Page 8 of Lady Liar (A Series of Senseless Complications #5)

V erity found Lord Wembly exceedingly graceful for a man of his size and he led her with confidence. She was surrounded by her sisters and her brothers-in-law. Goodness, what had she worried about? This was very genial!

They took their turn at the figure, La Belle Poulé, and returned to their place. As the other couples took their turns, Lord Wembly said, “Do you enjoy Town so far, Lady Verity?”

A question she could answer without any difficulty and not at all intellectual. “Indeed, yes, though tonight is my first night out in society.”

“I suppose you’ve accepted no end of invitations,” he said. “I imagine a duke’s door is battered by them.”

“Oh, well, I have not actually had time to go through all of them. We only arrived recently. My aunt, Lady Marchfield, arranged our voucher and tickets for Almack’s, but I cannot be certain what else is waiting.”

“Lady Marchfield seems in very high spirits this evening.”

Of course, her aunt did seem rather delighted with the world at this moment.

Verity was not certain, though, if she ought to reveal the cause.

A very off-putting American who’d named Verity a fine filly, among other outrages, had been moved into the house.

Mrs. Right had not had a moment to get him out of it.

“Yes,” she said, “my aunt is often in high spirits.”

That was a very fanciful idea, but hopefully Lord Wembly was not so acquainted with Lady Marchfield to know it.

“I have been through most of my invitations,” Lord Wembly said. “I’ve accepted quite a few—Lady Remington’s card party, Lady Jenner’s musical evening, and Sir Jonathan’s annual scavenger hunt for charity are all coming up soon.”

Goodness, he was listing off everywhere he would be, which she imagined was very encouraging. Did it not hint that he wished her to know where he could be found?

But a card party? She was really not very good at cards. Vingt-et-un was all right, but she became entirely lost at whist. As for piquet, that might as well have been devised to torture people. The number of rules was maddening.

And then, Lady Jenner’s musical evening must be out of the question.

She did not play an instrument, and Patience had found out that all the young ladies were meant to demonstrate their talent.

Patience and their father had to invent a sudden hand injury that prevented Patience from playing the crwth.

Patience had claimed that obscure instrument was the only thing she played, betting that nobody would have ever heard of it.

Lady Jenner, it turned out, had one. It had been a very close call, though these days Lord Stanford was well aware that his bride played not a note.

A scavenger hunt, though? She might be able to do that.

She’d never participated in such a thing, but she imagined it would not be more complicated than the village’s annual Harvest Festivity.

The highlight of it was that Hunthouse apples would be hidden in all sorts of clever places by the vicar and his committee.

Whoever gathered the most apples won a prize.

Last year’s prize had been a copy of selected sermons penned by Mr. Fordyce, which had been rather disappointing to everybody, but for the vicar and his committee of elderly ladies.

The winner, young Harold Busterby, had not seemed at all impressed.

Nevertheless, the running round looking for apples had been great fun.

“A scavenger hunt sounds exceedingly interesting. And it is for charity, you said?”

“Sir Jonathan raises funds for The Sewing Circle. It is a charitable concern training young women to be seamstresses who might otherwise…choose less ideal employment.”

As Verity was not particularly na?ve, she understood his hint.

Young girls without means or protection were often forced to debase themselves to survive.

It was a contemptible business and the shame of it, as far as Verity was concerned, landed squarely on the shoulders of the men who made it possible. “It sounds a very worthy cause.”

“It is on Friday next.”

“It sounds like just the sort of thing I would accept,” Verity said. Gracious, this was going very well. Far better than she had feared.

Perhaps it did not signify that Lord Wembly was taken up with The Royal Society. Perhaps a person engaged in intellectual pursuits would rather leave behind thinking of them when he was engaged elsewhere. Perhaps all her worry over being discovered to be a dullard was never justified at all.

They executed the change and took their turn at Les Pantalons. Returning to their place, Verity said, “Do you have brothers and sisters in Town?”

Lord Wembly shook his head. “It is just me, I’m afraid.” He glanced at their set, overflowing with sisters, and said, “You seem to have been lucky in that area. I understand there are seven of the duke’s daughters.”

Verity nodded. Her sisters. Another agreeable subject they might talk about. “It has been rather wonderful to be surrounded by so many genial sisters.”

“My aunt, Lady Pegatha, I stay with her in Town, she says the duke is delighted to have so many daughters.”

“I think that’s right,” Verity said. “I imagine people wonder why he is not sad over not having a direct heir, but that is not how my father is. He looks round at what he’s got and finds it all very genial.”

“A very intelligent way to live, I must think.”

Thinking to steer Lord Wembly away from any talk of intelligence, which she absolutely did not want examined, she said, “Everybody is very happy with the way things are. Except Valor, of course. She is the youngest and does not like her sisters leaving. She did try to attempt to convince me to sit out the season.”

“But you did not wish to?”

Somehow, she’d led herself right into a dangerous topic. She had debated that very thing, considering her deficiencies. “Well, in the end, I decided against it.”

The dance came to a close and Lord Wembly led her to the dining room, her sisters all trailing behind her.

He led her to two open places and directed a footman to fetch them tea and cake. “I would ask you which you wished for—tea or lemonade—but this is your first time here. Nobody who tries the lemonade wishes to try it again, so I thought to save you from the experience.”

Verity nodded, conscious of Patience on her other side.

What would Patience make of Lord Wembly wishing to save her from an experience?

Even if the experience was only sour lemonade?

As well, the offerings at supper were another subject she knew something about, as her sisters had advertised their opinions loudly.

“Felicity says the lemonade, the whole supper really, verges on an insult, and that is probably the point. She says that if people not privileged enough to have been issued vouchers will spend vast amounts on their entertaining on a Wednesday night to pretend they do not care, the patronesses will spend nothing on it to point out that they should.”

“I suspect you are right, though that sort of snobbery often strikes me as nonsensical. Perhaps those leading ladies of society would be better off improving their minds rather than proving a pointless point.”

Improving their minds? What did he mean by it? Did he suppose everybody, meaning her, should be improving their minds?

She would improve it, if she could. What if he discovered she could not?

Would he so offhandedly condemn her as he had the patronesses?

He might well do. After all, it was not every gentleman bold enough to make such comment on the patronesses.

Especially not when he was seated in those ladies’ own palace of refinement.

He’d made the comment in such a decided manner. Almost derisive, really, as if he looked down upon the sort of pedestrian ideas the patronesses seemed to espouse.

Verity’s nerves, which had gone a long way toward calm, began to climb again.

“Tell me, Lady Verity, what are your interests?” Lord Wembly asked.

Interests? Did he mean intellectual interests? What could she say? She could not think of a thing to say. Did she have interests? Verity’s mind felt as if it were nearly collapsing in on her.

“Interests?” she said.

“Yes, well, I admit my own will not be fascinating to you. I am much taken up by The Royal Society. I imagine my research will not interest a lady.” Lord Wembly laughed. “I am sure it will not. After all, what is a lady to make of my inquiries into the circulatory systems of slow-moving animals?”

Verity’s mind was spinning and she felt her heart speed up.

It was not a very foreign feeling either, as it came over her whenever someone talked about something she could not possibly know anything about.

She always felt as if she should know something about it, and the details were hidden in a book somewhere.

Everybody else would know something about it.

This overwhelming feeling had, in the past, caused her to say some of the stupidest things she’d ever said. It was a kind of panic that could not be reined in once it got going. Spinning, spinning, spinning, and then a dark blanket slowly fell over her rational thoughts, and she was not in control.

“On the contrary, Lord Wembly, I have looked into the same,” she blurted out.

What did she just say? Why did she just say that? He looked startled. Of course he looked startled. What a thing to say!

“I admit to being taken aback, Lady Verity,” he said. “I would not have guessed we had such a similar interest. Have you come to any conclusions on the subject?”

Conclusions! Of course she had no conclusions. She did not even understand the question.

“I believe the circulatory systems are at the bottom of why those animals move so slowly,” she said, attempting a blithe tone.

What animals were they? What did their circulation have to do with it? She had no idea!

“There you are,” the duke said from behind her chair.

Her father, thank the heavens, it was her father.