“Ah, he is the president of your little club, is he not?”
“The Royal Society is not a little club, though I know you say it to tease. And yes, he is our esteemed president. It seems there is a print going round about the society, and not a favorable one, I will guess. But why should he wish to see me about it?”
Lady Pegatha shrugged. “You will not know until you see him, I presume.”
“I will write him back that I am currently unable to leave the house due to an illness in the family.”
“Bah, get going and find out what he wants. I am exceedingly unlikely to experience a setback from an assault by mayonnaise.”
“If you are certain?” Henry asked. He did not wish to leave his aunt’s side until he was sure of her permanent recovery. On the other hand, he was curious to know what this summons was all about.
“As certain as I am that I will dinebeforeLady Rareton’s next party and avoid her adventurous cook’s creations as if he is Henry the Eighth and I am a lady of his household.”
Henry laughed. Lady Pegatha had often wondered why none of the ladies who’d caught the eye of that monarch had not run for the hills. She supposed they had not the means, as why else would a lady wed a king in the habit of killing off his queens? Hesaid, “Sir Joseph is staying just on Curzon Street. I can walk over and be back soon enough.”
“Go, take the air. You are a young man; you cannot spend an entire day staring at an old woman who has done battle with a mayonnaise.”
Henry stood and kissed the top of his aunt’s head. “Do not do anything strenuous while I am gone.”
Lady Pegatha laughed. “I do not do anything strenuous when you are here.”
“You know what I say.”
“Yes, yes, I will try to avoid a mortal injury from my embroidery needle. Go on, I would like to hear news of what’s buzzing under Sir Joseph’s hat at the moment.”
Henry strode out of the room. A footman fetched his coat, and he set off for Curzon Street. It was not ten minutes before he arrived at Lord Kenilworth’s door. He was admitted and led to the lord’s library, where he found Sir Joseph in his wheeled chair, deep in a book.
Sir Joseph laid the book on his lap. “Ah, Lord Wembly, I desired that you come as quickly as you might, but had not had hope it would be quite this quick.”
“Sir Joseph. I stay with my aunt on Berkeley Square.”
“Lady Pegatha. Very good. Now, what do you make of this print that’s going round? It could be, of course, that there is another red-haired gentleman I ought to think of, but I’ve been told it is most definitely you.”
Red-haired gentleman? There had been nothing in the note about a red-haired gentleman. Was this not about Sir Richard’s frogs, then? “I’ve heard nothing of it until I received your note,” Henry said.
“You have not even seen it?”
“No, I have been at home. Lady Pegatha had been struck ill.”
“Do not tell me she attended Lady Rareton’s card party.”
“She did.”
Sir Joseph let out a small laugh. “I will not be surprised to see a print aboutthat. A dozen matrons of thetonstruck down singlehandedly by a certain chef and a certain mayonnaise.
“But the print you refer to?”
“Ah, yes, it is on the desk. Lord Westerby claimed it all made sense. Something about the perils of a man of science becoming distracted by a woman and how there were already plenty of gentlemen who could people the world. Really, I can hardly follow half of what that man says.”
Henry went to the desk. The print lay on top of a stack of scientific journals. He could hardly believe what he was seeing. A lady stood behind a lectern labeled Royal Society while an audience of gentlemen looked on. He read the caption.After landing several trout on the banks of the River Esk, Lady Fiction concludes that fish cannot see much on land while a certain red-haired gentleman looks on.
My God, it was ridiculing Lady Verity and her story of inquiring into fish eyesight. Word must have spread very widely about it. It was his fault; he’d mentioned it to Westerby. As it was looking, Westerby had no sense at all and had gone round repeating it. Then somebody had decided it was too amusing to let pass.
Lady Verity was named Lady Fiction. It was such an insult! It was an insult and a humiliation that he’d brought down upon her head. It was true that she’d invented the preposterous notion that was mocked in the print, but it should never have left her father’s house.
Did she know? What must she feel? She was likely to conclude he was the one who had spoken of it after the dinner at the duke’s house. She would know that he’d brought this down on her head. After all, who else could it be? Lady Pegatha would hardly have gone round discussing scientific ideas.
“What do you make of it, Lord Wembly?” Sir Joseph said, interrupting his thoughts.
