“Your Grace,” he said, wishing to get some answers to his questions, “was there a particular reason why you would have pretended that I’d agreed to come, rather than just asking?”
“The interest of it, I suppose. Will he come? Will he not? It passes the time in a pleasant manner.”
“I see,” Percy said.
“And then, as I told my girls, I want every last one of them out of my house as soon as possible, but mauled by a tiger is going too far. I would not prefer it.”
Percy would like to know whowouldprefer it.
“And then,” the duke went on, “I suppose Denderby’s head nearly separated from his shoulders when he discovered where you were going. Sir Pineapple must have raved over it.”
“He did, rather.”
“Yes, he would, wouldn’t he? Tightly wound. I remember him from when I very accidentally set Lady Vanderwake’s curtains on fire all those years ago. From your father’s shouts about it,you would have thought I’d murdered the king. The lady herself was not half as upset about it.”
Percy snorted. “My mother says his temper is always at the ready for any and all occasions.”
The duke picked up his glass of port, and the bottle too. “No way to live, to my mind. Well! We ought to rejoin the girls and that harridan who claims to be my sister. I’ll bring the bottle in. I do not like my daughters to be too long in her company. I would not like any of them to take on her grim habits!”
They sauntered into the drawing room to observe Lady Marchfield at the tea tray, scolding the duke’s daughters regarding their lack of table manners. None of them seemed much affected by it, but for Lady Valor. That poor girl looked some combination of stricken and overtired.
Lady Marchfield’s attention was momentarily stolen away from the duke’s daughters and settled on the bottle of port in the duke’s hand.
“Roland. Is that really necessary?”
“Put your complaints in the icehouse, Lady Misery,” the duke said. “I do what I like in my own household, and anywhere else for that matter. Furthermore, cannot you see Valor is overtired? Go on, my girl—Mrs. Right will take you up.”
Percy looked round for the elusive Mrs. Right, but he saw no such lady.
The duke shouted at the door. “Mrs. Right!”
Nobody seemed the least bit alarmed, but for the poor butler. A stout middle-aged lady came to the doors, and Percy must only assume it was Mrs. Right and that lady was the housekeeper. He could not as easily work out why the butler staggered back at the sight of her, as if she were some sort of harbinger of doom.
Lady Marchfield did not seem any happier to see the housekeeper. She glared at Mrs. Right, and Mrs. Right glaredback defiantly. Percy supposed there were hidden depths to Mrs. Right.
With a disdainful sniff, the housekeeper turned her attention to her young charge. “Come, my little love,” she said to Lady Valor, “say your goodnights and we will have you to bed in a trice.”
Lady Valor stood. In a very formal tone, she said, “Mr. Stratton, a pleasure to know you, sir. And I do feel the honor of being addressed asLadyValor, nobody ever does it.” She then enacted a pretty little curtsy, kissed her father, and was gone.
She was a rather charming little person.
“We ought to play Fact or Fib,” Lady Winsome said.
“Ah yes, a very amusing game, Stratton,” the duke said. “One of these bad dreams of mine thought it up.”
“That is the first lie!” Lady Felicity said. “You are very fond of us, Papa.”
“Nonsense, I can barely stand the sight of you.”
As this interesting exchange was taking place, Lady Winsome and Lady Patience were counting out yellow and blue scraps of paper.
Lady Marchfield rose. “Mr. Stratton, I do not know why you have come, but expect you are sorry for it. Roland, I will see myself out, as I have no inclination to play this ridiculous game. I will see you promptly at eight on the morrow for Lady Cyprion’s dinner, though for the life of me I cannot recall accepting it or who the lady is.”
“Some stiff-lipped acquaintance of yours, I suppose. I’ll have to get very drunk to put up with the company,” the duke said.
Lady Marchfield ignored that threat. “I will guess she has an eligible son for Felicity—that must have been what I was thinking. Lord Marchfield will escort me here and I will go in your carriage.”
Lady Marchfield turned on her heel and made her way toward the door.
