Chapter Seventeen

When Madeline woke the morning after the Duchess of Ralston’s Secrets Exposed party she had to think for a minute. Did things really happen as she was remembering them?

But yes, they had.

She’d had that extraordinary conversation with Miss Welter about the drizzling box. Lord Souderton had sent it, and then denied he’d done so to her father. Why would he deny it? It made no sense.

After Miss Smollen had joined them, Miss Welter went into more detail about the box’s arrival. It turned out that Miss Welter had never had her hands on the box—it had been wrapped in brown paper and her father had taken receipt of it and read the note.

He’d been very pleased and had shown her the note, which only said ‘ A drizzling box for Miss Welter—Souderton .’ Her father had claimed a proposal was imminent, how else could it be?

Then he’d put the box away. He said it would confirm his daughter’s modesty that she did not unwrap it and begin using it before a proposal was made.

Miss Smollen wondered how Miss Welter could have borne not being able to even see the box, it would have driven her mad. Miss Welter claimed she did press her father quite a bit about it, but he would say nothing and had not even opened it himself.

It was just a confounding idea that Lord Souderton would have sent the box and then been adamant that he had not. All Madeline could think of was that he had a flighty temperament. Perhaps just as he’d thought he preferred Madeline, he’d then thought he preferred Miss Welter, and then just as suddenly decided he preferred somebody else. And then, he believed his standing in society gave him the right to flit from lady to lady like a summertime bee.

It was the only logical explanation she could think of.

Later in the morning a note had come to her from Miss Welter. She wrote to say that she was perfectly fine despite falling on Her Grace’s floor and that she had not really fainted. It had been a ruse to allow Madeline the chance to escape from Lord Souderton and his wild eyes.

It was very odd, though she did see that it had been kindly meant. Perhaps that was how she found Miss Welter herself—odd, but kindly meant.

Now, she was in the drawing room. She picked stitches from her embroidery, which was entirely vexing. She was very good with a needle and rarely needed to undo her work. Her thoughts were in too much of a tumble, though, to keep her stitches straight.

She was hard-pressed to view Lord Souderton as a rake. Though she was equally hard-pressed to understand how he could be innocent of all crimes when he’d sent a drizzling box privately to Miss Welter and then denied to her father that he’d done it. It did smack of secrecy and wishing to promote something scandalous. Or perhaps it was her first idea—he was not very steady. He did not know his own mind.

If that were the case, heaven help the lady he married. Whatever affection was between them could not last. His eyes would drift elsewhere soon enough.

Madeline had heard a knocking at the door some minutes ago and had presumed an invitation or a letter was delivered. When Mr. Penny had hurried into the drawing room, she had expected he’d be carrying that letter or invitation. He was entirely empty-handed and shut the door behind him in a rather furtive manner.

He seemed entirely distressed.

“Mr. Penny?” she asked. “Goodness, is something wrong? Has one of your literary society meetings upset you again?”

He hurried forward. “Lady Madeline,” he said in low tones, “Lord Bumbledon and his mother are here. I have said you were not at home. Several times!”

“I do not understand you, Mr. Penny,” Madeline said. “Do you say they refuse to go away?”

“That is precisely what I say, my lady. It’s that dowager, she is tapping her cane and claiming I must be wrong!”

Just then, the drawing room doors swung open. The dowager cruised through them. Behind her, Lord Bumbledon hurried in, followed by a near-panicked footman.

“Ah, there you are, Lady Madeline. Now, call it feminine intuition but I was quite sure your butler was mistaken when he said you were out. How delightful to see you once more, my dear.”

Madeline was entirely taken aback. What was she to do? For all the training and lessons she’d had about acting a respectable young lady, nobody had ever mentioned what to do about a person barging into the house uninvited. How was one to get them back out again?

“Dowager,” she said. “What a…an…unexpected surprise.”

“I knew it,” the dowager said, “I told my son—mark me, Lady Madeline is fond of surprises.”

“Yes, she did say that,” Lord Bumbledon said.

“So we thought,” the dowager went on, “why do we not surprise her?”

Madeline was at a complete loss. What should she do? What a time for her mother to be out of the house! She must think there was some protocol for this situation, but she did not know what it was. Perhaps she should rise and excuse herself as having another appointment?

“I suppose we’ll want tea,” the dowager said, staring grimly at Mr. Penny.

Mr. Penny stared at Madeline, waiting for her direction. How was she to refuse? The dowager was like a boulder rolling off the side of a Dover cliff—she could not be stopped.

“Oh, yes, I suppose so,” Madeline said, helpless to turn round the barreling boulder of a dowager.

The dowager sat herself down with alacrity. Lord Bumbledon bowed low, though the bow was rather late in coming.

Madeline sat down and stared at them, willing them to reveal the purpose of this extraordinary visit.

Lord Bumbledon shook his head sadly. “Lady Madeline, we have been shocked to hear this news about Lord Souderton and the drizzling box. Shocked right down to our shoes. One can hardly understand it. We are only grateful that you were not drawn into his schemes.”

“The schemes of a rogue,” the dowager said. “I always said he had the look of a rogue and now he’s proved it.”

Madeline did not reply, as what in the world was there to say to it? Whatever her personal opinions of Lord Souderton, she had no intention of discussing them with Lord Bumbledon and his dowager.

Lord Bumbledon, seeming to be uncomfortable with silences, went on. “The very idea that he would send a drizzling box, and not just the box either!”

“Not just the box?” Madeline asked.

“No, indeed. Perhaps you have not heard the details. The box even contained an elegant set of drizzling equipment and several samples of fabric containing gold thread. It must have cost a dear amount. A very dear amount. And then he denies having sent it to her father. Well, one wonders what his real aim was.”

“Scandalous,” the dowager said. “His aim was scandalous. One does not send a costly present to a lady and then deny it to her father unless he’s got scandalous ideas. That’s a marquess for you—they think they are above the rules.”

Mr. Penny led the footmen in as they brought in the tea trays. The footman set them down and Madeline could not help to note that both young men seemed rather shaken, as did Mr. Penny.

The footman hurried from the room, but Mr. Penny placed himself by the doors, which she was grateful for.

There was something not quite right in what Lord Bumbledon had just said. Her mind was occupied in examining it, when the dowager said, “My son was just saying, just this morning, that your eyes are like stars. Were you not, Ignatius?”

“Oh yes, of course I was. I often say so.”

Madeline ignored that alarming comment, though she did note Mr. Penny clutching at the mantle to steady himself. There was nothing to say to such a statement, other than to ignore it and hope the direction of the conversation took a turn elsewhere.

In any case, she was too busy examining what Lord Bumbledon had said about that box.

And then it came to her. Like a flash of summer lightning, it came to her what had been wrong with what Lord Bumbledon said about the box.

“Lord Bumbledon, you mentioned that the drizzling box carried a drizzling set and material run through with gold thread?”

“Indeed. Yes, indeed. Must have cost a fortune.”

“How do you know, though?”

“Well, those sort of things do not come cheap, Lady Madeline. They do not come cheap.”

“Yes, but how do you know what was in the box?”

Lord Bumbledon had gone white as a sheet. “You see, people are talking about it. A lot of people are talking about it.”

“How do they know?”

“Maybe Baron Muncy told them?” Lord Bumbledon said weakly.

“Now as to your eyes, Lady Madeline,” the dowager said. “Lord Bumbledon really does have a lot to say about them.”

“Lord Bumbledon,” Madeline said, ignoring the dowager, “nobody in Miss Welter’s household has even opened that box. How would they, or anybody else, know what was in it? Except for the person who sent it?”

“I don’t know!” Lord Bumbledon cried.

“Her eyes, Ignatius!” the dowager said.

“Did you send that box, Lord Bumbledon?” Madeline asked.

“Me? No!”

“Then how did you know what was in it?”

“Mother, stop her from asking me these questions,” he whispered behind his hand.

“Who is to say how we knew, Lady Madeline,” the dowager said smoothly.

A little too smoothly, Madeline thought.

“It is really a trifle not worth thinking about,” the dowager said, with a patently false smile.

They were lying. She knew it.

“Lord Bumbledon,” she said sternly. “You are a terrible liar. You sent that drizzling box to Miss Welter and signed Lord Souderton’s name. Admit it at once!”

“Stop badgering me! I had to; my mother kept saying who else could I get—”

“Stop talking, you fool!” the dowager said, with a decided tone of venom in her voice.

Madeline rose. She knew all she needed to know from these two people, and she was seething. “Your visit has come to an end,” she said curtly.

“Now, my dear Lady Madeline, Lord Bumbledon hardly knows what he says. His head was damaged in the saving of the waif…” the dowager trailed off.

“This visit has come to an end,” Madeline said sharply. “Depart immediately.”

Mr. Penny hurried forward. “Lady Madeline, perhaps you will wish to retire while I show your guests to the door.”

“Very good notion, Mr. Penny,” Madeline said, hurrying from the room. The last she heard from Lord Bumbledon was, “But who else can I get?”

She jogged up the stairs and found Meggy in her bedchamber organizing her dressing table. “Meggy, Lord Souderton is innocent, he’s done nothing, he never sent that drizzling box. All along it was Lord Bumbledon!”

Meggy dropped the pair of gloves in her hands. “And all this time, you thought—”

“I know what I thought! How could I have been so, so…why did I have so little faith?”

“Well,” Meggy said in soothing tones, “now you know. All will be well between you.”

“Will it? After I named him a North Sea storm? I claimed he was unpredictable and dangerous? Oh, and he only knows I said one of the terrible things—what if he thinks I named him a foul wind! And then, Miss Welter faints and everyone at the Duchess of Ralston’s house looks at him as if he is a villain of the worst sort? What am I to do? I have to fix it!”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

At this moment in time, Owen was not certain he should even leave the house. His mother and father were not either. They were all entirely perplexed over how he’d been blamed for sending a drizzling box to Miss Welter, and how that had somehow led to censure at the Duchess of Ralston’s party.

They were further perplexed that Miss Welter had been so overcome that she had fainted, her mother pointing out that she had not even made certain she was on a carpet. Miss Welter had been very clear at the dinner that one ought to ensure one was on a carpet.

The duke was inclined to think Lady Madeline was at the bottom of it. After all, who knew what a lady who wished to educate the masses might do next? Trouble followed that girl like a hound to the hunt.

Owen did not think Lady Madeline was at the bottom of it, but rather had been dragged into it.

Who was at the bottom of it, though, he thought he knew, though he did not share that opinion with the duke. His instincts told him the only logical choice was the dowager and her bumbling son, but he had yet to devise a way to prove it.

As he brooded over it, Henderson quick-knocked on his bedchamber door and came in.

“This just arrived from Sir Jonathan’s man, my lord,” Henderson said, handing over a folded-up note.

Owen could guess that Sir Jonathan had heard of the occurrences at the Duchess of Ralston’s party and wished to meet him at White’s to hear the details of it from him directly.

Sir Jonathan was not the sort of gentleman who would swallow a story whole without looking at it backwards and forwards and giving everyone involved the benefit of the doubt. Especially when it involved someone he knew well. He had been steadfast with Bramley last season and would be steadfast now. Others might have more lofty titles than the baronet, but nobody had a better internal compass not prone to swinging in wild directions.

He unfolded the note.

Souderton—

I would bother to inquire what in the world has gone on, but what I have heard is too ridiculous. I have made arrangements at Angelos to commandeer the private training room. I am there now—come and fence with me, it will do you good.”

J. M.

He laid down the note. Sir Jonathan was a very astute gentleman—this was just what he needed at this moment. He would be stared at if they went to White’s. Staying in the house served little purpose—there was no point in pacing the place like a caged tiger. The private room at Angelos would be just the thing and he could work off some of his frustration with this situation.

“Henderson, bring me my fencing bag, and send word to the stables to bring round my horse. Sir Jonathan has a mind to fence, and I have a mind to join him. I cannot stay cooped in the house longer.”

Henderson nodded, jogging from the room to alert the stables. Owen knew he would not be gone long—the servants of the house had seemed to work out the most efficient and least tiring methods of getting things done. His valet had once explained the operation of calling for his horse.

Henderson would go halfway down the stairs to tell a footman, who would call it down to the cook’s boy in the kitchens, who would slip out the back doors and ring a bell hung on the garden wall. A groom would hear the bell and jog out of the stables, the cook’s boy would stand on the near end of the mews and call out what was wanted to the groom at the other end.

He supposed they were clever about all sorts of things.

Owen kept a collection of swords at Angelos and as for the rest, he maintained a travel bag with his padded glove, slippers, and certain shirts of cambric that were made for the sport. The shirts were those he could be careless with. It mattered little if one of those shirts became shredded by a skilled hit and they were thick enough to mostly avoid a hit to his actual person. The bag itself had a strap to be used to secure it to his saddle.

Some of the gentlemen at the club had begun to add a padded jacket to the ensemble, but Owen thought it made a man look fearful.

As for the wire mask Henderson kept urging him to don…never.

Henderson hurried back with his fencing bag. “I really do think you ought to consider a wire mask. I understand more and more gentlemen are using them.”

“Sir Jonathan does not use one and I would be laughed out of the room by a baronet. So, no.”

Henderson nodded sadly but did not launch into the usual ideas he liked to trot out about scarred gentlemen being frightening to ladies. Owen did not even think that was true—Lord Markley had a long scar on his cheek from a riding accident and the ladies seemed to find it dashing. The duke had once commented that it was a hard thing. His mother had laughed and said, “Hard for who? The ladies are swooning over it. Lady Jane says he looks like an immaculately dressed pirate.”

Owen grabbed his bag and strode out of the room and down the stairs. He could see out the front windows that his horse had not yet been brought round and paced the front hall wating for it.

“My darling,” the duchess said, coming out of the drawing room, “ought you to be going out? At least, until we can discover who has set out to damage your reputation?”

“How are we to discover it?” Owen asked. He got the feeling his mother thought an answer would conveniently fall out of the sky.

“Well I am sure I do not know,” the duchess said. “It just seems to me that these sorts of things do not stay hidden forever. Remember when it was said Lady Julietta had thrown over Baron Jacobson?”

“She did throw him over.”

“Yes, but not in the way that was said. The real way eventually was known.”

“I do not see how we will ever discover the villain, though I suspect it is Lord Bumbledon. I ask you not to share that opinion with my father. As you know, he can be intemperate.”

“Oh dear yes, he does have a flash temper on occasion. I should not like to see him in a duel, at least not at this late date in his history. But tell me, why would Lord Bumbledon go to such lengths?”

“He and his mother seem to have a vested interest in driving gentlemen away from Lady Madeline.”

The duchess seemed pensive. “So you are set on Lady Madeline. Your father’s idea of Lady Agatha is definitely out.”

Owen had wondered about his father’s interest in Lady Agatha. He’d talked and talked about the lady in the beginning of the season but had fortunately seemed to give it up. “Mother, Lady Agatha was not even invited to our dinner. Father could not have been that set on her.”

The duchess shuffled her feet and mumbled, “Well she was, but she declined.”

“Then that is happily that, I would guess.”

“Yes, I do suppose. I’ve heard she’s spending much time with a scholarly gentleman of some sort. But my dear, you know how your father feels about Lady Madeline’s ideas…”

“I suspect none of it much matters now. Lady Madeline has been drawn into this drizzling box mystery and has turned against me.”

“Oh, I see. It is another close call, just as has happened to you in past seasons. Gracious, you have very bad luck in this area.”

Owen did not bother to mention that all those stories of past near-misses had just been stories. This was the first time he’d pursued a lady.

“Well, there is always next year and another lady. Your luck is bound to turn so do not be discouraged,” the duchess said.

“There will be no other lady,” Owen said. “My horse is here, I should not tarry.”

He kissed his mother’s cheek and left her dumbfounded in the hall.