The icing on the whole scheme was that Lady Marchfield would detect Mrs. Right’s hand in it. Lady Marchfield would see that it could become uncomfortable to cross the duke’s housekeeper.
Mrs. Right had every hope that there would be steam coming out of that lady’s ears.
Chapter Sixteen
Felicity had dressedcarefully this evening. The night was unusually cold, so she’d chosen a lightweight velvet in a bronze color with small red garnets edging the sleeves and bodice. It was modern, and yet its generous cap sleeves and discreetly gathered skirt gave off a somehow older air, as if she might be a lady-in-waiting in a Plantagenet court. The modiste claimed the color of the velvet did something well for her, as it was in the same range as her hair and eyes—it created a pleasing whole. She wore her mother’s ruby necklace to compliment the garnets.
Mrs. Right had worked on her hair, quietly chuckling to herself. Felicity was certain the housekeeper had some plan in the works, but with Mr. Sykes-Wycliff gone from the house she could not imagine what it was. She did not trouble herself over it, their dear Mrs. Right always told them what they needed to know when it was time to know it. Felicity’s sisters had piled on her bed as she got dressed, with only a minor scuffle between Verity and Winsome and gentle tipping over from Grace.
Valor had been carrying Mrs. Wendover around all day, as that rabbit was just now in recovery from her recent operation. She gazed down at her stuffed companion and said, “Felicity, Mrs. Wendover wants to know if you will tell Mr. Stratton that you are hopelessly in love with him.”
“Excellent question,” Grace said. “Brava, Mrs. Wendover.”
Felicity did not need to look in the glass to see that her face would just now resemble the ruby round her neck. Mrs. Wendover could be uncomfortably inquiring.
“You can tell us, Felicity,” Serenity said. “We can keep a secret.”
“But you will end up weeping over it,” Patience pointed out to Serenity.
“I will say it was the sunset that affected me,” Serenity said. “Nobody shall know the real cause.”
“That’s believable,” Verity said.
“Stop arguing and let Felicity speak,” Grace said.
Felicity had been hoping they’d keep arguing and entirely forget the point of why they began arguing. Grace was too clever for it, though.
“I will not be saying anything of the sort to Mr. Stratton. I do not even know what my true feelings are, and I will not know until a gentleman declares himself. That is how it is done, I’ve been told.”
“Ah, I detect the ideas of that governess you all had,” Mrs. Right said. “She was an over-romantic soul—forever talking about knights and courtly love. I expect that’s where you got the idea.”
“Miss Pynchon,” Verity said laughing. “The note she left behind—”
Patience snorted. “One word—Goodbye!”
“But Mrs. Right,” Felicity said, concern creeping into her voice, “Miss Pynchon was correct? I am not to entirely know my feelings until something is said?”
“Nonsense,” Mrs. Right said. “Your feelings are your feelings, not some strange flock of birds that come flying in when a gentleman has declared himself. They are there all along. No, I suppose Miss Pynchon meant to say that you keep them underwraps until something is said. To avoid advertising disappointed hopes, which makes a girl look silly.”
Felicity imagined Mrs. Right must be correct. It did sound more realistic to know oneself ahead of time, rather than having feelings suddenly wash over one because a gentleman spoke.
What she did know of her feelings was that they had grown for Mr. Stratton. Mr.PercyStratton. She’d even grown to like his name and would lay down her life before she allowed any of her sisters to name a goldfish Percy, though she’d threatened to do so herself.
And then, when she thought of the idea that he wouldnotspeak it was very discomfiting. Though she had at first viewed Lord Rustmont as the height of romance, Mr. Stratton had risked his life to save her from a terrible tiger-related death. He’d gravely injured himself to do it. What was more romantic than that?
Perhaps not blinking an eye if she decided to bake a cake or insist on being called Tulip was even more romantic. She found she very much liked his easygoing manner. Of course his looks, well, everybody could see he was handsome.
One of the housemaids poked her head in the door. “Mrs. Right, I thought you’d wish to know—His Grace has just poured a third brandy.”
“Gracious, thank you, Letty!” Felicity said, hopping up from her dressing table.
“Yes, good heavens,” Mrs. Right said, “it is well that your father has greased the pig, as it were, but he can go too far.”
With that, they all hurried downstairs.
*
Percy had quietlywalked his horse down the mews and handed him over to a groom. Then he’d slipped through the servants’door in the back garden and up to his bedchamber without detection.
