Fortunately, she never inquired into the details.
Unfortunately, Lady Rawley also happened to be his aunt.
He read the note again, searching it for any escape tunnel he might slip down or a secret door he might use as an exit to this untenable proposal.
My darling boy—
I, of course, know how devastated you are to always miss my theatrical evenings. (A baron is called to take on so many responsibilities, my departed earl was never so busy!)
I write you to tell you that I have had a smashing idea—I will join your society of literary people. In fact, I thought I would invite my entire acting troupe as it is only a handful of ladies.
This year’s offering at my little theatrical soiree will beOthelloand we will be glad to hear the various opinions of your members on how I intend to improve on the ending.
All my love,
Aunt M
Improve on the ending ofOthello? Good Lord, what would the members think of it? And then, not just his aunt would descend upon him, but her collection of ridiculous ladies who join her in her fever dream of improving Shakespeare’s work?
Worse, there was another letter in his pile and it was from his mother. He was very afraid it would be some directive to humor his aunt’s latest bad idea.
He dug it out and tore it open.
Percival allowed it to drop from his hand and flutter to the desk. That was exactly what it said. Couched among the sentiments of the importance of family and supporting one another, there it was. His mother would be most appreciative if he would welcome Lady Rawley into his little club.
She’d called it a “little club.”
He felt a heaviness descend upon him as he contemplated his very near future. Lady Margaret Rawley, butcher of Shakespeare, was to join the SSLE.
The first salon of the season was next Tuesday. Did she know it? Would she just turn up?
Could he ignore the letters from Lady Rawley and his mother and blame it on the post?
Makepeace softly knocked and entered the room. “My lord, do you require anything?” he asked.
Percival sighed. He would have to break the news to his butler. Makepeace was an intellectual in his own right and a longstanding and valued member of the SSLE.
The society did not discriminate against any man—a man’s mind was what was evaluated. A pirate or a grocer might gain entry, if there were such a man of suitable knowledge and discernment. Makepeace might be a butler, but he was a learned fellow with a razor-sharp intellect and insightful opinions.
Having been well acquainted with Lady Rawley over the years, Makepeace would take it as a heavy blow.
“My aunt has decided to join the SSLE,” he said.
Makepeace staggered just the smallest bit and then steadied himself by putting his hand on the mantel.
“Lady Rawley?” he whispered.
Percival nodded.
“But, my lord, an offer of membership to the society is extended to one who has proven…and it is presumed all the members see the value…a person cannot simplydecideto join.”
“My aunt has very conveniently overlooked that point, as has my mother.”
“We do not even have any lady members, but for Madame d’Arblay, and that lady only sends letters from Paris. We have never had a woman at a salon, in the actual room, in person.”
“That is the least of our problems. Should a lady be of a refined and educated mind, I see no reason why she should not attend my salon. Lady Hightower has always been welcome to join, if she ever chooses to do so.”
Makepeace nodded. Lady Hightower was indeed an intellectual, but she liked to read and study in a solitary manner and had no interest in talking about it at a club.
