The dear little goat trotted this way and that and occasionally sprung up in the air for good measure. He seemed to look upon it as a very good game.
As the scene unfolded in front of her, Cordelia heard hoofbeats approaching from behind her.
She turned so she might warn the rider to steer clear of the chaos. Then she stopped short.
“Lord Harveston?”
*
How Percival hadcome to be at Portland Place, he could not precisely explain. He did not know anybody on that street except for Darden, nor had he been invited to any house on that street on this particular night.
Hours before, he had plowed ahead in his reading of the ladies’ favored novels and even taken the second book into the dining room. There, he had read of the two dukes, one of which was an impostor, and the aged butler who thought he was dismissed but was too nearsighted to find his luggage.
As if that hadn’t been bad enough, Makepeace had chosen that moment to give him his assessment of the beleaguered inhabitants of Grimwood Hall.
His butler paced the room as Percival helped himself to a plate of beef.
“The duke is in love with, guess who? That’s right, another gentle governess. There is no impediment to the couple, as his original duchess is dead at the bottom of the well. Oh wait, there is the small matter of the gentle governess not being entirely sure if the duke has murdered that lady currently residing in the well.”
Percival downed his wine and motioned to the footman. His glass was speedily refilled.
“Do not fear,” Makepeace continued, “our gentle governess is not left to wonder long! Why, you wonder? Because the duchess is not dead at all! No, she was knocked out and left in a cave by the housekeeper who, naturally, has designs on the duke. An old crone who lived in the woods discovered the duchess and nursed her back to health. Isn’t it always an old crone living in the woods? One wonders how these old crones manage to eat, living by themselves in the woods as they do!”
Percival ignored Makepeace’s wonderment over the old crone. “So, at least it breaks the mold a bit, does it not? The duchess is restored and the gentle governess does not win her man.”
Makepeace laughed, a sardonic sort of laugh. “How naïve! Of course the gentle governess marries the duke. How can that be? It seems the duchess becomes enraged upon discovering her duke’s love for the governess, a fight ensues, and the duchess accidently goes over the side of the well. Dead at the bottom of the well after all.”
“Surely not?” Percival asked, certain his butler was just making things up to express his displeasure over the assignment.
“Surely so,” Makepeace said. “I feel as if my brain has shrunk three sizes in the contemplation of it. Those ladies must be driven out!”
By ladies, he was perfectly aware that his butler was not talking about the gentle governesses, but rather his aunt’s acting troupe.
“But, what happened to the housekeeper who started the whole thing by leaving the duchess in a cave?”
“Nothing happened! They do not even look for her. They are in love and do not wish to sit through a trial!”
Percival had then directed his butler to take the rest of the night off and help himself to the good port amidst the snorts of the footmen. Though the footmen both admired and feared Makepeace, they could not help but find his histrionics endlessly entertaining.
Percival had spent the rest of his dinner mulling over what both he and Makepeace had read.
All he could come up with was that the plots were so improbable that one could not possibly guess where they were going.
Perhaps that was it. He might comment upon the twists and turns. They were ridiculous twists and rather stupid turns, but he need not include those adjectives.
Relieved that he had at least come up with one thing he might say, he ordered his horse, determined to ride out and clear his head.
As he walked his horse down one avenue after the next, taking in the night air, his thoughts kept drifting to Lady Cordelia’s household.
He really could not understand it. Darden seemed such a sensible fellow and the earl too, for that matter. Why on earth would they allow random gentlemen into their house to stay? It was a particularly bad idea, considering there were eligible young ladies in the house.
Percival did not suppose that Chester, whoever that fellow was, had got very far if he had designs on one of the ladies. A gentleman screaming all the time would be hard-pressed to inspire any sort of feeling beyond irritation.
This Lord Darling, though. He did not know the man so could not assess his circumstances, but he was a lord, after all.
Where had he come from? Was he Scottish?
Lady Cordelia, at least, found him eminently charming. Did the earl and Darden not perceive the danger?
