“I cannot believe it,” Percival said quietly, handing the letter to Makepeace. “Can this be right?”
His butler read through the letter and laid it down on the desk. “What does she mean?” he asked. “How does one become blinded by intellectualism? It is those who do not learn and think deeply who are blinded!”
Percival would have thought so himself.
“What do you suppose she means by saying there are more kinds of intelligence?” he asked.
Makepeace rubbed his chin. “Well, animals have a certain intelligence built into them.”
“Their instincts.”
“Just so.”
“But why should she point that out?” As he asked it, he thought he began to get an inkling. Lady Hightower had said he was forgetting how to be a gentleman. Did she mean he was losing his instincts as a gentleman? Could that be true?
He’d thought he’d said things politely last evening, if not directly. On the other hand, Lady Cordelia had come away with the idea that he thought her stupid. He had not wished that.
He did not even think it. At least, not entirely. He thought the acting troupe silly and absurd and he thought Lady Cordelia not particularly an intellectual. But that was a far cry from stupid!
And yet, he’d made her think it. That must be laid at his door and Lady Hightower was right. He ought to rectify it.
How he would do so, he had not the first idea.
“Well, Makepeace, it seems I’ve made a misstep and must fix it. I cannot go about making ladies cry, it’s just not the done thing. Not by a gentleman, anyway.”
Makepeace sighed so long and deep it sounded like his last breath was leaving his body and he was making his journey to the great beyond. “I suppose this means they will continue to contaminate our society meetings.”
“Yes, I suppose so, though I do not think ‘contaminate’ is really the right word. Now, I just have to figure out a way to fix this somehow, lest Lady Hightower begins writing me every day.”
Makepeace sniffed. “Perhaps you ought to get hold of that book they’re all so wild about?” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Perhaps you ought to look into these dreadful doings in a dale.”
Though his butler said it with the express intention of throwing another condemnation upon Lady Cordelia and her friends, it was not a bad idea. If he could engage on a topic she was interested in, he might show that he had been misunderstood.
Percival tented his fingers. Yes, of course that would do it. A proper apology and then a hint dropped that he was reading a book of interest to her must fix the thing.
“Makepeace,” he said, “get me a copy of that book. The dreadful doings of something or other dale.”
“You jest,” Makepeace said, looking as if he’d been asked to go out and hire a murderer.
“I do not. I want a copy on my desk today. In fact, get me a copy of every book that author has written. It would be well to go even beyond what would be duty; Lady Cordelia could not hold out against such a gesture. Send the footmen out in all directions.”
Chapter Eight
Lady Hightower hadbeen as good as her word. She’d found her aunt and her father, and the carriage had been called to take them home. Darden was left behind, as he was well able to make his own way back.
Cordelia had expected that her father would wish for some sort of explanation or assurance about her condition, but it was not so.
Lady Hightower had seen them off and Cordelia had heard her say to the earl, “Remember my counsel, my lord, do not enquire into it.”
Her aunt had told her later that Lady Hightower had explained to her father that it was nothing to be concerned about, just a womanly problem.
Cordelia had thought it was only her and her sisters who used such a ploy when they did not wish to explain a thing, but apparently it was a well-known strategy amongst women.
Her dear Papa had not the slightest wish to hear of womanly problems and so did not press her for information. He’d just stared out the carriage window, pretending nothing was amiss.
Her aunt, on the other hand, would not be put off, nor did Cordelia wish to put her off. They’d found Juliet still awake and lounging on her bed. As Lynette brushed out her hair and put it in a braid, Cordelia had poured out the whole wretched story for both of them.
“You were very right, Cordy,” Juliet said, “hewasinsufferable.”
