Amusing? Things that amused the duke were usually far less amusing to the other people involved. Nevertheless, he must speak to Lady Felicity.
“Go in, I guess,” the footman said.
With that rousing encouragement, Percy did go in.
*
Felicity could notimagine what her aunt had been thinking. When she arrived to the house, she was introduced to a certain Mr. Reginald Armstrong, son of Viscount Something-or-Other, who was the least prepossessing gentleman she’d ever encountered. He was gangly and it seemed his arms were too long for him to have full control of them, as they swung in all directions in an odd fashion. Mr. Armstrong turned red asa beet, sweat sprung up in rivulets on his forehead, and he mumbled, “Hello.”
His mother, a towering lady with a stern demeanor, poked him in the ribs. He added, “Honored.”
The second offering was a baron from Cornwall, Lord Haraby, who looked all of sixteen and positively giggled over making her acquaintance. Lady Marchfield was quick to point out that he was the eldest son of an earl, as if that could somehow overcome his childish demeanor.
So that was it—one gentleman near fainting from the stress of meeting a lady and one giggling over it.
They went into dinner and Lady Marchfield did most of the talking. She expounded on the estates of the two gentlemen in attendance, while Mr. Armstrong’s mother added in such encouragements as she saw fit. Apparently, she was well-prepared to guide a daughter-in-law in proper directions. Lady Marchfield nodded, approving of the idea, while Mr. Armstrong sweated profusely over the mere mention of a daughter-in-law.
The only saving grace to the whole thing was Lord Marchfield. She did not see her uncle very often, but he was a very genial gentleman. He had the good sense to turn the conversation when he could.
“I was saying to Felicity, just the other day,” Lady Marchfield said, overriding her husband’s game attempts, “there is nothing a lady must be more careful of than selecting the right husband. These modern ideas of romance fly in the face of sense.”
Felicity’s eyes drifted toward her uncle.
Lady Marchfield paused, as if just remembering that her lord was in hearing of this opinion. “That is not to say, of course, that I am not exceedingly fond of Lord Marchfield.”
Mr. Armstrong’s forehead once more began leaking at the mention of romance and he mopped his brow with his dinnernapkin. Lord Haraby giggled like a schoolboy’s first encounter with an off-color jest.
“Tell me, Lady Felicity,” Mr. Armstrong’s mother said, “how have you found your first season in Town?”
How could she possibly answer that question? If she were to be honest about it, she would say it had been a time of staggering highs and devastating lows, ending at the very lowest point.
Instead, she said, “Oh, very well, I suppose.”
“I always counsel young people,” the lady went on, “do not be bowled over by suave manners or good looks or smooth dancing. These things do not last.”
“Manners do not last?” Felicity said, keeping her expression innocent, though knowing perfectly well that Lord Marchfield would be laughing into his napkin.
“It pains me to admit it, but they do not,” the lady said. “Once a man becomes comfortable with his bride, the real manners, or lack thereof, will be revealed.”
Felicity did not know how to respond to that original opinion.
Mr. Armstrong said, “It’s on account of my father.” He snorted and said, “He’s gassy and she never knew it until it was too late.”
His mother frowned at him and shook her head warningly. Felicity did not dare glance at her uncle lest they both collapse in laughter.
Felicity managed to mumble, “Oh, I see. I hadn’t known.” She was in the middle of a perfectly ghastly evening. The only thing that could be said for it was how hard the duke would laugh when she told him about the gassy viscount. She must cling to that idea.
What else was there to cling to? If Mr. Armstrong and Lord Haraby had affected her in any way, it was to highlight just how superior Mr. Stratton was in every possible sense.
How she longed for Mr. Stratton. Mr. Percy Stratton. She should not, she should put him out of her thoughts, but these two fellows seemed to drive him right into her thoughts.
Chapter Twenty-One
As Percy enteredthe duke’s drawing room, he felt rather like a Roman preparing to face the lions. Still, it was of the utmost importance that he speak directly to Lady Felicity, else she avoided him forever.
He walked in and scanned the faces, this way and that. Where was she? She was not there.
The rest of them were there, including the youngest who hoped he would be drowned by the duke’s hand. They looked at him in curiosity. Except for the duke, who seemed exceedingly amused to see him.
