Page 2 of Lady Dramatic
Chapter One
A Remote Estate in the Yorkshire Dales, 1805
Serenity looked towardher father. It was the night before their departure from the Dales to Town and they had gathered in the dining room for dinner. She was feeling nostalgic already about the house she’d been raised in. The duke, on the other hand, was currently waving a sheet of paper with a look of consternation.
“You had better tell us, Papa,” she said.
“I can guess already,” Winsome said. “Nobody sends a letter that aggravates Papa more than our aunt.”
“You are correct,” the duke said to Winsome. “Lady Misery has taken her irritating impertinence to new heights this time!”
Valor laughed. “It’s so funny when you call her Lady Misery. It’s even funnier when she hears it, she gets so mad.”
“Because it’s so apt,” Verity said. “A very common thing.”
Serenity was used to Verity naming all and sundry a common thing when she in fact knew little about it. In this case, though, she might be right. An insult might be felt harder when the victim of it guessed it might be true. She still vividly remembered Winsome calling her the Queen of the Weeps a few years ago, even though she could not remember what she had been weeping about at the time.
Lady Misery was, of course, their aunt and known in the wider world as Lady Marchfield. While the lady meant well, at least they must suppose she did, shewasrather miserable.
As it was the moment they were to travel to London for the season, and as letters had arrived at such a moment in prior years, and as each of those letters had outlined the importance of employing a butler in Town, Serenity presumed that was the current subject of communication.
For three seasons, Lady Marchfield had been determined that a duke must have a butler and had so little faith in his hiring one that she’d installed one herself. For three seasons, their dear housekeeper, Mrs. Right, had driven those butlers out of the house. Mr. Sykes-Wycliff, Mr. Button, and Mr. Grimsby had all been shown the door, or run out the door, as the case might have been. The duke had no wish for a butler, as Mrs. Right ran his household to his liking and did not fan herself over his sometimes unusual habits.
“This time,” the duke said, “she has somehow got in league with that vicar who depends on me for his living.”
“Oh, Papa,” Serenity said. “They must have planned it when our aunt was here for Patience’s wedding.” She paused. “What is it they planned, exactly?”
“She’s determined to install another butler. He’s a relative of that vicar’s, Mr. Cremble is his name. Apparently, he was meant for the church but could not get a living. So now,Iam supposed to give him a living? I already support one ridiculous churchman in that family.”
Valor snorted. “Mrs. Right will make Mr. Cremble crumble. Or she will make Mr. Cremble tremble.”
The duke laughed, “That’s good, that’s very good, Val. How about this—for however long he is in the house in Town, which I hope will not be long, I will call him Crumble or Bumble or Mumble or Tremble or Fumble—the possibilities are endless.”
“Will he be unhappy all the time like the vicar is?” Verity asked. “It’s understood to be a common thing among vicars.”
Winsome looked as if she would like to challenge that statement, as she was always keen to challenge Verity’s pronouncements. However, she said nothing. Serenity supposed she was forced to agree with the assessment.
“He’ll be far worse, my girl. Lady Misery writes that she has been assured this fellow is as pious a man as ever lived. Pious, of all things. Pious people look down their nose at everything and everybody—nothing is ever dull enough for them. They should all be locked up together to frown at each other for eternity.”
“If he looks down his nose at Nelson or even frowns at him,” Serenity said, the notion suddenly presenting itself and making her eyes water, “I will be devastated.”
The dog in question was currently under the dining table, making the rounds to see what might be dropped, or directly handed to him. They were all exceedingly sensitive to Nelson’s effect on people. He had an unfortunate past, which had resulted in an unfortunate appearance. He was a three-legged dog, blind in one eye, with a rough coat that could not decide if it wished to be straight or curled. His tongue seemed rather long, and was known to drop out of his mouth as if he’d forgotten he had one. His eyes were rather bulgy, and Winsome speculated that they’d got that way because he only had one that worked. Serenity had spotted him outside of an inn and had prevailed upon the duke to have him.
“He will not dare look down on Nelson,” Winsome said. “If he tries it, I will inform him of Nelson’s tragic past, surviving on scraps at an inn. Nobody wanted him because he tragically lost a leg and is blind in one eye, even though he’s the best dog living.”
Valor nodded her head in full agreement. “We might even ask Mr. Cremble ifhe’sever tried to survive on scraps with only oneworking eye and three legs. Let him speak from experience, if he can claim to have it.”
The duke roared with laughter. “If Mr. Cremble turns up with three legs, I will be very much interested to see it.”
And so they went on, making various predictions on how long Mr. Cremble would last as the latest of Lady Marchfield’s butlers and how superior a dog Nelson had proved to be, despite his outward deficiencies.
Serenity followed along the conversation, though her mind was forever drifting elsewhere. On the morrow, she would begin her great journey. The journey every lady must take if she wished to settle herself well. She would go to Town and be seen by society. She would meet with gentlemen, and dance with them, and most likely wed one of them.
She might have done all of that last year, but she’d begged off using the excuse that Patience would make her too nervous with all the toe-tapping and hurrying she did. Though they were twins, they were not identical. From a temperament standpoint, they could not be more different. Patience had gone forward without her.
That had not really been the reason she did not wish to come out in society last season, though. Patiencewasalways toe-tapping and trying to hurry everybody, but Serenity was well used to it. She did not avoid Town for a year because of Patience. She avoided it because of herself.
When she’d been younger, she supposed her wildly swinging feelings had been adorable. At least, that was what Mrs. Right said. Their dear housekeeper claimed there was nothing more entertaining than watching a five-year-old explain to the vicar that biscuits should be available at breakfast because their absence made her weep and God must be against her weeping. The vicar had counseled her not to be so dramatic and certainlynot to drag God into her childish concerns, so she promptly gave him an example of her weeping fits.
