Page 16 of Lady Ferocity (A Series of Senseless Complications #1)

F elicity’s sisters, and Mrs. Right too, had been anxious to get her alone to hear about Lady Llewellyn’s ball. She’d been out very late, and so by the time she rose and went downstairs, her father was in the breakfast room.

While she did not like to keep too many secrets from him, she wished to have a strictly womanly conversation regarding her thoughts about the previous evening.

In any case, the breakfast was taken up with her father’s amusing descriptions of their aunt’s outrage over Mr. Sykes-Wycliff’s departure and then the report that the duke had showered Lady Albright’s great hall with coins and then broken her window.

Lady Marchfield had claimed that if she had the power, she would commit him to the care of a doctor. A doctor, preferably, who endorsed the use of a locked room where the Duke of Pelham would only have the opportunity of harassing himself and not anybody else.

Felicity got the feeling that her aunt would not soon recover from so many close encounters with her father. For years, they had only communicated by letter—Lady Marchfield would write one and the duke would read it, scoff at it, and toss it into the fire. They had got on better when they’d not been in such close quarters.

The duke had ended with, “I think I’ve finally pushed that harridan over the edge. Hopefully her lord will pack her off to the seaside to rest and recover whatever of her faculties she’s got left.”

The duke was further delighted to hear that Lady Albright’s butler had made a weak attempt to return the coins that was handily foiled by his housekeeper. They left him in the breakfast room, musing over whether he ought to carry out his threat of delivering a cartload of bricks.

In the drawing room, they all picked up their sewing, including Mrs. Right, who made repairs to Mrs. Wendover’s torn ear under Valor’s concerned gaze.

“Spill it, Felicity,” Patience said. “We are dying to know everything.”

“What Patience says is true,” Serenity said. “Usually, it is only she who is toe-tapping, but we all are eager to know.”

“Shhh,” Valor whispered. “Mrs. Wendover is having an operation.”

Mrs. Right put in a last stitch and tied it off, cutting the thread. “Mrs. Wendover has come through it and is now resting. She shan’t mind it if we talk.”

Valor took her beloved rabbit and peered down at her. “It’s true, she says yes.”

“There is so much to think about, my mind is in rather a jumble,” Felicity admitted.

“As one would expect,” Verity said, nodding knowingly.

“What do you know about it?” Winsome asked her sister.

“More than you, apparently,” Verity said with a sniff.

“Do tell us, Felicity,” Grace said.

“All right, well, Mr. Stratton was rather forceful with Lord Rustmont when he approached me to put his name down on my card.”

“Did he clobber him right in the face?” Valor asked, cradling her ragged rabbit.

“Heavens, no,” Felicity said laughing. “Lord Rustmont said he was glad to see me looking well and Mr. Stratton said he must mean he was glad to see me looking alive.”

Mrs. Right snorted. “There is a piece of wit for you. I always do like a good wit.”

“Lord Rustmont did not have much to say to it, though he did claim he wished to explain his part in the events of that evening in Lady Albright’s garden.”

“Did he explain himself?” Winsome asked suspiciously. “I cannot imagine how he could.”

“He might have, though,” Verity said.

“He tried, but it was not very satisfactory,” Felicity said.

“Have you gone off him?” Grace asked.

“I rather think I have,” Felicity said. “It was not just that he was not very heroic about the tiger. Papa says he thinks Lord Rustmont’s household will be deadly dull.”

“Deadly dull!” Serenity cried, as if deadly dull was akin to the plague. Which Felicity supposed it was.

Really, that must be all her sisters’ opinion. None of them would tolerate deadly dull.

“It sounds safe,” Valor said to Mrs. Wendover. “We like safe, cozy places, don’t we?”

Well, except for Valor. She was prone to nightmares and so safety was much on her mind. Deadly dull would not put her off.

“And then,” Felicity went on, “I asked Lord Rustmont a few questions regarding how a wife might be treated and did not care for his answers.”

“That’s it for him, then,” Mrs. Right said.

“Did Mr. Stratton take you into supper?” Grace asked.

Felicity nodded. “He did. I asked him the very same questions and I very much approved of his answers. As well, I really believe Mr. Stratton understands our papa.”

“That is very encouraging,” Grace said. “I have begun to think that not many people do.”

“It’s so true,” Felicity said, “they cannot see past the… pence throwing. And the padlock throwing. And the insult throwing.”

“But our papa does not mean any of it,” Valor said. “When he says we cannot come home for Christmas, Patience always says we can and she’ll break down the door if she has to.”

“I’ll do it, too,” Patience said, nodding. “Papa knows the truth of it.”

“You are not to worry about it, Valor,” Felicity said. “It just amuses Papa to say such things. He would miss us terribly if we did not come for Christmastide.”

“The duke does enjoy the holidays. As far as I’m concerned, if someone cannot understand your father’s original way of thinking, then what can they understand?” Mrs. Right said, shaking her head.

“You did say, right from the start, Felicity,” Winsome said, “that Mr. Stratton was handsome. We’ve seen the proof with our own eyes and he really is.”

“He has very nice conversations about the weather,” Valor said. “At least, that was my personal experience.”

Of course, Felicity did remember how kind Mr. Stratton had been in taking Valor’s attempts at conversation seriously.

Are you falling in hopeless love with Mr. Stratton?” Serenity asked breathlessly. “I should just cry if you were.”

Felicity twisted her hands together. “I don’t know if I would say hopeless ,” she mumbled.

*

“Your mother seems to think you are set on Lady Felicity,” Percy’s father said in a challenging tone.

“I am not surprised,” Percy said. “I have said I was.”

Percy did not elaborate on his earlier idea of preferring Lady Felicity though she preferred Wiles. As far as he was concerned, Wiles was out of it.

“You know my opinion of that family. How can you not see it? Do you know what was told to me at the club? It is said that the duke hurled coins into Lady Albright’s front hall, for some deranged reason. Oh, and that was not enough—he then shattered one of her drawing room windows!”

“Indeed, Lady Felicity was there and saw it all,” Percy said, suppressing his laughter.

“She was there and does not mind advertising it. Very typical of that family, I think.”

“Lady Albright sent the duke a bill, on account of Lady Felicity dripping blood on her sofa. My blood, if you will remember.”

“Why would she sit on somebody’s furniture if she’s got blood on her dress?” the viscount said, determinedly ignoring the cause of the blood.

“Why would Lady Albright put guests in the vicinity of a tiger that was not properly secured?”

“Well, as to that… why is that duke not dead on the moors like we all hoped? Or dead by way of Lady Albright’s tiger? Or just gone?”

“You would probably like him if you got to know him,” Percy said. “Or at least stop wishing he was dead.”

“Do not tell me who I wish dead! What about this report that the duke took his own sister to a cyprian’s party and left her there? I could hardly countenance it, but Lord Wainwright swears it is true!”

“I believe that it is true, though I am not entirely sure how either of them ended up there. I imagine it’s a funny story.”

“A funny story?” the viscount said, looking incredulous. “Somehow, you cannot see what they are.” The viscount paused and a slow look of horror overcame his features. “My God, you are becoming like them, that’s why you cannot perceive their derangement.”

Percy shrugged. “The things that family get up to are all relatively harmless,” he said. “What does it matter if they’ve driven off their butler or Lady Felicity wishes to bake cakes and be called Tulip? It hurts nobody.”

Considering that his father staggered and collapsed into a chair, Percy thought he might have refrained from mentioning those oddities.

“I can just imagine the poor butler ran screaming from the premises,” the viscount whispered. “Why wouldn’t he? Lady Felicity imagines herself the cook and does not even remember her own name.”

“No, she is perfectly aware of her own name and I do not know who she referred to as far as the cake-making goes.”

“Who else could she refer to? Of course it was herself!”

Percy did not answer, as he did not have any strong feelings either for or against either one of Lady Felicity’s ideas. “I must be off,” he said to his father.

His father sputtered. Just at that moment, the viscountess entered the room. “Ah, here you two are. Oh, now what is this?” she asked, looking back and forth between them.

“What this is,” the viscount said, “is me explaining, though it hardly needs explaining, that Lady Felicity must not be considered. And what does he say to it? She bakes cakes, thinks her name is Tulip, and he must be off. That is what you have walked in on!”

“Goodness, you are beginning to sound hysterical, dear. One of these days you are going to drive yourself to a nervous collapse.”

“I warn you!” the viscount shouted.

As his father pointlessly warned his mother, Percy said, “I must retrieve my gloves.” Said gloves were in his hand but it got him out of the room. Rather than jog up the stairs he bolted out the front doors. He was off to White’s to clear up one little matter. It was essential to inform Magnon and Wiles regarding where the case stood between himself and Lady Felicity.

Fortunately, he’d called his horse before encountering his father and it was waiting for him. He leapt into the saddle and trotted down the street, leaving behind the shouts of “I warn you.”

Someday, his father was bound to notice that the viscountess considered his warnings no more uncomfortable than shaking water off a duck’s back—the viscount made himself hoarse for nothing. In the meantime, Percy could not imagine what the neighbors thought about all his warnings.

White’s was rather full, as it was the late afternoon and a moment for gentlemen who were idling away the time before they must go home to prepare for whatever evening entertainments their wives had accepted on their behalf. Some would sensibly drink coffee or tea, and then some felt the need for something stronger before they faced their households. Lord Perry sometimes drank so much fortification that he never made it home at all. The joke about that gentleman was if one invited him to a dinner, one had better be prepared to remove an empty chair at the last possible moment.

Percy made his way into the coffee room and spotted Magnon. A number of gentlemen nodded approvingly at him as he crossed the room. He sat down and said, “It seems I am resurrected as the tiger slayer, at least it appears so considering the looks coming my way just now.”

Magnon stretched out his legs under the table. “Perhaps,” he said, “but the bigger news is it has gone about that you put down Rustmont. Everybody is tickled over the comment that he might be pleased to see Lady Felicity alive , rather than just looking well.”

Percy laughed. “I did say that, though I did not realize it was overheard.”

“Apparently, Rustmont has very suddenly realized he has an old aunt in Dorset who requires his attention. I believe you are being credited for driving him out of Town.”

“He drove himself out of Town,” Percy said. “The masterful Corinthian, running like a rabbit.”

“Hmm, well, it seems a fellow like Rustmont has an Achilles heel—he cannot laugh at himself. Or worse, be laughed at. I suppose he’d rather die than look foolish.”

“If that is the case, one wonders why he didn’t face the tiger and die when he had the chance.”

“I’ve also heard the Duke of Pelham took his own unique revenge on Lady Albright for nearly killing his daughter.”

“The pence and the padlock,” Percy said, laughing. “The cause, though, was a bill Lady Albright sent about a bloodied sofa.”

Magnon shook his head. “You’d think she would know better than to tangle with the duke. I would not try it myself.”

“Nor I, though he is perhaps a deeper character than he lets on. I am beginning to get the feeling that there is a point to the things he does.”

“And how goes it with his daughter? Have you convinced your parents of your hopeless adoration that can go nowhere because Lady Felicity prefers Wiles?”

Percy hesitated. The entire point of tracking down his friends was to inform them that the ruse was off. Now that it came to it, though, he found it hard to say.

Nevertheless, it must be said.

“My father understands that I prefer Lady Felicity, and furthermore, it is the truth. I do prefer her. As truth.”

“Truth? Since when do you go in for the truth when it comes to the marriage mart?”

“Since… lately.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“What happened to the oft sworn vow— I will not be chained ?”

“I stand by that, obviously,” Percy said. “It is just that I do not believe Lady Felicity is the type of lady to use chains. Don’t ask me about it any further—that is my final opinion!”

“The forced proximity has done you in.”

“Maybe.”

“Does the lady know of your changed feelings?”

“I cannot be sure.”

“Will you tell her?”

“Of course I’ll tell her. What else am I to do? Not tell her? It would be rather eccentric to not tell her. A gentleman worth his salt does not go round not telling people things.” Percy stopped himself before he rambled any further. If he could hear the ridiculousness of it, he was sure Magnon could too.

“All right, all right,” Magnon said, his tone full of amusement.

“In any case,” Percy said, “she can never know of my part of the ruse. As far as Lady Felicity is concerned, the ruse was to stir up some jealousy in Rustmont, who I now think she disdains. That’s the end of it. I do not wish her to know that I may have had… my own reasons. Initially.”

“Which are not reasons anymore.”

“That’s right. Now, where is Wiles?”

“I do not know. He is usually here at this time of day.”

“Well, I cannot stay longer. It is the Marchioness of Glastonheld’s dinner this evening. Lady Felicity and the duke will attend it, as will Lord and Lady Marchfield.”

“Do you suppose the duke and Lady Marchfield will come to blows?”

Percy shrugged. “There’s no telling, really. Do you not attend?”

“No, my mother committed me to Lady Jericho’s musical evening. Think of me suffering through a dozen awkward performances while you have your dinner. Wiles will be with you, though.”

“I’ll speak to him there when I can get a private word. In the meantime, if you see him here be sure to tell him… what I’ve said… what the situation is.”

“Ah yes, Mr. Percy Stratton is hopelessly in love with Lady Felicity Nicolet.”

“I did not say hopelessly ,” Percy mumbled before leaping out of his chair and hurrying away.

*

Mrs. Right knew very well that the duke would once more be in close quarters with Lady Marchfield. That lady had accepted a dinner invitation on behalf of herself, her lord, the duke, and Felicity ages ago and it was marked in the calendar clear as day.

Perhaps any other person would wish things smoothed between the duke and Lady Marchfield. Mrs. Right was not any other person, though. She was determined to trip up Lady Marchfield at every step—it had been an effort to drive Mr. Sykes-Wycliff from the house and she had no wish to begin again with some new fellow that lady dug up.

Before Mr. Sykes-Wycliff had left the house, Mrs. Right had paid him a visit as he packed his belongings. She’d brought in tea to soothe him and sent the footman away.

As he was conveniently distraught, she’d suggested that he write Lady Marchfield a strongly worded letter in which he expressed all of his outrage. After all, she said, Lady Marchfield had all along known of the irregularities of the duke and his household. In truth, the lady took pleasure in sending unsuspecting butlers into the house and she laid bets with her lord regarding how long each of them would last. Mr. Sykes-Wycliff was the fifth.

The butler had been much struck by that piece of misinformation. He’d been told by Lady Marchfield that there had not been a butler on the scene for above five years. He’d been lied to! He’d been sent into a dragon’s den for someone else’s amusement! He’d been used in the worst possible way while Lady Marchfield laughed behind her fan! It was as if he were nothing at all. It was as if he had no feelings!

Mr. Sykes-Wycliff’s outrage spilled out into a letter, and what a letter it was. As he wrote it, Mrs. Right told him ever more terrible things about how he had been badly used.

He had ended the missive with: “Your actions have been disgraceful, Madam. I do not leave a forwarding address because I never wish to encounter you or your extended relations again in my lifetime.”

Mrs. Right was pleased as Punch with it and assured Mr. Sykes-Wycliff that she would have it delivered for him. Then she’d taken it, not folded or sealed it, and arranged to have it delivered an hour before the lady would set off for dinner at the Marchioness of Glastonheld’s house.

Leaving it unfolded and unsealed was really the stroke of genius in the whole thing. It would be received by a footman, or maybe the lady’s butler, who would lay it on a silver salver. But what man or boy could resist reading it when it was there to be read? Delightfully, no man or boy could resist peeking, and Lady Marchfield would know that all those insults about her, coming from another household’s butler, were known to her staff.

The icing on the whole scheme was that Lady Marchfield would detect Mrs. Right’s hand in it. Lady Marchfield would see that it could become uncomfortable to cross the duke’s housekeeper.

Mrs. Right had every hope that there would be steam coming out of that lady’s ears.