“Cordelia Bennington,” the duke said thoughtfully. “Is that, what I say is, did not…one of the other sisters arrange her own…ah, never mind, she’s a duchess now. But what about the one who…I do not know how to even describe it…there were three proposed duels and then somehow a caravan…?”
The duchess nodded, seeming to understand perfectly well that the duke alluded to the Duchess of Conbatten, née Lady Rosalind, arranging her own kidnapping so the duke might rescue her and Lady Baderston, née Lady Viola who had…well, Percival was not certain what that had been about. There was a meeting on a green between Baderston and three other gentlemen, one of which had been his own cousin, and then the entire family eloped to Scotland.
The duchess said, “All the old and great families have their idiosyncrasies, my love. Do not forget about Freddy.”
The duke nodded, seeming rather regretful to be reminded about that individual. He shook his head. “Nobody told him to drink himself silly and go into that cage!”
Percival looked at Hamill inquiringly. Hamill said, “A distant cousin. You will know Lady Castlereagh keeps a tiger?Thatcage. It was all hushed up, of course.”
The duke sighed. “Though people do continue to ask him what happened to his hand and he tells the most ridiculous stories about it.”
“He was always too much of an optimist,” Lady Theodora said.
The duke snorted. “Attempting to pet a tiger and imagining you will leave with the body parts you came in with must be the height of optimism.”
“Poor Freddy,” the duchess said.
Poor Freddy indeed. Percival thought they must be talking about Lord Frederick Germaine, who was forever drunk and forever telling people that Napoleon himself had struck off his left hand. Percival did not think Lord Frederick had ever set foot in France. He had presumed the missing hand had been lost in some careless accident.
Which, he supposed, had been entirely right.
Well,” the duke said, “I suppose the Benningtons could not be worse than Freddy.”
“The Benningtons are everything genial,” Percival said, attempting to keep the defensive tone from his voice. “I have grown to know the earl, and I have spent an at-home evening with the family—they are very closeknit. I quite admired it.”
“Anybody can see that, Lord Harveston,” Theodora said in a teasing voice.
Percival did not answer. Really, he did not care a jot what anybody could see or not see. It was what Lady Cordelia would see in three days’ time that mattered, and what she must see was a Corinthian.
*
Now, Mr. Tattleton,”Mrs. Huffson said, sipping her brandy, “you really cannot have cause for alarm if the earl does not.”
“Oh, can’t I?” he said gravely. “The two of them, setting off to a duke’s county seat? A duke, mind you.”
“Lady Cordelia is equipped to encounter any family, whether it be a grocer’s or a duke’s.”
Tattleton shook his head sadly. It forever amazed him that Mrs. Huffson never saw trouble coming. He, himself, could feel it in his bones. It was his particular gift, and his particular curse. He often could not identify the exact trouble that had taken flight and was winging its way in their direction, but he could feel it coming.
“I thought you’d find yourself in a very cheerful frame of mind these days,” Mrs. Huffson went on. “We are in the peace of the country and Lord Darling is out of the house and into the fields—he will trouble you no more.”
Tattleton glanced meaningfully at the shredded sofa, courtesy of the cats, and the muddy paw prints running across the floor, courtesy of the dogs, then pointed his finger toward the ceiling to the far-off cries of murder from the parrot.
He noticed Mrs. Huffson had no retort tothat.
“It is not Lady Cordelia I worry about,” he said, “at least, not if she were to be escorted by the earl or Lord Darden. It is Miss Mayton. Those young ladies think of a terrible idea and then Miss Mayton says, ‘Give me a moment, I am certain I can think of something worse.’”
He could not know what worse than terrible idea Miss Mayton had thought up this time, but he did know that Lady Cordelia had been a veritable Hun about her studies.
Tattleton had known those young ladies since they were born! Not a one of them willingly found themselves in a library. They’d ventured in after that first literary salon and had not lasted a morning before they gave it up. They’d very cheerfully informed him that they were casting aside the earl’s books and would rely on their own judgment.
Couple that with Lord Harveston being of an intellectual frame of mind, and Lord Harveston fixing up their garden, and now Lord Harveston also attending this country party…well, he could only assume the worst.
“I am very afraid, Mrs. Huffson, that Lady Cordelia is going to attempt to pass herself off as a bookish lady and she is going to try it with Miss Mayton’s help.”
Mrs. Huffson laughed at the notion. “Goodness, I suppose that would not be the worst thing in the world.”
No. Not the worst thing in the world. Until Lord Harveston discovered the ruse. Until he discovered that Lady Cordelia Bennington had only very recently become acquainted with books on shelves.
