She was not difficult to manage on a ballroom floor, however. Her dancing was exquisite. He could not fathom how it was so. According to all he’d heard, the Duke of Pelham lived very remote, somewhere in the Yorkshire Dales. It was said very few people had ever even ventured there, so isolated it was and so strange it was when a person actually arrived. Where had they found a dancing master in that far-off location?
Clearly, they must have, though.
Lady Felicity did not enact the same sort of performance she’d gifted the Earl of Rustmont with, there was no holding of breath or odd fits, or blowing of noses. Percy found himself very grateful for it. He’d led Lady Felicity into Almack’s dining room and a footman hurried to his side.
“Lady Felicity, would you care for tea or lemonade?” he asked.
The lady sighed. “My father said both are wretched, so I suppose it does not signify.”
Percy glanced round to ensure none of the patronesses were within earshot. Of course, everyone knew the offerings were wretched, but one ought not say so aloud!
“Tea,” he told the footman. “And the dry cake if you can get it before it runs out.”
“Do you know the Earl of Rustmont?” Lady Felicity asked.
“We are acquainted,” Percy said. He found himself irritated that the lady should mention that fellow.
“He seems a very refined gentleman,” Lady Felicity said.
“He’s a bit of a stick, did you not notice?” Percy said.
Lady Felicity appeared mortally offended by the idea.
“Lady Felicity, certainly you did notice,” Percy said. “He seemed very taken aback by… by… whatever it was that happened.”
Now the lady really had her back up. She positively glared at him. He supposed he should have expected it—derangement was never going to be predictable.
“It was a sneeze,” Lady Felicity said. “I sneezed because a lady in my set was reeking of rosewater. I am sensitive to the scents of flowers and vinegar.”
“Ah, I see,” Percy said. “I suppose you explained all that to Rustmont? What did he say to it?”
“Never mind what he said to it,” Lady Felicity said through gritted teeth.
As far as Percy was concerned, that was answer enough. Rustmont had been his usual stick about it, he supposed.
The footman returned with sadly weak tea and plates with none too generous slices of un-iced cake.
Lady Felicity glanced down at her plate. “My father was right—this is terrible.”
Once more, Percy surreptitiously looked about him to ensure she’d not been overheard.
She had not been, thank the stars. Though those sorts of comments, with no thought as to who might overhear, rather cemented his idea of Lady Felicity.
“Well,” she said, “I suppose I shall see the earl no end of places and will not be sneezing. The lady of the roses cannot be everywhere.”
Percy sat back. Lady Felicity really could not get off the subject of Rustmont. It was both irritating, and perhaps presenting an opportunity. If he were going to lay down his cards, now was the time.
“Lady Felicity, let me tell you something peculiar about Rustmont. He is obsessed with having what other people want. If you plan to get anywhere with him, he must see that another gentleman is interested in you. You understand? You must make him envious.”
The lady picked apart her cake with her fork.
“I see you consider it,” Percy pressed on. “The difficulty will be in finding a gentleman willing to act a part in that particular play.”
“Do you imply I would have trouble finding a gentleman interested in me?” Lady Felicity said, gripping her fork.
Percy had high hopes she was not going to stab him with it.
“Of course not,” Percy said, though he was not certain he believed it. She was an arresting beauty, but one must eventually talk to a beauty and that was where it would all fall apart.
