Chapter Nine
Mrs. Right left the library in a fury. How dare Lord Stanford buy Lady Alice a fan when her girl had her heart set on him?
She’d only seen Lady Alice briefly on two occasions, but Mrs. Right felt the lady was rather quiet and reserved. Why wassheto be the recipient of a fan? Was it because she was likely to fan herself all her life? Did Lord Stanford prefer that sort of thing?
He must pay for this insult to her girl.Hergirl, Lady Patience Nicolet, who was everything lovely and wonderful and not simpering round the place like that horrid Lady Alice.
How would he pay, though? She did not know very much about him.
It had been rather easy with Mr. Stratton. She’d changed his grocery order to all cabbages, posed as Mr. Stratton’s father and irreparably insulted their wine merchant, and had all his clothes that had been sent out to be laundered subsequently donated to charity. Then the duke had delivered piles and piles of chains to his doorstep to answer Mr. Stratton’s ridiculous claim that he would not be chained in matrimony. Valor had written to the gentleman, expressing her hope that her father would use the chains to tie him up and drown him in a lake.
Of course, they had later discovered their mistake about that gentleman, but that was water under the bridge now.
Then there had been Lord Dashlend. That was a simple matter of convincing his hysterical valet that he was being let go. Then the duke had sent a cartful of hateful flowers and plants and Valor had sent an anonymous note hoping something terrible would happen to him.
Of course, they’d later discovered their mistake about that gentleman, but that was just more water under the bridge now.
This situation was far different. Lady Misery had seen with her own two beady eyes that Lord Stanford had brought a fan to Lady Alice!
Her dear Patience must be avenged. How, how, how?
Patience had raved about Lord Stanford’s clothes and his perfect tailoring. Perhaps she could do something there. Yes, why not? The gentlemen of this town were so prideful over their clothes. They seemed to have the impression that their clothes communicated something to the world. Mrs. Right was not certain what they communicated, other than to advertise that the wearer had enough money to throw some around at frivolous expenses.
And then she began to get an idea, arising from her long years as a housekeeper.
She walked down the corridor and encountered Mr. Grimsby, who was looking not at all grim these days.
“I heard Lady Marchfield’s voice and hid, as I did not want to give myself away if she were to question me,” Mr. Grimsby said. “Did she ask about me?”
“Oh, aye, I told her you were a regular taskmaster.”
Mr. Grimsby snorted, very much amused by the idea.
“Now, Mr. Grimsby, as you are here, perhaps you would help me with a small matter.”
“Indeed, Mrs. Right, what do you require?”
“Only this, we are to go up into the attics and find a case that’s been infested with case moths.”
“They are damnable creatures. They’re hard to get rid of and they’ll eat right through your clothes in record time.”
“Yes, they will.”
“And you suppose we will find evidence of them in the attics? We ought to be careful and get them out of the house as quickly as possible.”
“Do not worry over it, they will not stay here. I intend to find a case infested and then somehow get it into Lord Stanford’s house so the little devils can eat through all his precious clothes. I’m sure I can locate something—most of the things in the attic have been sitting undisturbed for years.”
Mr. Grimsby laughed. “I cannot think why you wish to do so, but I don’t care! Let us proceed to the attics.”
With that happy agreement, they made their way there.
After moving a mountain of trunks and cases, she found just what she was looking for—the telltale signs of a case moth. An old case the right size to carry a bottle of cologne. She would clean up the outside of the case and use a bit of ink to cover the bare spots on the black velvet liner. Then she would nip one of the duke’s bottles of scent as he’d never notice, or if he did he would be amused. That would ensure that the case made its way to the lord’s dressing chamber and all his clothes. She would send it anonymously and the fool would imagine he had an admirer.
The only thing Mrs. Right intended on admiring about him was the holes in his coats.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Marcus was at a loss as to who was sending him these odd items. First it had been a bottle of molasses. Then it had been a cologne housed in what looked to be an old case. The cologne was from D.R. Harris and certainly of fine quality but looked to be prior used as it was only half-filled.
