Page 20 of Lady Ferocity (A Series of Senseless Complications #1)

F elicity, and everybody really, stared toward the drawing room doors. Charlie, having grown relaxed leaning on the doorframe, almost fell over from the surprise knocks coming from outside. He regained his balance and ran for the door.

“If it’s my sister come to complain about something, don’t let her in,” the duke shouted after Charlie.

In a moment, Charlie was back and looking exceedingly perplexed. “It is a letter delivered. For Lady Valor,” he said.

“What, ho?” the duke said, laughing. “Has my youngest been keeping secret liaisons I know nothing about?”

Valor looked very concerned to hear of the letter, and then more concerned over her father’s joking. “What is a liaison, Papa?”

“Never mind it,” the duke said jovially. “Let us see who this letter is from and what it says.”

Valor, having received the first letter of her life, looked at it, marveling. She broke the seal and unfolded the paper.

The paper was written in a close hand and entirely filled.

“Why is there so much writing?” Valor asked. “It’s like a whole book!”

“Who is it from, though?” Grace asked.

Of course, Felicity wished desperately to know too. Who else could it be from but Mr. Stratton? She did not say so, though, as she was in the midst of pretending he meant nothing to her.

Valor peered down at the paper and ran her finger down to the end. “It is from Mr. Stratton. I am afraid he is not as ashamed as he should be, or he would not have written us back.”

“Written us back?” Felicity blurted out.

“I told you that me and Mrs. Wendover would write him a scolding letter,” Valor said.

“I know you said…” Felicity trailed off.

“But none of us thought you would do it,” Winsome said.

The duke filled the room with laughter. “You didn’t think she’d do it, but she did do it. Eh, Valor, you went and gave Mr. Stratton the what-for!”

“Mrs. Wendover and I were very stern and told him he was mean.”

The duke guffawed, though Felicity felt her cheeks burn. It was giving something away for Valor to tell Mr. Stratton he was mean. It gave away that she’d been injured, which she did not wish for.

“Give me the letter, Valor,” Felicity said. “It is too long for you to read and if there is anything in it that anybody needs to know I will tell you.”

Though Valor had been honored to receive her first letter, she was equally willing to give over the task of reading such a long missive.

Felicity took that opportunity to flee to her room with it. She would trust Mrs. Right to stop any sisters who had a notion of following her.

*

Percy was beginning to think his father’s house in Town was somehow beset by bad luck. The doctor had been to see the viscount and confirmed that both a forefinger and a big toe were broken. There was not much to be done about it other than wrap them and allow them to heal. After the doctor left, the viscount had added brandy into the prescription. He’d been sipping it all day.

Naturally, no person arrived to claim the chains. Percy was not certain what to do with them. Eventually, he had the grooms straighten them out and run them along the side of the house so the horses going in and out of the mews could get by them.

Just when that problem was solved, the cook had some sort of breakdown in the kitchens. A large order was delivered, but nothing he’d ordered was in it. Instead of the variety of staples he usually ordered, all he got were sacks of cabbages.

Percy could hear him shouting about it from the library.

That turned out to be only the beginning of it. Later, it was discovered that the wine delivery the viscount had so painstakingly composed had been cancelled. The final discovery was that the laundry where they sent out their clothes had been told to donate them to the poor.

By the time Percy heard a good number of his shirts had become charitable donations, he began to suspect the duke’s hand in it. There was no possibility that so many disasters could befall one house, all on the same day.

The oncoming problems one after the next did not mix well with the viscount’s self-prescribed brandy and sore finger and toe. The viscountess finally ordered the carriage and left to nobody knew where. Percy, himself, left by the servants’ stairs, pretending not to hear his father’s shouts for him to get to the bottom of this trickery.

He’d already got to the bottom of it, he was certain, and the last thing he’d do was tell his father of his suspicions.

In any case, he was in a hurry to get to Lady Jameson’s rout. He must find Lady Felicity and somehow put an end to this misunderstanding. Well, not misunderstanding, exactly. It really was more like a transformation, where she had heard about where it started, but not where it was now.

With any luck, Lady Felicity had read his letter and would already know all about it. He’d arranged for it to be delivered just before they would leave their house for the rout. Then, somehow, he’d have to soothe the duke and make him stop sending disasters to his house.

By the time he arrived, he found the rooms crowded. He edged his way past the crowd, looking over their heads for any sign of her. She was nowhere to be seen.

He eventually found Magnon, who had not seen her either.

“Do you suppose she was too put out to come?” Magnon asked. “Knowing you’d probably be here?”

“Perhaps,” Percy said thoughtfully. “Though I did write a letter explaining everything.”

“You wrote her a letter? Hm, I wonder if the duke would have confiscated it. Not the thing, you know, to send letters to unmarried ladies.”

“Yes, well, the youngest of them, Lady Valor, wrote me a letter first. She wished to inform me that I was a terrible person and she hoped the duke would wrap me in chains and throw me into a lake.”

Magnon guffawed. “She is not wrong,” he said.

Percy ignored that comment. “In any case, I wrote her back, certain she would show it to Lady Felicity.”

“And yet, the lady does not appear.”

“No, and the duke is wreaking vengeance on my house. My father is slipping into madness over it.”

“Over what?” Magnon asked.

“Well, let’s see, first there was a pile of chains on the doorstep, which the viscount promptly fell over and broke a finger and a toe. Then, his wine order was canceled, the cook received sacks of cabbages instead of his regular order, and a significant part of our wardrobes were donated to charity unbeknownst to us.”

Magnon snorted. “Everybody knows not to tangle with that duke. You only sent a letter, and he has answered it a thousand-fold.”

Percy paused. There was something in that. It was true—the duke kept sending disasters. He’d only sent a letter. Perhaps he ought to be sending other things. Not disasters, but nice things. Perhaps he had only to wear them all down with gifts.

“I know what I will do,” he said.

“What?”

“Never mind,” Percy said. “But the first thing I will do is get out of here. If Lady Felicity were coming, she would be here already. I have been iced out and I need to start some fires to melt their wall against me. I have much to plan.”

*

Felicity had shut her door, lit a candle, and sat in the overstuffed chair by the window. Mr. Stratton had written Valor and certainly it was meant for her eyes.

She smoothed out the paper.

Esteemed Lady Valor—

I received the recent communication from yourself and Mrs. Wendover accusing me of being mean, as well as a terrible person, and the wish that the duke would tie me up in chains and throw me in a lake.

Gracious, that was what Valor wrote? She’d not mentioned anything about a drowning.

If I consider the matter based only on what you may know of my history, I would have to agree with those sentiments.

However, if you would indulge me in reading this letter, I would like to lay out the case of the thing.

I did come into this season announcing to my friends that I would not be chained. In part, this was because I came under terrible pressure from my viscount to speedily choose a wife. I suspect that, at your age, you can sympathize with my contrariness. It is a hard thing to be told what to do and one’s instinct is to announce that one will not do it.

Then, and this is where I really am at a terrible fault, I thought it would be clever to join forces with Lady Felicity. She wished to make Lord Rustmont jealous, and I wished to convince my father that my feelings were engaged where they could not succeed.

My fault is in not informing Lady Felicity of this at the outset.

As it happens, I have found my dedication to refusing to be chained on the wane. In fact, it seems to be gone altogether.

Alas, my crime of secrecy and the stupidity of announcing something to my friends that could not hold over time have both come back to haunt me.

My apologies, and I did enjoy our conversation about the weather. As well, give my regards to Mrs. Wendover—I hope that enchanting lady-rabbit does not hold a grudge.

Stratton.

Felicity did not know what to think. It was a fine letter, if she could believe it. Or even know what to make of it. It hinted that she might be preferred, but it did not come out and say so. All it really said was that his announcing he would not be chained was an idea he now recognized as foolish.

But who was the cause of this change of heart? Was it her? Was it someone else? Why did he not make himself more clear?

She tucked it into her pillowcase as she had no intention of allowing anybody else to read it. At least, not yet. She did not wish to hear anybody else’s opinion about it until she had formed her own.

Felicity would be happy to inform Valor of Mr. Stratton’s regard for her good opinion, and for Mrs. Wendover’s too, but that was all.

She had much to decide. She had been determined not to encounter Mr. Stratton again, but would that hold? Could she dare to trust him? He had lied once, perhaps this entire letter was a lie.

Felicity did not know what to do or how she felt, or whether she was cast down or buoyed up. All she could decide right this very moment, was to ring for her maid, get into her nightclothes, drink her half glass of Canary, brush her teeth, braid her hair, and go to bed.

Perhaps sleep might bring clarity.

*

Mrs. Right knew very well that she would have an excellent night of repose. It was always so when she had accomplished her aim.

Her aim at this moment in her history was to enact retribution against Mr. Stratton and she had done a fine job of it. She’d discovered his butler’s name and she already knew where they lived, the rest was an easy walk down a shady lane. She set out to impersonate the household via letters to various places.

First to the grocer everybody in that neighborhood used, indicating that the regular order must be put aside. They had a great need for cabbages, as Lady Wentworth, whoever she might be, had decided to hold a cabbage festival for charity. Mrs. Right had even included the following: “As you might imagine, good sir, the race to locate a suitable number of cabbages will be furious. Please do secure three large sacks before there are none to be had.”

A person wishing for sacks of cabbages was the most absurd thing in the world, but the ton were so known for their absurdities that the grocer would not blink over it. It would be just another amusing story he would relate to his family regarding the vagaries of the high and mighty.

For the wine merchant, she decided to go in a different direction. That letter she made appear as if it came from the viscount himself, accusing the merchant of overcharging and taking him for a rube. Viscount Denderby was not such a country turnip to be had in such a manner. He demanded the order be canceled, as he had secured a merchant who charged fair prices.

And then, the coup de grace. Mrs. Right informed the laundress that serviced the house that the pile of clothes sent to her had been a mistake. That particular pile was meant for the poor. If she would be so kind as to forward them on to some reputable charity, the viscountess would be most obliged. Lord Denderby would, of course, honor the bill, as it had been their own mistake. The laundress would be delighted—she would sell the clothes for as much as she could get and then be paid the bill too. She’d never wish to question such a happy circumstance.

Mrs. Right suspected Mr. Stratton’s house to be in turmoil just now—full of cabbages, empty of wine, and short of clothes. That was exactly what she wished for. Let no person hurting one of her girls ever have a moment’s rest or peace.

If there were one thing niggling at her mind just now, one loose thread that had not been tied up, it was that letter from Mr. Stratton that Felicity had taken to her room.

Mrs. Right had the experience and good sense not to follow her up the stairs and pry into it, and she held the rest of the girls back from doing the same, but she did wish to know what it said.

She reminded herself that all things come in their own time. Sooner or later, Felicity would wish to discuss it, and then Mrs. Right would discover what Mr. Stratton had to say for himself.

*

Felicity had woken just as hazy-feeling as she had when she’d retired the night before. That was, her feelings were not clear, but rather hidden somewhere in a fog. Or perhaps it was not that. Perhaps her feelings wished to go one way, and her logic and sense wished to go the other way.

Her sisters had attempted to question her about the letter from Mr. Stratton, but she had been firm in her refusal to hand it over. Valor, though, was most gratified to know that Mr. Stratton had taken her thoughts seriously and had enjoyed their conversation about the weather. Mrs. Wendover had also been sent regards, which Valor promptly informed the rabbit of, as Mrs. Wendover could not understand anybody’s words but Valor’s.

They had decided that they would take both carriages out for a trot round the park. It was early, and they would not encounter crowds. Everybody was in agreement that Felicity must have some fresh air to put the pink back in her cheeks.

Felicity was glad of it on several fronts. It was highly unlikely that they would encounter Mr. Stratton or anybody else at that time of day. Further, they had all agreed that if Mr. Stratton were somehow spotted, the curtains to the carriage windows were to be closed immediately. The other benefit to going out when it was not likely they would encounter anyone was that that the duke would not encounter anybody he’d like to have a set-to with. He had, perhaps, had enough confrontations for one season, though it was unlikely he viewed it that way.

Felicity wished to see Mr. Stratton, and also not see him, therefore it seemed at this moment that not seeing him was the best choice. It was as if she wished to play for time, though she could not see what benefit extra time would bring.

Before they set off, a further circumstance occurred to fluster her. Tulips arrived, addressed to her. They were not signed, but she knew instantly that tulips were sent in reference to their conversation about a lady suddenly deciding she wished to be called Tulip. All the note said was: I consulted with a florist and tulips are not likely to make you sneeze.

Even if she had not guessed they were from Mr. Stratton, she recognized his hand from the letter to Valor. Furthermore, they were red tulips. Did he send a message of love? He did not say! He only said they would not make her sneeze.

Her father found great amusement in it. “We are to be buffeted by flowers now, eh? Perhaps not very original, but tried and true all the same.”

Her father was less amused by what followed. Just as the tulips were being put in a vase, Lady Marchfield was led into the room by a rather downcast Thomas.

Felicity was certain the junior footman feared he would be blamed for letting Lady Marchfield in, though everybody knew she was very hard to keep out.

“What do you do here?” the duke asked his sister. “I thought I’d done enough to drive you off.”

Lady Marchfield sniffed. “It seems you have done enough to drive Lord Rustmont off. He’s left Town, in case you did not know it—all hope of that match has gone up in a puff of smoke.”

The duke laughed and said, “You are behind the times as usual, Madam. We were on to another match but that’s gone up in a puff of smoke too!”

Lady Marchfield turned to Felicity. “Another match? A match with who, pray?”

“Do not you interrogate my daughter, you old harridan,” the duke said. “She’s got no interest in informing you of it.”

Lady Marchfield’s eyes drifted toward the flowers. “Who sent those?” she asked, walking over to them.

Nobody answered, and Valor went so far as to slap one hand over her mouth and the other over Mrs. Wendover’s mouth to signal her refusal to comment.

Unfortunately, Thomas had left the note next to the vase.

Lady Marchfield picked it up and read it. She made a sighing sound and laid it down. “Tulips will not make her sneeze. I see we have not managed to get past the Almack’s sneezing display. It is not at all promising that it is still being bandied about like a joke and now some gentleman has been so bold as to send this.”

“You never mind what is well and what is not,” the duke said. “Now why are you here? Has Marchfield finally given you the heave-ho over the side of his ship? I told him a hundred times, when you throw her out, do not throw her toward me!”

“I have come because despite my intense disgust over my brother’s behavior, I still have a care for my niece. You are woefully unprepared to shepherd your daughter into her married life. I am holding a dinner on Thursday and have invited two unmarried gentlemen who would be appropriate in station and breeding. Felicity is invited, and you certainly are not.”

“What say you, Felicity?” the duke said laughing. “Care to enter the dragon’s lair alone?”

Felicity hardly knew what to say. While her father’s teasing of her aunt was endlessly amusing, and she really did find Lady Marchfield too stern for anybody’s good, she did also have a certain respect for the lady as a senior relation.

Lady Marchfield crossed the room and held her hands. “Felicity, while I am not so freewheeling as my brother, I have a deal more sense. Furthermore, I have your interests at heart and one cannot be certain your father even has a heart. It is one dinner, and I am asking you to attend.”

Felicity glanced at her Papa. He good-naturedly nodded. “Go on, girl, see what delights Lady Misery has in store for you. We will all be vastly entertained to hear of it.”

Felicity nodded her acquiescence, and it was settled. She would go to her aunt’s house for dinner on Thursday. She supposed it would be tedious, but she also supposed Mr. Stratton was not one of the gentlemen her aunt had invited.

It was hard to say if that was a welcome idea or not.

Just then, Mrs. Right bustled in, tying her bonnet. “The carriages are outside,” she said. The housekeeper noticed Lady Marchfield and frowned.

“Very good, Mrs. Right,” the duke said. “Well, Lady Misery, I would invite you to come along on our sojourn to the park, but sadly there is no more room—goodbye!”

Lady Marchfield glanced at Mrs. Right, and then an idea began to dawn. “Roland, you cannot be serious.”

“I try not to be, though it’s a heavy slog up a steep hill with you hanging about the place,” the duke said with a snort.

Valor covered her face with Mrs. Wendover’s floppy worn-out body and giggled uncontrollably.

“You know of what I speak. You cannot possibly bring your housekeeper to an outing in the park,” Lady Marchfield said.

“Of course I can,” the duke said. “I have two carriages, that’s eight seats comfortably—nine with a little bit of a squeeze and Valor is still small enough to make it feasible. My god, woman, it’s as if you cannot work out the simplest thing anymore.”

“People will see you! It will be noted!”

“And then?” the duke asked.

“It will be talked about.”

“And then?” the duke asked again.

Quite predictably, Lady Marchfield did not have a particular answer for that. Felicity supposed most people would not like to be talked about as having done something that was not exactly right, but the duke did not give a toss about it.

Felicity was glad of it. It would have been terrible to have to leave Mrs. Right behind just because it was not the done thing to take one’s housekeeper to the park.

Lady Marchfield said, “Felicity, I will see you on Thursday. Roland, I am beginning to hope I will never see you again.”

“Finally! We are agreed!” the duke said, laughing heartily at his own joke.

Felicity’s aunt turned and marched out of the drawing room, nearly running over poor Thomas.

Goodness, what a morning.