“Excellent,” the duke said. “I told your aunt if I stay one more minute, I will throw some of that wretched cake at somebody. Probably her.”
Lady Felicity rose, and laughed while she did so. “I suppose she took that as well as can be expected.”
“You knowher,” the duke said, putting his arm out for his daughter. “She doesn’t take anything well. You could tell that lady the sun was shining and she’d throw up her hands in despair and call it wildly inappropriate.”
Lady Felicity nodded, as if Lady Marchfield’s temperament was settled between them. She glanced down at Percy and said, “Mr. Stratton.”
The duke followed her gaze. “Goodbye mister!” he said jovially. With that, he led his daughter away and they were gone.
Percy sat back. What an evening.
He’d accomplished his aim; he’d got a lady to agree to his farce to put off his parents’ matchmaking scheme. But what a lady he’d come up with! He hardly knew what she’d say next.
Of course, how could she be anything other than what she was with such a father to guide her? Had Almack’s ever seen a gentleman throw insults in every direction, drink from a flask, rip a feather out of a lady’s hair and hit her with it, and then threaten to throw cake at her in the dining room?
He was certain all of that could not have got by the Patronesses, and that was only what he’d seen himself. There was probably more.
However, that eccentric gentleman was a duke, so he suspected not much censure would come his way. Percy sometimes thought the idea of rank in England had led to some very bad behavior!
*
Felicity was inconference with her sisters, those six individuals piled on her bed as the sun rose over the rooftops. Patience had not let anybody sleep in and had shaken everybody awake and dragged them into her room.
“So it is absolutely confirmed,” Grace said, “that the Earl of Rustmont is the leading man of London?”
“I must think so,” Felicity said. “He is very handsome. Mind you, there were no end of handsome gentlemen about, so the leading man of London must bring more. Really, it is a certain air he carries about with him.”
“Certain air?” Serenity asked, turning away from the sunrise that had just now brought a tear to her eye. Serenity was particularly affected by nature and claimed every sunrise was different, though Felicity couldn’t see much in the idea.
“A certain air,” Felicity said. “It is as if he has no need to be jolly or approve of all the world.”
“Are you sure he is not a rogue, though?” Winsome asked.
“Oh Felicity,” Valor said, gripping at the bedspread, “Winsome did warn you about the rogues, though nobody will tell me what they are.”
“He is not a rogue, I am sure,” Felicity said.
“I suppose he was very struck by you and came out and said so?” Patience asked.
That was a sticking point.
“Not in so many words,” Felicity said. “You see, there was a regrettable incident—a lady dancing near me reeked of rosewater.”
Her sisters knowing her so well, there was hardly a need for extensive explanation. They could well guess at the situation.
“Did you sneeze?” Grace asked.
“Violently, I’m afraid.”
“I would have died,” Serenity said.
“Nobody dies of a sneeze,” Grace said. “But, was it very noticeable?”
“The earl was forced to hand over his handkerchief,” Felicity admitted. “So, that was not a promising beginning. However, it will all turn out well.”
“I see,” Verity said, nodding knowingly.
“See what?” Winsome asked Verity.
