Page 14 of Lady Liar (A Series of Senseless Complications #5)

H enry hardly knew what to do with Lady Winsome’s statement.

Lady Marchfield was lending the duke a butler, but he was to be got rid of?

Where did Lady Marchfield even find an American butler?

And again, another mention of this mysterious Mrs. Right.

Could it be possible that the duke kept a mistress?

Was she above stairs somewhere, considered inappropriate company for Lady Pegatha?

It sounded deranged, but considering all he’d experienced so far, he could not rule anything out of bounds.

But no, surely not. Whatever the duke was, he did seem to have a care for his daughters. He would hardly have a mistress living in the house. Who was she, though?

Lady Winsome and Lady Valor had pulled all the chairs round in a circle and laid piles of blue and yellow tickets on an ottoman.

The footman came round with the bottles of port and brandy. Apparently, they had left the butler behind to take down the wallcovering and think of Mr. Benjamin Franklin.

One of the footmen poured Henry a glass of port. Lord Stanford said, “Better give him more, Charlie, first time at Fact or Fib, you know.”

The footman nodded knowingly and filled his glass nearly to the top. Henry was becoming very wary of what would come next. His aunt looked a little wary herself, as Lady Valor had just thrown her pug into the lady’s lap.

“Now, the game is simple,” Lady Valor said. “We’ll ask you a question and then if you tell the truth, you get a yellow ticket, and if you fib, you get a blue ticket. Two yellows wins, but a blue cancels a yellow. I always go first.”

Henry was seated next to Lady Verity. He leaned over and said quietly, “How do they know whether anyone has told the truth?”

“They just decide,” Lady Verity whispered.

Henry took a long draught of port. They just decide.

“Lady Pegatha,” Lady Valor said, “Do you think there could be any other dog in the whole world who is as tremendous as Sir Galahad?”

As a further prompting, Lady Valor held up the dog to Lady Pegatha’s face.

“Gracious, well, if there is, I don’t know about it,” Lady Pegatha said.

“Fact!” Lady Valor said. “I know it’s a fact because Lady Margaret thinks the very same thing.

” She hopped up, threw a yellow ticket in Lady Pegatha’s direction and took her dog back.

“I’m going to bed now. I’ve matured and don’t always wait to have an overtired outburst. I feel it creeping up on me, is what I say.

” She turned to Lady Verity and said, “Try not to get married while I’m gone. ”

With that, Lady Valor made a little curtsy and left with her dog hanging in her arms.

That was an odd display, but the game did not seem insurmountable. Henry did not quite know what he’d expected, but it appeared as if it would not be as bad as he imagined. He was happy enough to give his opinion on the household dog, or whatever other subject came up.

“Lord Wembly,” Lady Winsome said, “what was the first thing you noticed about our Verity?”

Henry felt rather frozen. What a question.

It did not help that his aunt had outright snorted.

“Oh, as to that, well, I would say, if pressed, I suppose it must be her mind.” He’d imagined that would be a safe answer, but began to doubt himself, considering the dark looks coming from the duke’s daughters. Stanford sighed next to him.

“Fib!” Lady Winsome cried. “It is her eyes, everybody knows it. Papa says they are like our mother’s.”

“That’s true,” the duke said.

Henry had a blue ticket thrown in his lap. What he was supposed to do with it, he did not know. Of course, the correct answer probably would have been her eyes, if not her complexion or hair or lips or charming little nose. But he could hardly be expected to say so!

“I’ll go,” Patience said. “Verity, what did you first notice about Lord Wembly?”

Henry dared not look at her, though she was just to his left.

“His hair,” Lady Verity said. “It is a particular shade of auburn.”

His hair? It was his worst feature! But then, what one first notices about a person is not always what they find most genial. It could be she was very against the color and struck by it in that way.

The sisters looked at one another, as if they could not decide. Then Lady Felicity subtly nodded, and they all cried, “Fact!”

Lady Verity was handed a yellow ticket.

As Lady Winsome turned her sights on Lady Pegatha, Henry leaned to the left and whispered, “My hair. Is it bad?”

“No,” she whispered back and then turned away in her chair.

So. His hair color was not bad. Surprising.

*

The following day, Verity had been about as relaxed as a cat caught in a downpour. All day long, she’d attempted to settle on something or somewhere or some attitude. She was all mixed up!

Winsome had followed her around saying things like: “Verity, why on earth did you say you were trying to find out if fish can see when they are on land? What are you to do about it? Why does it even matter, what good could it do them since they cannot breathe on land?”

Of course, she very well knew it was ridiculous. She’d felt cornered, as if she had to say something, and then there were those broiled cod staring up at her and it had come out.

That was not the least of it, either. When Lord Wembly had been asked what he’d first noticed about her, he’d said her mind.

Her mind, her intelligence—it was the exact worst thing about her!

She was an idiot who could not even read, and he admired her mind?

Why had she ever pretended she was at all interested in the circulatory systems of slow-moving animals?

It was the same old problem that had haunted her forever—she panicked because she was certain somebody was on the verge of discovering how stupid she was.

What was she to do about it? It was as if all her worst fears were coming true.

She had held on to the shred of hope that a gentleman she admired might admire her too because he was attracted to her looks.

Even if she were not the prettiest lady in Town, Mrs. Right often said there was a lid to every teapot.

If she could be a lid, perhaps the teapot would not notice her less than middling intellect.

Baron Wembly was not the sort of gentleman who would remain blind to a middling intellect. Or appreciate it.

As she had a hundred times before, Verity searched her mind for some way to become smarter. Why could everybody else read while she could not? Was there some trick to it that she was missing? She could not ask anybody without giving herself away, so she had never asked anybody.

This afternoon, they were to ride in the park. That, at least, she was competent at. But would he ask her anything about the fish? She did not know the first thing about fish, other than she was not opposed to broiled cod.

She probably should have taken Valor’s advice and sat the season out.

But she had not, and Lord Wembly was glorious. She could not give up thinking about him. Even if it turned out to be hopeless.

“What did he whisper to you, Verity?” Winsome asked. “When you said the first thing you noticed was his hair. He whispered something.”

“Oh, he asked if it was bad. I said no,” Verity said.

“That’s a bright spot, then,” Winsome said.

Winsome was right, that was a bright spot. Verity had been a bit thrown off by the question—who could think that glorious auburn hair was bad? Perhaps he just wanted to be sure she approved of it. That really would be a bright spot.

“I know what you should do, Verity,” Winsome said. “About that ridiculous fish idea, why don’t you just say it was an idea but you haven’t done anything to look into it. That way, you won’t be tempted to make up any outrageous stories about it.”

Verity supposed she should be affronted that Winsome had mentioned her outrageous stories. But then, Winsome, of all her sisters, knew her the best. It was one of the reasons Winsome was always challenging what she said. Winsome did not know the real reason for what she did, though.

It was all becoming too much. Who she was, what she was, had always weighed heavily on her.

When she was younger, she could go for hours without thinking about it.

Now it was on her mind every second of every day.

When she was younger, she used to fool herself with the idea that her mind would catch up to everybody else’s and she’d learn to read.

Maybe it would be easier if people just knew. They could condemn her or feel sorry for her or however they wanted to feel. They could accept her or not, whichever they wished. She felt a tear roll down her cheek and swiped at it, turning away from Winsome.

“Are you crying? You never cry. What’s happened? Keep going with the fish story if you like—it was just a suggestion.”

“Winsome,” she said very quietly. “I have a secret. A terrible secret.”

Winsome laughed. “Whatever the secret, I doubt it’s very terrible.”

Verity was silent for some moments as Winsome stared at her. She took a breath in and said, “I cannot read. I’ve tried and tried but I cannot do it. I’ve hidden it all these years—I am exceedingly stupid. Lord Wembly is going to find it out and want nothing to do with me.”

*

Mrs. Right had just left Verity and Winsome sobbing together in the library. They would not say what it was about, only that it was a secret between sisters.

She was inclined to think it had something to do with Lord Wembly. She was inclined to think it because of how many other times they were in Town and one of her girls had been weeping and it had been because of the gentleman she admired.

If that baron had done a single thing to upset her girl, he would hear about it.

Or if not hear about it, then suffer some anonymous consequences over it.

Lord Wembly ought to be very wary of the prospect.

Had she not proved last season that she could be as sly and skilled as any housebreaker, slipping through the darkness with impunity to wreak vengeance?