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He would not again succumb to drink, and so he took down a volume of Plato and tried to deaden his mind with the effort of Platonic translation.

Chapter 18

When Serena arose the next day, she discovered that Francis had already left the house, apparently to visit his friend, Nicholas Delaney. She supposed her thoughts concerning her brothers' plans could wait, though she fretted about what to do if Francis didn't return by the afternoon. If he thought to handle Tom by ignoring him, it would be a serious mistake
.

Serena was also somewhat hurt that Francis had not taken her with him to visit the Delaneys, but she was not surprised. At the moment, in his eyes she was an Allbright. She truly wished her mother had committed adultery!

It was perhaps as well that she was distracted by a minor crisis in the household. A pound of tea had disappeared from the tea chest. Dibbert had apparently taken the matter of the missing packet of oolong tea to the dowager, but that lady had instructed him to call on Serena for adjudication. Serena rather suspected that the dowager hoped she wouldn't be able to cope.

She was glad of a distraction and sallied down into the kitchen to handle the supposed theft.

All the tea was apparently kept locked in a chest in the pantry, but as Mrs. Andover, the housekeeper, proved, the lock could be forced with the blade of a knife. Mrs. Andover was accusing no one but clearly had her suspicions of the cook, Mrs. Scott.

Serena noted evidence of a feud there, and from the appeals both women were making to a harassed Dibbert, she suspected that he was the bone of contention.

The cook, Mrs. Scott, seemed intent on pinning the blame on a terrified kitchen maid who had only been hired the month before. The maid's wails brought in the young gardener, who came staunchly to the defense of little Katie. This clearly upset the younger upstairs maid.

Serena noted that perilous triangle.

Affairs of the heart below stairs were almost as complicated as' those above!

Mrs. Scott took the side of the upstairs maid, and also shrieked at having the gardener's muddy boots on her floor. In moments, the household was in an uproar.

Serena silenced them all and made enquiries worthy of a Bow Street Runner. She soon discovered that the oolong was less favored by the servants than the black tea, and that it was only since the recent arrival of the family that it had been used. The missing packet had been the second of two, and its loss had only been noted this morning when it was needed.

"This tea," said Serena, "could have disappeared at any time during the past few months."

"Someone would have noticed it were missing, ma'am," said the cook.

"Who generally went to get the tea from the chest, Mrs. Scott?"

"Katie," said the woman with a glare. "I'd send her to Mrs. Andover for the key."

"I didn't take it!" the girl wailed.

"She didn't take it!" the gardener shouted.

Serena waited for silence.

"It is my decision that after such a time, it is impossible to discover who is guilty. A new tea chest will be ordered, one with a sturdy lock, and you, Mrs. Andover, will check the contents every night. In that way there will be less chance of baseless suspicions being thrown about."

"Baseless suspicions indeed," muttered the cook.

The gardener started forward. "Here, you old bi—"

"Silence!" Serena stared around at them. "There will be an end of this. It will not be spoken of again. However, Katie, if you are not happy in your post, I will see if I can find you another as good in another household."

The girl's eyes flickered anxiously between the cook and the gardener, and then she mumbled that she was all right, really. The gardener flashed Serena a bitter look, however, and she thought that her kind intentions might cause trouble from him in the future.

She wasn't sure if she had handled matters well or not.

Serena escaped back to the gracious world of the main body of the house, wondering what dramas would continue to be played out down below before she was called in to adjudicate again.

Would Dibbert favor the housekeeper or the cook?

Would Katie succumb to the handsome gardener's wiles, and would he marry her? Or would he return to the upstairs maid, who had clearly been his former favorite?

She sighed and shook her head. Though important to those involved, these problems did not compare to the ones facing her.

The morning papers had contained the formal announcement of the marriage of Viscount Middlethorpe to Serena, Lady Riverton. Unless that news deterred the ton, she and Francis could expect a great many callers in the afternoon, come to offer their good wishes. She could only hope that Francis would be here to greet them.

At four o'clock her brothers would return to the garden, expecting to receive the jewels and three thousand pounds. When she was not there to meet them, she didn't know what they would do. Perhaps Francis had all this in hand, but until he told her what he planned, she could find no ease in that.

By midday, Francis still had not returned home. Serena was becoming very nervous that he might forget their callers as well as her brothers. She told herself firmly that he wouldn't let such a thing slip his mind.

It only belatedly occurred to Serena that her two causes for concern clashed. If she and Francis were to be engaged all afternoon with callers, how on earth
was
Tom to be handled? Perhaps she should send her brother a note to explain, but she knew that was just the sort of thing Francis did not want her to do.

Damn him. Where
was
he?

To distract herself, she took the puppy into the garden again. It was far too early for her brothers to turn up unless they were keeping an eye on the place, so she wasn't breaking Francis's interdict on meeting them. On the other hand, she had to admit she would be rather relieved if they did appear. She could explain about this afternoon and placate them until tomorrow.

As she walked out into the sunshine and put Brandy down to play, she was astonished to see Francis's mother coming toward her. Lady Middlethorpe didn't strike her as the sort of woman to wander in winter gardens.

Lady Middlethorpe stopped, as if alarmed, but then continued on. "A lovely day for February, is it not, Serena?"

"Yes, Lady Middlethorpe." Serena had half her attention on the puppy, who showed an inclination to venture out of sight.

"If we are to Lady Middlethorpe each other, life will be unbearable. You call Arabella 'Arabella.' Call me Cordelia."

Serena blinked at the dowager. "Very well, Cordelia." It did not slide easily off her tongue.

The dowager frowned into the distance. "There are so few people to call me Cordelia anymore." Her eyes flicked back into focus and she scanned Serena. "Your hair is escaping its pins." She continued on into the house.

Serena hastily tidied herself. How did the dowager—Cordelia—always appear so pristine?

Serena stared after her mother-in-law, recalling the man she had met in the garden—Charles something-or-other—who had wanted to speak to Cordelia. He had entirely slipped her mind with all that had been going on, but could Francis's mother be in the habit of meeting
men
here?

As she tried to imagine such a thing and failed, Serena saw Brandy wriggle under a hedge.

"No, Brandy! Come back!"

Brandy thought this a marvelous game and, after a moment, so did Serena. For many minutes they played chase around the garden. Serena didn't care a snap that she was not acting like a viscountess or that her hair was escaping its pins. She was laughing as she dashed around a yew hedge and collided with a man coming out of the very arbor in which she had sat the day before.

For an alarmed moment, she thought it was Tom, but then she recognized her mistake. It was Charles somebody-or-other.

"Whatever are you doing here?" Even as she spoke, she could guess. The dowager
had
been keeping a tryst!

The man seemed as startled as she. "Lady Middlethorpe..." He steadied her then let her go, seeming to be at a loss for words. Then he muttered, "Be damned to it," and continued in a clear voice, "I came to meet Lady... with the Dowager Lady Middlethorpe. I see you are shocked."

"Yes, a little."

"Is it so shocking," he asked sharply, "for two people to be in love?"

"Well... no."

"But it is if they are of great age. I, young lady, am only thirty-eight."

"But..."

"And Cordelia is only forty-six. We are, neither of us, in our dotage!"

"Mr.... Oh, dear, I've forgotten your name."

"Ferncliff. I gave you my card."

"I have no idea what became of it. Mr. Ferncliff, I am not shocked by your age. I am shocked that any lady and gentleman should meet clandestinely in the garden. It is not proper."

His anger lessened and he gave a sound of exasperation. "I know that, Lady Middlethorpe. This imbroglio is not of my designing. In fact, it is likely to drive me mad, if it does not first lead to my untimely demise."

Serena gave him a look. "I have no faith in stories of people dying of a broken heart, sir."

"Have you not?" he said with some amusement. "But a pistol ball will do the job."

"A
pistol ball.
Who do you think would shoot you?"

"Perhaps that young firebrand you call a husband."

"Francis?"

"Indeed. He has been pursuing me around the country for months, often with pistol in hand."

Serena sat down on the stone bench with a thump. "Mr. Ferncliff, you must be mistaken. My husband is a gentle, understanding man."

"His understanding does not appear to extend to men who aspire to his mother's hand in marriage, especially men of no great worldly means. Besides which, I am afraid you are deluded, dear lady. He may behave with gentleness to you—and all credit to him—but I have it upon authority that Lord Middlethorpe has been a rascal since his tender years. He is part of a gang of vicious reprobates."

"You mean the
Rogues?"

"Precisely. Mohocks would be a better term. Cordelia has lamented his connection to these people, and now I have heard of them from other quarters."

Mohocks had been gentlemanly ruffians of the century before who had made the streets of London unsafe for decent people. Serena could see no connection to Francis and his friends.

"But really..." Serena trailed off, unable to handle this peculiar angle of reality. But which angle, she had to wonder, showed the truth? "Mr. Ferncliff, I am acquainted with some of the Rogues, and they all seem pleasant men."

"I gather they are dashing."

"If you are implying that I am a foolish miss whose head is easily turned, sir, nothing could be further from the truth. Enough of this. Are you sure that my husband objects to your courtship of his mother?"

He laughed shortly. "Very sure."

"Yet I know he would like her to remarry."

"Doubtless, but to a man of more substance than I. I am a scholar, Lady Middlethorpe. I have a small independence—very small—and am never likely to improve upon it. I have no interest in such matters. To be frank, I would never consider marrying a woman who could bear children, as I would be completely unable to raise them as I would wish."

"I can quite see that my husband wouldn't want his mother to live in poverty."

"There is no question of that. Cordelia has a handsome jointure." His lips twisted. "You see, immediately you assume that I am after her money. So does he. It is not the case. I am completely happy with my simple life. I merely acknowledge that she would not be. But if we are to have a substantial house and a number of servants, if we are to travel and entertain, it will have to be on her money."

"But I can see why my husband might disapprove, Mr. Ferncliff. It is precisely the sort of thing a dutiful son is
supposed
to disapprove of."

"He has every right to be suspicious, Lady Middlethorpe, but any rational man would wish to meet the suitor in question and discuss the matter. Middlethorpe merely pursues me, gun in hand. The ridiculous situation has gone on long enough. Cordelia says that her son will not tolerate the connection, and she will not marry me if it will anger him so much. I am determined to speak to him at least once to see if I can drive some sense into his head."