“You always dare ask,” Harry said, laughing. “Miss Thompson was talked to and set straight, Lady Isabel was there, much to my surprise, and I partnered with her in piquet. Finally, the duchess would like to murder me.”
“All in all, a success,” Smith said.
“Yes, I rather think it was.”
*
Carlson stared grimlyout the window. The rain came down in sheets, just in time for Lady Tredwell’s masque. The whales and dolphins were at it again. Why could they not settle themselves and act as proper animals? Instead, they were gallivanting about, throwing the weather topsy-turvy and very carelessly inconveniencing everybody.
He stopped himself. Were they, though?
He was beginning to fear that he was slowly going mad. Somehow, he was starting to believe the theories he posited about dolphins and whales and crows and foxes. He could almost see the whales and dolphins frolicking and causing a weather disturbance. It could be true, after all. Nobody had ever proved it wasnottrue.
But somewhere in his mind there was that small voice, that still sane voice. It said, You know perfectly well it is all stuff and nonsense. You’ve never seen a dolphin in your life and have no idea what they get up to.
Had this spiral into insanity been what had happened to his old mentor, Lord Ingraham? Had the gentleman developed his theories until it seemed they must be real, and he was, for all intents and purposes, a madman?
It was all well and good for Lord Ingraham to go mad—he could afford it. But what of a mad butler? Would he end his days in Bedlam, attempting to convince his jailors that the rain was the dolphins’ fault?
Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on who was looking at it, the duchess had descended into madness right along with him. If he said dolphins were to blame, she cursed the dolphins. As for the servants, they did not dare say anything about it.
With one notable exception, it seemed. That new lady’s maid—Betsy.
Oh, she had plenty to say. She was,allegedly, a farmer’s daughter. She went on and on about seasons andallegedtypes of clouds and wind direction. All thingsallegedlytaught her by her father.
What did a farmer think he knew about the weather?Ifshe was really a farmer’s daughter at all.
That unpleasant lady passed by him just now and whispered, “Those awful dolphins!”
Wrong, Betsy,allegedlythe farmer’s daughter. It isyouwho are awful!
*
Smith had comethrough as always. He’d secured Harry a costume for Lady Tredwell’s masque that would say what he wished to say. He was to be Henry V, battling impossible odds to victory and then wooing his new bride. He would be no idiot Romeo, killing himself before he was even certain his Juliet was actually dead.
He added a black half-masque to complete the ensemble. If the duchess looked closely, she would recognize him. However, he did not plan on giving her the time to do it.
He had got to the Tredwells’ early and then bided his time for a full forty-five minutes. As if on cue, a mass of people began to arrive. He weaved this way and that through the crowd, always looking out for Lady Isabel and blending in with the sea of people. As of yet, she and the duchess had not arrived.
Though he had come in steeling his nerves for what he planned to do this night, he could not help being caught up short and nearly roaring with laughter at what he just now found before him.
Lady Featherstone stood proudly as a Bow Street Runner, her tall top hat and blue jacket with two rows of brass buttons proclaiming it to the world. That would not have been so striking though. When one’s eyes traveled further down, it was apparent that the lady was wearing pants. They were loose and revealed nothing, but theyweretrousers. The whole thing was capped off by men’s shoes. Harry would not be surprised if, after the ball, Lady Featherstone leapt on her horse and set out across London to run down criminals.
To complete the comedy, Lady Mendleton, dressed as a Madonna holding a lifeless baby by means of a doll, was staring wide-eyed at the costume while Lady Redfield swiveled her head right and left like a bird looking for an open window.
He moved closer beside them as he would be delighted to hear their conversation.
Lady Redfield, dressed as a Dutch lady of old and stumbling around in wooden shoes, said, “Goodness Anne, that costume is rather, that is…the lower half of it is…well…it seems…brave?”
“Brave?” Lady Mendleton said. “But it is pants.”
“Yes, so it is,” Lady Featherstone said confidently. “It is more important that the costume be accurate than to bow to any notion of false modesty. My lord has had nothing to say against it and so you can have no cause to either.”
“Lord Featherstone approves this,” Lady Mendleton asked in some wonder. “It is exceedingly liberal of him.”
Lady Featherstone had an obstinate look on her features. “Hewouldapprove. If he knew. He is at Newmarket just now.”
Lady Mendleton peered at her closely. “I am afraid I know what has happened to you, Anne. You have experienced some sort of breakdown over Lord Ryland’s mystery supper, haven’t you? You think that topaz ring Lady Isabel won should be on your own finger.”
