“What happened to the oft sworn vow—I will not be chained?”
“I stand by that, obviously,” Percy said. “It is just that I do not believe Lady Felicity is the type of lady to use chains. Don’t ask me about it any further—that is my final opinion!”
“The forced proximity has done you in.”
“Maybe.”
“Does the lady know of your changed feelings?”
“I cannot be sure.”
“Will you tell her?”
“Of course I’ll tell her. What else am I to do? Not tell her? It would be rather eccentric to not tell her. A gentleman worth his salt does not go round not telling people things.” Percy stopped himself before he rambled any further. If he could hear the ridiculousness of it, he was sure Magnon could too.
“All right, all right,” Magnon said, his tone full of amusement.
“In any case,” Percy said, “she can never know of my part of the ruse. As far as Lady Felicity is concerned, the ruse was to stir up some jealousy in Rustmont, who I now think she disdains. That’s the end of it. I do not wish her to know that I may have had… my own reasons. Initially.”
“Which are not reasons anymore.”
“That’s right. Now, where is Wiles?”
“I do not know. He is usually here at this time of day.”
“Well, I cannot stay longer. It is the Marchioness of Glastonheld’s dinner this evening. Lady Felicity and the duke will attend it, as will Lord and Lady Marchfield.”
“Do you suppose the duke and Lady Marchfield will come to blows?”
Percy shrugged. “There’s no telling, really. Do you not attend?”
“No, my mother committed me to Lady Jericho’s musical evening. Think of me suffering through a dozen awkward performances while you have your dinner. Wiles will be with you, though.”
“I’ll speak to him there when I can get a private word. In the meantime, if you see him here be sure to tell him… what I’ve said… what the situation is.”
“Ah yes, Mr. Percy Stratton is hopelessly in love with Lady Felicity Nicolet.”
“I did not sayhopelessly,” Percy mumbled before leaping out of his chair and hurrying away.
*
Mrs. Right knewvery well that the duke would once more be in close quarters with Lady Marchfield. That lady had accepted a dinner invitation on behalf of herself, her lord, the duke, and Felicity ages ago and it was marked in the calendar clear as day.
Perhaps any other person would wish things smoothed between the duke and Lady Marchfield. Mrs. Right was not any other person, though. She was determined to trip up Lady Marchfield at every step—it had been an effort to drive Mr.Sykes-Wycliff from the house and she had no wish to begin again with some new fellow that lady dug up.
Before Mr. Sykes-Wycliff had left the house, Mrs. Right had paid him a visit as he packed his belongings. She’d brought in tea to soothe him and sent the footman away.
As hewasconveniently distraught, she’d suggested that he write Lady Marchfield a strongly worded letter in which he expressed all of his outrage. After all, she said, Lady Marchfield had all along known of the irregularities of the duke and his household. In truth, the lady took pleasure in sending unsuspecting butlers into the house and she laid bets with her lord regarding how long each of them would last. Mr. Sykes-Wycliff was the fifth.
The butler had been much struck by that piece of misinformation. He’d been told by Lady Marchfield that there had not been a butler on the scene for above five years. He’d been lied to! He’d been sent into a dragon’s den for someone else’s amusement! He’d been used in the worst possible way while Lady Marchfield laughed behind her fan! It was as if he were nothing at all. It was as if he had no feelings!
Mr. Sykes-Wycliff’s outrage spilled out into a letter, and what a letter it was. As he wrote it, Mrs. Right told him ever more terrible things about how he had been badly used.
He had ended the missive with: “Your actions have been disgraceful, Madam. I do not leave a forwarding address because I never wish to encounter you or your extended relations again in my lifetime.”
Mrs. Right was pleased as Punch with it and assured Mr. Sykes-Wycliff that she would have it delivered for him. Then she’d taken it,notfolded or sealed it, and arranged to have it delivered an hour before the lady would set off for dinner at the Marchioness of Glastonheld’s house.
Leaving it unfolded and unsealed was really the stroke of genius in the whole thing. It would be received by a footman, or maybe the lady’s butler, who would lay it on a silver salver. But what man or boy could resist reading it when it was there to be read? Delightfully, no man or boy could resist peeking, and Lady Marchfield would know that all those insults about her, coming from another household’s butler, were known to her staff.
