“Lord Rustmont,” she said, “I recently heard of an interesting situation and would like to hear your opinion of it. It seems a lady decided she wished to learn how to bake cakes. I do not know how her lord viewed it.”

“Deuced odd, is how he viewed it if he has any sense.”

“So you would not tolerate such an interest?” Felicity asked. It was their turn and Lord Rustmont led her in the steps.

“I would wonder why a lady had taken such an idea into her head. What next? Are the couple to host a dinner and she will be in the kitchens, cooking the roasted beef? It all sounds very eccentric.”

“And you do not approve of eccentricity?”

“I do not, Lady Felicity. Eccentricity is an indulgence. It may be acceptable for a dowager of high standing to trot it out on occasion, but that is the limit.”

“I see, so I suppose if that same lady became dissatisfied with her name, if she preferred to be called another name, that would be eccentric too.”

“In the extreme,” Lord Rustmont said grimly.

“Well tell me then, what could a lady do to exercise some power over herself and her life?”

Lord Rustmont looked at her quizzically. “Lady Felicity, do you hint that you, yourself, have thought of venturing to the kitchens to attempt to bake a cake?”

“Not in the slightest, Lord Rustmont.” She noticed he seemed very relieved to hear it. “But, you never know,” she said. “If the idea ever came over me, I’d like to know I could do it without censure.”

*

Mrs. Right had been having a very comfortable evening. Mr. Sykes-Wycliff was gone so she could put her feet up in the drawing room without that fellow fanning himself over it.

The duke and Felicity had gone out, and so she spent an entertaining evening with the rest of her girls, playing charades. It finally had to come to an end when Valor began guessing everything was a tiger—a sure sign the little mite was overtired.

Valor had been tucked in her bed with the company of Mrs. Wendover, though Mrs. Right had begun thinking of ways to slip that worn stuffed rabbit away and make further repairs to it. One of the ears was only hanging on by a few threads. It was always a tricky operation, as Valor was convinced that repairs were a comment on Mrs. Wendover’s looks and hurt her feelings.

Just now, Mrs. Right and the older girls were lounging all over the drawing room while Grace read from one of her gothic novels. It seemed an innocent ingénue was hiding in her wardrobe on account of hearing far-off screams that sounded very ghostly.

There was a sudden pounding on the front doors, which startled them all. Grace dropped the book and it hit the floor. Charlie ran to answer it and they sat in some trepidation, waiting for him to return. It was all well and good to read a gothic novel, but rather frightening when it was followed by an unexpected pounding on the doors.

Charlie returned and said breathlessly, “It is somebody from Lady Albright’s house, the butler I think, and he demands to return the nine pounds in pence that the duke delivered this evening.”

“Oh he wishes to return it, does he?” Mrs. Right said. She did not know why the fellow would wish to return it, but as a rule she was against anybody crossing the duke’s wishes. She must assume that if the duke dropped off the pence, he did not want it back again.

Charlie nodded. “He says he has packed it all in a sack, as Lady Albright was too dignified to engage in the duke’s shenanigans by throwing it all over our great hall.”

Mrs. Right chuckled over the idea that the duke had sprayed Lady Albright’s great hall with nine pounds of pence. Then she sprang to her feet. “I will deal with this person. Stand aside, Charlie.”

She marched out to the hall with her girls trailing behind to see what she would do. Mrs. Right found a very butlerish individual standing there, holding a sack with two hands.

“I’ll take that,” she said, grabbing the sack from his hands. It was indeed heavier than she’d expected, but she would not be put off.

“Thank you, madam,” the butlerish fellow said.

“See if you’ll thank me when I’m done with you,” Mrs. Right said genially.

The butler staggered at this response.

“Charlie, follow me,” Mrs. Right said, charging out of doors. She stormed toward the waiting carriage. “Open the door, Charlie.”

Charlie rather happily did as he was bid. Mrs. Right overturned the sack into the carriage, coins bouncing in every direction.

She shut the door against them and turned to the butler. “I imagine the duke will be very put out to hear about this,” she said threateningly. “What I can’t imagine is what he’ll do about it.”

The butler, who had hurried out to the pavement, went white as a sheet. “I did tell Lady Albright what he said about bringing bricks next time,” he whispered to himself.

“Begone with you,” Mrs. Right said, “and my advice is, don’t come back or it’ll be the worse for you.”

The butler hurried to the carriage. Charlie opened the door for him and the fellow climbed in as a raining of pence fell to the road. Lady Albright’s coachman appeared to be disgusted to be involved in the whole palaver and started his team. They were gone, with handfuls of coins scattered and gleaming in the moonlight.

“You might as well gather up what’s been left behind, Charlie, and divide it up downstairs.”

Charlie nodded with enthusiasm. Mrs. Right nodded back—sending unexpected money downstairs was just one of the many reasons she was, and would remain, the beloved ruler of the duke’s household.

All in all, it had been a more entertaining evening than she’d been anticipating.

*

Percy had not particularly planned on putting down his name on other ladies’ cards, he’d hoped he might just fade into the background at the edges of the ballroom floor and watch Lady Felicity.

However, it became apparent, via Lady Llewellyn, that there were quite a few young ladies who did not have their cards filled. It was a hostess’s nightmare to see unattached young ladies sitting out a set. After all, it was embarrassing for the young lady and highly irritating to her parents.

Therefore, like any good hostess, she had commandeered both him and Wiles, along with other gentlemen, to get going in different directions, asking to be put on cards. No young lady was to be left behind.

Percy did not fault the hostess for it. Lady Llewellyn was doing her duty and so he must do his. He put a great amount of stock into the idea that manners greased the wheels of society and they required everyone to pull in the same direction.

Or at least most people pulled in the same direction. He did not suppose anybody in the wide world could direct the duke on which direction to pull.

Nevertheless, he did keep an eye on Lady Felicity when he could. Particularly when she’d danced with Rustmont. He’d been gratified to see that it did not appear that whatever excuse he’d made for himself had been joyfully received.

Lady Felicity was too clever to believe that fellow’s excuses.

Now, he’d taken her through the set and she was as graceful as ever. He’d hinted around about what might have been her conversation with Rustmont. All she would say about it was she supposed it could be true. What the gentleman had actually said, though, remained a mystery.

Lady Llewellyn’s dining room was far superior to Almack’s, that lady having no notion of making her guests suffer. There was white soup, cold meats, pickled vegetables, warm rolls with herbed, compounded butter, scalloped potatoes, chops, potted meats, several types of broiled fish, beef tartlets, roasted fowls, and most importantly, plenty of good wines. That was where Almack’s fell down the hardest in Percy’s opinion. Though he’d been shocked that the duke had brought a flask of brandy into that institution, he also thought that serving lemonade at anything outside of a picnic was an abomination.

They had their wine glasses filled, Percy choosing the claret and Lady Felicity choosing the Canary.

“Mr. Stratton,” Lady Felicity said, “I recently heard of an interesting situation and would hear your own thoughts on it. It seems a lady has suddenly become interested in baking cakes and has begun visiting her kitchens to do so. What do you suppose her lord makes of it?”

Percy could only imagine that Lady Felicity herself had developed a sudden interest in baking. After all, in what household could a lady march down to the kitchens and be up to her elbows in flour, but for the Duke of Pelham’s?

“I do not suppose there is any harm in it,” he said. “Except—”

“Except?”

“Except, the cook’s feelings must be taken into consideration. Is he insulted because it is a hint that his own cakes are not up to snuff? Is he put out that his domain has been invaded without so much as a by your leave?”

“The cook, I hadn’t thought…”

“Yes, well, they can be touchy and get hot at the drop of a hat, the good ones can anyway. And then, I really do feel that once you have given over some of the household’s rooms to staff, you cannot just march into them at will. The kitchens, pantries, servants’ quarters, the servants’ hall, the valet’s wardrobes, butler’s closets, the cellars—all are forever off limits.”

“Oh yes, I see, that is very true,” Lady Felicity said thoughtfully.

Percy hoped that if she did plan on invading the kitchens, she’d smooth it over with the cook first.

“And then I heard another thing I could not really decide on,” Lady Felicity said.

Gad, where was she going next? The stables? If she intended on imposing on the stablemaster, that would be another thing entirely.

“I heard of a lady who became dissatisfied with her given name. She wished to be called another name. In the privacy of her own house, of course.”

Percy had rather strong feelings on that subject. “Lady Felicity, I have very decided opinions on that question.”

“You do?”

“I do. It is one of the great injustices that a person is given a name before they have the faculties to rail against it. My own name was my grandfather’s and so I do not like to disparage it, but I do not care for it.”

“Percy. It is Percy.”

Though he did not in fact like his given name much, it was very affecting to hear Lady Felicity speak it.

“So you do think that a person ought to be able to change their name at will?”

“I do think it,” Percy said.

“And what would you have chosen if you could have picked for yourself?”

“Henry. Or Jonathan. Or Charles. Something very usual.”

“Hmm. I will admit that I did not initially like the name Percy.”

There, she’d said his name again, even though she did not like it.

“I thought, at first,” she said, “that if I had a goldfish, I might name it Percy.”

A goldfish. Was he to be relegated to a goldfish? He’d not thought the name as bad as that.

“But over time,” Lady Felicity said, “it really has grown on me. I do not think I would like you to be a Henry or Jonathan or Charles. It would not suit.”

“Well then, I will stay as I am.”

“Yes, and if I ever decided I would wish to be named Tulip, you would not be against it?”

Percy laughed. “Tulip, Daisy, Marigold, Violet, whatever flower strikes your fancy.”

He could not work out precisely why, but Lady Felicity seemed enormously pleased to hear it.