Page 17 of Lady Ferocity (A Series of Senseless Complications #1)

F elicity had dressed carefully this evening. The night was unusually cold, so she’d chosen a lightweight velvet in a bronze color with small red garnets edging the sleeves and bodice. It was modern, and yet its generous cap sleeves and discreetly gathered skirt gave off a somehow older air, as if she might be a lady-in-waiting in a Plantagenet court. The modiste claimed the color of the velvet did something well for her, as it was in the same range as her hair and eyes—it created a pleasing whole. She wore her mother’s ruby necklace to compliment the garnets.

Mrs. Right had worked on her hair, quietly chuckling to herself. Felicity was certain the housekeeper had some plan in the works, but with Mr. Sykes-Wycliff gone from the house she could not imagine what it was. She did not trouble herself over it, their dear Mrs. Right always told them what they needed to know when it was time to know it. Felicity’s sisters had piled on her bed as she got dressed, with only a minor scuffle between Verity and Winsome and gentle tipping over from Grace.

Valor had been carrying Mrs. Wendover around all day, as that rabbit was just now in recovery from her recent operation. She gazed down at her stuffed companion and said, “Felicity, Mrs. Wendover wants to know if you will tell Mr. Stratton that you are hopelessly in love with him.”

“Excellent question,” Grace said. “Brava, Mrs. Wendover.”

Felicity did not need to look in the glass to see that her face would just now resemble the ruby round her neck. Mrs. Wendover could be uncomfortably inquiring.

“You can tell us, Felicity,” Serenity said. “We can keep a secret.”

“But you will end up weeping over it,” Patience pointed out to Serenity.

“I will say it was the sunset that affected me,” Serenity said. “Nobody shall know the real cause.”

“That’s believable,” Verity said.

“Stop arguing and let Felicity speak,” Grace said.

Felicity had been hoping they’d keep arguing and entirely forget the point of why they began arguing. Grace was too clever for it, though.

“I will not be saying anything of the sort to Mr. Stratton. I do not even know what my true feelings are, and I will not know until a gentleman declares himself. That is how it is done, I’ve been told.”

“Ah, I detect the ideas of that governess you all had,” Mrs. Right said. “She was an over-romantic soul—forever talking about knights and courtly love. I expect that’s where you got the idea.”

“Miss Pynchon,” Verity said laughing. “The note she left behind—”

Patience snorted. “One word—Goodbye!”

“But Mrs. Right,” Felicity said, concern creeping into her voice, “Miss Pynchon was correct? I am not to entirely know my feelings until something is said?”

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Right said. “Your feelings are your feelings, not some strange flock of birds that come flying in when a gentleman has declared himself. They are there all along. No, I suppose Miss Pynchon meant to say that you keep them under wraps until something is said. To avoid advertising disappointed hopes, which makes a girl look silly.”

Felicity imagined Mrs. Right must be correct. It did sound more realistic to know oneself ahead of time, rather than having feelings suddenly wash over one because a gentleman spoke.

What she did know of her feelings was that they had grown for Mr. Stratton. Mr. Percy Stratton. She’d even grown to like his name and would lay down her life before she allowed any of her sisters to name a goldfish Percy, though she’d threatened to do so herself.

And then, when she thought of the idea that he would not speak it was very discomfiting. Though she had at first viewed Lord Rustmont as the height of romance, Mr. Stratton had risked his life to save her from a terrible tiger-related death. He’d gravely injured himself to do it. What was more romantic than that?

Perhaps not blinking an eye if she decided to bake a cake or insist on being called Tulip was even more romantic. She found she very much liked his easygoing manner. Of course his looks, well, everybody could see he was handsome.

One of the housemaids poked her head in the door. “Mrs. Right, I thought you’d wish to know—His Grace has just poured a third brandy.”

“Gracious, thank you, Letty!” Felicity said, hopping up from her dressing table.

“Yes, good heavens,” Mrs. Right said, “it is well that your father has greased the pig, as it were, but he can go too far.”

With that, they all hurried downstairs.

*

Percy had quietly walked his horse down the mews and handed him over to a groom. Then he’d slipped through the servants’ door in the back garden and up to his bedchamber without detection.

Without detection from his father at any rate. He’d given a kitchen maid a scare, but once she realized what he was doing the saucy girl had winked and pressed a forefinger over her lips.

Radcliff had been waiting for him.

“He’s been looking out for you all afternoon,” his valet said. “He questioned me about where you went and where you were going this evening. He even proposed driving by the duke’s house to see if you had called there.”

Percy laughed. “I do not suppose he had a particular plan for what to do when he would have arrived to that house.”

“No, I think that’s what held him back from doing it. That, along with the viscountess pointing out that the duke would make some sort of joke about it and tell people Lord Denderby had been haunting his house, wishing to be invited inside.”

Percy nodded. “I suppose my mother was then promptly warned to no purpose.”

“Precisely.”

“Does he know where I am engaged this evening?”

“No, I hid the invitation and blacked it out on your calendar in case he looked.”

“Good man. I’ll go back out the way I came in and he’ll be none the wiser.”

“So this is it? You will defy your father, and your own plans I might add, and secure Lady Felicity?”

“Do not be so nosy. I will do what I will do when I decide to do it and that is all.”

Radcliff smirked. “I see. Have you sent flowers? That way, when you do what you will do when you decide to do it, you do not take her unawares?

“Flowers? Are you mad? They make her sneeze. What sort of gentleman would I be if I set out to make her sneeze, I wonder?”

“Ah yes, the sneezing. Well, I suppose you’ll want one of your best coats.”

“Naturally.”

“And a spectacular Radcliff knot.”

“Of course.”

Radcliff seemed much cheered by even the mention of his knot. “They see it, they want it for themselves, and they cannot have it!” he whispered to himself. “They’ll never figure out how it’s done.”

His valet had since crept down and back up the servants’ stairs with a pitcher of hot water, Percy was cleaned up and dressed, capping off his attire with the wondrous Radcliff knot.

Getting out of the house should have been as straightforward as getting into it, but that was not the case. He was once more waylaid by his father.

It seemed the saucy kitchen maid could not help telling the cook of Percy’s slipping in, who in turn told the butler, who in turn told the viscount.

The crafty old soldier had the door to the servants’ stairs locked and Percy was forced to use the main staircase. The viscount had been waiting for him in the great hall.

“That’s it!” the viscount shouted. “You are not to set foot out of this house until you’ve taken in some sense!”

The viscountess, hearing the shouting, came out from the drawing room. “Stratton, I did not even know you were at home,” she said.

“Neither of us would know,” the viscount said, “as he crept in through the servants’ entrance like a housebreaker.”

“Father,” Percy said, “I am going to be late for the Marchioness of Glastonheld’s dinner.”

“I don’t care whose dinner! I don’t care if it is the queen’s dinner.”

“Do not be ridiculous, of course you would care if it were the queen’s dinner,” the viscountess said laughing.

“I warn you!”

“Of what, pray?” the viscountess asked.

Percy pressed his lips together to stop himself from laughing. He suspected his mother had been saving up that question for twenty years.

Naturally, his father did not answer her. He’d been vaguely warning her throughout their marriage and was not about to start explaining himself now.

“Do not set foot out of this house, Stratton,” the viscount said. “Consider that an order.”

Percy had no intention of remaining in the house. “I am afraid that is not possible. And really, Father, what will you do when I leave?”

“What will I do? You wish to know what I will do?”

“That’s what he said, darling. What will you do?” the viscountess said, clearly enjoying the viscount’s discomfiture.

“I will cut you off. You can live penniless until I am dead and I will not be dead for a very long time!”

“So you keep threatening…” the viscountess said quietly.

Before his father could shout another warning at his mother, Percy said, “With any luck, Lady Felicity will agree to wed. You know how eccentric the duke is—I doubt he will mind having a son-in-law join his household.”

The viscount seemed dumbstruck to hear it. As well he might. Percy had no idea if that was even close to the truth. The duke advertised far and wide that he was looking to unload all of his daughters. Though Percy did not take that too seriously, it was unlikely that leaving Town at the end of the season with more young people than he’d arrived with would fit in with his plans.

“You see what you are doing, my dear?” the viscountess asked. “You are driving him into the lady’s arms. You are creating a Romeo and Juliet situation. Really very amateurish, if you ask me.”

The viscount spun around to his wife. “Oh really? Amateurish? And what would you do about this?”

The viscountess shrugged. “I haven’t any idea.”

“I really must be off,” Percy said. “I am already going to have to apologize for my lateness, I do not wish to insult the marchioness any more than I have to.”

He strode toward the front doors, making two silent bets. One, his father would not attempt to physically stop him. Two, the stables would have brought his horse round on Radcliff’s direction.

The viscount did not attempt to stop him and that was a relief. As determined as Percy was, he could not envision wrestling his own father. His horse was saddled and ready to go.

Now, he must hurry. He really was going to be late.

He was halfway to the Marchioness’ house when his horse threw a shoe. It was as if the fates conspired against him to keep him away from this dinner.

Percy dismounted and took the reins, fast-walking his horse to her square.

*

Felicity could not imagine why Mr. Stratton had not turned up, nor sent a note of explanation to the marchioness.

Her father was in grand spirits—one, because he was certain Mrs. Right was up to something, and two, because her aunt’s expression was one of fury. They were all just now milling round the drawing room waiting to go through and the duke kept attempting to catch his sister’s eye while waving at her.

The Marchioness of Glastonheld approached. Felicity had already been introduced to her and found her a very genial lady. “My dear duke,” she said, “I did receive your note earlier in the day requesting a certain arrangement? But it seems the arrangement in question has not arrived.”

Felicity stared at her father. Certainly, it must be something to do with Mr. Stratton, as he had not yet arrived.

“Where is that devilish colt?” the duke asked. “I had hoped, Felicity, that Stratton would take you in.”

“Oh, I see,” Felicity said quietly. Her father was such a dear to think of it, and also had no notion of how embarrassing it was to hear it mentioned.

“I do not know what has happened,” the marchioness said, “but Mr. Stratton’s manners tend toward the perfect so I expect it will all be explained. For now, though, Lady Felicity, I will put you in the capable hands of Mr. Wiles. He is a friend of Mr. Stratton’s and that is the best we can do just this minute.”

Felicity nodded her gratitude, though she was not particularly grateful. Mr. Wiles was a perfectly fine fellow, she supposed, but he did not have much to recommend him.

“Now Marchioness,” the duke said, “I do not suppose you will want me to take my sister, Lady Marchfield, into dinner?”

The marchioness tapped the duke’s arm with her fan. “I am not such a lunatic as that, duke. I will see to it that you two are as far apart as possible. You will take the dowager duchess.”

The duke laughed heartily. “I see you are on to my game!”

“All too well, I’m afraid,” the marchioness said, smiling. She drifted away and Felicity noted her talking to Mr. Wiles.

It was very nice of her to go to the effort, but Felicity held out hope that Mr. Stratton would appear before they went in.

Shortly after, the marchioness made the announcement. It was time to go through. Mr. Stratton was still nowhere to be seen.

“Well, let me go dig up the dowager duchess,” the duke said. “I hope she’s either amusing, or deaf so I can amuse myself. Cheer up, Felicity, the chances of Stratton being dead on the road are exceedingly slim.”

Dead? She had not even considered that there might have been an accident!

Mr. Wiles appeared by her side. “Lady Felicity?” he asked, holding his arm out.

She laid her hand on his arm and worked to regain her spirits. Certainly, nothing grave had happened. And then, Mr. Stratton was likely to turn up at some point. Even if they did not sit by one another at dinner, there was after dinner to think about.

Felicity was determined not to be imprisoned at the pianoforte after dinner. She had already decided she would claim a sore finger. She was not particularly good on the instrument, and she wished to be available if Mr. Stratton had anything to say in particular. Further, a sore finger could even be used to excuse oneself from a dreary game of whist. A sore finger could set one free in an after-dinner drawing room. Perhaps she would wish to read, and Mr. Stratton could hold the book and turn the pages, on account of her sore finger.

As the dinner was a large one and many of the guests came with elevated titles, Felicity found herself almost in the middle of the table. Her father was to the marchioness’ right at the head with the dowager on his other side. Her aunt was further down on the same side. Felicity suspected the marchioness had thought that through carefully. Unless her father leaned very forward to peer down the table, they would be out of sight of one another. It was not out of the question that he would do so, but the marchioness had done her best.

Just across from Felicity and two chairs down, a chair sat empty. Clearly it was being held for Mr. Stratton. It did leave Miss Feldstone in a rather awful situation. If Lord Stranger on her left turned to his other partner, what was she to do? Talk to the empty chair? If Miss Feldstone was left with an empty chair next to her, why had not the marchioness left it to Felicity instead? She would have been perfectly happy to vaguely stare at the paintings on the far wall as if she did not notice the awkwardness of the situation.

Felicity supposed Miss Feldstone was singled out for the discomfiture because her father was only a baronet. Just now, she would have happily taken Miss Feldstone’s place.

The wine was poured and the courses began arriving. Mr. Wiles said, “I can’t think what’s held up Stratton. He is very particular about arriving on time to a dinner, he finds it a ghastly thing to put a hostess in an uncomfortable position.”

“I hope there has not been an accident of some sort,” Felicity said. She kept telling herself that it was impossible. But in fact, it was possible.

“He’ll turn up and then he’ll tell everybody what happened, I’m sure of it,” Mr. Wiles said. “One time, I was late to a dinner because none of my neckcloths came back from the laundry. I had to borrow one from Sir Henry—he is a neighbor, you see. Deuced inconvenient.”

Felicity smiled through that ridiculous story—she hardly wished to know the details of Mr. Wiles’ clothing mishaps! Though, at the same time she also reminded herself not to be a goose regarding Mr. Stratton’s absence. If she could not speak with Mr. Stratton, then perhaps hearing about him from his friend would be the next best thing.

“Have you known Mr. Stratton long, Mr. Wiles?”

“Most of my life. Our estates border one another. His father is the local viscount and mine is the local baron. Our first meeting was along the fence line. He pointed out he would someday hold rank over me, I pointed out his family was new- minted and mine has been around since the Tudors. Then we rolled around punching each other for a while and then became fast friends.”

“That seems an odd beginning for a friendship.”

“Well, we were both seven and it did eventually occur to us that there were not so many other boys to carouse round the wood with or go fishing or shoot arrows with.”

“Oh I see,” Felicity said. “Is that what young boys do? I only have sisters, so I do not have any experience with brothers. We never had bows and arrows, only fowling pieces.”

Mr. Wiles dropped his fork and hurriedly picked it up again. “I see,” he said, though Felicity was not certain he did see. Perhaps his own sisters had not owned their own guns? Perhaps it was not usual outside of Yorkshire? Lady Marchfield had warned her not to advertise that idea but she’d not taken her seriously.

“I suppose you went away to school?” Felicity said. “I understand that is the tradition with boys.”

Mr. Wiles nodded. “Stratton and I went to Eton the same year and it became very advantageous to have a friend there. That’s where we met Lord Magnon and a few others. We were a very jolly group, though just three of us are what’s left of our set now.”

“What’s left? Did they all die?” Felicity asked, not too sure she understood what went on at Eton.

“Die? No, they got married,” Mr. Wiles said.

“Married?”

“Well, you know what happens,” Mr. Wiles said. “Chained down with obligations.”

“Chained?”

Mr. Wiles laughed. “Stratton always says, I will not be chained!”

“Does he?” Felicity asked.

“But now, you cannot hold that against him,” Mr. Wiles said. “He’s been very helpful to you regarding Rustmont.” Mr. Wiles paused, then said, “Are you very put out that Rustmont has left Town? I should have thought…”

“I was not aware that Lord Rustmont had departed the town,” Felicity said. “Though I cannot claim to be put out about it.”

“Excellent. Stratton said you were a good sport. You’ll still help him with his own little ruse, though?”

What little ruse? What on earth had gone on that she did not know about?

Felicity smiled. “Naturally, Mr. Wiles.”

“He’ll be glad to hear it. Deuced funny too—his father thinking he’s set on you, but you are set on me. He won’t be chained!”

Mr. Wiles laughed heartily at this joke, though Felicity herself did not find it at all amusing. It seemed that the real reason Mr. Stratton had put himself at her service regarding Lord Rustmont was to trick his father into thinking he had developed a doomed affection.

What an idiot she’d been. He’d claimed he wished to do it because he enjoyed a ruse. Even her sisters had seemed skeptical of that idea.

He would not be chained, indeed. To think, she had almost given him her heart! Or maybe she had already and must take that secret to the grave.

She clenched her fork and felt her temper bubbling inside her like a volcano in the southern seas that she’d once seen in a drawing. Mr. Wiles would be lucky if she did not stab him for being the nearest person to her.

“Lady Felicity?” Mr. Wiles asked in a hesitating tone.

She did not answer him, as her feelings were such that she would like to overturn the table. Felicity turned to stare at him, wondering what on earth he could possibly say next.

His expressions were rapidly changing from jollity to confusion to a sort of panic. “Forget everything I just said,” he whispered. “I talk nonsense, everybody knows it!”

Partners all round the table were turning to their other seatmate. Felicity turned without answering Mr. Wiles.

She was stunned and furious. It had all been a game.