Verity nodded.
“I will tell you about Miles and that will keep your mind elsewhere,” Grace said.
Verity’s sister went on to tell her stories of her young nephew. On the estate, he’d one day hidden his grandfather’s humidor as he did not like the smell of cigars. He’d also brought home a cat who looked very unhappy to be there and had scratched up his arms. It turned out to be a neighbor’s barn cat and had to be returned. He’d also been discovered as the culprit of a disappearing tray of marzipan, which was finally located, empty, under his bed.
She listened closely to these stories, following Grace’s advice to keep herself from thinking of what had happened.
“I think Papa will have got the carriage round by now, so let us go,” Grace said. “Dashlend will get to the bottom of this, and we will come and see you on the morrow.”
Grace led her out to the great hall and Verity found herself grateful that the rooms were all so dim. If there were people staring, she could not see it. Soon enough, she would be home. Then the flood would come, but not before she was away from here.
*
Mrs. Right couldonly be grateful that Valor had been abed when the duke and Verity arrived home early. As Verity wept and was consoled by Winsome, the duke poured his housekeeper and himself large glasses of brandy and told her what had happened. At least, as much of what happened that they understood at this moment.
It was well that the duke had filled her glass generously with brandy, as her rage over her girl being hurt was near overwhelming. As far as she understood it, somebody in society had made it their business to mock Verity by printing up a caricature and spreading it about. As if that were not bad enough, Lord Wembly had seen fit to avoid her over it.
What sort of man was he? What sort of lord could not stand up to a teasing?
It was true that Verity often invented a fact or two. It was definitely true that she’d invented the idea that she was examining fish eyesight. Mrs. Right had been hoping she’d outgrow the habit. She was not even sure why or how she had acquired the habit. But what a small thing to fall apart over! Lord Wembly was so struck by the print mocking the idea that he could not even meet her? What was he doing? Hiding in his house?
As always seemed to be the case, Mrs. Right’s mind began drifting toward how to make Lord Wembly pay for his perfidy.
It was true that she’d made a few slight mistakes in past years with Mr. Stratton, Lord Dashlend, Lord Stanford, and Lord Thorpe. But that was all water under the bridge now. This time, there could be no mistake. Lord Dashlend was out hunting down a copy of that print and there it would be as irrefutable evidence of Lord Wembly’s crime.
Mrs. Right tapped her chin. If Lord Wembly was so affected by Verity being teased and mocked, she wondered how he would stand up to being teased himself? She did not know anything about how one went about getting one of these prints done, but she supposed she could find out.
Yes, she very well thought she could work out how to arrange it. Let Lord Wembly feel the sting of it. Let him pay.
In the meantime, she would take Verity above stairs and soothe her to sleep. Her poor girl had been through the wars, and she must be reminded that whatever went on out of the house, she was perfectly safe and protected inside the house. On the morrow, she would set out to have a print made mocking that feckless and fearful Lord Wembly. She would make arrangements to paper the town with them. Then they would all see how he stood up tothat.
*
Henry was pleasedthat his aunt had felt well enough to descend to the drawing room. She was still looking piqued, but her spirits seemed well recovered.
“I am sorry you missed Lady Jellerbey’s candlelight picnic,” she said. “I had hoped it might be the night you went forward and secured Lady Verity.”
“It is no matter,” Henry said. Though he had not liked to miss it, he would never wish for his aunt to feel as if she’d been any sort of burden. “I believe Lady Verity attends Lady Darlington’smasque. That will be time enough. Now, I suppose you are done with Lady Rareton’s card parties?”
“Goodness, no,” Lady Pegatha said. “I have known Leticia forever. As for that cook of hers, I can comfortably say I am done withhim. Did I say she sent over a note claiming the mayonnaise had been made correctly but a kitchen maid had taken it from the icehouse too early? As if that would ever induce me to try it again! What does she imagine? That I will keep a close eye on her kitchen maids to determine if they are taking items from the icehouse at the right moments? Leticia is clutching at straws with that idea.”
“I suppose her cook keeps his employment then, despite poisoning a half-dozen of her guests.”
“And that kitchen maid too, as far as I can gather. But then, whenever something goes wrong in a kitchen, the fault is always laid at the most junior person in it, as if they are secretly running the place. Almost always nonsense.”
Just then, a footman brought a letter in on a salver. Henry picked it up and opened it. What he read next was startling, to say the least.
Lord Wembly—
I would request you visit me at your earliest convenience regarding the caricature involving The Royal Society. Several of our members have already been to see me to voice their complaints. I have not yet decided if we ought to make a public pronouncement about it or ignore it. I would like to hear your opinion before going forward. I currently stay with Lord Kenilworth on Curzon Street.
Sir Joseph Banks
A caricature? What caricature? Was it about Sir Richard’s frogs? The only thing Henry could imagine would end upbeing laughed at by thetonwas Sir Richard’s rather ridiculous observances of frogs in different ponds. Henry could just imagine the mockery if someone outside the society overheard Sir Richard say: “The study of herpetofauna rather depends on our finding it out!” But why should any of that concern Henry? Why was he being called in by Sir Joseph? He was not the one going round spouting off about gazing at frogs all summer.
Lady Pegatha must have noted his confusion, as she was staring at him. “Well?” she said. “What is it?”
“I am not certain what exactly it is, but for being exceedingly odd. Sir Joseph wishes to see me.”
