“So he did,” Percy said.
“Sisters,” Lady Felicity said, “we do not yet know Lord Rustmont’s explanation for why he… disappeared.”
“Iknow,” Percy said. “He’s not the suave and heroic Corinthian he claims to be.”
“I’ve never even heard of a suave and heroic Corinthian,” Lady Grace said. “Just a regular Corinthian.
“Well, in any case,” Lady Felicity continued, “do not bother Mr. Stratton with these questions. He is not at all obligated to put himself down on my card foranyof the dances.”
“No?”
“Well, no.”
“Maybe I will, though.”
“Gracious,” Lady Valor cried, looking up from her book, “the gentlest unicorn really is the gentlest unicorn!”
“Ladies,” Percy said, bowing and fairly running from the room.
Chapter Twelve
Felicity had broughtall of her dramatic skills to bear in getting almost to the carriage to set off for Lady Cyprion’s dinner, and then coming to a dead stop and clutching her head. After it was agreed all round that she must have a headache, there was a brief moment of danger when Lady Marchfield said she would send their regrets.
Felicity had pointed out that it would be bad enough for a hostess to lose one guest at the last minute, but three would be impossible to manage. She added that her aunt speculated that Lady Cyprion likely had an eligible gentleman in mind for her, and it would be well if Lady Marchfield set eyes on him and gave him a good going over. That last point had tipped the scales, as Lady Marchfield viewed herself very skilled at giving a good going over. Her poor Papa had dejectedly got in the carriage with his sister and they set off.
After the carriage was safely away, they settled into the drawing room to play lottery tickets. A tray was brought in for Felicity, as she had not yet eaten since she was meant to be dining at Lady Cyprion’s house.
Felicity did her very best to keep her mind on the game, but she could not help thinking of Mr. Stratton. He had come to Lackington & Allen very purposefully, as he had known she would be there. He’d claimed he had not known the time so it must be put down to happenstance.
It was true he had not known the time, as they had not known it themselves. They had meant to set off earlier, but somebody always seemed to need to go do something before they left. Grace had changed her bonnet three times. Serenity had wept over a dead bee in the garden. And then finally, a search of the house had to be made because Valor lost track of Mrs. Wendover, who would be upset if she did not say goodbye before she left. The raggedy stuffed rabbit was found under Valor’s bed in its usual location, though it took some time to discover it, as Valor had sworn she’d already looked there.
Their late arrival begged the question of how long Mr. Stratton had waited. They arrived near four o’clock—he might have been there all day.
She was not such a fool that she did not see that it indicated a partiality. She was also not such a fool as to ignore a bit of partiality on her side too.
When she’d seen him there, she did experience a little flutter of something. And then, she did notice that she had not given Lord Rustmont a thought in quite some time. Her ideas went round and round and all she could settle on was that she was beginning to like Mr. Stratton. Very much, actually.
She did not wish her feelings to run ahead of reality, as she thought they might have done regarding Lord Rustmont. She silently vowed she would wait until Lady Lewellyn’s ball to allow them to go any further. What would he do? Would he put himself down on her card? Would it be for a dance of any significance?
She would have to bide her time and see what came of it.
They had imagined their father would not return from Lady Cyprion’s dinner until quite late, but it was not an hour before he was back in the door.
“Papa?” Felicity asked. “What has happened?” Then remembering she was meant to be abed with a cold compress on her forehead, she said, “Also, my headache is quite gone.”
Felicity supposed her father would tell her why he’d returned so early if he could only stop laughing. Something had entirely set him off. Felicity had not seen him laugh so hard since Mrs. Biddleton’s Christmas party. The decorative pine boughs on her mantel had been knocked over by her stumbling butler, fallen on top of Baron Richards’ head, and made him spill his claret all over his shirt.
Just now, her father was quite out of breath with laughter and each moment it looked like he might have come to the end of it, he started up again. He was mopping his eyes and he was red in the face.
Though she loved her father dearly and thought his temperament quite perfect, she was cognizant of the idea that not everyone in the wide world perceived his charms. He was prone to doing and saying things he found amusing, which some others might not. In truth, what often amused him the most was seeing his listeners faintly shocked.
She could not imagine what he’d done at Lady Cyprion’s dinner. Had the lady thrown him from the house? It was not out of the range of possibilities.
Finally, her father’s laughter had run its course and quieted down to chuckles and snorts. Mr. Sykes-Wycliff remained standing by the doorway, staring in horrified fascination. Mrs. Right had brought the duke a glass of brandy, as he had been pointing at the decanter through his laughter, but the butler had not seemed to understand the message.
The duke took a long draught. “Never have I been more entertained in my life. Now Mrs. Right, you must own to being the author of this joke. Lady Misery would have never put that appointment in my book!”
“I, Your Grace?” Mrs. Right asked, eyes wide.
