“If it will soothe you at all to know it,” Lady Hightower said, “Harveston thinks almost everybody is stupid.”
This idea did soothe. In truth, Cordelia began to feel less injured and more angry that he should have behaved in such a manner.
“I have observed for some time that he values pure intellect above all else. This is to his detriment, of course, as he fails to see his own failings. He has blinded himself with facts.”
This cheered Cordelia even more. Lady Hightower was right—just because he’d read all sorts of books did not mean he was perfect. It did not mean he did not have faults.
Other than a propensity for rudeness, she did not know what those other faults were, of course, but certainly he had them. He probably had piles of them.
“Lord Harveston has carved out for himself a narrow lane to live his life through,” Lady Hightower said. “This will be his downfall if he does not correct it. Books are always a very one-sided conversation—they cannot cheer you on, nor soothe you when you are ill.”
“Yes,” Cordelia said, feeling very encouraged. “Books are not everything. Lord Hamill told me he does not even read them at all.”
Lady Hightower snorted. “Yes, well, Hamill is another story altogether,” she said. “Now, dry your eyes, take deep breaths, and stay here. I will find Miss Mayton and the earl and tell them you have a headache. We will have your carriage called. You will miss nothing by skipping the patronesses’ offerings. By the by, next time sit by me—I bring a sugar mixture to pour over everything to make it more palatable. They know it but they dare not do anything about it.”
Cordelia nodded and said, “Lady Hightower, you have been most kind to put up with me.”
“Nonsense,” the lady said, “what is one of the oldest bats in the rafters to do if not come to the aid of a weeping young woman in a retiring room? It happens more often than you might imagine. In any case, I always do find a Bennington girl interesting.”
*
Percival had neverhad a lady become so offended by his words. He supposed it was his hinting that Lady Cordelia and her troupe of actors ought to form their own club that had done it.
At least, that was all he and his butler could make of it. Makepeace theorized that Lady Cordelia suffered from an ailment of the nervous variety and might become upset over practically anything.
That might be true, of course. Shehadseemed unpredictable—one moment waxing on about Lord Darling and the screaming Chester, the next naming him insufferable and rushing off.
Certainly, her condemnation had not been rational. While his words might have been direct, he had not been insufferable.
No, he could not have been insufferable. He would have known if he were being insufferable.
He might have been the least little bit irritated. He supposed mention of her searching for her own Corinthian had grated, as he never did see the sense in it. Irritated, yes. Insufferable, he could not see it.
Now, Makepeace had just come in and handed him a letter that had been delivered.
Percival saw that it was from Lady Hightower and became the slightest bit uncomfortable. She had been staring at the scene when Lady Cordelia had run off. She had risen herself and followed the lady. She had stared at him when she came back.
He opened the letter.
My dear Lord Harveston—
I pray you do not view this as an intrusion, but as I have known you since you were a schoolboy and I am a friend of your mother’s, I do not hesitate to write and point something out to you.
Your behavior last evening was insufferable.
Percival dropped the paper. Lady Hightower pronounced him insufferable too! But how could she know? She did not hear the conversation. She would have only been told Lady Cordelia’s side of things and that lady had proved herself unpredictable.
He picked up the sheet to read the rest of it.
To have reduced a young lady just out in society to tears is outrageous. I did not need to hear from Lady Cordelia any of the details of your conversation beyond the idea that she understands you think her stupid.
Then, I knew as much as I needed to.
You have become so blinded by your perceived intellectualism that you are beginning to forget how to be a proper gentleman. What can be found in books is not all that can be found in life. Further, there are more kinds of intelligence than you are aware of. Do not become so enamored with your knowledge that you gain the reputation of being insufferable on a regular schedule.
Rectify this, Harveston.
Regards—an irritated old bat
