The marchioness tapped the duke’s arm with her fan. “I am not such a lunatic as that, duke. I will see to it that you two are as far apart as possible. You will take the dowager duchess.”
The duke laughed heartily. “I see you are on to my game!”
“All too well, I’m afraid,” the marchioness said, smiling. She drifted away and Felicity noted her talking to Mr. Wiles.
It was very nice of her to go to the effort, but Felicity held out hope that Mr. Stratton would appear before they went in.
Shortly after, the marchioness made the announcement. It was time to go through. Mr. Stratton was still nowhere to be seen.
“Well, let me go dig up the dowager duchess,” the duke said. “I hope she’s either amusing, or deaf so I can amuse myself. Cheer up, Felicity, the chances of Stratton being dead on the road are exceedingly slim.”
Dead? She had not even considered that there might have been an accident!
Mr. Wiles appeared by her side. “Lady Felicity?” he asked, holding his arm out.
She laid her hand on his arm and worked to regain her spirits. Certainly, nothing grave had happened. And then, Mr. Stratton was likely to turn up at some point. Even if they did not sit by one another at dinner, there was after dinner to think about.
Felicity was determined not to be imprisoned at the pianoforte after dinner. She had already decided she would claim a sore finger. She was not particularly good on the instrument, and she wished to be available if Mr. Stratton had anything to say in particular. Further, a sore finger could even be used to excuse oneself from a dreary game of whist. A sore finger could set one free in an after-dinner drawing room. Perhaps she would wish to read, and Mr. Stratton could hold the book and turn the pages, on account of her sore finger.
As the dinner was a large one and many of the guests came with elevated titles, Felicity found herself almost in the middle of the table. Her father was to the marchioness’ right at the head with the dowager on his other side. Her aunt was further down on the same side. Felicity suspected the marchioness had thought that through carefully. Unless her father leaned very forward to peer down the table, they would be out of sight of one another. It was not out of the question that he would do so, but the marchioness had done her best.
Just across from Felicity and two chairs down, a chair sat empty. Clearly it was being held for Mr. Stratton. It did leaveMiss Feldstone in a rather awful situation. If Lord Stranger on her left turned to his other partner, what was she to do? Talk to the empty chair? If Miss Feldstone was left with an empty chair next to her, why had not the marchioness left it to Felicity instead? She would have been perfectly happy to vaguely stare at the paintings on the far wall as if she did not notice the awkwardness of the situation.
Felicity supposed Miss Feldstone was singled out for the discomfiture because her father was only a baronet. Just now, she would have happily taken Miss Feldstone’s place.
The wine was poured and the courses began arriving. Mr. Wiles said, “I can’t think what’s held up Stratton. He is very particular about arriving on time to a dinner, he finds it a ghastly thing to put a hostess in an uncomfortable position.”
“I hope there has not been an accident of some sort,” Felicity said. She kept telling herself that it was impossible. But in fact, it was possible.
“He’ll turn up and then he’ll tell everybody what happened, I’m sure of it,” Mr. Wiles said. “One time, I was late to a dinner because none of my neckcloths came back from the laundry. I had to borrow one from Sir Henry—he is a neighbor, you see. Deuced inconvenient.”
Felicity smiled through that ridiculous story—she hardly wished to know the details of Mr. Wiles’ clothing mishaps! Though, at the same time she also reminded herself not to be a goose regarding Mr. Stratton’s absence. If she could not speak with Mr. Stratton, then perhaps hearing about him from his friend would be the next best thing.
“Have you known Mr. Stratton long, Mr. Wiles?”
“Most of my life. Our estates border one another. His father is the local viscount and mine is the local baron. Our first meeting was along the fence line. He pointed out he would someday hold rank over me, I pointed out his family was new-minted and mine has been around since the Tudors. Then we rolled around punching each other for a while and then became fast friends.”
“That seems an odd beginning for a friendship.”
“Well, we were both seven and it did eventually occur to us that there were not so many other boys to carouse round the wood with or go fishing or shoot arrows with.”
“Oh I see,” Felicity said. “Is that what young boys do? I only have sisters, so I do not have any experience with brothers. We never had bows and arrows, only fowling pieces.”
Mr. Wiles dropped his fork and hurriedly picked it up again. “I see,” he said, though Felicity was not certain he did see. Perhaps his own sisters had not owned their own guns? Perhaps it was not usual outside of Yorkshire? Lady Marchfield had warned her not to advertise that idea but she’d not taken her seriously.
“I suppose you went away to school?” Felicity said. “I understand that is the tradition with boys.”
Mr. Wiles nodded. “Stratton and I went to Eton the same year and it became very advantageous to have a friend there. That’s where we met Lord Magnon and a few others. We were a very jolly group, though just three of us are what’s left of our set now.”
“What’s left? Did they all die?” Felicity asked, not too sure she understood what went on at Eton.
“Die? No, they got married,” Mr. Wiles said.
“Married?”
“Well, you know what happens,” Mr. Wiles said. “Chained down with obligations.”
“Chained?”
