Chapter Fifteen

Madeline was entirely perplexed to hear that Lord Bumbledon had come to call. He’d not been commandeered by the Duchess of Ralston, as nothing had been brought to her to comment upon. It was not their at-home day. Had he come to see her father?

“I stayed outside the drawing room doors to hear what it was all about,” Meggy went on. “The countess refused to call you in, as she said you was occupied elsewhere. That fella pretended he had forgotten it was the duchess’ Secrets Exposed day. Then he asked question after question about you, hoping you was well and where you might be going in the next week. Then, all casual like, he inquired if Lord Souderton had been to the house. Then, he had the nerve to mention he’d heard Miss Welter slayed the marquess at that blasted dinner. Everybody is talking about the drizzling box, he said. The countess was none too amused.”

“I never particularly liked Lord Bumbledon and now I am beginning to find him downright odious.”

“Right you are. The countess has got him on his way. But do you really think it’s true? That the marquess could have gone off you so fast and onto this Miss Welter? I don’t know a thing about her, but I can tell you right now—I don’t like her.”

Madeline smiled. There was nothing in the world like a loyal lady’s maid. Meggy would take up arms against the king if Madeline became convinced it must be done. Or as Meggy once told her: “Our fates are tied together, we are peas in the same pod.”

“I am convinced that Lord Souderton was partial to me in some way. I could not have been so mistaken about that,” Madeline said. “However, I am also convinced that when it came to considering a marriage, Lord Souderton has decided that a lady pliable and not likely to cause trouble is what he must secure.”

“Now I don’t like him neither,” Meggy said, scraping the icing off another biscuit and eating it from a spoon. “I don’t like a person who goes changing their mind all the time. It don’t sound very stalwart. And what’s he about, wishing for a pliable lady? It don’t sound very interesting.”

“I imagine interesting is not what a future duke is looking for,” Madeline said. “I am rather surprised at myself too—how did I not perceive it from the outset?”

In the distance, the sound of the door knocker reached them.

Meggy leapt up. “I’ll go see what’s what. If it’s that Bumbledon character come back, I may well give him something to think about or even an accidental stomp on the toe. The countess can scold me later about it.”

“I doubt she would scold you,” Madeline said as her maid hurried from the room. As she waited, she poured herself a second cup of tea. If she had to write something about a gentleman, she would require reinforcing sustenance.

This time, Meggy really was back in a tick. And this time, she held a folded and sealed note.

“You’ll never believe it, it’s Lord Souderton.”

Madeline put down her teacup with a shaking hand. “Why has he come?”

Meggy shrugged. “I got a look at him, he weren’t skulking round like the villain he is. It struck me, you know? How a high and mighty lord can go round hurting and insulting people and he don’t even have to acknowledge it. Who’s gonna scold him over it?”

Madeline was rather struck by that idea. She supposed turning up was a bit of bravado on Lord Souderton’s part. Certainly, he’d done nothing wrong if he could casually turn up. Certainly, he’d not led anybody on or toyed with anyone’s affections. He might just blithely proceed, blameless as a spring lamb.

It was painful and infuriating.

Madeline took the note from Meggy and opened it.

My dear girl—

It seems a gentleman has come to your house and now you must answer the question. If this gentleman was a type of weather, what type of weather would this gentleman be? Please include why you made your choice and amuse me if you can. You may amuse yourself too, as the author of each description I receive will be only known to me and will never be revealed.

After you have written your answer, close the note with your house seal.

Margaret Ralston

Meggy, not one to be left behind on any matter, had read the note over her shoulder.

“It is not what sort of carriage, as Miss Welter had predicted.”

“And what a prediction that was. Well, if the lord is to be weather, I reckon he’s a right rainy day,” Meggy said.

“That might be a bit too usual for the likes of Lord Souderton. I rather think he’s the North Sea—unpredictable and cruel.”

“There now, write that,” Meggy said. “Somebody ought to name him for what he is.”

Meggy was on to something. As a lady, Madeline had so few rights. She could not say anything or defend herself in any way. Except this way, which had providentially landed in her lap.

Perhaps she ought to work to appear unaffected by Miss Welter's drizzling box. She could not, though.

As well, somebody ought to force Lord Souderton to recognize his base actions. Somebody out to remind Lord Souderton that he could not go round acting as if he favored one lady, and then send a drizzling box to another lady. And that somebody was her.

She scribbled her response, folded up the note, and sealed it with her father’s stamp.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Owen had ordered flowers to be delivered to Lady Madeline. However, they were not to be delivered before he made his own appearance at the house with the Duchess of Ralston’s missive. It seemed as if it would be somehow cheap, and cheating, and as if he were trying to buy a complimentary response to the duchess’ query, if he’d sent the flowers and then turned up.

He’d sent daffodils to indicate his regard. He’d thought of roses, but decided for a first arrangement he would go with daffodils. It was more about respect for the earl and the countess than anything else—it would be an acceptable message of regard without alarming them that he was attempting to move too fast or taking liberties.

Throughout the course of the day, he became more and more alarmed about this stupid story that had gone round about a drizzling box sent to Miss Welter. He had initially assumed that some hopeful lothario had sent her the box and not had the nerve to put his name to it.

It would be just like the ton to note that Miss Welter had been to Owen’s house and then shortly thereafter received the box, therefore two plus two must equal four. Society never learned that their habit of speculation often went more like two plus two equals ridiculous stories with no basis of truth whatsoever.

The assumption that there was a bashful suitor at the bottom of it had been swiftly swept aside when he’d encountered Lord Muncy. He'd gone to deliver Her Grace’s note to Miss Welter. He’d not wished to go to the lady’s house, considering what was said, but he had no choice. He’d been boxed into committing to it during the dinner.

Then, he’d decided that since he did have to go, he should take the opportunity to clear up the misconception that he’d sent the drizzling box.

He’d been certain that as soon as Miss Welter was apprised of the truth, it would take her only a moment to deduce who had really sent it. He was sure she must have admirers, though he did not count himself amongst that number.

Miss Welter was closeted away somewhere when he arrived, so he did the next best thing and informed the baron of the case of things.

He’d been very surprised at the fellow’s reaction. He’d asked Owen why he was trying to wiggle out of it. Then Owen had found out something he could never have guessed at—whoever had sent the box had signed his name to it.

All of that was revealed before his note from the duchess had been taken to Miss Welter, and the note was taken to her by the baron.

As Owen cooled his heels in the baron’s drawing room, he suspected the baron was enlightening his daughter to the idea that Lord Souderton did not wish to claim credit for the drizzling box.

Heaven help him regarding what she would write about him after that news.

He’d finally escaped the house and made his rounds until he’d dispensed with delivering all those confounded notes. That had included a stop at Miss Smollen’s house, as he’d also been boxed into that one. Miss Smollen had stood in the back of the drawing room and barely looked at him, aside from a little sniff as she took the note from her mother.

He made a guess she’d also heard of the drizzling box and was mortally offended that his father’s dinner had resulted in one lady being singled out for a gift, and that lady had not been herself.

Owen got the feeling he would be roasted on raging flames at the duchess’ party. It was highly irritating, as he’d not sent a box to anybody. If he'd wished to send a box of any sort to a lady, it would be to Lady Madeline.

Good God, had Lady Madeline heard of this box he’d supposedly sent? He soothed himself with the idea that if she had, she would never believe it. They had an understanding between them. Of some sort.

He had hoped he would see Lady Madeline, just as some of the other ladies had been located at the far end of their drawing rooms. There might have been the opportunity to somehow hint that he had sent no drizzling box.

She had been nowhere in sight, though, and the countess had seemed strangely reserved.

When he returned to his house, one of the Duchess of Ralston’s footmen was waiting for him and collected the resealed notes. Owen did not know what was in them, but he was assured that at least two of them were probably scathing.

Then Owen turned his attention to his mother and father. Particularly his father. Who else would send Miss Welter that drizzling box and put his name to it?

He found them both in the drawing room.

“Ah, there he is, my handsome son,” the duchess said genially.

He kissed his mother’s cheek. “Father, if you sent Miss Welter a drizzling box on my behalf I’d like to know it.”

The duke looked at him quizzically. “I’d heard you sent it. Why should I send it? I don’t even know what such a box looks like.”

“I did not send it, but somebody sent it and put my name on it. Mother?”

The duchess shook her head. “Gracious, no. I’d heard it too, and became rather resigned to the idea, but it is not one I would have put forward myself. Miss Welter is…well all that talk of fainting did put me off.”

“Who could have done it? Who would attempt to push me in Miss Welter’s direction?”

“I hope it was not Muncy, himself,” the duke said. “One does not like to think how far a father would go to promote a daughter’s interests. But say, Miss Welter would not be so bad a choice. I, for one, think all that talk of fainting was a bit of nonsense. Feminine wiles, and all that.”

“You only say that because you do not care for Lady Madeline,” Owen said.

“No, no, I do not say that. WhatI do not care for are Lady Madeline’s ideas ,” the duke clarified. “If she did not have ideas, she would be perfectly acceptable.”

“She might give them up, darling,” the duchess said to the duke. “Remember the time I had the idea I would breed my own type of rose? And then I gave it up on account of all the dirt? Or when I looked into founding a book club? Until I noticed how much reading was involved? Or when I became convinced that hair powder might come back as a style and you convinced me to wait and see if other ladies were powdering? And then nobody ever did? These sorts of ideas come and go—it is a lady’s purview to have them.”

The duke seemed to be considering it and Owen did not challenge it. He did not in the least think Lady Madeline would give up her idea for educating impoverished pupils as fast as his mother gave up ideas about powdering her hair, but it would be well if his father pinned his hopes on it.

So, the drizzling box did not come from his parents. Neither of them were experienced liars and he would have seen through it if they’d tried.

Who had sent it though? And why? Was it another of Bumbledon’s maneuvers?

Owen paused. All along, he’d blamed Bumbledon, but he’d been ignoring his own eyes. If anybody were the brains of that operation, it was not Bumbledon. It was his dowager.

He sighed. It likely was the dowager. She directed and Bumbledon followed. Of course it must be. After all, when the facts of it were examined, it had really been she who had challenged him to a duel. He’d seen for himself how reckless the lady could be. He supposed she’d stop at nothing to get her baby boy settled.

Though, how was one to fight against an old woman?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

One other gentleman had arrived to Madeline’s house with the missive from the Duchess of Ralston. It had been Lord Iverley, a very young lord as recently arrived to Town as Madeline was herself.

She had danced with him at Almack’s and seen him a few other places. He was what one would call a ‘hail fellow, well met’ sort of gentleman. One could not possibly write anything about him that was not jolly.

Madeline wrote that he was a sunny day, bringing cheer wherever he went.

So that had been that—one North Sea storm and one sunny day.

She had expected the afternoon to go on peacefully, with nothing on the horizon but the duchess’ party that evening.

And then, the flowers had arrived. They were from Lord Souderton. Daffodils. He sent his regard.

Why did he send flowers meaning regard?

For a moment, she allowed herself to be hopeful. After all, he sent flowers, where he’d only sent Miss Welter a box. And might he not have sent the box only as a courtesy?

Of course, that idea drained away like water through a sieve. The box was the more significant present. The box would have cost far more and it spoke specifically to an interest Miss Welter had mentioned. It was personal.

Daffodils were a general sort of offering—the friendly flower for every occasion. One might send a great aunt or a retired nanny an arrangement of daffodils. Had they been roses, she might think…

But they were not roses. They were daffodils.

He meant to smooth things over. He knew he had played with her heart. Nothing had been spoken about it, nor would it ever be discussed. But he knew it. He wished to soothe his conscience.

Madeline ordered them thrown out. She really did feel it was a reasonable thing to do, though she thought Mr. Penny was practically apoplectic over it. Nevertheless, they had been removed from her sight.

She doubted they would be thrown out, nor did she wish to waste perfectly good flowers. She just did not want to look at them and it had felt like a bold statement to order them thrown out. She was not in control of much, but she could direct the fate of a bunch of daffodils at least.

Madeline was certain they were just now cheering up the servants’ table below stairs, and that was fine with her.

She’d then spent the next hours stewing and brewing over the daffodils she had sent away. A gentleman would put some thought into the flowers he sent. He would consider the message he was communicating. Lord Souderton had not said anything directly to her, but now he had. It was not admiration or love or anything she might find some hope in. It was a commonplace regard. There was a distance to it, and Lord Souderton knew it.

Finally, Meggy had wrestled her into a violet silk dress and she was on her way to the Secrets Exposed party.

Little did Lord Souderton realize his secret really would be exposed. He was a careless bounder, and all the world should know it.

“I suppose the one thing that can be said for the duchess’ party is that it only comes once a season,” her father said as their carriage barreled along the dark streets.

The countess nodded. “I have always found Her Grace’s entertainments amusing, but that was before we had a daughter involved. Now it seems rather fraught.”

“Does it?” the earl asked. “Who were the gentlemen coming to the house? I will hazard a guess Souderton was there.”

“Yes, my dear,” the countess said. “Lord Souderton and Lord Iverley came.”

“Well now, nothing to worry about there. Mind you, Iverley is a bit wet behind the ears, but there’s no harm in him. Madeline, you were not unkind to poor Iverley? He is only young.”

Madeline shook her head. “No, Papa. We were tasked to say what sort of weather a gentleman would be and I named him sunny.”

She had not been entirely certain whether or not her father knew of the drizzling box sent to Miss Welter. Now she knew he did not, else he’d be wondering what she’d named lord Souderton.

She should have guessed he would not know. After all, if her mother had not told him how else would he have heard it? It was not likely that any of his friends would have approached and said, “Ho there, Winthrop, I hear your daughter has been the victim of disappointed hopes! Thrown over in favor of Miss Welter!”

“Very good,” the earl said. “And I suppose Souderton was named a rainbow or a spring day or some such nonsense.”

Madeline and the countess stared at one another. Madeline had not told her mother what she’d written about Lord Souderton, but the countess would be sure to guess it had not been a rainbow.

“Never mind, I won’t embarrass you,” the earl said. “Ladies do have their romantic notions, after all.”

The carriage rolled to a stop and Madeline was very relieved it did. She would not outright lie to her father and so could not confirm any ideas about rainbows or spring days. Though, she supposed she did lie through omission.

Still, how was she to explain that she’d named Lord Souderton a North Sea storm when her father did not even know about the drizzling box? If an engagement was announced sometime soon between Miss Welter and Lord Souderton, would her father think her badly used?

It was hard to know. It was always hard to know what specifically went through her father’s mind. A thing of great import might pass him by unnoticed, as at that particular moment he found himself entirely fixated on why there was no marmalade to be had in the house. Other times, he seemed to notice everything.

They had been greeted by the Duchess of Ralston at the door and Madeline had been a little bit alarmed that Her Grace had given her a quick wink before they moved off. She supposed she had amused the duchess, which was both good and bad and she did not know what.

Though Madeline knew that what she had written was right, that it was right that she be honest, she still felt as if she’d rather not be here to hear it read. As she was the victim of the lord’s duplicitous actions, even if she could not precisely point to them, she should feel very brave. One must always be brave to be in the right. And yet, she felt a bit quaking.

When she’d been younger, she had indulged in all sorts of imaginings of righting wrongs. Of charging in and saving the day. Now she began to see that those imaginings had been self-indulgent and not very grounded in reality. She was not as heroic a personality as she had hoped.

“Ah, there is that little Miss Welter,” the earl said. “Let us go over and say hello, Madeline. It is important that you develop a circle of lady friends while in Town. Or so the countess has told me.”

Madeline’s mother swallowed a sigh, as of course she would have said that, though just this moment Miss Welter was not a lady she would have singled out for the purpose.

Nevertheless, the earl had set off and they must follow. Her mother touched her arm and gave her a look that said, “Fear nothing, I am by your side.”

“Miss Welter,” the earl said in a jolly tone. “How do?”

Miss Welter prettily curtsied. “Earl, Countess, Lady Madeline.”

“Well now,” the earl said, “the countess and I will leave you two young people to talk about…whatever it is young people talk about. Ah, there’s young Iverley standing alone and looking lost. Come my dear, let us go prop up that young fellow.”

The countess’s eyes widened just a bit. As it would turn out, the countess would not be by her side this moment. Still, there was not much she could do about it.

The earl led his countess away and they disappeared into the crowd. It was so humiliating. She was left to stand with the lady she’d been thrown over for.

“Lady Madeline, would it be all right if I were to say something, well something, direct.”

Madeline stared at her. Was the lady really going to address the situation? Was Lady Madeline Cole on the verge of receiving sympathy from the drizzling Miss Welter? It was really too much.

The silence hung in the air. Finally, Madeline said, “I would not presume to stop anyone from saying anything they felt pressed to say.”

She had hoped her tone would be enough to stop Miss Welter from going forward, but that was not to be.

“I just wished to warn you off Lord Souderton,” Miss Welter said.

Warn her off? What did this person mean? Did she imply that Madeline had stooped to chasing a gentleman? One warned off a rake, not a respectable lady.

“He is not as genial as he may seem,” Miss Welter said. “In fact, I believe him to be a rogue of some sort.”