“Of what, pray?” the viscountess asked.
Percy pressed his lips together to stop himself from laughing. He suspected his mother had been saving up that question for twenty years.
Naturally, his father did not answer her. He’d been vaguely warning her throughout their marriage and was not about to start explaining himself now.
“Do not set foot out of this house, Stratton,” the viscount said. “Consider that an order.”
Percy had no intention of remaining in the house. “I am afraid that is not possible. And really, Father, what will you do when I leave?”
“What will I do? You wish to know what I will do?”
“That’s what he said, darling. What will you do?” the viscountess said, clearly enjoying the viscount’s discomfiture.
“I will cut you off. You can live penniless until I am dead and I will not be dead for a very long time!”
“So you keep threatening…” the viscountess said quietly.
Before his father could shout another warning at his mother, Percy said, “With any luck, Lady Felicity will agree to wed. You know how eccentric the duke is—I doubt he will mind having a son-in-law join his household.”
The viscount seemed dumbstruck to hear it. As well he might. Percy had no idea if that was even close to the truth. The duke advertised far and wide that he was looking to unload all of his daughters. Though Percy did not take that too seriously, it was unlikely that leaving Town at the end of the season with more young people than he’d arrived with would fit in with his plans.
“You see what you are doing, my dear?” the viscountess asked. “You are driving him into the lady’s arms. You are creating a Romeo and Juliet situation. Really very amateurish, if you ask me.”
The viscount spun around to his wife. “Oh really? Amateurish? And what would you do about this?”
The viscountess shrugged. “I haven’t any idea.”
“I really must be off,” Percy said. “I am already going to have to apologize for my lateness, I do not wish to insult the marchioness any more than I have to.”
He strode toward the front doors, making two silent bets. One, his father would not attempt to physically stop him. Two, the stables would have brought his horse round on Radcliff’s direction.
The viscount did not attempt to stop him and that was a relief. As determined as Percy was, he could not envision wrestling his own father. His horse was saddled and ready to go.
Now, he must hurry. He really was going to be late.
He was halfway to the Marchioness’ house when his horse threw a shoe. It was as if the fates conspired against him to keep him away from this dinner.
Percy dismounted and took the reins, fast-walking his horse to her square.
*
Felicity could notimagine why Mr. Stratton had not turned up, nor sent a note of explanation to the marchioness.
Her father was in grand spirits—one, because he was certain Mrs. Right was up to something, and two, because her aunt’s expression was one of fury. They were all just now milling round the drawing room waiting to go through and the duke kept attempting to catch his sister’s eye while waving at her.
The Marchioness of Glastonheld approached. Felicity had already been introduced to her and found her a very genial lady. “My dear duke,” she said, “I did receive your note earlier in the day requesting a certain arrangement? But it seems the arrangement in question has not arrived.”
Felicity stared at her father. Certainly, it must be something to do with Mr. Stratton, as he had not yet arrived.
“Where is that devilish colt?” the duke asked. “I had hoped, Felicity, that Stratton would take you in.”
“Oh, I see,” Felicity said quietly. Her father was such a dear to think of it, and also had no notion of how embarrassing it was to hear it mentioned.
“I do not know what has happened,” the marchioness said, “but Mr. Stratton’s manners tend toward the perfect so I expect it will all be explained. For now, though, Lady Felicity, I will put you in the capable hands of Mr. Wiles. He is a friend of Mr. Stratton’s and that is the best we can do just this minute.”
Felicity nodded her gratitude, though she was not particularly grateful. Mr. Wiles was a perfectly fine fellow, she supposed, but he did not have much to recommend him.
“Now Marchioness,” the duke said, “I do not suppose you will want me to take my sister, Lady Marchfield, into dinner?”
