Chapter Three

Owen took the glass of brandy from his valet’s hands. Rather gratefully. If there had been one thing he could have done with at Almack’s, it had been a glass of brandy.

Henderson carefully folded his neckcloth and placed it in the box for the laundry. Owen had no idea why his valet folded things that were to go in the laundry. He’d asked once and been told there was a right way and a wrong way to go about things and Marcus Henderson did not go in for the wrong way.

“I was not at my best this evening, Henderson.”

The valet nodded. “That’s to be expected, my lord. You were forced to attend Almack’s, after all.”

Owen drank down his brandy as he looked out over the darkened avenue of Portland Place. All that was to be seen was a lone rider swaying in his saddle as his horse slowly walked home. It would be their neighbor, Lord Masterson, no doubt. His horse was well accustomed to proceeding carefully, lest he lose his drunken master from his back.

“I do not think you realize, Henderson, how confounded young ladies can be these days.”

“I must hazard a guess that there was one particular confounding lady?” Henderson asked.

“Really, she was very provoking. I cannot blame myself for it. I do not think.”

“I shudder to imagine what it is that you cannot be blamed for,” his valet said drily.

As well he should shudder. Owen shuddered just the smallest bit himself.

“She went on and on about duty and justifying one’s existence and how gambling did not benefit society.”

Henderson nodded gravely. “Lady Agatha,” he said. “The duke must eventually see that it cannot be a match—the lady and her family have even declined the invitation to dine as being prior engaged.”

“No, that is just it! You might think it was frowning Lady Agatha, but it was not. It was a Lady Madeline Cole. On her first outing in society. Do you suppose they’re all like that now? So full of opinions?”

Henderson appeared thoughtful. “I suppose women have always been full of opinions. They just very slyly keep those opinions to themselves. I’ve noticed that a woman of a certain age often will begin spouting off opinions far and wide—where did all those opinions come from? I reckon they were there all along, just simmering away in her thoughts.”

“That’s a ghastly idea.”

“Well, my lord, no reason to think of this Lady Madeline more. You have met her, do not prefer her, and need not engage with her again.”

“She is very pretty, though. Very pretty. The prettiest I’ve seen, actually,” Owen said, seeing her lovely countenance in his mind. That hair, those eyes, that charming dimple.

“So if you could look at her without listening to her, that would do very well?”

Owen shrugged. “I tried that, actually. But then she decided to scold about gambling and well…”

Henderson did not make comment, but rather allowed the silence to hang in the room.

“I might have almost made her cry. Almost , mind. She did not actually cry.”

“Oh dear,” Henderson said.

“That’s what she said about gambling! Oh dear.”

Henderson did not comment further, though Owen was well aware of his opinion on the matter. It was his own opinion too, though he found the idea irritating. As a gentleman, he must apologize for discomposing a lady.

It really did not matter what ludicrous thing a lady said, it was ungentlemanly to discompose her. He knew that very well from his own family.

Every single year, his mother spent a good two months on one single subject—the roses in the garden. Apparently, there were all sorts of things to consider. There was a certain insect causing havoc or there was too much rain or there was not enough rain or there was too much heat. All of these problems somehow cost money to fix.

Years ago, the duke had found he’d had his fill of the roses and shouted, “I don’t care if every rose in the garden goes up in flames!”

Well, that had been the moment when the duke discovered that crossing his duchess in such a manner would lead to an entire six months of glares and mutterings and orderings of dinners he did not like and generally feeling like an enemy encroacher in his own house.

These days, the duke engaged with all enthusiasm whenever the subject of roses was broached.

Lady Madeline could not enact any of his mother’s punishments. Still, he had discomposed a lady and now he must fix it.

“Fine. I will apologize.”

Henderson nodded approvingly, seeming relieved that Owen had been able to arrive at the answer with no further help from his valet. “I suppose she will attend Lady Thurston’s annual tableau—that might be a suitable opportunity.”

“I suppose it would be, were I to lose my faculties and accept that invitation. I do not understand why anybody goes to witness Lady Thurston year after year complaining about Lord Thurston under the guise of a poetical tableau. No, my apology to Lady Madeline will have to seek some other opportunity.”

Henderson snorted, which Owen found faintly alarming. His valet was in the habit of snorting when he meant to say that Owen Palmerston, Marquess of Souderton, could not be more wrong.

“What?” Owen asked.

“If I were a seer and could divine the future,” Henderson said, “I would very clearly witness you and Lady Madeline both attending that event.”

Owen folded his arms. “What do you know?”

Henderson folded the last of his clothes to go to the laundry. “I know the duchess has seen fit to open all the correspondence that has been addressed to you and accept on your behalf all sorts of invitations. I know the duchess and Lady Thurston have long been friends. As well, I know that Lady Thurston emanates from Lady Madeline’s own county. All those facts taken together suggest that both of you will be in attendance.”

Owen was, as usual, confounded by how much his valet knew. He had recently become convinced that servants must have a deal of idle time on their hands to be talking all the time. Else, how could they know so much?

“It is very highhanded of my mother to confiscate my invitations,” he said. It was pointing out the obvious, but he was at a loss for words. He would like to claim he would have stern words with the duchess and refuse to bow to her plans.

He could not do that though. He was in the midst of a careful cotillion of measured steps to keep ahead of his matchmaking parents. He must seem to cooperate while not cooperating.

“Highhanded. Ah yes, well she is a duchess,” Henderson said, as if that explained everything.

Of course, it did rather explain everything.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Mr. Penny was determined to note every good thing around him that might act to keep his spirits as high as they were accustomed to be. Upon setting off for his meeting with The League , he could not help but notice that he’d got out of the house without Lady Madeline’s horrible little Pomeranian managing a nip on his heels.

Mr. Mandrake was slowing down in his old age and Mr. Penny felt very good about it.

He was not entirely sure what he could expect at this season’s first meeting of The League. From what he could gather, Lady Madeline’s outing to Almack’s had gone well enough.

He was aware that his hopes of her not mentioning anything about the impoverished pupils had been dashed upon the rocks in at least one respect—the Duchess of Ralston was interested in hearing about it further.

So, he knew the subject had come up. However, it did not seem as if it had come up excessively.

Of course, he could not be absolutely certain, as Meggy was being very tightlipped about whatever had been said about it. Why should a lady’s maid be tightlipped at her own servants’ table? He supposed she was just being contrary and attempting to seem mysterious.

His natural optimism had carried him all the way to Cheapside and up the stairs and into the set of apartments that served as The League’s headquarters.

Now, though, taking in the expressions of his colleagues while Mrs. Belkey laid the tea, his optimism began to sink like a waterlogged leaf on the surface of a pond—slowly descending and drifting inexorably to the bottom.

Mr. Browning stared down his nose, Mr. Feldstaffer shook his head, Mr. Rennington twisted his hands together, Mr. Wilburn sniffed, and Mr. Harkinson looked suspiciously gleeful.

Mrs. Belkey shut the door behind her.

Unwilling to let go of his last shred of hope and optimism, Mr. Penny said, “I believe Lady Madeline got on very well at Almack’s.”

Mr. Harkinson’s snort was not appreciated.

“Mr. Penny,” Mr. Browning said, “far be it for me to throw cold water on your naturally buoyant spirits—”

“Somebody’s got to,” Mr. Feldstaffer said glumly.

“It is just that,” Mr. Browning continued, “and I think we can all agree we were having the same idea, it did seem that with the Marquess of Souderton being pressed to choose a wife this season…well it would have been an ideal match…”

Mr. Penny did not know where the conversation was going. He’d not heard of anything untoward occurring between the marquess and Lady Madeline. He had not heard that gentleman mentioned at all. Why was that lady’s maid so tightlipped? What had been said?

“He has not heard,” Mr. Harkinson said, being not very successful at keeping the amusement from his tone.

“Clearly not,” Mr. Rennington said sadly.

Mr. Penny set his teacup down carefully, lest he drop it. “Please, gentlemen, whatever scurrilous thing is being said, it cannot be, well what I say is so often things are exaggerated…”

“Let us get to the heart of the matter,” Mr. Browning said. “It is said that Lady Madeline’s first words to the marquess were an inquiry into what his opinion might be regarding impoverished pupils.”

“Yes, well,” Mr. Penny said with a deep sigh, “she is interested in developing a charity for them so it is much on her mind. I would point out, though, that it is a worthy idea.”

“No doubt,” Mr. Browning said, “but quite naturally, everyone within hearing was forced to wonder how and why it was a topic of conversation at a ball.”

Mr. Penny nodded, but his spirits had begun to bubble up. Was that all? Lady Madeline had mentioned her charity to the marquess? Hardly a crime.

“He’s looking almost cheerful,” Mr. Feldstaffer said, “you’d best tell him everything.”

“Everything,” Mr. Harkinson said, obviously delighted with the idea.

What was everything? Why must there be an everything?

“It seems,” Mr. Wilburn said, “that the marquess took Lady Madeline into supper, and it was there that she determined to mention several other things.”

“Several!” Mr. Harkinson said.

“She condemned his gambling, and she wished to know how he justified his existence,” Mr. Browning said gravely.

“And the worst of it is,” Mr. Feldstaffer said, “the marquess was very obviously annoyed with these impertinences.”

“Is Lady Madeline prone to impertinences?” Mr. Wilburn asked. “If she is, well…I do not know how we can work round it. Gentlemen do not like it.”

Mr. Penny was momentarily stymied regarding how to answer such a question. In all her history, Lady Madeline had not been particularly impertinent. She was not impertinent now , she was just…obsessed with impoverished pupils.

“Now, there is a bright spot in all this,” Mr. Wilburn said.

“A bright spot?” Mr. Penny asked, leaning forward as if he might catch the bright spot and hold it close.

“It seems the Duchess of Ralston has formed an interest in Lady Madeline’s charity and has invited the young lady to come to her house to speak about it.”

Of course, Mr. Penny was well aware of it. He was rather hoping for a brighter spot.

Mr. Browning nodded. “That is indeed a bright spot. If Lady Madeline is prone to impertinence, I suspect the duchess will point it out. She is a very direct lady.”

“Whatever is said between them, the duchess will be seen to approve of Lady Madeline,” Mr. Penny said, determined to squeeze every ounce of bright from the spot.

“Of course,” Mr. Harkinson said, “we cannot know what sort of effect that will have on our marquess.”

“We’ll find out soon enough,” Mr. Feldstaffer said. “I have heard the marquess attends Lady Thurston’s tableau.”

Mr. Penny nodded. “Lady Madeline will attend too.” He might not be privy to every single entertainment the family would attend, but he could not help but know about that one.

The earl had voiced no end of complaints about it. The countess had countered them all. It seemed Lady Thurston was intent on skewering her lord and calling it an artform. The earl did not know how anybody, least of all Lord Thurston, stood for it.

The countess claimed that people were amused by it and it was necessary to Lady Thurston’s happiness. Such was the lady’s temperament that she was a pot of water on the boil for eleven months of the year. Then the twelfth rolled round and she voiced her complaints and it was the pot boiling over. The lady always felt very cheerful after she’d unburdened herself—the heat had been momentarily shut off.

The earl became resigned to the idea that he must watch Lady Thurston’s pot boil over for this one season at least.

“Perhaps we might look at Lady Madeline’s odd conversation at Almack’s as an aberration of some sort?” Mr. Browning asked.

“Ah yes, an aberration,” Mr. Rennington said hopefully. “The lady is young, perhaps an aberration here and there is to be expected?”

“I would have to agree,” Mr. Penny said, much cheered by the direction of the conversation.

Mr. Harkinson seemed skeptical. “I am not certain…”

Mr. Wilburn nodded. “I must agree with Mr. Harkinson, I’m afraid. Aberrations becoming usual? Well, I ask you…”

“I am not so sure you should ask, Mr. Wilburn,” Mr. Browning said sternly, “considering what we went through last season with The Stalwarts . And you too, Mr. Harkinson—we are still left wondering who did or did not have a head injury two seasons ago.”

Mr. Penny nodded defiantly. It really was true—those two gentlemen had presided over very bizarre circumstances! It was rather highhanded of them to be leaning back in their chairs now, like grave Roman Emperors delivering their judgments.

Both Mr. Harkinson and Mr. Wilburn appeared abashed to be called on the carpet in such a manner. Mr. Penny supposed they had hoped the various aberrations of their own seasons had stayed under the carpet.

“Very well,” Mr. Harkinson muttered. “Aberration, it is.”

Mr. Penny felt encouraged enough to take up his tea. All that had occurred was a small and insignificant aberration.

Nothing at all to be perturbed about.