A Mystifying Regency Romance: The League of Meddling Butlers by Kate Archer

Author:Kate Archer [Archer, Kate]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Behind the Fan Books, LLC
Published: 2024-07-09T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Bumbledon had every intention of sitting by Lady Madeline during Sir Rodger’s lecture. He’d planned on occasionally whispering facts he had memorized on the subject to highlight his superior intelligence. Somehow, he was sitting next to his mother instead.

It was not at all how the evening was meant to unfold. Worse, he was a few rows forward so he could not even keep Lady Madeline in view.

What was Souderton doing here? This was Ignatius Liddlington, Baron Bumbledon’s, milieu! These were his people, not the marquess’ people. Souderton’s people were the vapid inhabitants of Almack’s and White’s, they were the dandies and fops with nothing between their ears. This night was meant to be his moment to shine.

And then, for Souderton to treacherously claim that Sir Rodger was attempting to gain his attention only so the rogue could make off with Lady Madeline—it was diabolical.

That was not even the worst of it. His mother had whispered that there had been something in The Morning Post. Some ridiculous claim that Lord M was not the villain attempting to tarnish Lady Madeline’s reputation, but it had always been Lord B.

He was not such a lead-head that he could not see what was going on. Lord Souderton had put in that notice to attempt to shift the blame on him! He would not stand for it. He would challenge Souderton to a duel if he did not just now have an arm in a sling.

Maybe he should challenge him. After all, he’d never have to actually go as long as he kept his arm tied up and it was not as if one could have two duels with the same person. He was already engaged for one, why not two? It would be the spirit of the thing, rather than the doing of the thing.

He decided to put off any decisions of that nature, as his thoughts made him a little dizzy. Or maybe it was the corset. Or perhaps both.

Bumbledon had, if he were going to be honest about it, found the tight corset holding him in rather more uncomfortable than he’d thought it would be. Especially upon sitting down, which he had noticed in the carriage. It looked terrifically well, a good four inches had disappeared from him, but it dug into his ribs and made it hard to take in a full breath.

Heaving in small gasps of air, his mother leaned over and whispered, “Do not get in a lather about it. I’ve already sent a boy off to get in a late notice at The Morning Post, claiming that it was all along Lord S, not Lord M or Lord B. The world can chew on that on the morrow.”

Yes, that was a capital idea. It would point directly to Souderton. It did make him feel better about the situation. It did not, unfortunately, make him feel better about the corset that was just now choking the life out of him.

He concentrated on getting air into his lungs as Sir Rodger droned on about Shakespeare’s collaboration with George Peele on Titus Andronicus.

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