Chapter Twelve

Owen had quite the tangle with his father in the late afternoon. Once again, the old soldier considered disinviting Lady Madeline and her parents from the dinner. He’d been to White’s and a crony had shown him The Morning Post. That friend had inquired if his son were once more being blamed for causing a line of disreputable-looking men to appear outside of Lady Madeline’s house.

The duke claimed he was becoming convinced that being at all associated with Lady Madeline Cole was to invite trouble.

It probably was, but Owen was fully prepared to face down that trouble. After all, it was rather charming trouble. At least, from Lady Madeline’s end it was. She’d been so keen to unearth impoverished pupils that she’d put an advertisement in the newspaper with her address inadvisedly included.

As for anybody else involved in the scheme, he’d like some hard evidence of who it was.

He had, of course, seen the notice himself that morning. Lord B was to be vindicated and the charge aimed at Lord S, which he supposed was meant to be him. He’d hoped it would go by unnoticed, which it would have if his father had not gone to his club.

Who was doing this? Was it Bumbledon, in retaliation for whoever named him as the culprit? Or at least, named Lord B as the culprit, which could be assumed to be him.

Owen had not allowed the grass to grow under his feet after he’d seen it was to be Lord S blamed now. A new notice would appear in The Morning Post on the morrow:

Though he struggles to shirk off the blame, it is and has always been Lord B.

His father had finally been overcome by Owen swearing he would leave the house and go to live in their fishing cottage in Scotland if his father disinvited Lady Madeline. He had no such plans, but sometimes it was best to pretend at the dramatic with the duke.

The duchess overheard that threat and got herself in a terrible state over it. Her dinner would be ruined and her son’s chest ought not be in the Scottish weather in this season.

Owen had no idea where his mother had got the idea that he had a weak chest, but he was happy enough to violently cough to uphold the idea.

After that performance, the duke was well aware that he was not to get his way and made a disgruntled retreat. The dinner was to go on exactly as it had been planned. The appropriate young womanhood of Lady Madeline, Miss Smollen, and Miss Welter were to spend an evening with her darling son.

As the duchess labored under the impression that he’d not been successful in securing a bride in past seasons despite diligent efforts, she was determined to prop him up whenever he seemed to be sinking.

Baron Muncy and his daughter, Miss Welter, and Viscount and Viscountess Hedwig and their daughter, Miss Smollen, had already arrived. As his mother had predicted, they were indeed specimens of appropriate young womanhood. They were comely, they were well-mannered, and they were respectable.

They were not Lady Madeline Cole, though. Both ladies had a rather retiring manner he did not find alluring, though he was aware that other gentlemen did. It was an abashed sort of thing, likely meant to highlight their innocence. He supposed it was quite the fashion and he could not fault two young ladies for trying it on. He supposed he’d be happy enough if a sister of his own chose to emulate it.

But where was the adorable dimple? Where was the dramatic coloring? Where were the bold notions and even bolder questions? He did not suppose either one of these ladies had ever thought to ask a gentleman to justify his existence. Or if they had thought it, had never said it aloud.

That idea did give him a bit of a pause. Who knew what young ladies actually thought about? They were so regulated that they might harbor all sorts of wild and revolutionary ideas they kept to themselves. It might seem more dangerous to connect oneself to a lady who was outspoken, but perhaps the real fact was it was a deal more comfortable to know where one stood.

Finally, the Earl and Countess of Winthrop and their daughter, Lady Madeline Cole, were announced.

She was spectacular, as she always seemed to be. The claret silk of her dress and the pearls artfully arranged had been a modiste’s triumph. However, the modiste could not take all the credit—it was the wearing of it that elevated it.

He hurried forward. “Earl, Countess, Lady Madeline. Welcome to Palmerston House.”

The duchess came forward and proceeded to make the introductions all round, which was well, since his father was looking just the littlest bit on the sullen side of things.

Ramsey came in with a tray of champagne. He was an experienced old butler and Owen watched with some admiration how he glided through the room, somehow serving the ladies first and strictly by rank, and then repeating the operation with the gentlemen. It was so subtly done that nobody who did not pay close attention would note it. Ramsey would note it, though.

The glasses were just shy of half-filled as the duchess would not delay going through to the dining room for more than a few minutes. She was of the opinion that a few sips of champagne greased the wheels of conviviality, but one did not wish to mill round a drawing room endlessly.

Though he would like to take the opportunity of speaking to Lady Madeline, and Lady Madeline alone , she was just now in conversation with Miss Smollen and Miss Welter. His mother had led her there, and it seemed the ladies had much to discuss, though newly acquainted.

He made his way over to find Miss Smollen expressing her dismay at the “absolute trial” Lady Madeline had been through.

“It must be very distressing to think that someone would have targeted you in such a manner, to send men to your house!”

“It was definitely a surprise to see them all there,” Lady Madeline said.

Owen did his best not to laugh. She certainly had been surprised, though she had brought it on herself.

“I should have fainted dead away on the carpet,” Miss Welter said.

“I am not sure that would have helped the situation,” Lady Madeline said laughing.

“And then it just goes on and on,” Miss Smollen said. “Is it Lord M or Lord B or Lord S? I do not have the first idea of who any of them are, but I do wonder at the accusations hurled back and forth by way of The Morning Post. I should be quite nervous to look at the newspaper every day.”

“I suspect Lady Madeline is made of rather stern stuff and will not be so affected,” Owen said.

“I must agree, Lord Souderton. I find it quite inspiring,” Miss Welter said.

It was, rather.

The duchess interrupted this interesting conversation. “Ladies, gentlemen, we will go through.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

At least one worry was off Madeline’s mind. She’d wondered what Lord Souderton would say to finding a finger pointed toward Lord S in The Morning Post.

However, when Miss Smollen mentioned it, he seemed quite sanguine. She had worried that he’d not yet seen it, or that he had and was fed up with the scandal she’d caused, though he had so far met the situation with good cheer.

She had, of course, trembled at the idea that the duke might have seen it and been incensed by it. He did not seem to be out of sorts, though.

They had gone through to the dining room and the seating was a shade awkward as there were not even numbers, and the ladies far outnumbered the gentlemen. Nevertheless, it was not such a large party that one would be confined to speaking only to one’s near neighbors.

Lord Souderton was seated just diagonally across from her, with Miss Welter on his left and Miss Smollen’s mother on his right. Making things comfortable, they would dine à la Francaise. Madeline much preferred it, as one might examine all the choices together, rather than courses coming out in staged interludes as some people were experimenting with.

She had attended a dinner at home that had done so, and it was beginning to appear the fashion in some circles. Lady Melrose had heard the French were doing it and had tried it out. Madeline had hesitated on early courses because she did not wish to fill up too fast, and then left the table wishing she’d eaten more meat. She’d eaten more dessert than she cared for because she’d been hungry, and it had been her last opportunity.

Afterwards, Lady Melrose seemed to see the difficulty with the procedure and noted she ought to have showed round a menu ahead of time so people would not be left wondering.

All in all, it had seemed to Madeline to be an unnecessary palaver for both the guests and the footmen.

She did not know what she’d expected from a duke’s table, as she’d never set foot in a duke’s house. What she found, though, she rather liked. It was not overwrought, there were no beaks or feathered wings sadly attending their old form before it had been roasted in an oven. It had a decidedly country air to it. A clear soup, fricasseed chicken, turbot ? l’Anglaise, lamb in a sauce, sliced beef with fried onions, sauteed mushrooms with leeks, mashed turnips, pickled radishes, and a greens salad.

“My esteemed guests,” the duchess said from her seat at the head of the table, “as a mother, I have long anticipated such a moment.”

Madeline noticed Lord Souderton looking faintly alarmed. She was faintly alarmed herself. What moment?

As she wondered it, a thought suddenly occurred to her. How had she not seen it? The party was brought together so that three unmarried ladies might find themselves in close proximity to Lord Souderton. That was why the table was so unbalanced.

Her thoughts were rapidly confirmed.

“An eldest son,” the duchess went on, “destined to a dukedom in the fullness of time. Well! I have watched my dear boy grow into a man and now he is prepared to take the next step.”

By next step, Madeline was certain the duchess meant marriage. She was not at all opposed to the idea, not in the least! Though, she was a little bit off kilter that these other two ladies had been invited. Was one of them favored by the duchess?

“Mother,” Lord Souderton said, “I am certain our guests do not care to hear about me all evening.”

Miss Welter piped up. “I am not at all opposed to it.”

Not to be left behind, Miss Smollen said, “I am certain there can be few more interesting subjects of conversation.”

Madeline noted that the duchess looked very approving of these opinions. She supposed she ought to chime in with her own approbation of the subject, but she could not do it.

It was true, the subject of Lord Souderton was endlessly fascinating. But this situation was so forced, so wholly embarrassing. And why were Miss Smollen and Miss Welter so…so ingratiating? Was that it? No, it was more toadying up to the countess.

Did Lord Souderton like that sort of thing? She could not tell, though there was no question his mother did.

Had Miss Smollen and Miss Welter set their caps on Lord Souderton? It was a ghastly thought. She’d had the distinct impression that she was favored, though nothing had been said. Did these two ladies believe they were favored too? Were there more ladies drifting around ballrooms who thought themselves favored?

Madeline had been well warned about the dangers of gentlemen who collected hearts like snuff boxes. Lady Melburn from her neighborhood said they were the wolves of old, skulking through drawing rooms. They were disguised in fine clothes and oozing with fine manners, all to hide their base nature. They required admiration to thrive, just as any other person required air to breathe.

Worse, the wolves would trot out a lady’s admiration at their club, for congratulations all round. It was a deadly thing for a woman, as this man would never propose, and he would discourage anybody who’d been thinking about it.

Old Lord Granby was said to be such a gentleman in his day. He was finally brought to heel by Lady Granby, who had cleverly advertised that she did not give a toss about him. He became determined to have the one lady who would not have him.

Certainly, Lord Souderton could not be such a gentleman. She could not have been so easily fooled.

Though, why had she not thought before this moment that there must be hordes of ladies that had set their cap on him? He was divine, and even if he was not, he was to be a duke—there were ladies who would wed a toad if he were to be a ducal toad.

“If I might put in my own opinion, my dear,” the duke said to the duchess. “I well know the heavy mantle of a dukedom. A duke’s duchess must be his support, she must be wholly focused on advancing his interests. What I mean to say is, she ought not be flying about with ideas and interests of her own that would distract from his solemn purpose.”

Madeline took that for the rap on the knuckles it was. There was no doubt in her mind that the duke referred to her charity for impoverished pupils. And as for a duke’s solemn purpose? What solemn purpose? It seemed to her that a duke’s purpose was to congratulate himself on his lucky birth and go round being very respected and rich.

The duchess laughed. “Now my dear, unless the lady’s ideas and interests run to shopping and calling in the modiste—those ideas are rather fun.”

“Certainly, father,” Lord Souderton said, “a lady may be permitted to have her own interests these days. It is 1804, after all.”

Lord Souderton had come to her defense. It was rather lovely. Though, Madeline could not help being concerned over the duke’s position. She’d known that he did not agree with educating those who traditionally had gone less educated. Or educating people above their station, as he would call it. She’d not known he was still thinking about it.

Miss Welter said, “Gracious, I am rather passionate about drizzling. Though I suppose if I had to give it up, I would be rather stoic about it.”

Madeline stared at Miss Welter. She hardly thought the duke was opposed to a lady sitting in a drawing room, carefully pulling at a fabric to extract the gold threads. She supposed nobody could be outright opposed to it, though it seemed a pointless way to spend one’s time.

“Ah,” the duke said, “Miss Welter is a drizzler! Very appropriate activity. I understand Princess Charlotte goes in for it.”

Just then, Madeline’s mother came to the rescue. Of course she would. Madeline did not think her father would have noticed that the duke made subtle comment on his daughter’s activities, but her mother surely would have comprehended it.

“Does anyone know when the Duchess of Ralston intends on sending out invitations for her Secrets Exposed party?” the countess asked. “I am most curious as to who the lists of gentlemen and ladies will be this year.”

“I may have some news on that front,” the duchess said. “I just had a confidential tea with Margaret yesterday, we’ve known each other for ages. I cannot give too much away, but I think any young person at this table may be assured of attending.”

Miss Smollen and Miss Welter appeared delighted to hear it. Madeline was a deal less delighted. She did not know what the entire evening would entail, but she did know that every year some selected ladies would be asked to make comment on the gentlemen who visited her house. It sounded a rather fraught, and a possibly dangerous, activity.

She’d really have preferred to be left out of it. But then, she would always wish to comply with anything the duchess asked of her. After all, the Duchess of Ralston had taken such a keen interest in her fund for impoverished pupils and had kindly pointed out the large hole in her planning. Though, Madeline’s efforts to remedy that hole had led to the unfortunate result of unknown men turning up at her house.

“Gracious,” Miss Welter said. “I wish we were to be told our task ahead of time. I like to know things ahead of time. So I have time to think.”

“But only consider, Miss Welter,” Miss Smollen said, “we will all be sailing along in the same ship, as it were. Nobody will have time to think.”

Miss Welter nodded, though she did not appear particularly comforted by the idea.

“Do remember, Miss Welter, that it is only an entertainment,” Madeline said. “Surely nothing to become nervous about.”

She said it, but Madeline was not so sure she meant it.

“Do not be gooses about it, is my advice,” the baron said, nodding encouragingly at his daughter. “After all, nobody will ever know what you wrote. Her Grace is always very good about not revealing the source of a submission.”

Madeline got the idea that the baron understood his daughter’s temperament, which was on the nervous side of things, and he had developed the habit of kindly working round it.

“All I will say,” the duchess said, “is the subject of this year’s effort is something you see round you every day.”

That, of course, could be anything.

“I know what it must be!” Miss Welter said. “It must be carriages. When I first heard of it from my mama years ago, I thought someday it must be carriages. We will be asked to describe what sort of carriage a gentleman would be. If he were a carriage.”

Madeline supposed that was a possibility, though she did not suppose it would be beneficial to spend too much time thinking about it. It was just as likely to be something else entirely.

“Lord Souderton,” Miss Welter said softly, looking up from under her lashes, “I suppose you will want to be a high-flyer phaeton?”

“Oh yes,” Miss Smollen said, “with a devilish-looking tiger hanging on the back, dressed in very smart livery.”

Lord Souderton looked a bit non-plussed by these predictions. He said, “Perhaps we do not wish to ruin the Duchess of Ralston’s fun by too much speculation.”

Miss Smollen’s mother, the viscountess, said, “Quite right, Lord Souderton. The Duchess of Ralston’s night is always most amusing, let us be surprised by it. By the by, I heard a rather ludicrous report this afternoon. Something about Lord Bumbledon fainting dead away at a lecture about something or other.”

“It was very hot in that room,” Madeline’s father said. “I will even go so far as to say it was stuffy. It was a miracle we did not all faint.”

Madeline glanced at Lord Souderton, who glanced back at her. Both worked to keep their expressions neutral and stop from laughing. Stuffy indeed. Her dear papa worked very hard on Lord Bumbledon’s behalf. So far, word that he’d fainted on account of a too tight corset had not got out and the earl seemed determined to keep it that way.

“I hope Lord Bumbledon landed on the carpet,” Miss Welter said. “One must be careful of where one lands in such a situation. I always say, if one begins to feel wobbly, relocate to the nearest carpet.”

And with that sage advice, the table was cleared and dessert was brought out. In keeping with the dinner, it was nothing too elaborate. Wensleydale and cheddar cheeses, strawberry tarts, a savoy cake with brandied cherry cream, apples and pears.

Dessert was taken up with guessing at a riddle that Miss Welter put forth, though it was an odd thing to put forward at a dinner table. It became odder still when Miss Welter admitted she did not know the answer to it. She’d heard it somewhere and could not work it out.

Neither could anybody else.