Page 38 of Lady Liar (A Series of Senseless Complications #5)

“What choice will we have? If I return to Town next year, will there magically be a gentleman turned up who does not give a toss for my lack of funds?”

“It’s all to do with the dowry,” Lady Verity said, tapping her finger on her chin.

Lilith was really beginning to wonder if Lady Verity were dense or if she were feigning ignorance. Of course it was all to do with the dowry!

“I have an idea,” she said. “I will write to the queen. She is imposing, frightening really, but she is very kind. She helped me, I do not see why she would not help you in some fashion. Yes, I will do it.”

“Write to the queen?”

“Yes, goodness, I imagine she does not understand your circumstances. How could she? I, myself, did not entirely understand. But I really believe she might be willing to do something. I do not know what, but if you are suddenly called to Buckingham and Lady Pembroke is to escort you and Lord Dartmouth meets the carriage, do not be frightened!”

Lilith did not know quite what to make of it.

Lady Verity wished to write the queen on her behalf.

Lilith believed she would do it, too. She had expected Lady Verity to swan in and gloat over her victory, but instead she was devising a ridiculous scheme to try to help.

It was not a scheme that had a hope of producing anything, but nevertheless.

That print she’d devised about Lady Verity, that print that had begun to haunt her, loomed large in her mind.

“I can see you are dubious over the idea,” Lady Verity said.

“But just think, the queen summoned me over that mocking print that went round. As you can imagine, I thought the very worst when I walked into the palace. I thought I might be sent back to Yorkshire, or even to prison because The Royal Society was caught up in it. I still don’t know if it’s a crime to mock an institution with a royal seal.

That is not what happened, though. The queen was determined to help me, and she did help me.

By the by, she composed that print of Lord Wembly on a fainting couch, she was that on my side of things. ”

Lilith burst into tears. She could not hold it in longer. She could face anger, but not pity. Not kindness when there should be ridicule.

“You cannot help me,” she sobbed. “You should not help me.”

Lady Verity handed her a handkerchief. “Do not be ridiculous. I can help you and I will help you.”

“Not when you know why you cannot help me.”

The next half hour was spent informing Lady Verity of precisely what had gone on with that very first print. It was perhaps to Lady Verity’s credit, and an homage to her character, that she had never once suspected it was another lady at the bottom of it.

When she’d finished, she expected Lady Verity to storm out and inform all and sundry that Lady Lilith was at the bottom of it all.

Why not and who cared? After all, Lilith would be forced to accept Mr. Grantley and would have already fallen so far down in the world that an extra push to the bottom of the well would mean little.

“You were that desperate to avoid marrying the older man your father has suggested to you. Well, it cannot be allowed to go forward, it is too cruel. I will write the queen today and we will see what comes of it. In the meantime, tell your father to keep faith. His daughter is not done for yet!”

With that, Lady Verity took her leave. Lilith sat for some minutes feeling frozen where she was. What in the world had just happened?

*

Verity had been well-pleased with her visit to Lady Lilith.

Of course, it was not entirely pleasing to know that Lady Lilith had designed that print that had started all the trouble.

But then the trouble had ended wonderfully, and it was well that Verity would not forever wonder who’d done it.

That part of it had really weighed on her.

Was she to wonder each time she was introduced to someone new?

Was it you? Or if not you, do you know who it was?

As well, the lady had found herself in desperate circumstances and had only lashed out.

Her tears had told the tale of guilt and so Verity could not be angry with her.

How could she possibly be? She had everything and Lady Lilith had nothing.

She would be terrified to be in Lady Lilith’s shoes.

She thought Lady Lilith was right when she pointed out that it was a simple matter to imagine one would not mind lacking funds, and then it was another thing to actually experience it.

Verity was as good as her word and wrote the queen.

It was a daring thing to do, but it was the only thing she could think of to help.

She’d briefly considered asking her father if he might fund Lady Lilith, but then she recalled he was already tasked with funding seven daughters.

He was ever so cheerful in the face of such a burden but perhaps he would not like to fund eight.

In any case, she thought her letter to the queen just might produce results.

She instinctively felt that Queen Charlotte was amused to make herself involved in Verity’s own situation.

So why not Lady Lilith? Perhaps it took the queen’s mind off the poor king.

And so between the flurries of activity that went on in preparation for a wedding, she had written the Queen of England.

Verity’s father had been convinced by both herself and Lord Wembly that there should be no unnecessary delay to the wedding, considering what had transpired so far. The duke and her intended had gone together to Doctor’s Commons to secure a special license and the day was set.

They had intended to have the ceremony in the drawing room and a reception in the dining room, with only close relations attending.

That plan was a bit thrown up in the air when Verity unexpectedly received a reply to the letter she’d written to Queen Charlotte regarding Lady Lilith’s pitiable circumstances.

Lady Verity—

I am rather astonished at the temerity of your recent letter. I had no inkling that one of my subjects would attempt to coerce me into raising up a lady who is in straightened circumstances. You are, indeed, daring to do it.

On the other hand, it was kindly done and I do not like to think of an earl’s daughter being forced to wed under the circumstances you have described. I will consider it.

In the meantime, I understand from the Archbishop that Wembly has obtained a special license. I presume you wed in St. George’s. An invitation to myself and Lady Pembroke would not go amiss.

Charlotte R

There was some confusion about what to do next.

Finally, the duke sent an invitation to Buckingham House outlining that the wedding would be a small one and held at Grosvenor Square.

Verity had almost hoped the queen would decline to come as the day was likely to be fraught enough.

But, she’d written that she liked to see the outcomes of her efforts and so she would come.

Though, she remained dubious over the idea that a duke’s daughter would have such a small ceremony.

Verity supposed she should be deeply honored by the queen’s wish to attend, though she felt she could do without the honor.

One thing she did do, though, was invite Lady Lilith.

She would be introduced to the queen, who now knew her circumstances.

Perhaps that might set off ideas in the queen’s mind about what might be done.

The rest of the staff took the news of the queen attending rather hard.

The duke’s household descended into a frenzy.

Nobody was more frenzied than Cook, who declared that the original menu must be thrown out entirely and he must start anew.

He would also require a large increase in his budget for the celebration.

There were tradesmen of all descriptions that must be hired, and everything must be fit for a queen.

He had planned to bake the wedding cake himself, but that was no longer sufficient!

Monsieur Bernard must be contracted with at once!

Monsieur Bernard was the only man in London to bake a cake worthy of a queen.

As well, multiple pineapples must be had, no matter the expense!

Furthermore, Lewis & Lewis must be assigned to make the ices!

Mrs. Right did mention, several times, that it was not the queen getting married, but Verity. He ignored that piece of information and informed Mrs. Right that he would never get over it if he failed and the Thames was within walking distance—he would disappear forever!

As no lord with any modicum of sense wished for a cook in the throes of a mental collapse, the duke speedily agreed to all of his demands.

As the temperature of feelings in the house rose, Verity had begun to fret over all the details and if they would meet with the queen’s approval.

However, her father assured her he’d got everything in hand.

Then Wembly had pointed out that no matter what went on, they would be married at the end of it.

Mrs. Right suggested Verity turn her mind to more personal things, like her dress.

So she did. She had loved the dress from the moment Madame LaFray had sketched it for her.

It was the palest yellow chiffon with a matching silk underdress.

It was simple but for the intricate embroidery around the hem of flowers growing in a garden.

The flowers were all different types and colors, and of different heights—peonies, delphinium, lavender, and hollyhock.

It spoke of newness and springtime, precisely what she wished to say in this moment.

It was actually the moment, too. She was in her dress while Valor sulked on her bed and Winsome weighed in on what jewelry to wear.

“The dress is so delicate,” Winsome said, “wear the simple diamond necklace. Rubies, emeralds, or sapphires will clash with it.”

Verity was inclined to agree. “Though, I must wear the sapphire bracelet given to me by Henry.”

“Henry!” Valor called from the bed. “You call him Henry ? I’m so embarrassed and I’m not even doing it.”

Verity had some grave concerns over how Valor would conduct herself while the queen was in the house. It was all well and good for her to make boldly ridiculous statements and complaints when it was only family, but not within the queen’s hearing.

“Valor, I will remind you that the Queen of England is going to attend the wedding. You must be on your very best behavior and say nothing to offend.”

“I never say anything to offend,” Valor said sulkily.

Winsome snorted. Verity said, “It is an actual crime to offend the queen. You shall not like Papa to go to prison over it?”

“That’s right,” Winsome said. “You are too young to be locked up so Papa would have to go in your place.”

Valor leapt off the bed as if it had caught fire and raced to the door.

“Where are you going?” Verity asked.

“To tell Thomas I put sugar in the salt cellars on the table so he can fix it!”

Valor disappeared out the door. Verity sighed as Winsome put the delicate diamond necklace around her neck and did the clasp.

“Do not worry about Valor, she’ll be all right now that she thinks Papa might have to pay for her crimes,” Winsome said. “Are you ready? Really ready to get married?”

“Very ready,” Verity said.

Winsome seemed pensive. “I know I let Valor do all the complaining, but it really is sad that we are not all together anymore. Now I’ll go home with just Valor.”

“But there is always the London season every year, Winsome. That’s when we can all be together.”

“I know, but will you not miss the Dales?”

“I will, but it’s time for me to make my own home now. It will be your turn next year.”

“I hardly feel ready.”

“But you will, when the time comes.”

Mrs. Right bustled into the room. “Everybody but for the queen has arrived, including Lady Lilith. You ought to go down, your fiancé is looking in fine form.”

Of course he would do. Wembly always looked in fine form.

Another worry clutched at Verity’s heart. She’d been assured nothing could go wrong there, but had that been right? “Mr. Amesbey, the curate from Grosvenor Chapel? Has he come?”

“Oh, aye, he’s here,” Mrs. Right said with a chuckle. “Though I think he is still on the fence over whether or not I might have sold my soul to the devil, as I hinted to him last year. Further weighing on his mind, the queen will come to hear his delivery. He is upright, but I think he feels it.”

Verity nodded. Last season, Mrs. Right had managed to convince another one of Lady Marchfield’s butlers, Mr. Cremble, that she was in league with the devil.

Mr. Cremble had brought in Mr. Amesby to, well, she was not sure what—get the devil out of Mrs. Right?

In the end, Mr. Cremble took himself off, and he was to get Lord Marchfield’s living, so everything had worked out rather splendidly for him.

However, Verity supposed the whole thing had left Mr. Amesby wondering what went on in the duke’s house.

“I wouldn’t fret over it,” Winsome said. “At least we do not have to contend with that scoldy Bishop Porteus. In any case, once the curate sees that the queen attends us, he will not dare speculate that Mrs. Right has gone to the devil.”

Verity nodded. Bishop Porteus had indeed been frightening.

At least to everyone but for the duke. She gave herself a little shake.

She wished to throw off all worry and fear—she was going to be married.

Bishops, queens, curates, none of it mattered.

She was going to be married to Henry Foster, Baron Wembly, and he was divine.