Page 23 of The Sprinter
She had removed herself from the drawing room and went above stairs to her bedchamber to peer out the window. She would not see her friends until they were all gathered, as she had no wish to repeat the story five separate times. In truth, she had no wish to repeat it ever, though it must be done at least once.
A footman had been directed to set up the tea, as Ranston was still weeping in his room over almost murdering his mistresses’ houseguest. Theodosia had already arrived, and Penelope was all confidence that she would manage the serving, as the duchess felt her title empowered her to take over anybody’s drawing room but for the queen’s own. Nobody understood where she’d got such a notion, but it would be convenient at this very moment.
The last carriage finally pulled up. There was Lady Redfield, looking around as if she were about to be set upon by footpads. For some reason, Penelope’s unanticipated summons always had the effect of discomposing the lady—she looked as nervous as a cat who wondered where the dog was hiding.
Penelope pulled in a breath, rose, shook out her skirts, and prepared to run the gauntlet otherwise known as her friends.
Before Lady Heathwayhad even got to the drawing room door, the voices reached her in the hall.
Lady Easton said, “Apparently, it is the talk of every club! My nephew says Miss Yardley was absolutely clinging to the side of the house in a riding habit at five o’clock in the morning.”
“But did Lord Bertridge say anything about the shot?” the duchess said. “My son claims Ranston was out firing his gun at her like a madman. Why should he wish to kill Miss Yardley?”
“Why should she be clinging to the outside of the house?” Lady Easton asked.
“I think we may be getting ahead of ourselves,” Lady Featherstone said. “We must examine all the clues. I conferred with Lord Ryland on the street just now. Gresham himself claims none of it even happened, though Lord Ryland claims that mysterious. He says stories may be embellished but are not likely to appear out of thin air.”
“Lord Ryland thinks everything is a mystery,” the duchess said, with some asperity.
“If you mean to hint that you do not approve of my membership in Lord Ryland’s criminal society, I am quite immune to it, Theodosia,” Lady Featherstone said with a huff.
“I never hint, my dear,” the duchess said, in a tone that really said,And I have won the point.
Lady Heathway girded herself and strode in. “Ladies, thank you for coming on such short notice. I will apprise you of the real facts, and then we will decide what to do about it.”
As Lady Heathway did lay out the facts, the expressions on her friends’ faces were not encouraging. Nor were their rather breathless comments.
Precisely how often did Lady Redfield intend to clutch at her neck and whisper, “Goodness!”
Was not one, “She did what?” quite enough from Lady Easton?
Did Lady Mendleton really have the nerve to just say, “I am only glad Georgiana never thought to climb out a window.”
At least the duchess did not seem to be overcome by the tale. She set down her teacup and said, “There is no point in us fanning ourselves over this…escapade. We must stand together and protect the reputation of the society, and therefore the reputation of Miss Yardley, and therefore ourselves. We are the most powerful women of theton. Oh, I know the Almack’s patronesses like to think they lead in some way, but what a collection! Most of their relations cannot bear close scrutiny and everybody knows it. Further, they are forever squabbling amongst one another. We present a united front and so Lady Jersey can spout off all she likes, Lady Castlereagh can buy another tiger over it, Lady Cowper can pretend she is not having a dalliance with Lord Palmerston, and the rest are not even worth mentioning.”
Penelope nodded encouragingly. The duchess always became enraged when she thought of the patronesses and their airs.
“Precisely my thoughts,” Lady Heathway said. “We act as one force, as we always have done. Now, I believe I am to understand the gossip flies already?”
The ladies nodded reluctantly.
“I gather that what we know so far,” Lady Heathway said, “is it is talked of that Miss Yardley climbed down a drainpipe in her riding habit and Ranston shot at her. It is imperative we know everything that is being said in order to combat it. Has anybody heard anything else? Anything at all?”
As Lady Heathway gazed round the table, her eyes stopped and settled on Lady Redfield. That lady twisted her handkerchief into knots and stared out the window as if she saw something frightening out there.
“Out with it, Cecilia,” the duchess commanded, deducing just as quickly that Lady Redfieldhadheard something else.
“Oh dear,” Lady Redfield said quietly. “I so little like to upset anybody. Well, I did hear, how shall I say it, what I mean is, how shall I put it…”
The duchess stared her down and said, “For the love of heaven, put it any way you like, but put it some way.”
Lady Redfield took in a deep breath, as if she would need extra air on account of upsetting people. “All right. I heard that perhaps Miss Yardley was attempting to elope?”
Lady Redfield gripped the sides of her chair to brace herself against the stunned silence that surrounded her. Pressing on, she said, “And, that awful Jacobs fellow has named her…”
“Named her?” Lady Heathway said, the dread settling over her like a shroud. Once a person was named, it was near impossible to shake it loose. She, herself, would beLady Naysayforevermore, Lady Jersey would beSilence, Lord Melrose would beLord Short Pockets. People even sometimes remembered that all those many years ago, Lord Mendleton had been namedBreak-A-Leg-Benjamin. Penelope was certainthatone had only faded because it was attached to an event—Lady Brathwaite had broken her leg on his too-polished stairs. But, let a name be a personal adjective and it seemed to stick.
“Yes, well,” Lady Redfield hurried on, “it is not so very terrible a name, I do not think.”
