The Peer’s Roguish Word

by Archer, Kate

  He had become, to his satisfaction, one of those gentlemen who was always included on the larger guest lists and even some of the more intimate soirees such as musical evenings, card parties, and dinners. He was not conceited enough to conclude that this was a result of any personal charm, but that he had the most shining endorsements a man could have—a title, though it was foreign, the ability to speak creditably on a variety of subjects and, most importantly, he was unmarried.

  He bent down to start the fire the charwoman had laid. Once the flames began to lick the kindling, he settled himself into the chair in front of it. He picked up the small book that lay on a side table and thumbed through it. Its binding was worn and soft, and it was the only book in the house. It was the only book he required—the remarkable diary that outlined every outrage that had been done to men like him.

  As he read this page and then that page, all of them as familiar as his own hand, he contemplated the future. Soon enough, he’d find himself very comfortable. He would be the master of his own house, and the master of servants so plentiful that he would not blink without something being fetched for him. Most interestingly, he would be the master of his wife and the bane of his father-in-law’s existence.

  That he knew who that wife would be had been settled before he’d even arrived to town. It had been no great decision, it was as if the gods had arranged it all for him. He had studiously laid the groundwork over the past two years. Now, he was approaching the crucial months and nothing must get in his way.

  As he understood his faults fairly well, he reviewed all that had occurred since the start of the season. He was prone to prickliness and not very skilled at hiding it. Grayson had provoked him and he had provoked back, though it did not particularly serve his purpose. He was all but certain that book of poetry originated on Lamu, but he found he could not allow Grayson to claim the victory. He must not be so self-indulgent!

  As well, he was not naturally a romantic and he did not think he had fared very well in those efforts so far. In truth, he could not even measure those efforts they had been so little. He must try harder.

  There was work to be done, refinements to be made. He would make them. His plan would not fail.

  He would succeed, where another had not. A certain old man would smile down from the heavens when all that Sir John Kullehamnd had accomplished was revealed. That it was likely that nobody else would be smiling was not Sir John’s concern.

  *

  It was to be a night in for the Dell family. The baroness had insisted that, as busy as the season was, there must be one night a week when they all gathered together. She was of the opinion that a weekly dinner would be the glue that held them all together.

  Kitty had not been surprised by it; her mother liked nothing more than to have her flock gathered round her. Nor was Kitty surprised by her father’s acquiescence to the plan—he counted on his wife to be the sensible dictator of he and his children and would never think to imagine he knew better than she on such a matter. He might prefer to be left on his own with a book in one hand and port in the other, but he knew that it was not prudent to always be left to his own devices. His wife’s instincts on these matters were always more reliable.

  In truth, nobody was opposed to the dictate of a weekly night in, not even Frederick. As much as he loved his club, Dell family dinners were invariably interesting and often jolly.

  The wine had been poured and the first course had just gone round. Lady Penderton said, “Kitty and I happened upon an interesting bit of news while calling on Mrs. Herschel the other day.”

  “Mrs. Herschel?” Lord Penderton said. “I would not have thought the learned lady one to engage in idle gossip.”

  Kitty hid her smile, her father thought absolutely every piece of news was idle gossip. Unless it interested him, in which case it was simply news.

  Lady Penderton did not bother to hide her smile. “It’s to do with the Royal Society, my love. Apparently, there is a viper in their midst.”

  Lord Penderton laid down his fork. “A viper, you say? Now that is something worth knowing. Who is the fellow? We’ll have him to dine.”

  “That is the amusing part of the story,” Lady Penderton said. “Nobody knows who he is, they are at sixes and sevens over it.”

  “They say, papa, that he is another John Hill,” Kitty said. “Mrs. Herschel told us that, long ago, a man called John Hill embarrassed the society terribly.”

  “Hah!” Lord Penderton cried. “Another John Hill. That is famous! He was a thorn in everybody’s side.”

  “You know the story, then?” Kitty asked.

  “What story?” Frederick said, looking back and forth at his father and Kitty.

  “Do I know the story?” Lord Penderton said in an incredulous tone. “How could I not know the story? It was my own father and Martin Folkes who opposed the induction of John Hill.”

  Lord Penderton paused, then said in a quieter voice, “Though in the end, I think they regretted it. More trouble than it was worth, as it turned out.”

  “On account of Lucina sine concubitu,” Kitty said.

  “On account of what?” Frederick said, completely lost.

  “Just so,” Lord Penderton said.

  “But what is Lucina-whatever-you-said?” Frederick asked.

  “A ridiculous paper proposing a woman can get with child from the air,” Lady Penderton said.

  “That is outrageous!” Frederick said.

  “So it was,” Lord Penderton said, “though some fellows thought to make themselves look intelligent in debating it. Trouncing the idea is what I think they meant to do. Only they made themselves look foolish.”

  “What I mean, sir,” Frederick said, “is it is outrageous that anyone should mention such an idea to Kitty! You know, having to do with…”

  “My dear Frederick,” Lady Penderton said, “I do not see how Kitty would have understood the story if that part had been left out.”

  “And now you say, my dear,” Lord Penderton said, ignoring his son’s indignation, “that there is a new John Hill in the mix? Very amusing, you must keep me informed.”

  “It is not very seemly…” Frederick said, trailing off.

  Kitty felt some amount of pity for her brother. He was a stickler for propriety, and she knew he was genuine in his opinion that a lady should not hear of such things. Ladies were to remain ignorant of how the species, or any species, kept producing more of the species. Where he’d got such notions, nobody knew. Miss Crimpleton lived on a working farm just as they did and must have seen all sorts of breeding, though Frederick would combust into flames to think of it.

  Lord Penderton seemed to recall something and motioned the footman for more wine. “That reminds me, my dear, Kitty and I have an amusing tale for you. Eh, Kitty?”

  Kitty looked down at her plate. She wished her father had not thought to divulge the arrival of the book from Lord Grayson.

  “Our Kitty has an admirer, a peculiarly dull-witted admirer,” Lord Penderton said. “He sent her a book that proposed to defend one of Aristotle’s old theories, geocentric cosmology of all things. The book was a jest, you see. However…no, I will not ruin it, you tell it Kitty,” her father said in high good humor.

  Kitty sighed. “It was a book from Lord Grayson and he did not realize it was written in jest.”

  “You see, my dear?” Lord Penderton said, laughing.

  “Poor Lord Grayson,” Lady Penderton said.

  “Now you cannot mean it,” Lord Penderton said. “A blockhead is no match for Kitty, even though he be a duke someday.”

  “That is right, mama,” Frederick said, seeming to feel they had finally landed on a subject he knew something about. “Kitty is too clever for a dolt. I, myself, would not prefer a lady who was too dissimilar to my own temperament. A mismatch such as that has no hope of success.”

  “Nonsense, darling,” Lady Penderton said. “While you have the soul of a poet, Miss Crimpleton might be depended upon to manage
the accounts better than Shylock. I have seen her negotiating for a ribbon as if a life were at stake. Not a farthing will escape her notice—she will do very well for you.”

  “Shylock? Miss Crimpleton?” Frederick said, his tone all outrage. “I say, mother, I must object…”

  “Never mind it,” Lady Penderton said kindly. “She is a lovely girl.”

  Frederick, appearing mollified, said, “That, of course, I can agree to.”

  And so the Dell family dinner went on, Lady Penderton working to keep her lord amused and Frederick protesting when he felt things drifted beyond the mark. Kitty enjoyed herself well enough, but for the niggling discomfort over the discussion of Lord Grayson’s idiocy.

  It was true, he had been foolish. She did not think he’d taken even a moment to really consider his gift. He had gone into Lackington and Allen and, like a magpie, settled upon the shiniest object.

  For all that, though, it had been kindly meant.

  *

  Giles had dined at Lady Montague’s house. He would avoid the place and its hostess if he could, but just now he was forced to find places to eat. If there was anything complimentary to say of Lady Montague, it was that she had food. That was probably all he could credit her with. She was a gossip and a schemer. Still, there had been no other invitations in the offing, and so he had availed himself of her roasted meats.

  It had been the usual Montague affair. Her table was filled with those who were too afraid to refuse her and so the compliments to the hostess ran sickeningly thick on the ground.

  The only bright spot, which had not seemed so bright at first, was finding himself seated by a lady named Mrs. Hemmings. He soon discovered she was the new Lady Ashworth’s aunt and had been at the center of all that had gone on with Lord Ashworth last season.

  Giles did not know if half of it were true, as it sounded as farfetched as possible, but it had been wildly entertaining.

  He had excused himself from the house as soon as he decently could and made his way to Crackwilder’s apartment.

  Having greeted Mrs. Radish/Ra-deesh in a suitably gallant manner and cut short her complaints about her tenant, he’d gone up and found his friend at work at his desk.

  “The prodigal gentleman has arrived,” Crackwilder said upon seeing him. “I sent you to buy the lady a book and somehow you buy her a satire or some nonsense. As if that were not bad enough, you were not even in on the joke!”

  Giles threw himself into a chair. “How was I to know? The binding was particularly fine.”

  “How were you to know?” Crackwilder asked, closing a book on his desk. He went to the sideboard and poured two glasses of brandy. Handing one to Giles, he said, “You were to know by opening the book and reading some of the pages. Anybody would have realized that a defense of the sun revolving round the earth was a jest.”

  Giles stared at his glass. “So that was Aristotle’s theory, was it?”

  “And the author’s name was French for foolish!”

  “Was it?”

  “My God, man, what did you do at school? Hold your hands over your ears?”

  Giles willed himself not to flush at the suggestion. He knew well enough that it had been close to that. He had been too taken up with horses and races and bets and wine to attend to his studies. When he did take up a book, it was meant to be history or Latin but somehow ended being poetry or a play. He was well aware that if his father had not been a duke he would have been pitched out with the rubbish at the end of his first term.

  “I was not as attentive as I could have been.”

  “An understatement for the ages,” Crackwilder said drily.

  “All right,” Giles said, “you’ve had your fun with insults. The question is, does Miss Dell know that I did not know the book was written in jest?”

  “Of course she does,” Crackwilder said. “The truth was written well enough on her face. Sir John knew it, too.”

  “Kullehamnd,” Giles said derisively.

  “Miss Dell was kind in not condemning you outright, but she is not your sort, Grayson,” Crackwilder said.

  “She is kind, is she not? And she’s precisely my sort,” Giles said. “But for the small difference between us of…collections of facts.”

  “What you call a small difference, I call the distance of here to the moon.”

  “What am I to do, then? To shorten the distance?”

  “Why should you want to?” Crackwilder said eyeing him. “Are you only being perverse? Do you pursue the lady because she is so ill-suited to appreciating your charms, those alleged charms having nothing to do with intellect?”

  “I do not know, precisely. Perhaps it is perverseness, perhaps it is my winning spirit. I do not like to accept defeat is all. Now, what shall I do?”

  “There is nothing you can do. Miss Dell appreciates a scholar, and that you are not.”

  “Then I will become a scholar,” Giles said, feeling a sense of resolve settling over him. “And you will help me. I’ll pay you for lessons. Naturally, I cannot pay you at this very moment, but you can keep a record of accounts and I will pay you someday.”

  Crackwilder was looking more and more amused as Giles spoke. Finally, he snorted and said, “Where would we even start?”

  “I do not know,” Giles said, “you’re the tutor. Just pick somewhere and start. Pick something I might throw into a conversation with Miss Dell. Do not bore me with things that would never come up. I want science and stars and such.”

  Crackwilder downed his brandy. “Science and stars. I never heard anything more ridiculous.”

  “And yet, you will do it?”

  Crackwilder set down his glass and folded his hands, regarding them thoughtfully. “Miss Dell seems to have a particular interest in the Royal Society. She attended one of Mrs. Herschel’s gatherings and appeared most keen to hear of the recent goings on.”

  “I cannot imagine that anything goes on at the society, but all right,” Giles said. “Teach me some of it and take me to Mrs. Herschel’s next gathering.”

  “No, absolutely not, you will not set foot inside that lady’s doors. Mrs. Herschel’s crowd would make mincemeat of you and you’d be worse off than when you started. I have a better idea. Just now, that particular group of men is reading all of the papers published by the society in the last two years. You will read them too. It is not too big a piece of cake for you to bite off, assuming you can read, and it is a subject Miss Dell is interested in.”

  “You know full well I can read. Excellent notion!” Giles said. “When can we begin?”

  “Considering your lack of academic rigor, we’d best start tomorrow. Though, we must fix a place to meet. It cannot be here, it is too loud during the day. Mrs. Ra-deesh has a lot of children, you know.”

  “Destin’s,” Giles said. “There are a few private rooms. I will arrange it. Two o’clock?”

  “Two? I suppose you do not rise any earlier?”

  “Of course I do. But then LaRue takes his time, and there is breakfast, and somehow I am often running behind. We should make it two so that I am not late.”

  “Two it is,” Crackwilder said, almost as a sigh.

  Chapter Seven

  Sir John Kullehamnd had just been shown into the drawing room. Kitty smoothed her skirts, having made her curtsy, and sat on the sofa next to her mother. Sir John seemed nervous and the baroness said kindly, “How good of you to call, Sir John.”

  Sir John nodded. An awkward silence followed and was mercifully broken by Hidgson bringing in the tea tray.

  The baroness poured the tea. Seeming to realize that the two younger people in the room had absolutely nothing to say, or if they did, chose not to say it, she said, “My daughter and I were most amused to hear of the mystery of Veritas threatening the Royal Society. Have you discovered anything further?”

  Sir John took his cup, looking very grave. “I cannot say that I am myself amused by the plot,” he said. “I believe the man to be dangerous to the continuation of
the society. But no, nothing new has been discovered.”

  Kitty felt the tension in the room as if it were a thing that might be seen. Sir John and her mother were of such different temperaments! Where the baroness found levity and amusement, he found none.

  “Goodness, though,” the baroness said, “can the society really be taken down by one disgruntled individual?”

  “Possibly,” Sir John said. “It has only regained its footing in recent years and therefore remains weak and vulnerable.”

  “Then you must do everything you can to stop Veritas,” Kitty said, hoping to give Sir John the sense that at least one person in the room took his concerns as seriously as he did himself.

  In truth, Kitty did take his concerns seriously. As much as it frustrated her that the society did not allow women, it could not be permitted to fall! The progression of mankind’s understanding would be delayed and stymied and nobody could wish for that. In any case, Mrs. Herschel was confident that the day would come when the society would see sense and admit females. Kitty dearly hoped to be among them.

  Sir John appeared approving of Kitty’s directive. “Indeed, I will do everything in my power to unmask the culprit, Miss Dell. I am diligently reading through all the society has published in the last few years, looking for any sort of clue.”

  “Oh, how I wish I could be a part of it,” Kitty said wistfully.

  Sir John’s expression went through several changes and Kitty thought she might have somehow stepped out of bounds.

  He said, “Naturally, a lady cannot be a member of the society, but I know of no rule that dictates that a lady cannot read the papers published by us. Mrs. Herschel has been known to comment publicly on them and the more noteworthy often appear as excerpts in the newspapers. As well, I believe Lady Stanhope has engaged herself in the task.”

  Kitty brightened. All of that was true. She had read various bits of research here and there. Usually things that had been passed along to her father. She had only never considered that one might order copies.