Lady Mary's Muddle (Seven Wishes Book 4)

by Bree Verity

  The next time he awoke, it was evening and the only other person in the room was his valet, Lyndon. He was bustling around, putting things away and placing candles in several strategic places around the room so that a fairly even light played across the whole space.

  When Percy stirred, he spun around, a wide smile on his face. “Well, sir, it is certainly good to see you,” he said, approaching Percy’s bed. “We were wondering when you might return to the land of the living.”

  “What time is it?” asked Percy, his voice cracking a little. “Where is Penny?” He struggled to sit up, his leg throbbing with pain.

  “Lay down, sir, I beg of you,” said the valet, who gently pushed him back against the bed. “It is late evening, around ten. And Mr. Penny is at his own home, being treated for his own injuries.”

  A look of triumph entered Percy’s eyes. “Then I did hit him?”

  “Yes, sir. A competent winging, in the right shoulder.”

  Exactly where he had been planning to hit.

  Then his brow descended. “And yet satisfaction is not yet gained, for Penny thought it acceptable to injure me as well.”

  “Apparently, sir, as he explains it, his pistol kicked quite a long way. He had no intention of hitting you. Indeed, your seconds made it clear that he seemed quite distraught over the matter.”

  Percy sniffed derisively. “I bet he did,” he scoffed. “Penny does not make a move that has not been considered and then considered over again for the advantage that it might bring him. No, Lyndon he shot me on purpose. But to what aim?”

  Lyndon shrugged. “I cannot say as I know, sir.”

  “Me neither. But there is an advantage. I can feel it.”

  “In the meantime, sir, can I bring you some broth? Or tea?”

  Percy stared at Lyndon in dislike. “Broth? Or tea?”

  “The doctor insisted that you not have anything heavy to eat, sir, until you were moving about again.”

  Percy sniffed. “If I don’t receive sustenance, Lyndon, I shall never get out of bed again. Bring me something with a little more substance, will you? And brandy. Though,” he made a begrudging confession, “it may be watered a little.”

  Lyndon bowed and removed himself from the room, giving Percy some time to think. He moved his leg stiffly, aware of the sharp pain the movement caused.

  Why on earth did Penny injure him? As the party from whom satisfaction was being sought, he should have aimed away or deloped. Injuring the person who brought the action against you smacked of disrespect, and certainly did not conclude the matter.

  Perhaps, Percy thought, Penny wished to show him that he was not that easily cowed, that the peril of a duel was not enough for him to feel threatened. That a simple injury was not enough for him to change his behavior toward Mary.

  If that was the case, Percy had much more to do to make sure the man did feel threatened. If it meant a second duel, and a much more dangerous injury, so be it. Penny would not be left in any doubt of Percy’s protection of Mary.

  By the time Lyndon arrived back with the food, Percy had worked himself into a lather of anger, grinding his teeth and scowling at the valet, who placed the tray of food beside him with a studiously vacant expression.

  “I could not persuade cook or Mrs. Little to provide anything apart from very easily digestible foods,” he said, “so there is broth, and applesauce, and bread and butter; there is the meat removed from a leg of roast fowl, and some boiled peas and carrots. I do hope you can make a reasonable meal from amongst it, sir.”

  “And my brandy?”

  “Mr. Rayson is bringing that up, sir.”

  Percy nodded. He knew his staff would mostly bully him into submission. Mrs. Little, the housekeeper, had been head maid at his mother’s house when he was born, and Mr. Rayson, his butler, had been an upper footman. Both had transitioned to Percy’s household when he came of age and expressed a wish to have his own house. But they still retained their old indulgent ways with him, as well as their strong sense that they knew better than Percy what was best for him. Usually, he would push back, but today he was a little too tired to do so and, besides, it niggled in the back of his mind that perhaps they might be right.

  He nibbled on a little roast fowl, spooned up several precarious mouthfuls of peas and by the time he had buttered his bread, he was so exhausted he could hardly lift it to his mouth.

  He lay back against his pillows, eyes closed, and chewing on the bread, wondering just how long he would be an invalid. He hoped he would be well tomorrow – for he would have to start planning the second stage of his onslaught against Mr. Penny.

  And the second stage would take all the energy he could muster.

  Chapter Seventeen.

  Fenella found herself, once again, in the disguise of Mr. Commodore, young man about town, and at an assembly ball. This was the first ball she had attended as a gentleman, and she was a little shocked by the number of young women who flirted with their eyes at her. These young ladies were supposed to be demure and innocent, but the expressions they were throwing Mr. Commodore’s way made it certain they were anything but.

  She shook her head and sought out her target. Ah, there he was.

  Mr. Penny was, of course, not on the dance floor, but he was alongside, looking at the dancers through the affectation of a lorgnette and then passing comments to Sir Walter by his side. This erstwhile gentleman sniggered at each soliloquy; Fenella assumed Mr. Penny was saying dreadful things about the dancing couples.

  She strolled up to Mr. Penny, feeling his cutting gaze upon her.

  “Mr. Penny; Sir Walter,” she said by way of introduction, but was cut off.

  “What do you want?”

  Mr. Penny’s voice was chilly, but Fenella pressed on.

  “I merely wondered if you had heard the news about Lady Mary Prior?”

  “This is hardly the place to talk about such matters,” hissed Sir Walter, glancing between Fenella and Mr. Penny.

  He must have heard something in Sir Walter’s tone, because Mr. Penny held up a hand to silence his friend. “What about Lady Mary Prior?” he asked with affected disinterest, his eyes still on the dancers.

  “Much of her fortune has been lost. As much as three-quarters.” Fenella was pleased to see Mr. Penny’s forehead cloud over, but it only lasted a second. He turned to Sir Walter, ignoring Fenella altogether.

  “You knew of this?” He asked the question as quietly as it was possible to do so in a crowded ballroom, and with a worried swallow, Sir Walter replied, “Yes, I thought I would tell you tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” Mr. Penny held Sir Walter’s eyes, and Fenella could see the small, squat man starting to perspire and squirm. “There was nothing that could be done until tomorrow anyway, Penny,” he explained.

  “And your information comes from a secure source?” Mr. Penny had still not broken eye contact with the visibly sweating Sir Walter. Fenella wondered just what hold Mr. Penny had over the banker.

  “Several sources, in fact,” replied Sir Walter. “And I contacted the ‘Change as well, where, of course, you know I have a…” his eyes swiveled over to Fenella, “…an associate.” His terrified gaze returned to Mr. Penny. “He, too, confirmed it. Apparently, a series of poor investments, the latest being in a cargo ship that was sunk on its way to Australia.”

  Mr. Penny held Sir Walter’s gaze for a long moment while that gentleman apparently wished himself anywhere else except in that very spot, then he turned to Fenella.

  “And why should that be of interest to me, young pup?”

  Fenella was ready with her answer. “Because now she is of significantly less interest to you, however, she is still of interest to me, I had hoped that you would see reason and release her from your engagement.”

  Mr. Penny stared at Fenella, narrow eyed, and Fenella felt as if he was trying to bore into her mind and her soul, to read what was written there. She held her ground, the very epitome of a young, earnest gentleman securing hi
s own happiness.

  Then, Mr. Penny smiled, and he appeared almost human for a moment. “As I have said before, young man, it shall never be said that Andrew Penny stands in the way of true love. You have my blessing, Mr. Commodore.”

  Fenella blinked rapidly. “Am… am I to understand you are rescinding your engagement?”

  “Yes, yes, of course. I thought I might have a try with Lord Faversham’s widow. I hear she suffers a fortune and the sad lack of a husband.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Penny, but can you repeat that please? I am simply unsure that I have heard what you said.”

  “I said, you may go and ask for Mary Prior’s hand. I am no longer interested in marrying her.”

  To Fenella’s satisfaction, several people round about heard Mr. Penny’s proclamation, and instantly the news started to circulate in the ballroom. By tomorrow morning, it would be in the society papers that Mr. Penny himself made the declaration, loud and clear.

  Mr. Penny, too, noticed his words had been heard and smiled at Fenella. “Nicely done, Commodore,” he said, “although as you know, my word is my bond. You did not need to ensure it by such public means.”

  “I have been caught by your word before, sir,” replied Fenella gravely. “I was merely creating a little insurance for myself.” Mr. Penny inclined his head and raised his glass.

  “Sir Walter, may I have a word with you?” Fenella asked, and Sir Walter was surprised into replying, “Certainly.” He picked up his glass and took his leave of Mr. Penny, walking alongside Fenella out of the ballroom.

  Mr. Penny watched them go, a cynical smile on his face. The two of them were well suited, both sniveling, sycophantic boot smears. The whey-faced Mary Prior would suit Mr. Commodore down to the ground. The pair of them would be ripe for fleecing in a few months’ time when they were still in the throes of first love and being foolish with their money. He hoped Sir Walter was gathering intelligence from the stupid young man.

  He emptied his own champagne glass and lazily glanced around the room to find the direction of Faversham’s widow. When his eyes landed on her, they narrowed – it was time to begin courting again.

  * * *

  There was silence between Fenella and Sir Walter as they gathered their cloaks and gloves and made their way out on to the street, leaving the crowded, hot assembly rooms behind.

  Once out on the street, they walked away at speed, almost as if their feet were not even touching the ground. Then, they disappeared into the fog.

  Chapter Eighteen.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t quite understand what has happened,” said Mary, her face clouded but with hope in her eyes. She had heard the rumor as it traveled around the assembly room, and had insisted on being brought home as soon as she heard it, claiming shock and megrim, as could only be expected of a young woman whose engagement had been broken.

  Fenella had gone straight to Mary’s house following her triumph. Watching Lachlan transform out of his Sir Walter disguise and back into his tall, blonde self was a joy all by itself, but nothing to the joy she was going to get from explaining it all gleefully to Mary.

  “We tricked Mr. Penny into rescinding your engagement,” she said, grinning. For once, nobody commented on her sharp, pointed teeth.

  “But how? And how do you know he will not come back tomorrow and un-rescind it?”

  “I had a friend of mine disguise himself as Mr. Penny’s banker, and together we led him to understand that you had lost most of your wealth.” Fenella skipped around the room. She would have flown, but just at the last moment she recalled that they were not allowed to show their wings to humans, so skipping it was.

  “How could you be convincing?”

  “Lachlan and I had spent the past days sniffing out Sir Walter’s cronies and informers in the banking sector,” replied Fenella. “So, he could be convincing. And convincing he was. You should have seen him.” Fenella’s eyes gleamed, but with none of the usual red fire. This time, they gleamed blue with pride. “He was perfect. Had all of Sir Walter’s mannerisms and things down pat. I was almost fooled myself.”

  “So, how can I be sure that Mr. Penny will not change his mind when he realizes he has been fooled?”

  “Because I made sure his words were heard by many people. If he tries to rescind, you may call upon them as witnesses. I’m quite certain there are plenty of people who would be happy to testify against him.”

  “Then I am free of him?”

  “That would seem to be the case, yes.”

  Mary flew across the room to hug Fenella ferociously. “However can I thank you?” she said into Fenella’s dark hair. “You’ve given me my life back.”

  “You can thank me by having the very happiest of ever afters you can manage,” laughed Fenella. “Tomorrow morning, you should send for Sir Percy and make arrangements for your marriage.”

  “I certainly shall, unless he comes and insists on seeing me first,” Mary replied, her own lips wide in a smile. “You will promise to attend the wedding, won’t you?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. But I doubt you will even notice I am there.”

  Mary hugged Fenella again, then let her go. “Well,” she said, “I suppose this is where we say our goodbyes then?”

  With immense satisfaction, Fenella was pleased to reply, “Yes. You have no more need of me, Mary. My duty is done.”

  Chapter Nineteen.

  Her handwriting had been spidery and shaky, and more than once Mary had to blot the ink from her paper, but she had sent Sir Percy a joyful letter with a summons to her side, to be delivered just as soon as it was proper to do so.

  Now, she waited alongside her mother and sisters in the parlor, unable to place a single stitch into her embroidery. Her shaking hands would ruin the piece which, up until now, having been stitched with equanimity, was quite balanced and beautiful. Mary thought she would be happier not to ruin it and so instead, she had selected a volume of Wordsworth to read.

  Not that she could read anything either. Her excitement at seeing Percy, exclaiming over his dueling injury (for it was common knowledge that both he and Mr. Penny had been winged), scolding him for his rashness while adoring him for standing up for her honor… Mary was usually quite a calm, contained person but today, she was practically jumping out of her skin.

  For once, Louisa’s chattering didn’t get on her nerves. Her sister wanted to talk about what had happened at the assembly the previous evening, and Mary was only too happy to relive the events over and over.

  “Why do you suppose Mr. Penny made such an about turn?” asked Louisa. “Surely it would make sense to check first that his intelligence about your fortunes was correct?”

  Mary shrugged. “He heard it from his banker, Sir Walter Sputter, who apparently had checked the information with a number of sources.” Mary grinned in a very unladylike way. “I wonder who his sources could have been, for they appear to be highly untrustworthy.”

  “I could not believe it when I heard him say he was no longer interested in marrying you.” Louisa was wide eyed with excitement. “I looked for you and rushed toward you to tell you, but the news got to you even before I could! I left poor Mr. Bunyan standing on the ballroom floor without a partner. Thankfully when I explained to him, he quite understood why I had abandoned him.”

  “It is extremely poor behavior to announce something like that across a crowded ballroom floor,” Mama put in with a sniff. “The young man should have had more concern for Mary’s reputation.”

  “Indeed, Mama,” replied Mary, eyes shining. “He could have shouted it from the rooftop for all I care. So long as I am free of him.”

  Early afternoon arrived, and with it a note for Mary from Percy. Mary tore it open and read it. With each word her eyes fell on, her mouth fell further and further open and, by the end, she collapsed into a chair and handed the missive wordlessly to her mother.

  Mama read it, and placed a hand across her mouth, deep concern in her eyes. She handed the lett
er to Louisa who scanned it quickly.

  “Oh no,” Louisa said under her breath. She moved quickly to her sister’s side and took Mary’s hands. “What will you do?”

  Mary’s mind was whirling. “I must go to him,” she said.

  “But you have no right…” Mama started, but Mary cut her off.

  “I’m sorry if it is scandalous, Mama, but if he is to die, I must be with him. I simply must.”

  Mary took the letter from Louisa and re-read it, even now disbelieving of the contents. It had been written, not by Percy, but by his mother, Lady Pound.

  My dear Lady Mary,

  I am devastated to have to convey the news that my son, Lord Percy Pound, has contracted an infection and fever as a result of the fearful duel he undertook on Tuesday last.

  The doctor is afraid that the infection has taken hold deep in his bones, and that while he is fighting valiantly, he may not see out the night.

  I understand there was affection between you, and that Percy fought for your honor. Indeed, he has mentioned your name several times in his feverish state. While the circumstances are far from salubrious, you can perhaps derive some comfort from the fact that in his last moments, Percy was thinking of you.

  Kindly pray for my son, Lady Mary. It appears modern medicine has done all that it can, and his life rests in the hands of God now.

  Yours &c.

  Lady Harriet Pound.

  “I must go there,” repeated Mary.

  Even as she stood up, Mama repeated, “You have no right, Mary. It would be presumptuous. You would do nothing but disturb the poor boy’s family who certainly do not need an additional weeping female in their midst. Mary. Mary!”

  Mary barely heard her mother’s words. She rushed upstairs to the room she shared with Louisa, grabbed her bonnet, and rushed back downstairs, tying it on without a care as to how it looked. At the door, she took her warmest cloak from the peg and asked the butler to call for a hansom cab.