Charlie, the senior footman, came into the room and said, “His Grace needs a padlock.”
“A padlock?” Mr. Sykes-Wycliff asked.
“That’s what he says,” Charlie said nodding. “He needs it for tonight.”
Charlie sat down and helped himself to a biscuit.
Mrs. Right, always willing to grab at an unexpected opportunity passing by, shook her head sadly.
“What?” Mr. Sykes-Wycliff asked nervously. “Why do you shake your head? What do you know?”
“Well now, if you look at it rightly,” the housekeeper said, “it is just good commonsense on the duke’s part.”
“What commonsense? Commonsense for what?” Mr. Sykes-Wycliff asked nervously.
Charlie gave Mrs. Right a quick wink to let her know he was in on this game.
“I suspect the duke can feel it coming on,” Mrs. Right said.
“Feel what coming on?” Mr. Sykes-Wycliff shrieked.
“I did mention,” Mrs. Right said, “not to answer the door in the middle of the night if the duke knocks.”
“That’s right,” Charlie said, “else he’ll clobber you.”
“But our duke is a very considerate sort,” Mrs. Right said. “Never means to clobber anybody. So I reckon he’s going to lock himself in his bedchamber tonight to avoid doing it. You see what I mean by the consideration?”
Mr. Sykes-Wycliff leapt up from his chair. “That is it. That is absolutely it! After what I witnessed last night, and the descriptions of all this, well, this, downright dangerous behavior, I will not spend another night in this house! I will not lock myself in my quarters so that I am not clobbered or run round the moors attempting not to be killed! It is all madness!”
As Mr. Sykes-Wycliff jogged from the room, Mrs. Right called after him. “Charlie here will get your valise out of the storeroom.”
The housekeeper and footman smiled and nodded to one another.
This visit to Town was turning out to be very jolly, indeed.
Chapter Thirteen
“My best coat,Radcliff,” Percy said. Lady Lewellyn’s ball felt momentous in some manner. He planned to get there early and he was determined to take Lady Felicity into supper.
He’d spent the day at White’s and he was growing concerned over the talk about Lady Felicity. It seemed just a moment ago that it had beenhehailed as the hero of the hour for facing down a tiger. He’d been the tiger-slayer. Now it seemed all the credit was going to Lady Felicity.
The general consensus seemed to be that she’d held the fates of both him and her father the duke in her charming hands. Had she reacted as any lady might be expected to, she would have screamed or attempted to run away.
Sir Matthew, claiming to have a friend who was an expert on big cats, had written to him outlining the events of the night. He’d since received a letter back congratulating the lady involved for not provoking an attack by keeping her nerve. That had seemed to settle the matter.
He did not mind that Lady Felicity was now looked upon as a dashing heroine. At least, not very much. But he very well knew there would be a line of gentlemen trying to get on her card. They’d all want to go round on the morrow, casually mentioning their conversations with Lady Felicity regarding the tiger.
Idiots.
“May I inquire why it is to be your best coat for a rather run-of-the mill occasion?” Radcliff asked.
“Just a whimsy, that’s all,” Percy said.
“A whimsy? Now you’re having whimsies, are you?”
“I can have a whimsy if I wish to,” Percy said curtly.
“I suppose the tiger-tamer will be attending?”
