Up until this moment, Percy had not been sure what he would do. He had a vague plan of finding Lady Felicity at the rout this evening and explaining himself.
However, Valor had done him a service. She had left him an opening. She had written to him, so he could write her back. Whatever he wrote, he was certain Lady Valor would show it to Lady Felicity.
“Get me my writing things. Lady Valor deserves a timely response to her heartfelt letter.”
*
Mrs. Right didnot often find herself ready to explode with anger. Mostly, she was amused by the things in her view. Even a butler needing to be driven out of the house had its amusing moments.
What did not amuse her, though, was any attack or insult to one of her girls. That, she had discovered long ago, really set her off.
She remembered as if it were yesterday the grim denouement with a farmer down the road in Yorkshire. That fellow claimed her girls were disturbing his sheep by firing off their fowling pieces at all hours. Helder, that was his name, had gone so far as to name them heathens and claim they ought to havemore feminine dignity if they were to go round announcing themselves as ladies.
Very naturally, Mrs. Right had been forced to put an end to it. What frightened sheep more than gunfire? Wolves. Though there were no wolves left in England, it had been built into their instincts to fear them, handed down from one generation to the next. Anybody could see a sheep’s reaction when faced with a large, rangy, dark dog with pointed ears. If that dog happened to show its teeth, expect a stampede.
Mrs. Right had got to work with needle, thread, stuffing, two black buttons for eyes, and some masterful strokes of paint. She fashioned a wolf’s head and attached it to a tree by the gate the farmer used to move his sheep into his far field to graze. She positioned it as if the wolf was cagily peering round the tree, hiding in wait. The coloring of it was very similar to the tree bark it was attached to. It could easily be overlooked. Except overlooked by a herd of sheep—they were attuned to danger, always on the lookout for it, and it only took one of them to notice and send out the alarm to the rest of them.
The farmer could not reason out why the sheep had to be forced through that gate, and neither could the herd dogs. For some weeks, he spent vast amounts of time wrangling them through it, the bleats of panicked sheep carrying a half mile.
Even after he got them into the field, they huddled together far away from the gate and did not eat as much as they should have. Then he had the further trouble of bringing the herd through it again.
Then one day, the farmer discovered her fashioned wolf’s head, ripped it from the tree, and came marching over to speak to the duke.
Mrs. Right had answered the door, gave him a severe dressing down, took the wolf’s head from his hands, beat him over the head with it, and slammed the door in his face.
When that devil went to the vicar to complain, Mrs. Right simply asked for the evidence, which could not be produced because she’d taken it from him and promptly thrown it into the kitchen fire. She’d slipped on her best affronted matron demeanor and asked the vicar how it was to be believed that she would have sewn a wolf’s head and attached it to a tree. Perhaps Mr. Helder was losing his wits.
Not a word of complaint was ever again spoken about the girls’ fowling pieces.
Now, though, what could she do? Managing a farmer was easy work. Punishing Mr. Stratton for toying with Felicity’s heart was a bit trickier.
She would think of something, though. Mr. Stratton would pay dearly for hurting her girl. Mrs. Right would see to it.
*
The day hadpassed slowly and Felicity began to wonder if time would always go so slow, now that she was in possession of disappointed hopes.
Her sisters had rallied round her and did their very best to cheer her. Her father had been surprised that she did not wish to go to the rout that evening, but he had not pressed her over it. Rather, he had ordered her favorite dinner, which everybody knew was a baked chicken with potatoes quartered and roasted until they were just shy of burned, a simple greens salad, rolls with ample butter, and berry tarts for dessert. He further attempted to cheer her by ordering up one of the good Canary wines from the cellars.
Over dinner, Patience had posited that Mr. Stratton was not worth worrying over. Felicity would meet some gentleman far superior and find herself glad to forget all about a gentleman who proved himself so unsteady.
Serenity counseled rising early to view the sunrise, as it would teach her heart that a new day had dawned.
Grace hoped that Felicity would recover her spirits in time, and that time was hoped to be a short time.
Verity announced that the time that was very usual to recover from such things was six days.
It was not a surprise to anyone that Winsome challenged that idea. For all Verity knew of it, she said, it might be five days.
Valor had brought Mrs. Wendover to dinner and told Felicity that her friend was very disappointed in Mr. Stratton, and had taken steps.
As Felicity did not know what steps could be taken by a stuffed rabbit, she chose to simply appreciate the sentiment.
Her father poured her an extra glass of the Canary and said he’d answered Mr. Stratton’s insult and hoped that young idiot fell over his answer.
“Fall over the chains, Papa?” Valor asked.
“That’s right,” he said nodding.
