“Recommending books?” Lady Cordelia said, in what he was certain was an offended tone.
“We know all about your books, Lord Harveston,” Lady Juliet said. “Men write in circles, hoping to befuddle their readers into thinking they’ve said something remarkable. A bunch of Mr. Peabodys—we’ll depend upon womanly good sense, thank you very much.”
Who was Mr. Peabody?
“Jules, do stop,” Lady Cordelia said. Though she admonished her sister, she also looked amused.
“I was thinking of the novels written by Richard Roydon,” Percival said, determined to plow ahead, “but then it occurred to me that you would already be aware of those works. I had not realized thatThe Dreadful Doings of Dembric Dalewas one of his when my aunt mentioned the title to me. My butler has since brought me a copy.”
Both ladies’ brows wrinkled.
“Do you mean to say that you enjoy those stories?” Lady Cordelia asked.
“I say I must admire the author’s originality,” Percival said. “There are so many twists and turns, one can hardly keep up.”
“That is what my father admires in them, too,” Lady Cordelia said thoughtfully.
Good Lord, the earl read that drivel?
“Our aunt, Miss Mayton, reads them to us,” Juliet said. “She’s a terrific storyteller.”
“Indeed, I have heard it said,” Percival said. He did not mention that absolutely everybody had heard that particular thing said of Miss Mayton and the stories she told.
“Harveston,” Lord Darden said, approaching them.
“Darden,” he said. “I was just exercising my horse.” It sounded very stupid, even to his own ears, but he felt compelled to invent some excuse for being there. He could not say how or why he’d really come, as he was not at all certain, but it seemed to need some sort of explanation.
“Lord Harveston was just telling us that he enjoys reading the same stories our aunt reads to us,” the very pert Lady Juliet said.
“Really?” Darden asked, all surprise. “Dreadful doings and horrible happenstances?”
“Awful happenstances, Darden,” Lady Cordelia corrected.
“Ah, yes,” Percival said, wishing to show his familiarity, “the awful events taking place at Grimwood Hall. Very ironic that the duchess ends up down a well through her own doing.”
“That is what my father thought!” Lady Cordelia exclaimed.
“Well, if you are such an admirer,” Darden said, “you ought to come in. Miss Mayton is poised to read to us and father says we’ll have our port in the drawing room so as not to delay further.”
“I do not wish to inconvenience, I am not at all dressed—”
“No inconvenience at all,” Darden said. “A man in his riding clothes is welcome in our drawing room. Is that not right, Cordelia? We are just an informal party tonight. If you have not yet had your dinner, I’m sure we can fix up a plate for you.”
Lady Cordelia did not look particularly enthusiastic, but said nothing. Lady Juliet did not say anything either, though her expression spoke volumes. The gist of it was, “go away.”
“I have already dined, and I really do not wish to—”
“Benny,” Darden called to a footman, “take Lord Harveston’s horse to the stables. Johnny, tell Tattleton we will need an extra glass for port.”
While Percival foundhimself in the Benningtons’ drawing room, he could not fathom how it had happened. He’d just taken his horse out to clear his head, then somehow turned down Portland Place, then witnessed a goat’s escape and subsequent capture, and now was poised to listen to the very story that he had struggled through earlier in the day.
The goat, and he still had not been given any rational explanation as to why there was a goat in the house, had been sent to bed in the servants’ quarters. One of the footmen had carried him off, his bleats eventually fading to nothing.
Though the goat was gone, his particular scent lingered on. Then, he could not help but notice that a footman had come in and used the fireplace shovel to swiftly dispose of the goat’s last fond farewell to the party.
Why did they have a farm animal in the house? He could not think it at all usual!
He glanced round the room. Lady Cordelia was sitting very prettily between Lady Juliet and Lady Baderston. Lady Juliet was scribbling furiously in a diary of some sort. The duchess and Conbatten were squeezed together in an oversized chair and appeared very happy to be so. Darden and Baderston were talking of YBC matters in low tones, the earl was in his repose, eyes half closed. Miss Mayton held the book in her hands, ready to address her court.
