His horse was a bay stallion descended from Highflyer and would not tolerate being exercised by grooms for too many days together. On the few occasions he had been, he’d been known to kick down a stable door or buck off his rider.
As for himself, Percival found riding alone very conducive to thinking. Pericles’ steady gait soothed him and allowed him to examine whatever matter was on his mind.
They both preferred the early afternoon, before the crowds streamed in for the great parade of theton. During that time-honored tradition, gentlemen would showcase their horsemanship in a ridiculous fashion, no doubt annoying their horses. Ladies would come dressed in their best while pretending they did not think they would encounter anybody on the outing. Conversations about nothing of import would be had and gossip would be traded like tea from the Far East. He found the whole thing tedious.
In the relative quiet before the rush, he was pondering his opinions on the SSLE’s current salon topic—what was the real relationship between Shakespeare’s lost playCardenioand Theobald’s playDouble Falsehood? Had Theobald ever really hadCardenioin his possession and edited it to becomeDouble Falsehood?
He expected there to be wide-ranging views on the matter, which was excellent. An intellectual salon was not very interesting if all parties agreed on a topic.
As Pericles followed the carriage road without requiring direction, Percival’s thoughts meandered through everything he knew or suspected on the subject.
From somewhere outside himself a voice clamored for his attention.
“Percy! Percy, dear!”
As if being pulled by a rope, he was instantly yanked from his pleasant reverie and into the present day of the park.
And his aunt’s carriage.
And his aunt hanging out the carriage window and waving to him.
She was directing her coachman to approach him. What could he say to her? He had not answered her letter about joining the SSLE. He’d planned to, but he’d found it impossible. He did not want to be unkind and tell her to stay away, and he did not want to be a liar by telling her she was welcome.
He’d wished the whole thing would just go away on its own. After all, Lady Rawley was a flighty sort of person, might she not have changed her mind and decided to try out hot air ballooning instead?
“My dear nephew,” she said.
“Aunt,” Percival said. “You are early to the park.”
“Yes, well you see, I went to your house and was told you were here,” Lady Rawley said.
“Makepeace told you?” Percival said, working to keep the surprise from his voice. He would have thought his butler would have closely guarded his location from his aunt.
“Goodness, no,” Lady Rawley said. “You know Makepeace—grim as an undertaker as always. I sent him into your library to fetch a book I wished to read. It’s called theDreadful Doings of Dembric Dale. Lady Agatha says it is very good.”
“I am absolutely certain no such book would make an appearance in my library.”
“As I thought, but I knew it would occupy Makepeace for a suitable amount of time. He said you’d never have it, but I said you did and he must go and look. Then I worked on your footman. Goodness, the poor fellow was shaken when I threatened to dismiss him. How on earth did he think I could do it?”
“Dismiss him?” Percival asked, his incredulity apparent.
“Never mind that,” Lady Rawley said, “after he told me where you’d gone, I explained I could only dismiss my own servants but never had the heart for it, then I gave him a guinea and he was right as rain.”
“Aunt, I would ask that you refrain from—”
“Yes, yes, no more threatening the servants. I knew you’d say so,” Lady Rawley said, waving her hands. “I really was forced to it as it was necessary that I speak with you.”
“Oh?”
“You did get my letter, did you not? About your little literary club?”
“The Society of Serious Literary Examinationis not a ‘little club,’” Percival said stiffly. “It is comprised of England’s most accomplished intellectuals who take an interest in literature and wish to exchange ideas with other likeminded people. We hold salons where that activity takes place.”
“Excellent, the salon, just as I thought,” Lady Rawley said. “It is on Tuesday, is it not?”
“Well, I…”
“Of course it is, I wrangled that out of your young footman too.”
