Page 27 of Lady Liar (A Series of Senseless Complications #5)

“It is no matter,” Henry said. Though he had not liked to miss it, he would never wish for his aunt to feel as if she’d been any sort of burden. “I believe Lady Verity attends Lady Darlington’s masque. That will be time enough. Now, I suppose you are done with Lady Rareton’s card parties?”

“Goodness, no,” Lady Pegatha said. “I have known Leticia forever. As for that cook of hers, I can comfortably say I am done with him . Did I say she sent over a note claiming the mayonnaise had been made correctly but a kitchen maid had taken it from the icehouse too early? As if that would ever induce me to try it again! What does she imagine? That I will keep a close eye on her kitchen maids to determine if they are taking items from the icehouse at the right moments? Leticia is clutching at straws with that idea.”

“I suppose her cook keeps his employment then, despite poisoning a half-dozen of her guests.”

“And that kitchen maid too, as far as I can gather. But then, whenever something goes wrong in a kitchen, the fault is always laid at the most junior person in it, as if they are secretly running the place. Almost always nonsense.”

Just then, a footman brought a letter in on a salver. Henry picked it up and opened it. What he read next was startling, to say the least.

Lord Wembly—

I would request you visit me at your earliest convenience regarding the caricature involving The Royal Society.

Several of our members have already been to see me to voice their complaints.

I have not yet decided if we ought to make a public pronouncement about it or ignore it.

I would like to hear your opinion before going forward.

I currently stay with Lord Kenilworth on Curzon Street.

Sir Joseph Banks

A caricature? What caricature? Was it about Sir Richard’s frogs?

The only thing Henry could imagine would end up being laughed at by the ton was Sir Richard’s rather ridiculous observances of frogs in different ponds.

Henry could just imagine the mockery if someone outside the society overheard Sir Richard say: “The study of herpetofauna rather depends on our finding it out!” But why should any of that concern Henry?

Why was he being called in by Sir Joseph?

He was not the one going round spouting off about gazing at frogs all summer.

Lady Pegatha must have noted his confusion, as she was staring at him. “Well?” she said. “What is it?”

“I am not certain what exactly it is, but for being exceedingly odd. Sir Joseph wishes to see me.”

“Ah, he is the president of your little club, is he not?”

“The Royal Society is not a little club, though I know you say it to tease. And yes, he is our esteemed president. It seems there is a print going round about the society, and not a favorable one, I will guess. But why should he wish to see me about it?”

Lady Pegatha shrugged. “You will not know until you see him, I presume.”

“I will write him back that I am currently unable to leave the house due to an illness in the family.”

“Bah, get going and find out what he wants. I am exceedingly unlikely to experience a setback from an assault by mayonnaise.”

“If you are certain?” Henry asked. He did not wish to leave his aunt’s side until he was sure of her permanent recovery. On the other hand, he was curious to know what this summons was all about.

“As certain as I am that I will dine before Lady Rareton’s next party and avoid her adventurous cook’s creations as if he is Henry the Eighth and I am a lady of his household.”

Henry laughed. Lady Pegatha had often wondered why none of the ladies who’d caught the eye of that monarch had not run for the hills.

She supposed they had not the means, as why else would a lady wed a king in the habit of killing off his queens?

He said, “Sir Joseph is staying just on Curzon Street. I can walk over and be back soon enough.”

“Go, take the air. You are a young man; you cannot spend an entire day staring at an old woman who has done battle with a mayonnaise.”

Henry stood and kissed the top of his aunt’s head. “Do not do anything strenuous while I am gone.”

Lady Pegatha laughed. “I do not do anything strenuous when you are here.”

“You know what I say.”

“Yes, yes, I will try to avoid a mortal injury from my embroidery needle. Go on, I would like to hear news of what’s buzzing under Sir Joseph’s hat at the moment.”

Henry strode out of the room. A footman fetched his coat, and he set off for Curzon Street. It was not ten minutes before he arrived at Lord Kenilworth’s door. He was admitted and led to the lord’s library, where he found Sir Joseph in his wheeled chair, deep in a book.

Sir Joseph laid the book on his lap. “Ah, Lord Wembly, I desired that you come as quickly as you might, but had not had hope it would be quite this quick.”

“Sir Joseph. I stay with my aunt on Berkeley Square.”

“Lady Pegatha. Very good. Now, what do you make of this print that’s going round? It could be, of course, that there is another red-haired gentleman I ought to think of, but I’ve been told it is most definitely you.”

Red-haired gentleman? There had been nothing in the note about a red-haired gentleman. Was this not about Sir Richard’s frogs, then? “I’ve heard nothing of it until I received your note,” Henry said.

“You have not even seen it?”

“No, I have been at home. Lady Pegatha had been struck ill.”

“Do not tell me she attended Lady Rareton’s card party.”

“She did.”

Sir Joseph let out a small laugh. “I will not be surprised to see a print about that . A dozen matrons of the ton struck down singlehandedly by a certain chef and a certain mayonnaise.

“But the print you refer to?”

“Ah, yes, it is on the desk. Lord Westerby claimed it all made sense. Something about the perils of a man of science becoming distracted by a woman and how there were already plenty of gentlemen who could people the world. Really, I can hardly follow half of what that man says.”

Henry went to the desk. The print lay on top of a stack of scientific journals.

He could hardly believe what he was seeing.

A lady stood behind a lectern labeled Royal Society while an audience of gentlemen looked on.

He read the caption. After landing several trout on the banks of the River Esk, Lady Fiction concludes that fish cannot see much on land while a certain red-haired gentleman looks on.

My God, it was ridiculing Lady Verity and her story of inquiring into fish eyesight.

Word must have spread very widely about it.

It was his fault; he’d mentioned it to Westerby.

As it was looking, Westerby had no sense at all and had gone round repeating it.

Then somebody had decided it was too amusing to let pass.

Lady Verity was named Lady Fiction. It was such an insult! It was an insult and a humiliation that he’d brought down upon her head. It was true that she’d invented the preposterous notion that was mocked in the print, but it should never have left her father’s house.

Did she know? What must she feel? She was likely to conclude he was the one who had spoken of it after the dinner at the duke’s house. She would know that he’d brought this down on her head. After all, who else could it be? Lady Pegatha would hardly have gone round discussing scientific ideas.

“What do you make of it, Lord Wembly?” Sir Joseph said, interrupting his thoughts.

“Yes, what do I make of it. Well, I think this is one of those cases where a very small thing has been blown up to a much bigger thing. Unnecessarily. Lady Verity Nicolet mentioned in passing that she wondered about whether fish might see as well on land as they do in water.”

“I see. I’ve wondered that on occasion myself. Perhaps the various species’ different shapes and structures of eyes have to do with typical depth? Meaning how much light is generally in their milieu?”

Henry was rather startled by the comment. He’d not thought anybody wondered about it. But perhaps he had not carefully considered the matter? It seemed Sir Joseph had.

“What should we do?” Sir Joseph asked. “I do not like that The Royal Society has been caught up in this.”

The Royal Society. So far, Henry had not given a thought to The Royal Society. The society could weather this storm. Lady Verity perhaps could not.

“I think it would be wise to say nothing,” Henry said. “If we make some statement about it, it just puts more fuel on the fire. It is a little bit of teasing and will not take up people’s attention for long.”

That was partly true, Henry thought. The ton would not occupy itself with this print overlong, he did not think.

As for Lady Verity herself, that was a much different matter.

For a lady to be named Lady Fiction! It was almost as bad as Lady Jersey’s nickname—Silence—for her habit of incessant talking.

Lady Jersey’s nickname had stuck, people delighted in it.

Would it be the same for Lady Verity? Would she be known as Lady Fiction forevermore? What was he to do to fix this?

Sir Joseph nodded thoughtfully. “I am of the same mind myself. Starve the thing of air, as it were.”

Henry nodded. Really, though, he’d like to choke the thing to death. And possibly choke Westerby too.

“Nicolet, you said?” Sir Joseph said.

Henry nodded. “The Duke of Pelham’s daughter. One of his daughters, anyway.”

“Let us hope he does not feed the gossip with too much air, then. I understand that gentleman is rather…unpredictable.”

The duke. Good God, what would the duke do about this?

*

If Verity could have escaped the drawing room before Lady Marchfield got in it, she would have. It occurred to her that drawing rooms should have a secret door at one end where one might make a quick exit.

As it was, she was trapped.

Lady Marchfield waved the print around dramatically.

Verity had already seen it in all its horrifying glory.

Lord Dashlend had located a copy and sent it over with a note.

As far as he could gather, Lord Wembly had inquired of Lord Westerby whether there had been any prior research on the vision of fish because Verity was looking into the matter.

Westerby had repeated it to somebody or other and it had taken off from there.

Lord Dashlend did not think Westerby had anything to do with the print, as that gentleman did not get up to such things.

“I’ve said and I’ve said and I’ve said it would come to this,” Lady Marchfield cried.

“It’s only a joke, Aunt,” Winsome said in Verity’s defense.

It was only a joke. But a cutting joke and a nickname, Lady Fiction, that might stay with her forever. Why had she ever invented such a story? Or any of the stories she’d invented? It would be far better for people to know she was stupid rather than a liar.

“A joke?” Lady Marchfield said, her tone expressing her outrage. “Do you suppose Lord Wembly will be laughing over it?”

Winsome glanced at Verity, as they both knew Lord Wembly had not laughed over it.

He’d not come to Lady Jellerbey’s candlelight picnic because of it.

He’d essentially washed his hands of her, and she was heartbroken over it.

She would not allow her aunt to see that, though.

The very last thing she needed was her aunt gloating that she’d been right all along.

Perhaps she had been right, but Verity did not wish to hear about it.

There was a quick knock on the drawing room doors and Thomas came in, looking almost frightened. Verity had expected a tea tray but what, or rather who , he brought in could not have been further from that comforting item.