Page 4 of Lady Ferocity (A Series of Senseless Complications #1)

F elicity had always congratulated herself on her good sense. She had assured herself of having a steady mind and rational temperament. She’d mainly measured things by her sisters.

After all, Grace went round practically unaware of her surroundings which so often led to a chance meeting with the floor. Patience never had the sense to wait, even when it was the only thing one could do. Serenity was always laughing or crying. Verity made up stories so full of holes they were no better than a sieve. Winsome always came to the worst conclusion. And then Valor, afraid of her own shadow.

As the eldest, she’d been confident of her steady rationality. Of course, she was known to have a temper from time to time, but only when it was really called for. Any sensible person had a temper when it was called for. In any case, she’d put a deal of effort into reining it in and controlling it, as any mature person would do, and only unleashing it when it was really necessary. As all rational people do.

But now, all sense and rationality were gone. They’d gone up in a puff of smoke. She’d taken one look at the Earl of Rustmont and nearly fallen over.

Lady Westmoreland had brought him to her, and as that lady chattered on, Felicity stared at this wonder of a gentleman.

What a man. He was tall and handsome, with chiseled cheekbones, hooded eyes, and a very determined chin. What really struck her, though, was that he had a certain aloofness she had not encountered before. He seemed to ever so slightly raise a brow, as if he found a condescending amusement with all the world. There was something alluring about it all. It felt as if to gain his approval would be a real accomplishment, as perhaps not everybody did.

Even her father must have noticed something singular about the earl’s presence. He did not say any of the outrageous things he liked to say to amuse himself and discomfit a listener. Of course, that might have been because he had his back turned and was taken up with making faces at Lady Marchfield.

Lord Rustmont had put down his name for her first. After he’d taken his leave, there had been other gentlemen who came after to put their names down. All the while, she fairly toe-tapped, waiting for Lord Rustmont to collect her.

She could not help but to be disappointed that the earl had not taken the dance before supper as that would have extended their time together. But then, she was already engaged before he approached her. There was every chance that if she’d not been engaged, he would have taken her into supper. She would keep that firmly in mind.

As it was, a certain Mr. Stratton would take her into supper. She did not like to condemn a gentleman on short acquaintance, but she could not help but notice that he had not held up very well against her father’s teasing. Mrs. Right had already explained that sort of thing would be due to unfortunate and prickly youthfulness. She hoped she would not find him callow, as that would be tedious. But there was no time to worry about that. The Earl of Rustmont, the glorious earl, had come to collect her.

He bowed elegantly. “Lady Felicity,” he said, holding out his arm.

“Earl,” she said, working to sound very casual and not as if she were calf-eyed over him. Though, she really was calf-eyed over him. She laid her hand lightly on his arm and hoped it did not do anything stupid, like tremble.

He led her to the ballroom floor near the top. Of course, a gentleman of his stature would be near the top.

The Duchess of Gordon would open the ball, accompanied by the Earl of Bladensfeld. She did not know the other couples comprising the top set of the room, but they all seemed middle-aged, or nearly so, and she presumed them highly placed.

A sudden and strong scent of roses enveloped Felicity as a lady and her partner joined them in the second set. She and Lord Rustmont were the first couple, their backs to the musicians, this lady and her partner took the opposite side as the third couple.

Felicity scrunched up her nose, as strong smells always made her sneeze. Flowers and vinegar in particular affected her. Why had the woman seemed to have bathed in her perfume? It was terrible.

“Do you enjoy your first foray into Town, Lady Felicity?” the earl asked.

“Yes, good,” Felicity said, as that was all she could manage while fighting off a sneeze.

The earl glanced at her quizzically. “Are you quite well?”

Felicity nodded vigorously. And probably turned twelve shades of red. She had no choice but to scrunch and unscrunch her nose in an effort to stop the incessant itch. She began to wonder if she might quietly sneeze. But no, it was impossible. Her handkerchief was in her reticule, which was just now in her aunt’s possession.

Lady Westmoreland announced the changes to be danced, the Grand Rond very predictably coming first.

Finally, the itch in her nose began to pass. Felicity began to regain her composure and reminded herself that she was a very creditable dancer, which would certainly overshadow any nose scrunching she’d done. Their dancing master, poor Monsieur Villeaux, had been rather harried by her father. However, Mrs. Right had soothed him each night with copious amounts of ale and brandy. That, the housekeeper had told Felicity and her sisters, was the only reason he’d lasted a year—he’d been either drinking or recovering from drink with no time to pack his things. Once he sobered up, he was out of the house like a shot.

For all that, Monsieur Villeaux had known what he was about and all the sisters, except possibly Grace, were very good dancers. Though in fairness, of all of them Grace had the most natural ear for music and tempo, and she was very good when she was not tripping over her feet.

The orchestra struck up and the Grand Rond began. As Felicity passed by where the Lady of the Roses had stood as part of the third couple, she was again assaulted by the lady’s strong scent.

The stench of rosewater slipped up her nose and tickled it like the fur of a caterpillar. Felicity held her breath to keep it out. Then she gasped for air when she could hold it no longer.

They moved through the figures and changes, Felicity doing everything in her power to dance elegantly, all the while holding her breath each time she came near the Lady of the Roses.

And then, it was no use. A series of violent sneezes racked her and her nose began to run. It could not be stopped, it was like an out of control carriage careening downhill. Her nose had been assaulted and was fighting back with vigor to eject the offensive odor. Liquid poured out at an alarming rate and she could not sniff it back in and make it begone.

The earl, as well as the other couples, seemed genuinely alarmed. The earl handed her his handkerchief, which she took gratefully.

There was nothing for it—she would have to blow her nose on the ballroom floor of Almack’s.

It was awful. It was also a relief. Her sneezes had been building for a half-hour and had finally been released into the world.

The dance came to a conclusion and the other couples of her set scurried in all directions like mice in a barn when the local stray cat paid a visit.

Felicity was nearly frozen in place. She did not know what to say. She glanced down at the crumpled handkerchief and mumbled, “Did you want this back?”

“Do keep it, Lady Felicity. I insist,” the earl said gravely. He held out his arm. “I will escort you back to His Grace and Lady Marchfield.”

And he did escort her back, entirely grim-faced. What an impression she must have made. She was certain that he thought she ought to have been able to control her sneezes, but she could not have done. It had been impossible.

“It was the scent of roses, you see,” she said by way of explanation. “Roses and vinegar, I am very sensitive to them.”

The earl nodded. “We all have our crosses to bear,” he said.

They reached the edge of the ballroom, and reached two people who had clearly seen what had happened and took entirely different views of it. Her father was laughing heartily while her aunt was wide-eyed and purse lipped.

“Well, my girl, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen that dance done before,” the duke said, snorting at his own wit.

The earl bowed. “Your Grace, Lady Marchfield. Lady Felicity, I thank you for the honor of a dance and I take my leave.”

He turned and strode away. Very fast, Felicity noted.

“What on earth?” Lady Marchfield said.

“What was it?” the duke said. “Flowers or vinegar?”

“Roses,” Felicity said dejectedly. “A lady has drenched herself in rosewater.”

“Come now, girl, do not look so downhearted about it. I’m sure not so many people even noticed.”

Lady Marchfield sniffed at the idea. “I would not put my hopes on whatever your father is sure about on any subject. It was an exceedingly odd display. Here of all places.”

“She sneezed,” the duke said. “Everybody in the wide world sneezes on occasion.”

“Perhaps so, but they do not do it at Almack’s outside of a retiring room,” Lady Marchfield said curtly.

“Oh they don’t, now?” the duke said. With a swipe of his hand, he pulled a long ostrich feather out of Lady Marchfield’s hair and waved it under her nose.

Lady Marchfield, being hardly ready for such an operation, waved her hands to get it away.

“Roland!” she said in her usual accusatory tone.

“Look, she wants to sneeze but she’s holding it in,” the duke said, laughing.

Of course, Felicity was rather adoring of her father’s efforts to soothe her, though she did notice that others had watched the duke assault her aunt’s headwear and seemed rather surprised by it.

Felicity’s second dance partner, Mr. Wiles, came to collect her. He looked rather frightened. He held out his arm and almost whispered, “Lady Felicity.”

“Keep her away from roses, that’s my advice,” the duke said to Mr. Wiles, as he threw Lady Marchfield’s ostrich feather over his shoulder.

Felicity handed the Earl of Rustmont’s crumpled and damp handkerchief to her aunt, as she did not know what else to do with it. Lady Marchfield held it by her fingertips, staring at it as if it were alive. Felicity could not blame her for being put out—her aunt was down one ostrich feather and up one wet handkerchief.

Mr. Wiles led her away and Felicity could not help but notice the stares in her direction.

Gracious. Her aunt had told her time and again that the rules in Town were a deal more strict than in the Dales. Could it be possible that she’d caused talk about herself just for sneezing?

And what did the glorious earl think? The sight could not have been attractive, she was not a pretty crier or sneezer. But, it was only one small moment in time.

Perhaps he’d forget all about it. Or laugh about it. Perhaps she would herself forget all about it. Or laugh about it. Though both of those results felt rather far off. She’d made herself foolish in front of the one gentleman in the room she would have liked to impress.

As much as she would like to deny it, she felt in a bit of a temper.

Her temper was like a hot thing that came upon her, especially when she was embarrassed. It had always been so, though now that she was older, she was better at hiding it. She only wished she was better at stopping it coming over her.

Her temper was not much improved while dancing with Mr. Wiles. The fellow seemed to talk in riddles. What did he mean by asking her what she thought of being pursued by a gentleman she could never tolerate? What did he mean by inquiring into any derangement in her family line?

To the last, she’d said, “Mr. Wiles, considering your conversation, I would wonder what sort of derangements lurk in your own family line.”

That, at least, had the effect of silencing that strange gentleman.

All the while, the Earl of Rustmont danced with a pretty young lady who did no sneezing whatsoever. It was very unfair.

*

Percy had been on the fence regarding whether or not Lady Felicity was deranged. No more. Not after what he’d witnessed on the ballroom floor.

Though he was decided on that point, he could not for the life of him figure out what it was she had been doing. At least with Lord Bakerston, one was clear on what was on his mind. Bakerston was worried about ‘them.’ Lady Felicity was more of a mystery.

She’d been guided to the floor by Rustmont and had looked all elegance. And then, things took a very strange turn. The lady had begun by making contorted faces, then she appeared to hold her breath and went red in the face, then she had some sort of fit that had brought everyone in her set to a standstill. Then she’d taken the earl’s handkerchief and blown her nose and smiled as if there was not a thing wrong.

If that wasn’t enough, after being returned to her father, she seemed to find amusement in the duke ripping an ostrich feather from Lady Marchfield’s hair and smacking the lady in the face with it.

Really, anyone marrying into such a family ought to know that if they dared it, they would end with exceedingly strange children!

Fortunately for him, he had no plans to dip his toe into that morass of madness. He only wished to look as if he did.

He had watched Lady Felicity closely after that display, but she went on looking very usual. Though, he could not help but notice that Wiles ended his dance with the lady looking a bit frightened of her.

Percy began to be amused by the idea that she’d acted strangely only with Rustmont. That gentleman was a regular stick and would not take kindly to being part of an odd display. People would laugh about it, which would make him exceedingly uncomfortable.

Now, it was time for Percy to take his own turn with Lady Felicity. He dearly hoped she had no plans for a repeat performance. As it was, he could see very well that there were plenty of people keeping an eye on her, likely hoping she would do something else they could talk about on the morrow.

“Lady Felicity,” he said.

“It’s the mister,” the Duke of Pelham said, apropos of nothing.

Percy really did not know why the duke went on with it. It had already been thoroughly established that he was not yet in possession of a title.

The duke slipped a flask out of his coat pocket and took a swig. He casually put it back.

Percy was speechless. Any of the patronesses would go mad if they knew there was drinking inside the hallowed walls of Almack’s. It was one of the most tedious rules they had—weak tea and sour lemonade only. It was also the reason so many gentlemen came already drunk.

“What?” the duke said in retort to his stare. “Who drinks tea and lemonade at this time of night? Only a madman, that’s who!”

Percy nodded and said, “Quite right,” hoping to end the conversation.

“Papa,” Lady Felicity said, “do not cause any trouble while I leave you on your own.”

“Hah! We’ll see,” the duke said, making no promises.

Percy supposed they had conversations along those lines quite often. What a family. Nevertheless, it could be precisely the family he looked for. With any luck, there might even be a push and pull to the whole thing. Percy would claim he was set on Lady Felicity, despite her unusual qualities, and his father would attempt to talk him out of it.

That would be amusing, really. The viscount had set out to push his son into a church and would find himself trying to bar the doors lest he end with a deranged daughter-in-law, likely leading to deranged grandchildren. The family line, already fairly new, would be doomed.

He put his arm out and led Lady Felicity to the floor.

Now that she seemed to have recovered from whatever sort of fit she’d had while dancing with Rustmont, she was all elegance. How odd that someone could change their mien so entirely. Just now, she was rather wonderful to look at.

“Lady Felicity, are you enjoying your first visit to Town?” he asked.

She briefly glanced at the ceiling as if she found the question tedious. “It is too soon to tell,” she said. “Though I feel I should compose a pleasant answer to that question as I have been asked it all evening.”

Percy was more than taken aback. It was a well-known and accepted conversation starter. What else was he to ask her? Lady Felicity, are you enjoying your father being a lunatic? Lady Felicity, did you enjoy embarrassing the Earl of Rustmont?

He was still game to lure her into Operation Sadly Hopeless , but he was beginning to think she might be difficult to manage.

She was not difficult to manage on a ballroom floor, however. Her dancing was exquisite. He could not fathom how it was so. According to all he’d heard, the Duke of Pelham lived very remote, somewhere in the Yorkshire Dales. It was said very few people had ever even ventured there, so isolated it was and so strange it was when a person actually arrived. Where had they found a dancing master in that far-off location?

Clearly, they must have, though.

Lady Felicity did not enact the same sort of performance she’d gifted the Earl of Rustmont with, there was no holding of breath or odd fits, or blowing of noses. Percy found himself very grateful for it. He’d led Lady Felicity into Almack’s dining room and a footman hurried to his side.

“Lady Felicity, would you care for tea or lemonade?” he asked.

The lady sighed. “My father said both are wretched, so I suppose it does not signify.”

Percy glanced round to ensure none of the patronesses were within earshot. Of course, everyone knew the offerings were wretched, but one ought not say so aloud!

“Tea,” he told the footman. “And the dry cake if you can get it before it runs out.”

“Do you know the Earl of Rustmont?” Lady Felicity asked.

“We are acquainted,” Percy said. He found himself irritated that the lady should mention that fellow.

“He seems a very refined gentleman,” Lady Felicity said.

“He’s a bit of a stick, did you not notice?” Percy said.

Lady Felicity appeared mortally offended by the idea.

“Lady Felicity, certainly you did notice,” Percy said. “He seemed very taken aback by… by… whatever it was that happened.”

Now the lady really had her back up. She positively glared at him. He supposed he should have expected it—derangement was never going to be predictable.

“It was a sneeze,” Lady Felicity said. “I sneezed because a lady in my set was reeking of rosewater. I am sensitive to the scents of flowers and vinegar.”

“Ah, I see,” Percy said. “I suppose you explained all that to Rustmont? What did he say to it?”

“Never mind what he said to it,” Lady Felicity said through gritted teeth.

As far as Percy was concerned, that was answer enough. Rustmont had been his usual stick about it, he supposed.

The footman returned with sadly weak tea and plates with none too generous slices of un-iced cake.

Lady Felicity glanced down at her plate. “My father was right—this is terrible.”

Once more, Percy surreptitiously looked about him to ensure she’d not been overheard.

She had not been, thank the stars. Though those sorts of comments, with no thought as to who might overhear, rather cemented his idea of Lady Felicity.

“Well,” she said, “I suppose I shall see the earl no end of places and will not be sneezing. The lady of the roses cannot be everywhere.”

Percy sat back. Lady Felicity really could not get off the subject of Rustmont. It was both irritating, and perhaps presenting an opportunity. If he were going to lay down his cards, now was the time.

“Lady Felicity, let me tell you something peculiar about Rustmont. He is obsessed with having what other people want. If you plan to get anywhere with him, he must see that another gentleman is interested in you. You understand? You must make him envious.”

The lady picked apart her cake with her fork.

“I see you consider it,” Percy pressed on. “The difficulty will be in finding a gentleman willing to act a part in that particular play.”

“Do you imply I would have trouble finding a gentleman interested in me?” Lady Felicity said, gripping her fork.

Percy had high hopes she was not going to stab him with it.

“Of course not,” Percy said, though he was not certain he believed it. She was an arresting beauty, but one must eventually talk to a beauty and that was where it would all fall apart.

“I am certain I could locate an interested gentleman with ease,” Lady Felicity said.

“No doubt, but I would point out that there is the difficulty of finding a gentleman who is willing to only pretend at it to pique another gentleman’s envy.”

Lady Felicity seemed to consider that idea.

“Fine. I’ll do it,” Percy said.