There were other facts floating around, though.
That goat had been seen by the duke, and no doubt smelled by that illustrious personage too. The Duke of Conbatten now understood that Horace Tattleton was a butler who presided over a drawing room attended by a farm animal.
Worse, the despicable little creature had the temerity to draw attention to itself even further by leaping out a window just as Tattleton was taking round the dessert wine.
It was an affront! He’d selected a superior German ice wine with hints of apricot and honey, a choice he was certain the duke would approve of. How was a duke to approve of a butler’s wine selection if he was running undignified on the street trying to catch a goat as if he were a lowly farmer?
Just now, the butler glared at the creature, fast asleep on good blankets meant for people, as if he hadn’t done a thing wrong.
That goat had no conscience.
Mrs. Huffson sat down beside him, the rest of the staff finally in their beds. He poured her a large brandy.
“I understand you had a time of it tonight, Mr. Tattleton,” the housekeeper said comfortably.
“To call it ‘a time’ is to underestimate what I have experienced, Mrs. Huffson.”
The housekeeper glanced over at the sleeping goat. “The little mite made a nuisance of himself. Well, that cannot be laid at your door, the young ladies did insist on having him in the drawing room.”
“The duke noted there was a goat in the drawing room. The drawing room I oversee. Then, the duke was forced to run round the street in the most unbecoming manner possible to catch it.”
Mrs. Huffson nodded sympathetically. “The whole palaver makes Miss Mayton’s terrible novels seem not so bad, does it not?”
“Is that what we’ve come to? Hoping other unfortunate circumstances seem not so bad by comparison?”
Mrs. Huffson shrugged. “What I wonder is, how did Lord Harveston end up here? Nobody just passes by Portland Place on their way to another destination.”
This idea seized Tattleton’s mind in the most uncomfortable manner. He was certain the ladies were up to something, they were always up to something. Earlier in the day, they spent an hour in the library, tearing half the books off the shelf only to decide they would depend upon womanly judgment when it came to intellectual questions. Then Lord Harveston, the host of an intellectual salon, unexpectedly turns up.
What was going on?
“I cannot say how or why Lord Harveston arrived at our door, but I do know that gentleman is in for a surprise. Miss Mayton and Lady Cordelia have determined that they will rely on their own judgment as it relates to the great questions being asked at his salon.”
“Rely on…their own judgment?” Mrs. Huffson said, concern creeping into her tone.
“Their own judgment alone, Mrs. Huffson. Aristotle and Thomas Aquinas cannot be counted upon.”
“Oh dear.”
Chapter Eleven
For the momentat least, all thought of Lord Harveston and his salons and his opinions were entirely absent from Cordelia’s mind. She and Miss Mayton were attending their first rehearsal in Lady Rawley’s drawing room.
“Now, Miss Mayton and Lady Cordelia,” Lady Rawley said, pouring cups of tea, “as my dear friends Lady Agatha and Mrs. Robinson already know, this first meeting is about concept.”
“We always delight in the announcement of the concept,” Mrs. Robinson said.
“We never guess where it is going,” Lady Agatha said.
Lady Rawley nodded graciously. “It is very fortuitous that we have added two esteemed new members to our troupe this season, as it is a particularly special year.”
“You said it would be in your last letter,” Lady Agatha said, “I am on tenterhooks over it.”
Cordelia could only be pleased that this year would be somehow special, though she did not yet know what the specialness might be.
“I had a notion that there is one Shakespeare play in particular that has always needed the most work. I have acted upon that notion. We will, as an acting troupe, bring our new vision of it to life. I bring you,Othello Redux.”
Othello! Cordelia could hardly stay seated. How she longed to perform her Desdemona on the stage.
