Chapter Nine

“Nicholas Byrne, Publisher. That must be the top man,” Owen said, reading the plaque on the door. “We might as well start at the top. Hopefully Bumbledon has been foolishly tied up by some clerk or other.”

Sir Jonathan nodded and they set off for the last door. A small man dressed in a slightly frayed coat suddenly hopped off a stool and stepped in front of them.

“I’m sorry? Sirs? Do you have an appointment with Mr. Byrne?”

“We are lords, not sirs,” Owen said.

“But do you have an appointment?”

“I don’t make appointments,” Owen said, brushing past him.

He heard the man fretting behind him. “The second party today that does not make appointments! What is the world coming to?”

Owen threw the door open, with Sir Jonathan close on his heels.

Bumbledon and his dowager were ranged in front of a large mahogany desk. Behind the desk sat a well-dressed gentleman of thirty or so with a very bemused expression.

Bumbledon turned toward the sound of the door opening. “Souderton!” he said.

The dowager turned too. “Ah, look who it is. Come to try to cover your tracks, I suppose. Well, I can tell you that idea is out of reach. We have demanded of Mr. Byrne a full accounting of this shameful situation regarding Lady Madeline. We demand proof.”

Owen looked incredulous at the woman. “Madam, I do not have the first idea of what you refer to, other than to make a guess that you have made a calculation to go on the offensive to throw us off the scent.”

“What does that mean?” the dowager asked, stamping her cane on the floorboards as a period to her sentence.

“It means,” Sir Jonathan said, “that we had a pretty good idea that we’d find your son at the bottom of this scandal and then what do we find? Here he is with his mother. There is no way to weasel out of it.”

“Sir,” the dowager said in a terrifically condescending tone, “we have arrived to gather proof of Lord Souderton’s guilt in all this. Lady Madeline must be informed of the facts!”

“Yes, she must be,” Owen said, “and I am sure I know what the facts are. How else could someone like Bumbledon expect to win a lady like Lady Madeline Cole? He must strive to bring her down in the world to attempt it.”

“Bring her down?” the dowager nearly shouted. “That lady would find herself elevated to be associated with my family!”

“No she wouldn’t,” Owen said.

He suddenly noticed that Bumbledon had not one word to say for himself. Every time Owen or Sir Jonathan said anything, the fellow looked toward his mother.

That particular mother looked as if she would explode into a thousand bits at this moment.

She whipped around to Mr. Byrne and said, “I demand you settle this at once.”

“No,” Mr. Byrne said pleasantly, his hands tented and looking not at all perturbed by what was transpiring in his office.

Owen stepped forward. “Mr. Byrne, allow me to introduce myself. Owen Palmerston, Marquess of Souderton, son of the Duke of Redmond.”

He had expected at least that the fellow would rise. Rather, he stayed seated and said, “Marquess, what can I do for you?”

Owen noticed Mr. Byrne did not address him as ‘my lord,’ or even ‘your lordship.’ He said, “Your newspaper has much maligned my character and I demand the evidence that this fool behind me is the cause of it.”

“Do not you dare call my son a fool!”

“I have already dared, Madam,” Owen said coldly.

“I tell you what,” the dowager said, her voice full of fury, “he won’t stand for it. My son will demand satisfaction!”

Owen looked over his shoulder, laughing. “Will he now?”

“Tell him, Horatio. Go ahead and tell him. Tell him you demand satisfaction.”

“This is going too far,” Sir Jonathan said.

“You stay out of it, you nobody!” the dowager shrieked. “Tell him, Horatio! Our family honor will not be tarnished! The Liddlingtons will not be insulted!”

Horatio, or Bumbledon as Owen had known him, stared at his mother. Then he turned to Owen. “Very well. I demand satisfaction.”

“No you don’t,” Owen said. “It is too ridiculous.”

“Yes, I do,” Bumbledon said resolutely.

What a palaver. Now he was going to have to turn up on a green sometime soon, all to fire into the air to avoid killing Bumbledon, and hope nobody in authority got wind of it. As for worrying about Bumbledon hitting him…well he wasn’t worried. A fellow like that, traveling in intellectual circles as he claimed, was bound to be a very bad shot.

Owen sighed and said, “If you are going to press it, Sir Jonathan? Will you act as my second?”

Sir Jonathan muttered an oath. “Yes, but this is stupid. Lord Bumbledon, I beg you to think better of this. Call it off.”

“I can’t now, can I?”

“Fine,” Sir Jonathan said, resigned, “who will act as your second?”

The fellow seemed at a loss over that question. He glanced at his mother as if the dowager might step in to do it. As that lady did not seem to have any ideas, he said, “I’ll find someone!”

“That’s settled, then,” Owen said. “Mr. Byrne, please enlighten us as to who placed that advertisement on behalf of Lady Madeline Cole.”

“I certainly will not,” Mr. Byrne said jovially.

“I demand—”

“If you’re planning on demanding satisfaction from me ,” Mr. Byrne said, “I’ll warn you upfront—I will not turn up at whatever green you are accustomed to travel to and you will have got out of bed early for nothing. Ah, I can see the ideas flickering across your thoughts—where is my gentlemanly honor? I will happily put it aside in this circumstance. I am a man of sense, more than anything else.”

“You absolutely refuse to give over the information?” Owen said. He was a little incredulous over this man.

“Absolutely refuse,” Mr. Byrne said cheerfully. “Now, I thank you all for paying me this unexpected call and providing this unusual entertainment. I wish you a good day.”

The dowager pointed her cane at Mr. Byrne. “You will regret this, Sir!”

“I doubt it,” Mr. Byrne said.

“Come,” Sir Jonathan said to Owen, “we will not accomplish anything here.”

Owen nodded. “Let us repair to Lady Madeline’s house, it is her at-home day.”

“I suggest you do not,” the dowager said. “We have plans of going their ourselves.”

Owen had really had enough of this lady. “Madam, first, it is impossible that my movements would be at all directed by your warnings. Second, it is impossible that your coachman and sad team of horses would have any chance of beating me there. Third, it would be highly ridiculous for a gentleman to call on a lady and bring his mother along to prop him up.”

The dowager fairly shook with fury and Owen got the idea she was not accustomed to being crossed. He supposed she would not be; Bumbledon seemed to defer to her in all things.

“Bumbledon,” he said, “have your second make arrangements with Sir Jonathan regarding weapons, time, and place. He will arrange a surgeon, unless you care to.”

“A surgeon!” Bumbledon cried. He was silenced by the dowager clutching at his arm.

It was as if the fellow had not considered a surgeon might be needed for a duel. Extraordinary.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Madeline gave out a long sigh. Lord Gentry had finally taken his leave. She supposed if there were anything to be said against an at-home day, it was that one did not know who one would be forced to entertain.

She did find that the longer she talked to Lord Gentry, the less she liked him. As she’d listened to him rattle on, she’d worked to make him out.

Madeline finally decided that he was a gentleman who went through life as deep as a puddle—there was really nothing to make out about him. He seemed to think that all one need do is dress a body in the right clothes to have arrived at the pinnacle of success.

He had recounted three different anecdotes that involved a person commenting that he was a “swell of the first stare.” Then he spoke at length about his tailor.

Madeline did not particularly care if Lord Gentry was the first, second, or last stare. She supposed he aspired to be held in the same regard as Mr. Brummell, and she could not give a toss about it.

“I do not care for Lord Gentry, particularly,” the countess said.

“Nor I,” Madeline said.

The countess laughed and said, “Can you imagine Lord Gentry explaining to your father that he is a swell of the first stare?”

Madeline giggled despite herself. “Papa would say, who is staring? Staring at what?”

Mr. Penny opened the drawing room doors. “Lord Souderton and Sir Jonathan Michaels, my lady.”

Madeline felt her heartbeat speed up at a terrific pace. Lord Souderton and Sir Jonathan entered and the countess greeted them. It was clear her mother held a far higher opinion of those two gentlemen than she did of Lord Gentry.

If anybody was a swell of the first stare it was Lord Souderton. He was as usual looking rather glorious. He had no need to create something out of clothes—what was underneath the clothes was quite sufficient.

“Lady Madeline,” he said, bowing.

Mr. Penny left to seek out a replenishment of the tea. Madeline’s mother, that very clever lady, wondered if Sir Jonathan would give his opinion on an armoire of uncertain origin.

Madeline was not aware that Sir Jonathan was any sort of expert on furniture, and she suspected he wasn’t. Nevertheless, that gentleman happily followed her to the other end of the drawing room.

Lord Souderton said, “I suspect you know all of what is being said.”

Madeline nodded sadly. “I cannot conceive of how you were dragged into it. I am very sorry about that.”

“You have nothing to be sorry over. I only wish I was able to accomplish more this afternoon. I visited The Morning Post’s offices to discover the identity of the villain in this matter.”

“I see,” Madeline said, much gratified that he’d thought to exert himself on her behalf. “You are determined to know who invented the story of Lord M.”

“I wish to know all of it, right from the beginning. Who planted that story that drove men to line up outside your door. Who is the real Lord M?”

Madeline was suddenly filled with trepidation. She had no idea that Lord Souderton would assume that the person who submitted the story of Lord M and the person who submitted the original advertisement were one and the same.

They were not though. One was herself, and the other was a mystery.

Her first feeling was to pretend she was as mystified as Lord Souderton was. Her second feeling, though, was that she would not like to keep a secret from him. The problem with secrets was that they never went away. There they were, encased in a shell in one’s memory until one day they cracked open like a dropped egg and made a mess of things.

She had learned that lesson early. When she’d been seven, she’d broken an expensive vase and then denied it had been her to blame. For three days the lie haunted her. Then, it began to seem as if a footman would be blamed. The egg cracked and she blurted out the truth. Her governess had been highly disappointed in her.

“Well,” she said slowly, “that advertisement, you see that was meant to discover impoverished pupils. Do you recall mentioning that your butler put in advertisements when he was looking to bring on staff?”

Lord Souderton for just a moment looked uncomprehendingly at her. Then the veil lifted from his eyes. “Lady Madeline, do you say you put in the advertisement?”

“I’m afraid so,” she said. “It seems that where I went wrong was including our address. I’ve since discovered that one generally picks up the responses at the newspaper’s offices.”

The lord looked at her blankly. Then, and much to her surprise, he guffawed with laughter.

He really was taking it better than she thought he would.

He stifled his laughter. “I am sorry, that was the very last explanation I would have landed on. I should not have told you about my butler.”

“No, no, that was not the problem. I rushed into it with insufficient information. I have a very single-minded temperament, you see.”

“I do see,” the lord said, smiling. “Well, that clears up one question, though perhaps it is not an answer to be put about publicly. The other question is who put that story in about the mysterious Lord M. That was not you too, was it?”

“Goodness no,” Madeline said.

“I have suspected someone I will not name, as I have no proof of it. At least, not yet.”

Before Madeline could ask who he thought of, Mr. Penny inexplicably dropped the teapot he’d been carrying into the room.

“Mr. Penny!” Madeline cried. “Are you hurt? Were you burned?”

Mr. Penny stared down at the teapot, which fortunately was silver and had not shattered, as the last of the tea poured out of the spout and into the carpet.

“No, no, perfectly fine, my lady,” he murmured. He bent down and picked up the teapot. “I’ll just get more tea.”

One of the footmen had seen what had occurred and came running with piles of rags to mop up the mess as the butler wandered away in search of more tea.

The countess, hearing the commotion, hurried back from the far side of the room.

“It is nothing, Mama,” Madeline said. “Mr. Penny just lost hold of the teapot. He has not been burned by it though.”

The footman had the tea cleaned up in a thrice, as there was nobody faster than a footman when it came to removing something that ought not be there. He carried the wet rags from the room, holding them away from his livery so it would not become soiled.

Goodness, Madeline did not suppose she had ever in her life seen Mr. Penny drop something. She was not so sure these literary society meetings he went off to every Thursday were doing him any good. He seemed more nervous than was his usual habit.

Just then, Freddy, the youngest and very new footman, ran into the room with a dazed look. “A Mr., no that’s not right, a lord , he said his name was Bumble, he’s come, my lady. Should I let him in?”

The countess’ eyes widened just a little bit. “Pray, Freddy, where did you leave Lord Bumbledon?”

“On the steps, my lady.” Freddy paused. “Should I have left him somewhere else? Or brought him straight in? I’m new! I haven’t been trained to open the door to callers, but there was nobody else there and he was knocking and knocking!”

“Calm yourself, it is quite all right, Freddy,” the countess said. “Do show Lord Bumbledon in.”

“In here ,” Freddy said, as if he wished to be certain of the location.

“In here,” the countess said nodding.

Freddy set off at a run, which Madeline was sure Mr. Penny would advise against.

Lord Souderton was looking very put out and Madeline did not think the cause was Freddy’s unusual way of doing things, but rather the arrival of Lord Bumbledon. It was clear enough to anybody looking at those two gentlemen that they did not care for one another.

She did not particularly feel one way or the other about Lord Bumbledon, other than she did not really like him taking up her attention when she might be speaking to Lord Souderton. She would hide her disinterest better than Lord Souderton did, though, as Lord Bumbledon was a friend of her father’s.

Freddy, looking very worn out from his recent adventure in door-answering, led Lord Bumbledon in. He looked toward the countess, as if to confirm that he’d brought the gentleman to the right location.

Madeline’s mother nodded at him reassuringly.

“Countess, Lady Madeline,” Lord Bumbledon said. He entirely ignored Lord Souderton and Sir Jonathan. They ignored him too.

It was a very uncomfortable situation!

Mr. Penny arrived back for his second run at setting up the tea tray. This time, he was successful, though he did look shaken.

The countess, seeming to size up the situation, said, “Please do sit down, Lord Bumbledon. I will send for someone to alert the earl that you have come. I do not know if he has yet set out for his club and hope he has not. I am certain he would not like to miss your visit.”

Lord Bumbledon nodded. “The earl's family and my own maintain a longstanding friendship,” he said, staring at Lord Souderton.

Lord Souderton ignored him and said, “Lady Madeline, it seemed you were meeting with much success at the Join Forces rout. I presume you have collected enough funds to get your charity going?”

As the countess poured the tea and handed it round, Madeline said, “It was very gratifying. Lady Reddington sent over the amount collected this morning. I will be able to assist the two promising pupils from my neighborhood school forthwith and have plenty left to help those that will come after.”

“I have been a supporter of Lady Madeline’s aims from the very beginning,” Lord Bumbledon said.

Lord Souderton did not turn to Lord Bumbledon. Rather, he said to Madeline, “I presume Lord Bumbledon has donated a deal of money, then.”

Of course, Lord Bumbledon had not donated any money at all. Madeline hardly knew how to answer.

“No answer is the answer I presumed,” Lord Souderton said with a laugh. “The amount is nothing.”

“I put five guineas in Lady Madeline’s bucket!” Lord Bumbledon said, his voice full of outrage. “You cannot prove I did not.”

“And you cannot prove that you did,” Lord Souderton said.

“Well now,” Sir Jonathan said, clearly hoping to send the conversation in another direction, “I suppose we all attend Lady Jeffries rout on the morrow?”

Madeline very much wished she were attending, but she could not. Her father had accepted Lord Bumbledon’s invitation to some lecture or other.

“I can answer that, Sir Jonathan,” Lord Bumbledon said. “Lady Madeline and the earl are my guests at Sir Rodger’s lecture on Shakespeare’s collaborations. An intellectual evening, if you understand me.”

Madeline saw the instant displeasure on Lord Souderton’s features as he was alerted to this news. She felt a little shiver and was enormously flattered.

To send him a message regarding the real case of the thing, she said, “Yes, my father was so good as to accept for both of us.”

“I see,” Lord Souderton said, looking more cheerful. “Well, we will of course see you again in two days’ time. At my house. For dinner.”

“ Your house?” Lord Bumbledon asked.

“Perhaps I should not refer to it as my house. Really it is my father’s house. He is a duke, you know. Did I say I was the eldest son? Of course, you cannot claim a house of your own any more than I can. Ah, but then I’m sure whatever you’ve managed to rent for the season is quite adequate.”

Madeline pressed her lips together to stop from laughing. He really was devilish to tease Lord Bumbledon. And devilishly handsome while he was doing it.

Mr. Penny returned to the drawing room. “Lady Winthrop, the earl departed for his club over an hour ago.”

The countess nodded. “Well, that’s to be expected, I suppose. Lord Bumbledon, I’m certain the earl will be sorry to have missed you. Of course, men are always so busy. They always have places to go.”

Madeline’s mother let that idea hang in the air until all three gentlemen comprehended the hint. They rose and made their bows.

“Lady Madeline, until tomorrow,” Lord Bumbledon said.

“Lady Madeline, until the day after tomorrow,” Lord Souderton said.

Sir Jonathan, looking vastly amused said, “Lady Madeline, until the next time we encounter one another, whenever that may be.”