Chapter Sixteen

Miss Welter thought Lord Souderton a rogue? That was not at all what Madeline had expected the lady to say.

“Can you tell me why you have come to this conclusion, Miss Welter?” she asked, her voice tight.

Miss Welter nodded. “He sent me a drizzling box, and then he denied he did so to my father. Do you see? That can only mean he meant something secret between us. Something he did not wish known publicly. Something…not quite respectable.”

Madeline was flabbergasted. That could not be true. Lord Souderton? Attempting to seduce a baron’s daughter?

She had of course heard of such things, but she had been under the impression that it was the sort of thing that might go on in the countryside. At home, there were far fewer prying eyes and far more places to steal away.

At least, that was her understanding of what had gone on with a lord from her own neighborhood and a squire’s daughter. It was discovered when the squire’s daughter became with child. After much arguing and threats, the lord had finally wed the girl.

Madeline remembered listening at the drawing room doors to hear her mother say, “Thank the heavens he has been prevailed upon.”

She’d got the distinct impression that the lord had retained the right to refuse being prevailed upon, and then what could the squire do? His daughter would be blamed for allowing it to happen and a child would be born out of wedlock. It had seemed a great relief to everybody that he’d decided not to exercise that right.

“My father has speculated that because Lord Souderton is to be a duke, and my father is only a baron, that he has imagined he might take liberties,” Miss Welter said. “My poor father, he says he would like to call Lord Souderton to a green, but he cannot point to anything more than his denial of the drizzling box. All he will say about is ‘I know men.’”

Madeline did not immediately answer, and Miss Welter went on. “I do not quite understand Lord Souderton. He did put his name to the box—did he imagine I would keep it secret from my parents? In any case, he shall hear what I think of him this evening. I have named him a foul wind.”

Madeline was rather admiring of that. She might have used a foul wind herself had she thought of it.

Finally finding her voice, she said, “Never fear, Miss Welter, I have named him a North Sea storm.”

“Oh I see,” Miss Welter said. “So you say you knew him to be a rogue all along?”

“Not quite all along,” Madeline admitted. “But I know it now.”

She did not know if Lord Souderton was an out and out rogue. She did not know if he had planned to seduce Miss Welter, as that did seem a bit farfetched. But what she did know was that he was a player of hearts. He had no respect for women or their feelings. That was plenty dangerous enough.

At the very least, he’d sent Miss Welter the drizzling box to note his regard, and then decided to change his mind about it. And, as he was to be a duke, he did not even have the courtesy to quietly slink away and hope it forgotten. Rather, he’d denied to the lady’s father that he’d sent it, though they had the box with the signed note in their possession. It spoke of a gentleman who did not think the rules of polite society pertained to him.

Just then, Miss Smollen joined them. Miss Welter, seeming determined to tell her story to anyone who would listen, related the denial of the drizzling box.

“I see,” Miss Smollen said, looking strangely satisfied. “It seems my instincts were right all along. I named him a cold damp.”

It appeared Lord Souderton was on the verge of facing himself as he was, not as he wished the world to think he was.

And it seemed the truth of him was very bad weather.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Owen was determined to find Lady Madeline and somehow relate what had really gone on regarding that drizzling box sent to Miss Welter. Though, he was not entirely certain what had gone on. All he knew for certain was that he’d not sent it.

He must be sure she at least understood that.

When he arrived, he’d been a little alarmed at the Duchess of Ralston’s greeting. “Gracious Souderton, what in the world have you been up to?”

Of course, he guessed he had been right in surmising that Miss Welter and Miss Smollen had been less than complimentary.

He’d said, “I presume two ladies would like to set me afire, though I believe them to be mistaken in it.”

The duchess had laughed and said, “Or three.”

Before he could inquire what exactly she meant by that, other guests were arriving and pushing forward in the line.

He strode into the ballroom and scanned it in search of Lady Madeline. He first caught sight of her father the earl, and the countess. They were talking with Iverley, though Lady Madeline was not with them.

Then he saw her—striking as ever. She was a brilliant sapphire set among paste. A brilliant sapphire who happened to have the most adorable dimpled chin.

Why on earth did she have to be standing with Miss Welter and Miss Smollen? He could not say anything he wished to say within hearing of those two ladies. He could not say he would not have sent Miss Welter a single thought much less a drizzling box. And as for Miss Smollen, he could not account for that lady’s apparent dislike, other than she had not herself received the box he had never sent.

He stood staring at the trio, hoping to catch Lady Madeline’s eye and somehow signal her to step away.

Miss Smollen suddenly locked eyes with him. He pretended to look a bit to the right, as if he were not watching her party. But he did watch.

Miss Smollen whispered to the other two ladies, they both looked in his direction and quickly looked away.

Then all three of them were shaking their heads and whispering.

What were they shaking their heads about? Had Lady Madeline been dragged into this ridiculous story of the drizzling box?

“Ladies, gentlemen?” The Duchess of Ralston’s voice rang out from a stage erected at the far end of the ballroom. “We will begin.”

Owen sighed. Nothing was going as it should, and he was fairly certain things were heading on their way to worse.

The crowd in the ballroom ceased its chatter. Her Grace said, “As always, I am cheered that you have seen fit to attend my little entertainment. I suppose I have never mentioned why I host this event each year. I suppose my guests believe it is only for my amusement."

The crowd looked at one another. Of course, that was the reason people presumed the duchess got up to such mischief.

"I do not do it simply for my own amusement, though I am often amused. I do it so that the gentlemen of the ton may do a course correction when it is deemed necessary."

There were surprised looks all round. Owen supposed nobody would have guessed at any sort of noble purpose. If it was a noble purpose.

"There are so few moments when a gentleman is told where he is going wrong. Gentlemen are afforded every courtesy, even when they are acting like idiots. "

There were several gasps in the crowd. Owen imagined it seemed very daring to claim gentlemen of the ton could act as idiots. But then, the duchess was nothing if not daring.

"First, I will read some very complimentary comments from our ladies, and then perhaps some that were less than complimentary. Some that might require a course correction. Afterward, you will find refreshments set up in the drawing room and the music room.”

Owen braced himself. He would soon find out what the question was that had been put to the ladies. He was equally sure he would be accused of requiring a course correction.

“Now you wonder, what query were the ladies tasked with answering? It is just this—if a gentleman were a type of weather, what sort of weather would he be?”

There were gentle murmurs of appreciation for the idea, though Owen did not see much in it. He was a gentleman, not a spot of weather.

“Lord Iverley, my goodness you have made out very well.”

Iverley beamed his usual smile.

“Down to a lady, you are found to be a sunny temperament. Very well done.”

Iverley bowed all round as if he’d won some sort of prize. Of course he was genial, what else could he be? A fellow as young and inexperienced as he was had no real choice if he were to survive the opinions of the ton . He must be eminently likable and annoy nobody.

The duchess went on to describe another gentleman as a brisk wind for his sharp bon mots, another was the quiet after a fallen snow for his regulated temperament, another was the bright colors of a sunset for, of all things, his dancing.

Good for them. Unfortunately, Owen had not yet been named, and that gave him the idea that he was saved for last. The duchess always saved the worst for last, as she found them the most amusing. Or the most in need of course correcting, as she now claimed.

“And now we come to less complimentary descriptions,” the duchess said. “I have begun to notice that when we do receive uncomplimentary notes each year, they all seem to surround one gentleman. It is as if, whoever it may be, they have set backs up all over Town. It has been no different this year.”

Owen braced himself.

“Lord Souderton, I must wonder what on earth you have been doing this season.”

Some eyes turned to him. Then the rest of the eyes took note of where the first sets of eyes had looked. Now all eyes were focused on him.

“Perhaps it is due to a misunderstanding,” he said.

“Let us hope,” the duchess said drily. “It seems Lord Souderton is described as a North Sea storm—unpredictable and cruel. And then he is further described as a cold damp.” The duchess paused and laughed. “Here is the one that amuses me the most—he is a foul wind. Now, there is no further explanation and it did make me think of a certain lord who sometimes overstays his visit to the cheeseboard, subsequently creating a foul wind.”

The laughter went on for quite some time over that idea. Owen did not know who in particular the gentleman was who ought to avoid a cheeseboard, but everybody knew older gentlemen whose interior workings betrayed them from time to time.

“Now, the gentlemen are free to consider how they have been judged and correct course accordingly. The rest of you are free to wander, eat, drink, talk, and enjoy,” the duchess said.

As people shuffled by Owen, either refusing to meet his eye or meeting his eye and smirking, he could not work out the third comment. He presumed the unpredictable and cruel comment came from Miss Welter—but that was only because he’d denied he’d sent the lady a drizzling box. If one of the sobriquets had been from Lady Madeline, if she had been drawn into Miss Welter’s ire, he dearly hoped it was the cold damp comment. It was not ideal, but it was by far the least offensive.

Those three ladies had disappeared into the crowd and he was determined to find them. Before he could, he felt a tap on the shoulder. He turned to find Baron Muncy with a wide smile on his face.

“Well it’s all come out now, hasn’t it?” he said, before strolling off.

There was nothing to come out! He had to discover who would sign his name to a drizzling box, causing him so much trouble.

It must have been the dowager. It could not be Bumbledon on his own. He would not have dared it, but with his dowager pushing him on it, he would.

Naturally, it would suit Bumbledon to make trouble for him. But then it occurred to him that Bumbledon had not been at the dinner where Miss Welter had spoken of drizzling. How would he or the dowager have known what to send? How would they have known that a drizzling box would lead right back to Owen?

Then he began to see how it might have happened. If Miss Welter had spoken of drizzling at his dinner, might she have spoken of it elsewhere? Or everywhere?

The ladies who partook of the hobby were so enamored of it that they carried boxes or bags around so they might have it available for use when they were sitting for a moment. It was likely very common knowledge that Miss Welter was a drizzler.

And then, it had been rather easy to connect the box to him by putting his name to it.

But how could he prove it? Having a feeling someone was to blame was not the same as having facts to point to. Anybody only mildly acquainted with Bumbledon and his dowager might be hard pressed to imagine they had been up to such sly maneuvers. They were inconsequential people and inconsequential people did not get up to consequential activities.

He set off in search of Lady Madeline. Whatever was the truth of who had sent that box, he must only convince Lady Madeline that it was not him. Rather than attempting to solve the mystery, perhaps it was only vital that Lady Madeline understood that it was a mystery.

“Ho there, Souderton,” Lady Madeline’s father said. The earl had suddenly appeared before him, his countess by his side. “How have you gone and raised the ire of three different ladies, eh?”

Owen presumed he had not yet heard of the drizzling box, though if he read the countess’ expression correctly, she had.

“I believe it has all been a gross misunderstanding, Earl,” Owen said vaguely.

“No doubt, no doubt. Well, you know how ladies are! What did Shakespeare say about it? Much ado about nothing.”

“The ado in that play, “the countess said in a cold tone, “was entirely created by the men, if you will recall.”

The earl seemed to notice that he could not commiserate with Owen regarding the wide-ranging emotions of women and at the same time stay in the good graces of his countess. He mumbled, “Quite right. What did Shakespeare know? That goes without saying.”

“Lord Souderton,” the countess said with a certain note of finality, and then led her husband away.

Owen set off in search of Lady Madeline. He found her taking a glass of wine from Lord Iverley, who was looking enormously pleased with himself. As well he would, the cheerful Lord Sunshine.

“Lady Madeline,” Owen said, “if I might have a private word.”

The lady looked strangely startled. She had the look of a doe in the wood who had just perceived danger.

Before she could answer him, Miss Welter fairly pushed him out of the way. “Do not agree to it, Lady Madeline. Never agree to be isolated from other people by…a person of his inclinations.”

Miss Smollen pushed in from his other side. “That is true, Lady Madeline,” she said. “My mother has told me their first trick is to get you alone.”

“What inclinations? What trick?” he asked.

“You know very well,” Miss Welter said.

“No, I am afraid I do not, Miss Welter.”

“You see how smooth he covers himself,” Miss Smollen said. “Very practiced.”

What on earth were they accusing him of? This seemed to have gone beyond a drizzling box they thought he’d sent. A trick to get Lady Madeline alone? Did they imagine he was some sort of rake?

“I really just require a few minutes of Lady Madeline’s time,” he said through gritted teeth.

“He will drag her away, I can see that he will try it!” Miss Welter whispered.

“Miss Welter,” Lord Iverley said, “certainly you are mistaken?”

“She is not mistaken,” Miss Smollen said. “Look at his eyes, they are wild!”

“What?” he said.

Rather than receive an answer to that question, Miss Welter fell to the floor in a faint.

Pandemonium ensued.

The lady’s father was by her side in a moment and inquiring what Lord Souderton had done to make her faint. Miss Smollen was explaining it had been his wild eyes that had done it. The duchess arrived with a vinaigrette and waved it vigorously under Miss Welter’s nose. The countess swept Lady Madeline away. Bystanders looked at him frowning.

Owen threw up his hands. “I really do not know what this is about!”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Bumbledon watched as the dowager paced the small drawing room, tapping her forefinger on her chin.

“It really could not have gone better,” she said. “Far better than we had a right to hope for. From what we have gathered, Lord Souderton is accused of being a rake for sending Miss Welter a drizzling box and then denying he’d done so to the girl’s father. We did not even plan on things going so far.”

Bumbledon nodded eagerly, as it was always a genial situation when his mother was pleased.

“Now is the moment to strike,” the dowager said.

“Strike?” Bumbledon said warily. He did not like the sound of that. It sounded rather energetic.

“Strike,” the dowager said. “You must call on Lady Madeline in all haste and you will plead your case. With any luck, she will have considered the dangers of involving herself with someone not as long known to the family as you are. She will consider that she has been the victim of disappointed hopes. She will be primed to hear you speak.”

“You mean, then, ask for her hand?”

“Yes, what else?”

“But…would it not be best to proceed cautiously, that is, perhaps begin by sending flowers? Or a book, even? Or I might write a sonnet.”

“You don’t have time for that!” the dowager cried. “Think, Ignatius, how long will it be before another gentleman sets his sights on the girl? You cannot afford to allow her to make comparisons.”

“Because…who else could I get?” Bumbledon asked weakly.

“You see how it is.”

“But what will I say? When I get there?”

The dowager thought for a moment. Then she said, “First, you’ll denounce Lord Souderton—what a disgrace that he sent that box and then denied it like a rake, that sort of thing. Then you’ll say a few compliments—she is a Venus, her eyes are like stars, you are unworthy of her.”

“I am worthy of her, though?”

The dowager looked at him critically. “Close enough.”

“What if she says no?”

The dowager sighed. “I will come with you for moral fortitude. If she says no, just persevere, ask again. More of ‘her eyes are like stars’ nonsense. Keep pressing your case. I understand some ladies will say no the first three or four times.”

He’d got to propose three or four times? He’d run out of compliments; did she not see that?

“What are more compliments,” he asked. “If I am to go on for three or four runs at it, I feel like I’ll need a lot of them.”

The dowager flung herself into a chair. “I don’t know—hair spun from gold, that sort of thing.”

“Her hair is dark, though.”

“Ignatius, at some point you will have to learn how to stand on your own feet. Think something up!”

Bumbledon rubbed his chin. He supposed he could compare her to Cleopatra, since she had dark hair. Hopefully, she would be flattered by it. Was Cleopatra pretty? He really could not tell. All he could see when he looked at a woman was a sort of anxiousness.

This led to other thoughts. What if, on the fourth try, Lady Madeline said yes? What if she actually agreed to it? Then what? There would be a wedding and then she would be in his house. In his room. In her nightclothes!

It had all seemed a game when it had been a far-off idea. But on the morrow, he might leave Lady Madeline’s house an engaged man.

“Mother, I feel I am not entirely prepared for the wedding night. As far as actual details go.”

“Lord help me,” the dowager muttered.