Chapter 4 – The Evening and Morning Editions

That evening, Eleanor was able to see what her father had told the papers.

When her eyes stuttered over the first of his many quotes, she felt her heart stop. When it resumed beating, she took herself and the paper off to her bedroom, knowing that she would need some privacy to digest what she was reading. There had been no one else in the drawing room, but there was no alone like a locked-door alone.

She shut herself away, then sat on the chair at her writing table to continue reading.

It shouldn’t have surprised her; it was her father—as her aunt would say—through and through.

As Eleanor read it, she could almost hear His Grace, Duke Erravold Aubrey-Serrs, announcing each word in a voice that was composed of equal parts shouts and growls. He had hauled out his most impressive vocabulary for the pressmen, but it did no good. He could make a dictionary sound like a dogfight.

Eleanor was used to it. But the reporters weren’t. She could tell the reporter who’d written this article hadn’t known what to make of it, so he’d tried to make it a joke.

She blushed.

Stripped of the context and surrounded by scoffing lines, her father’s words sounded so bombastic it gave the impression he was deranged. Of course, he always sounded like that…but…but it was different! It was him, shouting to the theater of his drawing room—his only audience, an indulgent daughter who’d known him all her life! It was not printed on a page and handed out to a world full of people who wouldn’t understand.

Eleanor had once heard of a practice called bearbaiting. She suspected the world would enjoy watching her father’s reaction.

She closed her eyes and focused on breathing.

For the moment, everything seemed peaceful. The paper rustled in her hand. The air moved in and out of her nostrils. Soft noises pressed against her closed window. Nothing was happening. All the roiling nonsense of her emotions were coming from her head. There was no real threat. Only her fear.

Oh well, she thought, opening her eyes. It’s done. I love Father, but if he doesn’t like being thought a fool for talking like that, maybe he should stop being foolish. At least now everyone knows it was a prank. With luck, we’ll hear no more about it.

She stuffed the offending paper under her mattress, where the bemused maid would find it the next day, and when her father stormed around that evening, looking for the thing, she feigned deafness.

Dear sirs,

You wondered yesterday how I would respond to my prospective father-in-law’s words. This is my response:

I hope the duke will forgive me for pointing it out, but grotesque, monstrous, and outrageous are all synonyms, and two of them could have been omitted without losing the sense of outrage he had toward the offense. In fact, there were a great deal of extraneous adjectives in the whole of it, but I am not a scholar, so I’ll refrain from noting them. I’ll leave that to you journalists, who need to be the first line of defense for our evolving language. As a member of the humble public, it was really only that one line that offended me—so many angry s-sounds crammed into such a small space!—but on the whole, I found myself crying along, “Hear, hear!”

For you see, gentlemen, I agree with the beloved duke (though maybe not with his vehemence). Such an outrage is deplorable, and he’s well within his rights to decry me. I’m down to the dust with shame over the matter.

It was a gross discourtesy, and while it was unintentional, it’s also inexcusable. I would like to publicly apologize to the whole of society for it. You see, the proof of those invitations was only ever meant to be seen by myself and the printer so we could approve the layout. However, there was a mix-up with my secretary, and, well, you see the result.

Perhaps it’s my fault for trusting so important a matter to another.

I never would have dreamed of sending out those invitations without first getting approval from my dear soon-to-be Papa, and I know that he, like myself and my fiancée, was so keenly anticipating the happy event that he wanted the date moved up. Eight weeks is far too long to wait!

Strike the event from your calendar on July fifteenth, and look for the real invitations to arrive soon with the correction.

Yours, ever,

The Marvelous Mr. Penn.

Lady Helena swished into the dining room with her great skirts and chilly indignation.

“Did you see?” she demanded.

“I saw,” Eleanor affirmed.

“Well?!”

“I agree with him! Grotesque, monstrous, and outrageous really were too much. It shouldn’t be allowed.”

The baroness stared at her niece. There was a long silence. Then both women, at the same time, felt the snort of an escaping giggle.

“Eleanor Louise Serrs, how could you?” Helena said, trying to recover some dignity.

“Well, do you disagree?”

“That is neither here nor there!”

“I think it’s the heart of the matter! And so do you.”

Her aunt sat down beside her. “You’ll be the death of me, girl.”

Eleanor took her aunt’s hand. She could feel the knots in Helena’s gnarled knuckles, and a sudden awareness of the matriarch’s age trickled through Eleanor’s jovial defense. “I hope not, Aunt Helena.”

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“Oh, never mind.” There was another pause. “You know what Erravold will say.”

Eleanor sighed. “That a Serrs never lets an insult pass.”

“And he would think being referred to as ‘papa’ was an insult.”

Both women stared at the table. The doorbell rang.

“They’re early,” Eleanor said, standing up.

“Who could you possibly be expecting at this hour?”

“The press.”

The baroness stood up at once. “Can you chase them away?”

“I can try.”

Eleanor hitched up her skirt, and if she didn’t run, she certainly walked quickly. Maybe her father was still asleep. She wanted to get to the door before they decided to ring again.

Taylor was already there when she arrived. He stopped with his hand on the latch when he saw her and only opened the portal when she told him it was all right.

When Eleanor saw who was outside, she almost sagged with relief.

“Please tell me I beat them here,” Haley gasped.

Eleanor nodded.

“Thank god.”

The policeman looked as if he’d thrown on most of his clothes. The Quotidian was crammed under his arm, hopelessly creased and wrinkled from the harsh treatment. He stood up straighter and put a hand to his tie, possibly to straighten the knot. There was no knot. He removed the accessory and tucked it in his pocket.

As if beginning anew, he said, “Good morning, Miss Serrs.”

Eleanor had to smile. “Good morning, Mr. Haley.”

“Is your father in?”

“I don’t know if he’s up yet.”

“Good,” Haley announced with feeling. “Miss Serrs—”

Eleanor felt a presence and heard her aunt’s voice from over her shoulder. “My niece is a lady, Inspector Haley.”

Lucas hesitated, then nodded. “Good morning, Lady Serrs-Comtess. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend—”

“Oh, I have no doubt the offense isn’t yours.” Helena cast a look at Eleanor. “I suspect she thinks she’s being bohemian.” The baroness turned her eyes back to the policeman. “You want to wait for my brother?”

“If it might be permitted, milady.”

“May I ask why?”

Haley considered, then decided that there was nothing for it except the truth. “I was hoping to dissuade him from talking to the press.”

“It’ll be futile.”

“Still, I have to try.”

Serrs-Comtess chilled him a little longer with her gaze. “Better you than me, Inspector. I wish you the best of luck.” The baroness turned. “Show him into the sitting room, Taylor, and see if you can do something about the state of his dress.”

Red-faced, Haley stepped into the entryway.

Taylor shut the door and said in a gentle voice, “Your tie, Inspector.”

“I can see to myself. Thank you, Taylor.”

“There’s a mirror here, sir.”

From near the dining room, the baroness called to her niece: “Eleanor!”

“Coming, Aunt Helena!”