“It was a very chaotic moment, and when Lady Albright locked the door to the garden, I believed everyone had escaped. I then asked her how we were to go about securing the tiger. That was when she informed me that there was nothing to be done at that moment. She had sent a footman to retrieve meat from the kitchens, and he was to go round the back wall of the garden and throw it through the bars into its cage, hoping to lure it back in. He had a long hook he was to use to reach through the bars to shut the cage door.”
“So,” Felicity said slowly, “you did not know there was anyone trapped out there?”
“Not… initially. It did then come out that there were three persons still out there. I told the lady I would retrieve my pistols, but she said they would be useless against a tiger’s hide and would simply enrage the beast. Lady Albright did assure me though that there was nothing to be done. The tiger would either attack or not, and an attack could not be stopped.”
Felicity was not certain how she felt about that explanation. “I must point out, Lord Rustmont, that Mr. Strattondidstop an attack.”
Lord Rustmont looked uncomfortable to have it mentioned. “Yes, well, I suppose none of us could have known a thrown shawl would lure the creature back into his cage.”
Felicity did not point out that Mr. Stratton had known it. That was why he’d done it. She was not entirely satisfied with Lord Rustmont. He was less the conquering hero than she would expect a Corinthian to be. Nevertheless, it was one incident and not a situation that would be likely to ever occur again.
Perhaps she ought to take her father’s advice and attempt to discover more about Lord Rustmont. Was he as humorless and staid as the duke imagined him to be? How he was in the day to day of life was bound to be more important than how he was when a tiger turned up.
The orchestra began to play and they stood waiting their turn as another couple danced their steps. She did not know the couple, but they seemed very admiring of one another. She wished she felt the same.
“Lord Rustmont,” she said, “I recently heard of an interesting situation and would like to hear your opinion of it. It seems a lady decided she wished to learn how to bake cakes. I do not know how her lord viewed it.”
“Deuced odd, is how he viewed it if he has any sense.”
“So you would not tolerate such an interest?” Felicity asked. It was their turn and Lord Rustmont led her in the steps.
“I would wonder why a lady had taken such an idea into her head. What next? Are the couple to host a dinner and she will be in the kitchens, cooking the roasted beef? It all sounds very eccentric.”
“And you do not approve of eccentricity?”
“I do not, Lady Felicity. Eccentricity is an indulgence. It may be acceptable for a dowager of high standing to trot it out on occasion, but that is the limit.”
“I see, so I suppose if that same lady became dissatisfied with her name, if she preferred to be called another name, that would be eccentric too.”
“In the extreme,” Lord Rustmont said grimly.
“Well tell me then, whatcoulda lady do to exercise some power over herself and her life?”
Lord Rustmont looked at her quizzically. “Lady Felicity, do you hint that you, yourself, have thought of venturing to the kitchens to attempt to bake a cake?”
“Not in the slightest, Lord Rustmont.” She noticed he seemed very relieved to hear it. “But, you never know,” she said. “If the idea ever came over me, I’d like to know I could do it without censure.”
*
Mrs. Right hadbeen having a very comfortable evening. Mr. Sykes-Wycliff was gone so she could put her feet up in the drawing room without that fellow fanning himself over it.
The duke and Felicity had gone out, and so she spent an entertaining evening with the rest of her girls, playing charades. It finally had to come to an end when Valor began guessing everything was a tiger—a sure sign the little mite was overtired.
Valor had been tucked in her bed with the company of Mrs. Wendover, though Mrs. Right had begun thinking of ways to slipthat worn stuffed rabbit away and make further repairs to it. One of the ears was only hanging on by a few threads. It was always a tricky operation, as Valor was convinced that repairs were a comment on Mrs. Wendover’s looks and hurt her feelings.
Just now, Mrs. Right and the older girls were lounging all over the drawing room while Grace read from one of her gothic novels. It seemed an innocent ingénue was hiding in her wardrobe on account of hearing far-off screams that sounded very ghostly.
There was a sudden pounding on the front doors, which startled them all. Grace dropped the book and it hit the floor. Charlie ran to answer it and they sat in some trepidation, waiting for him to return. It was all well and good to read a gothic novel, but rather frightening when it was followed by an unexpected pounding on the doors.
Charlie returned and said breathlessly, “It is somebody from Lady Albright’s house, the butler I think, and he demands to return the nine pounds in pence that the duke delivered this evening.”
“Oh he wishes to return it, does he?” Mrs. Right said. She did not know why the fellow would wish to return it, but as a rule she was against anybody crossing the duke’s wishes. She must assume that if the duke dropped off the pence, he did not want it back again.
Charlie nodded. “He says he has packed it all in a sack, as Lady Albright was too dignified to engage in the duke’s shenanigans by throwing it all over our great hall.”
Mrs. Right chuckled over the idea that the duke had sprayed Lady Albright’s great hall with nine pounds of pence. Then she sprang to her feet. “I will deal with this person. Stand aside, Charlie.”
She marched out to the hall with her girls trailing behind to see what she would do. Mrs. Right found a very butlerish individual standing there, holding a sack with two hands.
