by Archer, Kate
As the dance began, he said, “I am afraid your brother is not pleased with me, Miss Dell.”
The lady smiled and said, “I think he is not, though I believe my mother was amused.”
The baroness was amused? That was good news, indeed. Let Frederick Dell stew in his juices, what matter that if Miss Dell’s mother was amused by his recent gambit?
“I would also like to mention,” Giles said, “that I hope you do realize that I sent that book as a jest. It occurred to me that perhaps I am too much jesting and forget that others are not in the habit.”
Miss Dell’s brow wrinkled, but then cleared. She said, “Of course, Lord Grayson.”
“Excellent. What I mean is, I own that I do not spend all my time with my nose in a book. But that does not mean I don’t read at all. In fact, I am just now examining a pile of papers that have recently been published by the Royal Society. The past two years, as a matter of fact.”
Miss Dell looked at him, her expression seemed full of wonder. “Do you say, Lord Grayson, that you have joined in the hunt to unmask Veritas? I am also reading the papers for that purpose.”
Giles was entirely nonplussed. He had thought only to read those dull and ridiculous sheets to impress Miss Dell with his knowledge. He had completely dismissed Crackwilder’s mention of the counterfeit, but he got the feeling that the counterfeit and Veritas were one and the same.
“Naturally,” Giles said smoothly, “the situation cannot be allowed to stand.”
“Just as I think!” Miss Dell said with enthusiasm. “Any right-thinking person must wish to defend the society.”
“Consider me engaged,” Giles said solemnly, all the while wondering how he might find out more about what he’d engaged himself in. He supposed Crackwilder would know.
Miss Dell appeared thoughtful. Quietly, she said, “I did you a disservice, Lord Grayson. I would not have thought you would take such an interest in the effort.”
Giles had not had the slightest interest in it. Until now.
“Regardless of a man’s proclivities,” he said, “that man must always exert every effort in defending what is right no matter where it takes him.”
“That is very well said,” Miss Dell said, smiling. “I am looking for any clue as to who the villain might be. Sir John was kind enough to deliver me copies.”
At the mention of Sir John, Giles stiffened. Was that man to dog him everywhere?
“Perhaps we might speak more about our findings over supper?” Miss Dell asked.
Giles nodded, though he could not help recalling Crackwilder’s comment that he was a man drowning at sea. It would take all his skill to keep his head above water during that conversation. He had absolutely no findings to discuss.
But what if he could unearth some findings? What if he could unmask the villain, as Miss Dell called him. It would be the most ridiculous effort of his life, but Miss Dell would not think so. It was of vital importance to her adorable scholarly heart.
He must be as Miss Dell wished him to be. Gone were the amusing compliments he was so skilled at and in were the dusty papers of the Royal Society that he was most certainly not skilled at.
Chapter Eight
In the carriage on their way home, Frederick had been complaining for some minutes.
“I swear my arm is bruised!” he said. “The lady wielded her fan like any knight of old at a joust. Jost says I am doomed, because Miss Blaise pronounces me very bad.”
Lady Penderton looked indulgently at her son. “Miss Blaise does not mean to injure you, my son. She is only nervous and fan whipping is the result of that energy she does not know what to do with. One of these days, Miss Blaise will hit a fellow and he will see the charm of it, and the charm of her generous dowry, and that will be that.”
Frederick, ignoring his mother’s sympathy, said, “And Grayson! What does he mean by throwing me at the lady’s feet like meat to a lion? It was bad form.”
“It was excessively amusing,” Lady Penderton said. “If you would stop a moment to think, you might look forward in anticipation to the moment when you might repay the lord for his kindness. I am sure some opportunity might present itself.”
“Yes,” Frederick said, rubbing his hands together, “perhaps I will. Perhaps Grayson will some night find himself stumbling through a dance with Miss Blessy. I have stepped in to rescue the lady enough times lest she sit out, I can attest to her diabolical ability to go the wrong way.”
While Kitty heard the conversation, she did not pay much attention to it. The night had been too filled with other diversions.
Lord Grayson joined in on the hunt for Veritas!
It was extraordinary. She would not have guessed in a thousand years that he would show the slightest interest in such a venture. In truth, she would have thought he’d deride the very idea of it. She’d even had the notion he would have laughed at it. She had been wrong!
They’d had a lively conversation at supper. Kitty did not yet have any theories of who the troublemaker was but had been in the process of taking copious notes. She planned on cross-referencing every claim she read, to see if it could be supported in some way by prior writings. If it was not built upon prior discoveries, then it would go on her list of suspicious items warranting further investigation.
Lord Grayson had posited that they might want to look more closely at Lord Everard Home, on the theory that nobody rational sat around thinking about houseflies on walls. For that matter, Lord Home seemed to write an excessive amount of papers on bizarre subjects and he was only recently titled. Who really knew where the man had sprung from?
Kitty was able to put his mind at ease regarding Lord Home. It was true he seemed a quixotic individual, but he was also a recipient of the Copley Medal, the highest honor given by the society.
Though Lord Grayson had seemed incredulous over the idea, he had put aside his suspicions of that particular gentleman.
They had agreed to keep one another informed of any discoveries.
After they had exhausted all ideas relating to Veritas, they spoke of the more usual things. Kitty talked of Penny and her happiness with Lord Cabot. Though, she had been shocked when Lord Grayson had countered by inquiring if it were true that Penny had ridden the lord’s horse at Newmarket.
She had been shocked, and not entirely sure she could be certain it was not true. It would be just like Penny to dare such a thing. Still, she denied it vehemently.
To change the subject, Kitty had inquired into Lord Grayson’s family. In retrospect, she wished she had not. Of course, he did not mention the dukes’ pact, though he could not have helped but think of it. As for the state of his mother and father, he did not go into any detail, but she was not led to believe it was a happy union.
But then, his musings had led him to talk of Shakespeare. Just as when he’d spoken of poetry from the island of Lamu, he seemed to have a depth of knowledge of the subject. Kitty had, of course, read all of the great bard’s plays, but long ago in the schoolroom.
In retrospect, she found herself silly for attempting to cover her lack of understanding of the subject by proclaiming that uncovering Veritas must take precedence over plays and poetry.
Lord Grayson had looked amused and said: And this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.
She had been completely lost and he had laughed and said, “It is from As you like it. What I mean to say is, if you must put the mystery above all else, it must be as you like it.”
It had been the first time that it had been the lord who had run intellectual rings round her. She could not decide if she admired it or was irritated by it.
Perhaps the most extraordinary aspect of the evening was Lord Grayson himself. Stripped of his usual florid compliments, he began to seem a real person.
She knew very well that his claim that he had sent the book as a jest was not true. He’d only sought to recover his pride. She co
uld not condemn him for that. After all, how many times had Frederick pretended to know something he most certainly did not? Frederick would die a thousand deaths before owning an error of understanding. It was a strange aspect of the male psyche, but evident all the same. And for all that, she must admit, she had done just the same in attempting to veer the conversation away from Shakespeare, it being a subject she was not so well-versed in.
So, while Lord Grayson certainly did not know anything of Aristotle’s theories or recent advancements in that arena, was it not admirable that he sought to defend the society’s honor?
“Kitty, dear,” the baroness said, “you seemed very engaged at supper.”
“She could not possibly have been, mama,” Frederick said. “She was stuck talking to Grayson. Though, I hardly had time to observe anybody else as I was too busy ducking Miss Blaise’s weapon of choice.”
“I was engaged, as it happens,” Kitty said. “Much to my surprise, Lord Grayson has taken up the search for Veritas and is reading all the papers to discover the culprit.”
“Is he?” the baroness said.
“I was also gratified that he chose to talk sense and not fill the air with impossible phrasings,” Kitty said, though she did not know why she felt she must defend her opinion.
“Well,” Lady Penderton said, leaning back with a satisfied smile, “Lord Grayson may not be a scholar, but he is no dullard.”
*
Having got past Mrs. Radish/Ra-deesh with only a few minutes of complaint about her tenant, Giles paced what little floor there was in Crackwilder’s apartment. “It is vital that I discover this Veritas, whoever he is. Tell me all about it.”
“Good Lord, Grayson,” Crackwilder said, amused. “Why on earth should you involve yourself in it?”
Giles stopped and stared at his friend. “I really do not know why everybody thinks I’m the one who is stupid. Is it not obvious enough? Miss Dell is working on the mystery, therefore I must solve the mystery.”
“If I cannot solve it, I do not see how you could,” Crackwilder said.
“Tell me everything you know so far,” Giles said.
Crackwilder heaved a sigh. “There is not much to go on,” he said. He sipped his brandy and related the history of the original John Hill and how he’d managed to embarrass the society.
When Crackwilder had done, Giles poured himself a generous glass of brandy to settle his temper. These scholarly people were absurd! All along, they’d posed as deep thinkers intent on unraveling the world’s mysteries. They’d advertised themselves as having capabilities beyond the average man. The truth was, they lived in a strange little world where the most ridiculous thing was held vital. It was very like one of his old great aunts who spent every Christmas telling him of the goings on of her neighbors. At the last, he was meant to be riveted by the tale of a certain Mr. Johnson who’d given up cows and had gone to sheep. Mr. Johnson, if his elderly relation were to be believed, had shaken the entire county with this shocking development.
“So you are saying,” Giles said in a controlled tone, “the fellow wrote a paper about a woman conceiving from the air and a bunch of idiots debated it. And now, there is likely another fellow setting out to do the same thing?”
“In a nutshell,” Crackwilder said.
“And you do not find this ridiculous?” Giles asked.
“Somewhat,” Crackwilder admitted. “However, the society is not what it once was. There was a time they’d have even let you in—it was more a distinction than any real scholarly attainment. John Hill’s complaints were not unwarranted.”
“The society needn’t bother inviting me,” Giles said derisively. “I would poison myself were I to find I’d taken an unnatural interest in houseflies or the innards of a toad.”
“Yes, yes,” Crackwilder said, waving his hands, “but you understand my meaning. The society is more rigorous now, despite various papers you find unworthy.”
Giles shrugged and wondered what in the world they were rigorous about, though he did not say so.
Crackwilder leaned forward. “Grayson, we are on the cusp of something, though we know not what. The world will not stay as it is. Changes will come, and they will come through science. It is not the housefly that is notable, it is understanding what the housefly can do and how it does it.”
“Very well,” Giles said, though he was not convinced, “far be it for me to hold back the marches of progress. However, my only interest in this mountain of absurdity is uncovering the fellow that seeks to disrupt it. Miss Dell wants him found, and so I want him found.”
“We all want him found.”
“I suspect it is Sir John,” Giles said, the notion just having come to him. He did not have any particular evidence to support the claim, but it would be very convenient if that villain actually was the villain.
Crackwilder snorted. “It is not Sir John. I realize he is a thorn in your side, and he is not the most engaging fellow, but he is not your man.”
“How can you be certain?” Giles said. “Nobody seems to know much about him. Where is his title from, exactly? I have heard both Denmark and Sweden, but nobody seems to be sure.”
“Sir John, for all his awkward manners, is no mastermind,” Crackwilder said.
“I think I will make inquiries,” Giles said. “I have distant cousins all over Europe, I will write them. Perhaps they will know from where his title springs.”
Crackwilder laughed heartily over the idea. “If you do have such relations, I suspect you have never graced them with a single letter.”
Giles did indeed have distant cousins across Europe. His grandmother, and now his mother, were meticulous in documenting the family tree, which was old and vast. He, and everybody else in the family, received a Christmas letter documenting all the joyous recent additions and unfortunate to-be-mourned subtractions. And no, he had never written to any of them. He had not congratulated on marriages or births, nor condoled on illnesses and deaths.
But that did not mean he could not write now. He must just hope LaRue had put the latest letter somewhere safe. He’d not even opened it this year.
As he thought of it, he was becoming more and more certain that Sir John was the man he sought. He’d come from nowhere. Crackwilder said the original John Hill had been knighted by one of those northern European countries too, though he could not recall which. Was that not coincidental? And, did they not share a given name, both were Johns. Further, was it not Sir John who’d received the mysterious letter? Why him? Why not Banks—he was the president of the Royal Society. Why would a person who sought to discompose the society write to a nobody like Sir John?
Giles stood up and drained his brandy. “Well,” he said, “I have no time to lollygag around here with you all night. I have an imposter to catch.”
*
Kitty poured tea for Penny, they having arranged between them to have a cozy morning in her drawing room. Penny and Lord Cabot would return to Dorset in a fortnight and, with the season so busy, neither were certain how often they might see each other before then.
“But you will come to Dorset soon?” Penny asked. “I would wish that you had come already—you will be most impressed with our improvements to the stables.”
Kitty smiled over the idea that she would be enamored of the stables. “Of course I wished to come all along, but my mother was certain that those who are newly wed should be left on their own.”
Penny blushed prettily and said, “I suppose she was right. We have had rather a glorious time in our own company. Now, you are not to think we’ve set the house up as my father’s cottage in Newmarket. It is not all dusty floors and no carpets.”
“It is not?” Kitty asked in some surprise.
“Well, it is,” Penny admitted. “But just as in Newmarket, I have made certain there is a room you shall like very well. It is stocked to the hilt with velvet and pillows. My lord took one look at it and said it might suit the most delicate princess and so I know you shall like
it.”
“I hardly think myself a delicate—”
“You know what I mean, though.”
And of course, Kitty did know what her friend meant. Penny might fall asleep on the back of a horse, but she preferred a deal more softness.
“Now, do tell me how the season progresses for you,” Penny said. “I am all hope that it runs a deal smoother than my own.”
Kitty sipped her tea to delay. She was not certain how to express her thoughts on the last few days. But then, it was Penny. Her dear friend forever, and holder of her secrets since they were small children. Nothing should be held back from Penny.
“A great deal has happened, actually,” she said. “First, Lord Grayson sent me a book. It was kindly meant, but made him look foolish. It was written in jest, you see, but he did not know it. I believe he was charmed by a rather fine binding.”
Penny giggled. “That sounds very like him.”
“Yes, I know,” Kitty said. “Though, I could not like that Sir John was intent on mocking him over it. The subject came up while we were visiting the Palaskar collection of books.”
Penny’s brow wrinkled. “I will not even ask what the Palaskar collection is or why Lord Grayson should be visiting books of any sort. But Kitty, can you really fault Sir John for his disdain of Lord Grayson? He may be my husband’s friend, but he is a bit of a scoundrel. He toys with ladies’ feelings for his own amusement. Should he not be disdained?”
“That I cannot say, only that Sir John was particularly unkind about the misstep. And also, Penny, I sat at supper with Lord Grayson last evening and he has heard of the rogue who is intent on embarrassing the royal society and has engaged himself to catch the man. He was quite sensible, and I really did enjoy our conversation. Perhaps he is not as bad as you think.”
Now Penny’s brow was truly knit. “I do not claim to know of any rogue who wishes to embarrass anybody, but I am truly worried now. Of course I knew that Lord Grayson had singled you out for his attentions at Newmarket. I suspected he might continue with those attentions. But Kitty! You cannot allow yourself to be taken in by him! Really, you are too clever for it.”