Of course, her father found it hilarious and said to Mr. Wiles, “A little slow to the mark, eh, Mister?
This seemed to discompose Mr. Wiles even further.
They made their way out to the hall and encountered Mr. Stratton’s father, the viscount, on his tiptoes, peering round in every direction.
“Still looking for that spectacular pineapple?” the duke said jovially.
Viscount Denderby only stared at the duke. Then he stared at Felicity and her two accompanying gentlemen. “I was looking for my son, in fact,” the viscount said rather coldly.
“Now you’ve found him,” the duke said, “hanging on one side of my daughter while the other mister takes the opposite side.”
“Lady Felicity,” the viscount said, “I wonder if I might steal my son away. I have a notion of showing him something in the back garden.”
“I bet it’s another missing pineapple!” the duke said, laughing at his own wit. “Don’t fall for it, that’s my advice!”
“Papa, really. Perhaps we might all travel there together, Lord Denderby,” Felicity said. “That is precisely where we were headed.”
The viscount nodded, but Felicity could see very well he was not happy with the idea. Well, it was his own fault for thinking her father was deranged and herself eccentric in some manner. What an idea.
They went through the doors to the garden and found it well lit with torches placed throughout.
To the right was a very long sideboard that seemed to be a series of doors off their hinges laid atop brickwork. Two young stoats were making a terrific mess, running up and down it and pausing to help themselves to an item. It all seemed to be a game—there was plenty there for them to eat, but they seemed more interested in stealing away what the other one had in its mouth. One of them had just stepped on butter carved as a swan and left a very distinct footprint.
“Oh Papa,” Felicity said, “they are so charming. Do you suppose we ought to get a pair of stoats of our own?”
The duke shrugged. “Ask Mrs. Right—she’ll know if we ought to do it.”
“Excellent notion, she is sure to know. Oh, there is Lord Rustmont,” Felicity said, looking across the garden to the larger enclosures that housed Lady Albright’s more interesting creatures. “Gentlemen, do escort me there.”
“Ah hah!” the duke said, “the game begins! Eh, Denderby?”
Lord Denderby did not seem to know what the game was, and Felicity hoped her father would not inform him of it. The lord was so stiff and might not appreciate his son participating in a ruse to make another gentleman envious of the attention.
That idea was rather confirmed by the look on Mr. Stratton’s features—he looked almost panicked.
“Let us go,” Mr. Stratton said hurriedly, pulling her forward.
They made their way toward Lord Rustmont’s party. He stood with three other gentlemen she did not know and was currently frowning, and one brow raised at one of them in that marvelous way he had. Felicity was glad Viscount Denderby had declined to accompany them. As she glanced behind her, she noted the lord just staring after them.
Of course, Mr. Stratton’s father had made his dislike of her own father known, so she should not be surprised. Her dear father would remain unscathed by the viscount’s low opinion, though, as he so rarely deigned to notice anybody’s disapproval. Their local vicar was concerted in his efforts to avoid the duke, even though it was her father’s living that fed him. The fellow sometimes went to such lengths as jogging in the opposite direction, but it was all water off a duck’s back for her father. He was forever calling after the vicar as he sped away, shouting, “Cheer up, old fellow.”
“Lord Rustmont,” Felicity said, calling for his attention from his friends.
The lord turned and he looked positively glorious wearing his signature disdainful expression.
“Lady Felicity,” he said gravely. “Your Grace, Stratton, Wiles.”
“Rustmont,” Mr. Stratton and Mr. Wiles said in unison.
“Yes, yes,” the duke said, “everybody has said everybody else’s name, what a palaver. Now, what have we got here?”
Lord Rustmont stood aside to reveal two enclosures. One was a simple wood fence, as one might find on any English farm. It was meant to keep in a magnificent looking beast—a stout horse, but a horse that was striped black and white.
Good heavens, Lady Albright had a zebra.
The other enclosure was far more secure. It seemed to be wholly enclosed by metal bars spaced close together and rising up to curve, forming a roof. There was a sturdy-looking gate on the front of it.
Felicity could not see anything in it, though. She hoped it was not a float of crocodiles. She had seen a picture of those beasts in a book once; they’d all been creeping up a riverbank while some poor fellow had his back turned gathering reeds.
