Page 21 of Lady Ferocity (A Series of Senseless Complications #1)

P ercy spent a deal of time at Lackington & Allen attempting to discover another book on stoats. When he had last met Lady Felicity at that location, that was her interest. She was considering having a stoat of her own and wished to know what might be the joys and challenges of keeping a stoat in the house. Percy suspected a stoat would land more on the challenge side of things, but who was he to say?

Mr. Lackington had been perplexed that he had a second person interested in stoats, and that it could not be a copy of the first book he’d sold to Lady Felicity.

The poor fellow had searched high and low and finally found a book on mustelids, of which the stoat was one.

Mr. Lackington had been further perplexed when Percy put a bookmark on the chapter about stoats and then ordered it delivered to Lady Felicity Nicolet, daughter of the Duke of Pelham. The shopkeeper even went so far to say, “Mr. Stratton, in the usual way of things, I regularly have gentlemen buy books for ladies on flowers, or sketching techniques, or some such. A book on mustelids seems a rather unusual choice.”

Percy had nodded. “Lady Felicity is an unusual lady from an unusual family.”

“Oh yes, that is true, it seems,” Mr. Lackington said.

Percy had arranged for the delivery and then set off to the park to clear his head. He’d decided he would pepper the duke’s house with gifts of every sort and must think up more ideas. He had already thought of the book on stoats.

He’d had the further inspiration of visiting a dress shop and spending quite a while convincing the shopkeeper that he wished for an India shawl, but it must be cut down to a very small size. He would send Mrs. Wendover her own fine shawl in a bid to win over Lady Valor.

He needed to think of at least one other thing that would be meaningful.

As he trotted down the paths, it came to him. He would buy Lady Felicity a set of cake pans. She had inquired what he thought about a lady deciding she would like to bake cakes. He’d had no idea if she inquired because she planned on doing it, or was already doing it, or if it was just a passing idea. It did not matter, though. She would understand the message.

Just as he was wondering where one went to buy a set of cake pans and toying with the idea of asking the viscount’s cook about it, he spotted the duke’s carriages. They could not be missed—the park was near empty, both carriages were very fine and sporting the duke’s crest, and they rode one in front of the other.

Now was a moment handed to him by the fates.

He trotted over, his thoughts racing as to what he would say—what would be his opening gambit?

Before he had time to say anything at all, he saw the duke’s face peer out and the curtains close with a swish. He dropped his horse back and rode to the other side of the carriage.

Mrs. Right, the housekeeper, who was inexplicably riding with the duke, glared at him and inched the curtain closed, all the while attempting to burn a hole through his face with her expression.

He trotted up to the carriage ahead, but it was no better a reception. Lady Valor looked at him wide-eyed and wrestled with the curtain to close it. Then, when he tried to get ahead of the carriage to make a last attempt on the other side, the coachman would not let him pass.

Percy was being frozen out. The whole family was ranged against him. It was such a coordinated effort that they must have talked about the eventuality of encountering him and to close the curtains against him.

He dropped his horse back and allowed them to proceed unhindered. He had better send those cake pans before the sun set today.

*

Felicity had been certain they would not encounter Mr. Stratton in the park. They had gone early for just that reason. It was well before the usual promenade of seeing and being seen.

And yet, there he was. He was so handsome on his large bay and from what she could briefly see, had full control of his animal.

Her father had closed the curtains next to him with alacrity, but then Mr. Stratton had ridden to the other side. Felicity had leaned back to be out of view while Mrs. Right gave him the what-for with her eyes as she slowly closed her own curtain.

They’d then all peeked out to see that he’d attempted the same with the carriage carrying Grace, Valor, Patience, Verity, and Winsome.

He’d finally given it up, so Felicity assumed her sisters had remembered what they were to do.

“Hah!” the duke said, “he may be an idiot, but he’s got a certain stick to it in him that I can admire.”

“I suppose he was driven to get out of his house just now,” Mrs. Right said grimly. “It’s bound to be chaos.”

“From the chains Papa sent over?” Serenity asked.

“That, and perhaps other things,” Mrs. Right said, folding her hands in her lap.

“What now, Mrs. Right?” the duke asked. “Have you been stirring up some trouble with us none the wiser?”

“Me?” Mrs. Right said with a smile. “How extraordinary you would think it.”

Felicity took that to mean that their dear housekeeper certainly had done something. She also knew the lady would give over the details when she was ready to and not a moment before. But what in heavens name could she have done?

“Did you feel sad when you saw Mr. Stratton?” Serenity asked Felicity.

The fact was, she did feel sad. However, while Serenity wore her heart on her sleeve, her eldest sister wore her heart very private and out of view.

“Not particularly,” Felicity said.

“That is the difference between us, I suppose,” Serenity said. “I should have cried and cried.”

“Just wait until Serenity’s season comes round,” the duke said. “It’ll be weeping from here to America over sadness, joy, sunsets, sunrises and who knows what else. I’ll have to ask the doctor for something to settle my nerves. And her nerves too, if I’ve got any sense.”

“Oh Papa!” Serenity scolded. “You know I only cry for very good reasons.”

“I know no such thing, my girl,” the duke said, laughing. “You’ve been crying since the day you came into this world. I always speculated that it was because you looked over in your bassinet and saw Patience—you realized you were not alone.”

Felicity was rather relieved that the rest of the carriage ride was taken up by joking and not inquiring whether Felicity Nicolet felt like crying.

Later that day, after Felicity had regained some of her equanimity, two further gifts arrived to the house. Mr. Stratton had anonymously sent a set of cake pans and a very small India shawl addressed to Mrs. Wendover.

Valor was nearly overcome by the compliment to Mrs. Wendover. As she told everyone repeatedly, never in her life did she imagine that Mrs. Wendover would receive the anonymous gift of a very fine shawl. Felicity supposed never in any of their lives had they anticipated such a circumstance.

Mr. Stratton was showing himself to be persistent, but to what aim? Was he merely uncomfortable that he’d made a person angry? Did he only regret his actions? Or was it something more?

The only thing Felicity could be sure of was that she was determined to protect her heart. She would not allow herself to be fooled again. She had been silly and na?ve, and she was determined to become a savvy and experienced woman of the world.

They did not go out that evening, as it was a Wednesday and neither she nor the duke particularly cared to revisit Almack’s—she because of sneezing and he because of weak tea and sour lemonade.

She did wonder, though, if Mr. Stratton was there. And if he looked for her.

The following night was Lady Marchfield’s dinner and whatever unmarried gentlemen might be thrown to her notice. Her aunt was likely to have rounded up the most staid gentlemen alive and Felicity suspected it would be a tiresome evening. Still, her aunt was due respect because of her age and connection to the family, so Felicity would go with all good humor.

The daytime, though, leading up to the dinner, was anything but boring. Things were delivered to the house at all hours. A paint box, stationery and a crystal inkstand, a fine parasol, sheet music, a garnet encrusted quizzing glass of all things, and a sketch pad and watercolors. And then finally, a book on wild creatures with a bookmark on the chapter about stoats. All sent anonymously and all surely sent by Mr. Stratton.

Nobody was more amused by it than her father.

Mrs. Right helped Felicity dress for dinner and would accompany her in the carriage to Lady Marchfield’s house. The various gifts that had been sent were piled on a chair nearby.

“I suppose he’s determined enough,” Mrs. Right said, staring suspiciously at the pile.

“Determined in what, though?” Felicity asked.

“Hard to say,” Mrs. Right said. “For all these presents, he hasn’t used any words.”

“That is just what I think! He sent flowers and all he said was they won’t make me sneeze.”

“I find myself with mixed feelings over that fellow,” Mrs. Right said. “I don’t know what to make of him at this point.”

“Nor I,” Felicity said. “Now I wonder, Mrs. Right, what you might have done to inconvenience Mr. Stratton’s household? You did hint at something and it might lift my spirits to hear of it.”

“Oh that? I just canceled the wine order, changed the grocery order to nothing but cabbages, and had the clothes that were sent out to the laundress donated to charity.”

Felicity giggled despite herself. “You are very resourceful, Mrs. Right.”

“Well now, everybody knows I get a bit touchy when one of my girls has been affronted. Revenge soothes my feelings.”

“I imagine you are very soothed at the moment, then.”

“Exceedingly. I’ll casually mention it to the duke when he needs a bit of cheering.”

“I think I am ready,” Felicity said.

“Yes, we better go. Nobody needs Lady Marching Orders throwing a fit on top of everything else. Don’t tell her about all these things Mr. Stratton keeps sending unless you want an hour-long lecture about it.”

Felicity nodded, as she hardly need be told it. Lady Marchfield would go mad if she knew that all of these things had been accepted. They should have been stopped at the door, but as much as Thomas practiced all the possibilities of answering a door, when the door knocker actually sounded, it all seemed to go too fast for him to think.

*

Percy had run all over Town, sending one thing after the next to Lady Felicity. He’d finally come up with a firm plan—he would go to her house this evening and demand an audience. He would go and bring something so significant that if she accepted it, then she accepted him.

What else could he do? She was taking steps to avoid him. She had not appeared at Almack’s the night before, certainly she had kept away on his account.

In the late afternoon, he stopped at White’s for a coffee and to rest his horse. He found Wiles and Magnon at a table and sat down.

“Well?” Magnon asked. “Have you managed to smooth over Wiles’ gaffe with Lady Felicity?”

“No,” Percy answered.

“She pretended she knew all about it!” Wiles said. “I keep telling you that.”

“What have you done, though?” Magnon asked. “Have you at least talked to her?”

“I have not, I believe she is studiously avoiding me. The entire family shut their carriage curtains when I approached them in the park.”

“So you’ve done nothing,” Magnon said.

“No, I have done some things,” Percy said. “I’ve sent some things. A lot of things, actually.”

“Like what?” Wiles asked.

“Never mind what. I have a plan for tonight. I will bring a big thing and if she accepts it, well…”

“What big thing?” Magnon asked.

“Jewelry, obviously,” Wiles said.

“What sort of jewelry?” Magnon asked.

“It’s not jewelry, though maybe I should have thought of that,” Percy said.

“What is it then?” Wiles asked.

“A horse.”

His two friends were silent for some time over that idea. Then Wiles laughed and said, “Oh I see, a porcelain horse or some such. Because she likes horses.”

“Everybody likes horses,” Magnon said. “Horses are man’s best friend.”

“I thought that was dogs,” Wiles said.

“Dogs? That’s ridiculous. Can you ride a dog to a neighbor’s house in the countryside? Could you even ride a dog to a house in Town, though the houses are so close together?” Magnon asked.

“No, but the phrase…”

It was incredible how quickly his friends could wander off a subject.

“It’s a real horse,” Percy said. “I found a lovely filly at Tattersall’s. My father will go mad when he gets the bill, but he’s nearly there at the moment, so I suppose it is little matter.”

“You bought her a real horse?” Magnon said incredulously. “That is absurd. Is there a reason for it? What is the significance of such a gift? What does it mean?”

Percy shrugged. “I ran out of ideas and I was passing by Tattersall’s…”

“So you will just go to the duke’s house? With an extra horse?” Wiles asked.

Percy nodded and drained his coffee. “I’d best get going then. I do not know what I might face in my own house or how long it might take to manage it before I can get away. The duke has been creating havoc.”

“The duke? What’s he done now?”

Percy rose. “Well, after the delivery of a pile of chains, sacks of cabbages arrived. Then our wine dealer canceled our order and will not reply to inquiries. Oh and half my shirts have been donated to charity. That sort of thing.”

“Are you certain you wish to connect yourself to such a family?” Magnon asked.

“Very certain.”

When Percy arrived home, he was relieved that the duke had seemed to run out of ideas on how to harass him. The grocer had been ordered to pick up the cabbages and bring the food that was ordered, so at least his parents would get dinner. They would not have new wine to choose from when they dined, nor would Percy ever recover his shirts, but at least no more surprises had rained down upon the house.

His father was snoring in a chair in the library, having soothed his broken finger and toe into oblivion with brandy. The viscountess was nowhere to be seen, likely keeping herself away in her sitting room.

Percy was dressed and out of the house in good time. Even more fortunate, it had not come to his father’s notice that there had been an extra horse in the stables all afternoon.

He mounted his own horse, while a groom rode the filly through the streets to Grosvenor Square. This was the moment—everything hung on this. Would she accept the horse, and him, or would he be sent packing?

The house was lit up, the lights showing through the curtains of the drawing room windows. They were at home. He dismounted his horse and handed his groom the reins. Percy jogged up the steps and gave the knocker a good rap.

The young footman he’d seen the night he’d been to dinner opened the door and then stood slack jawed, staring at him.

“I must see Lady Felicity immediately,” he said. “It is a matter of great urgency.”

“She ain’t here, though,” the young man said. “I mean, isn’t. She isn’t here.”

Calling out from the drawing room, he heard the duke’s voice. “Is that Stratton out there? Send him in, this should be amusing.”

Amusing? Things that amused the duke were usually far less amusing to the other people involved. Nevertheless, he must speak to Lady Felicity.

“Go in, I guess,” the footman said.

With that rousing encouragement, Percy did go in.

*

Felicity could not imagine what her aunt had been thinking. When she arrived to the house, she was introduced to a certain Mr. Reginald Armstrong, son of Viscount Something-or-Other, who was the least prepossessing gentleman she’d ever encountered. He was gangly and it seemed his arms were too long for him to have full control of them, as they swung in all directions in an odd fashion. Mr. Armstrong turned red as a beet, sweat sprung up in rivulets on his forehead, and he mumbled, “Hello.”

His mother, a towering lady with a stern demeanor, poked him in the ribs. He added, “Honored.”

The second offering was a baron from Cornwall, Lord Haraby, who looked all of sixteen and positively giggled over making her acquaintance. Lady Marchfield was quick to point out that he was the eldest son of an earl, as if that could somehow overcome his childish demeanor.

So that was it—one gentleman near fainting from the stress of meeting a lady and one giggling over it.

They went into dinner and Lady Marchfield did most of the talking. She expounded on the estates of the two gentlemen in attendance, while Mr. Armstrong’s mother added in such encouragements as she saw fit. Apparently, she was well-prepared to guide a daughter-in-law in proper directions. Lady Marchfield nodded, approving of the idea, while Mr. Armstrong sweated profusely over the mere mention of a daughter-in-law.

The only saving grace to the whole thing was Lord Marchfield. She did not see her uncle very often, but he was a very genial gentleman. He had the good sense to turn the conversation when he could.

“I was saying to Felicity, just the other day,” Lady Marchfield said, overriding her husband’s game attempts, “there is nothing a lady must be more careful of than selecting the right husband. These modern ideas of romance fly in the face of sense.”

Felicity’s eyes drifted toward her uncle.

Lady Marchfield paused, as if just remembering that her lord was in hearing of this opinion. “That is not to say, of course, that I am not exceedingly fond of Lord Marchfield.”

Mr. Armstrong’s forehead once more began leaking at the mention of romance and he mopped his brow with his dinner napkin. Lord Haraby giggled like a schoolboy’s first encounter with an off-color jest.

“Tell me, Lady Felicity,” Mr. Armstrong’s mother said, “how have you found your first season in Town?”

How could she possibly answer that question? If she were to be honest about it, she would say it had been a time of staggering highs and devastating lows, ending at the very lowest point.

Instead, she said, “Oh, very well, I suppose.”

“I always counsel young people,” the lady went on, “do not be bowled over by suave manners or good looks or smooth dancing. These things do not last.”

“Manners do not last?” Felicity said, keeping her expression innocent, though knowing perfectly well that Lord Marchfield would be laughing into his napkin.

“It pains me to admit it, but they do not,” the lady said. “Once a man becomes comfortable with his bride, the real manners, or lack thereof, will be revealed.”

Felicity did not know how to respond to that original opinion.

Mr. Armstrong said, “It’s on account of my father.” He snorted and said, “He’s gassy and she never knew it until it was too late.”

His mother frowned at him and shook her head warningly. Felicity did not dare glance at her uncle lest they both collapse in laughter.

Felicity managed to mumble, “Oh, I see. I hadn’t known.” She was in the middle of a perfectly ghastly evening. The only thing that could be said for it was how hard the duke would laugh when she told him about the gassy viscount. She must cling to that idea.

What else was there to cling to? If Mr. Armstrong and Lord Haraby had affected her in any way, it was to highlight just how superior Mr. Stratton was in every possible sense.

How she longed for Mr. Stratton. Mr. Percy Stratton. She should not, she should put him out of her thoughts, but these two fellows seemed to drive him right into her thoughts.