What she had done was wrong, but she could not regret it. When would she ever know such happiness again? The kisses, the meeting of minds—likely she would never know anything like it again. She could not meet the duke again, especially with the gossip.
Annie opened a note. The paper was cheap, and the seal plain. She scanned it and sighed. “It’s from my business manager. The dinner at the Mansion House is tonight. It had quite slipped my mind, but I am supposed to meet Mr. Taylor there.” At their puzzled frowns, she explained. “He’s the new Guild master at the Mercer’s Guild, and I have an important contract with him. His wife is eager to meet me.”
Matilda snorted. “She wants to come here, that’s what. Meeting a countess during the season. She wouldn’t be the first one to try that.”
Annie bestowed a beatific smile on her aunt-in-law. “I am fully aware of that. If I do not go, she will use that as an excuse to come here. Ray Petit is right to remind me.” Petit was her office manager, taking on more responsibility now that Annie was married and not living on the premises. She gave one of her sudden grins. “The Guild master is a pompous man, full of his own importance. His wife is cut from the same cloth, which is appropriate, considering the guild they lead. When I first heard of encroachers, I thought they were being superior, too good for my sort, but it’s not true. There really are people who want to associate with someone merely because of the title they bear.” She took a sip of coffee and screwed up her face. “Blast it, now I can’t drink coffee anymore. I had wondered if that would come. When I had the boys, I had the same reaction. Now I have the luxury of ordering chocolate.”
Gerald met her gaze, his eyes filled with laughter. “You knew I wouldn’t make you drink small beer at breakfast. Chocolate it is. I’ll order the carriage for the dinner, and we will go in style. Sometimes a little pomposity of our own serves us well.”
“I’d like to stop at the Royal Exchange first.” Annie reached for her coffee, then pushing the cup away decisively. “The dinner is at half-past two, or rather, the dinner is for three and so we should go early.” She frowned. “That rather ties up the day, but I can use it to shop.”
Gerald reached over to take her hand. At first, he had startled his sisters with his impulsive gestures to his new wife. Such displays of affection were uncommon, but then so was the love Gerald and Annie shared. They had dared society and her connections in the City to have each other, and they were still walking a very narrow line. Damaris, Dorcas and Delphi knew which side they were on, if the choice ever had to be made. It was not society.
Damaris broke into the lovers’ reverie. “May I go with you to the Exchange?” The idea had descended on her like a bolt of lightning. Well, not completely, but it was certainly fortunate. “There is a particularly good lens maker there and I would love to pay him a visit. I need a new telescope, but I do not want to rush at the project. Telescopes are expensive.”
“I thought you had one,” Gerald said mildly.
“It doesn’t have the right lenses.” She paused, wondering if she should explain. Of course she should because otherwise she would be guilty of the very thing she was accusing others of. She could not condescend to him. “There are new developments, and some wonderful lenses I would like to try.”
Gerald smiled. “I see. We could, I suppose, send you home in the carriage before we go to the dinner. Or you could come.”
“No!” Alarmed, she held up a hand to emphasize her point. “No, indeed. I don’t wish to interfere with your business.”
“You mean you don’t want to have dinner with a group of boring Cits,” Annie said, smiling. “You’d be surprised, Damaris.”
Damaris shook her head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so rag-mannered. Of course I will go with you if you wish it, but I will probably unbalance numbers.” She glanced wistfully out of the window and her brother burst into laughter.
“If I don’t mistake matters, Damaris means that tonight will be very clear, and she wants to spend it in the attic peering out of windows and scaring the maids to death.”
Now everyone laughed except Damaris. They were referring to the time when the maids rose at five. They’d come out of their rooms and discovered her peering out of the top window with her telescope. Daisy had claimed, “She were ’anging out there like she were about to tumble.” Two of them had grabbed Damaris from behind, and she had nearly lost her precious telescope. Now half the maids thought she was insane.
Damaris grinned. “I’ll remember to tell the maids this time.” Of course, if she had a decent tripod stand, she could have set it up and avoided the necessity of standing on a chair. Now she could afford one. Time she bought one.
Not the least of her concerns, she would be unlikely to meet Logan today. Unless he planned to go to the Exchange, which was not out of the question. Although in the City, the place was a popular shopping and gossip arena, even if the quadrangle was mostly taken up with businessmen.
She wasn’t ready to face Logan yet. If she stayed at home, he might call, so it would be better if she went out. She still felt raw from the encounter in Greenwich.
What she needed was a distraction to take his place, and sitting up all night correcting some observations seemed like the perfect thing. She could apply a few corrections. Something was wrong with her calculations. She’d mislaid one sheet of numbers, probably used by a maid to set a fire, if the history of discoveries was any judge. Newton had lost a precious copy of his masterpiece that way. Something nagged her about the figures, and when she checked her figures against others, she was sure she had taken a wrong turn.
With any luck, she would have a new telescope, or at the very least a stand, to help her.
She went upstairs to find her maid waiting for her. Damaris shared Annie’s cavalier attitude to clothes. She did not much care what she wore, but at least she took care to choose her garments properly. Annie was more likely to point at a bolt of fabric, and another, and say, “That one for a sacque, and that one for a robe anglaise. Now, are we done?”
Murray was waiting for her. She’d spread a gown on the bed, but one look at the pretty lemon yellow silk was enough for Damaris. “That won’t do. I’m going shopping at the Exchange.”
“Then may I suggest the crimson silk, ma’am? It will go well with the dark blue petticoat and the small side-hoops.”
Damaris beamed. Although Murray was new to the family, she had understood them quickly. Damaris was especially pleased with her ability to find gowns she could move in. Quilted petticoats were a boon, although a little hot in the summer. The new, smaller hoops were excellent, too.
When she rejected the hair powder, Murray gave a deep sigh. “My lady, the gown would appear to advantage with powder.”
Knowing how quickly Annie could dress, Damaris remained firm. “Not today, thank you.”
Murray had her pinned, laced and tucked in half an hour. On her feet, in sturdy but fashionable leather shoes, she watched Murray tie a completely frivolous lace apron over the dark blue petticoat. “This would not serve a maid well.”
“That, ma’am, is the idea.” Murray made a tiny adjustment and stepped back. The maid was considerably taller than Damaris, a beanpole of a woman, which served her well, or so she claimed. She could see any fault on her mistress sitting or standing.
Murray had dressed Damaris’ unruly dark hair in a smooth sweep back from her head, up to the knot at the back, which she’d topped with a frivolous scrap of lace that was designated a cap in this world. Damaris preferred the sensible linen caps that hid most of the hair. That way, she could bundle her hair up on her own. Her fichu was spotless, finest lawn so a touch of her skin color showed through, and so carefully pleated it could have been sewn that way. She had a double frill of Brussels lace—during the day, no less—and Murray was right, the crimson suited her well. The flowers sprigged over its dazzling surface did not draw the eye away from its immaculate sheen. When she held her hand out, Murray helped her into a glove and pu
t her fan in Damaris’ outstretched palm.
“I look most unlike myself.” She had always considered herself a neat dresser with good taste in clothes, but Murray could add something else, an indefinable something. Like the way Damaris could make reasonable conclusions from a set of figures.
Already itching to leave, Damaris had to stand still while Murray pinned a flat straw hat on her head, and perched it at a becoming angle, before tying the red ribbons under her chin.
At last, she was free to go. With a perfunctory word of thanks, she sped off to find her brother and sister-in-law waiting downstairs.
Annie handed her a card. “He called, but when we told him where you were going, he said he would do his best to find you there.”
Her hand shook until she saw the name. Sir Peter Brady. Well, that was a relief. At least, it should be a relief. She wanted more time to assimilate what was happening with herself and Logan, what their magnetic attraction meant. Facing him now still felt too raw. How could she face him knowing what they’d done?
The carriage, that shiny black affair with a gold crest stamped proudly on the doors, waited, the grays already impatient, though not, she recalled, as much as the duke’s bays. She wondered if he had tamed the skittish horses by now. He’d had them a few weeks, so he might have schooled them. As the carriage rattled over the street, she stared out of the window at the throngs of people there, from the boy who swept the dung from the streets to the duchess pretending not to notice the skinny child. But for an accident of birth, they could have changed places.
The Royal Exchange was in the City, another porticoed gray stone building, the pillars outside proclaiming its grandeur, itself an echo of the Mansion House which stood a little further up the street. The flagged area outside was busy, not only with those of polite society who were calling on their rounds of shopping and gossip, but the men of the City of London.
Damaris picked out the City men and women easily. They were plainer dressed in more sober colors, not only from practicality but from choice, but the fabric was just as fine and the style as up to date. Puritanism died hard in the City, and its members were proud of their heritage. It was true, some City women preferred to dress like peacocks, and when they chose to do so, they could vie with anyone in society for expense and grandeur, but on the whole, they formed a staid bunch.
Like Annie, who however fetchingly attired, was still a woman of London, born and bred. It seeped through her bones, she’d told them once. It was part of her identity, and she was sure that her soul resided here.
When the footman let down the steps, they descended into a cacophony of sounds. The rumble of carriages along the narrow streets, the shouts of vendors and pleas from beggars blended with the chatter and gossip of the wealthy. Damaris knew exactly where she wanted to go, but she could see no harm in lingering along the way. Sir Peter said he would be here. Although she tried to look forward to seeing him again, the feeling was tepid, compared to what she felt for Logan.
It would pass. It had to.
A powdered head topped by an immaculate black cocked hat came into view, and the face under it bore every expression of happiness. Sir Peter must have been lying in wait for them. He advanced, a broad smile on his handsome features, and paused to bow. Not a full, sweeping bow, because he would most likely knock someone if he swept his arm out, or bump into them from behind if he bent too far.
He was grace personified. Damaris could only think of one person who epitomized suave elegance like this; Logan’s friend, the Duke of Kilsyth. But even in relatively simple dress, the duke carried his elegance as if it were part of him, something he did not have to think about. Sir Peter wore his. She had the feeling he could shake it off like a cloak when the day was done. The trouble was, she was not sure which she preferred. It was good of Sir Peter to make the effort, that was for sure.
He wore lavender, but in an indeterminate shade verging on gray, as if he were not perfectly sure of the result. The shade suited him, though, and the cream waistcoat beneath went with it marvelously. Damaris was happy to accept his escort, and let him take her indoors, followed closely by Annie and Gerald. “You look wonderful today,” the baronet said as they reached the cool shade of the columned portico. “May I have the privilege of showing you a shop I am convinced you will enjoy immensely?”
Would he be taking her to Heath’s the lens shop? Naturally he must be. He knew her interests well, so what else could he mean?
With Annie’s permission, Sir Peter led them to the stone staircase that led to the upper levels of the Exchange. The central court, which was open to the sky, contained a number of small groups of men, and a few women. Annie scanned them as they passed through and exchanged nods with one or two, but did not pause. Men gathered here to discuss the business of the day and to conduct it, too. It made for a potent atmosphere, holding a sense of excitement. Decisions were made here that affected everyone in the country; even the world. Power thrummed through the air, as it did not in many social gatherings.
Upstairs, the first and second galleries lined the square, making a natural viewing point for the brokers below. Gossip rose, turning into indiscriminate chatter as they came out onto the wooden balcony on the first floor. Occasional words drifted up, but they did not concern Damaris, with one aim in mind. “I come up here sometimes and listen,” Annie said from behind them. “The best dealers and brokers keep their voices down.” Gerald laughed and Damaris warmed to hear it. After his near-betrothal to Lady Elizabeth, she had feared she’d never hear him laugh again. But to her relief, he had followed his heart instead of his head. She and her sisters were still paying for that decision, but Damaris would not change it.
Their heels tapped the walk along with the dozen or so other people strolling along this side of the gallery. Shops offering everything from shoes to snuff boxes displayed enticing wares, the bullseye windowpanes glinting in the bright sunshine.
“I heard you were out of town,” Sir Peter said.
His casual tone did not fool Damaris. He was genuinely curious. “We went to Greenwich. Unfortunately, my sister suffered a slight ailment and we chose to spend the night there. I am surprised anyone noted our absence.”
“I did.” His low voice grew intimate. He tilted his head towards her. “I missed you, my lady. I called on the chance I might find you free and found you from home.”
She drew away a little. “You see, nobody except you missed us.”
“Your absence was—discussed.”
Immediately she bridled. “In what way, sir?”
A rustle of skirts heralded the swift closing of the distance between them and Annie. Sir Peter gave a deprecating shrug. “Only idle gossip. Not too scurrilous. Of course, I allayed what I heard, told them I was sure your absence was innocent in nature.”
Damaris swallowed. Of all the things he could have said, that was not the best one. Professing ignorance would probably have served them better. “Since our chaperone was with all three of us sisters, I can confirm that.” Although she tried to put the encounter later that evening firmly into the back of her mind, the effort only served to drive them closer.
“Of course,” Sir Peter said. “You were probably not aware that staying in the house of a single gentleman would give rise to gossip.”
A cold lump settled at the bottom of Damaris’ stomach. Only the strictest stickler would have demurred at that circumstance, given the situation. “It was unavoidable.”
“Was there no inn to which the gentlemen could repair?”
“No.” She spoke firmly, because she had to. Of course there were inns. Greenwich was not a desert. “They were anxious to stay close in case any emergency arose. Fortunately none occurred.”
“Ah.” They walked in silence for two paces. Damaris must have said the right thing, because Annie didn’t rush to her side to correct her. “Then, Lady Damaris, I will do all I can to allay the rumors.”
“Please do not trouble yourself.” If he did, he would only
make matters worse. She had learned that much in her short tenure in society. She would loftily ignore the gossip as if it did not exist. It would pass faster that way.
“In here,” Sir Peter said.
They had reached Heath’s? But no scientific instruments were set in the window display of the shop he led them towards. Instead, a pretty display of fans, snuffboxes, patch boxes and the like were set out. Damaris glared at them in accusation. They could not help not being the objects of her desire—they were trying hard enough.
She allowed Sir Peter to choose the gift, since she didn’t much care what he gave her. In the end, he selected a fan with ivory brisé sticks, adorned with charming paintings on either side, and further adorned with brilliants. It was, in short, expensive, and broadcast its importance to the world.
Sir Peter presented her with the wrapped package, and she smiled at him. His response was to bow over her hand. “You do me the honor of accepting the trinket,” he said. “If you are pleased, then I am.”
“I should not,” she said at Annie’s sharp intake of breath. But after all, why not? She had received gifts from gentlemen before. “But thank you.” Ladies accepted fans, patch boxes and the like all the time. She handed the package to the footman, who took it with an impassive bow.
Damaris disliked being managed, and she suspected Sir Peter was doing it now. However, when they left the shop and she breathed more easily again, she felt better. “Are you finding time for celestial observations?” she asked him casually.
He shot her a sharp glance. “My lady, I trust you are not tiring yourself in the middle of the season. Surely such occupations are best relegated while the season is at its height?”
Genuinely puzzled, she shook her head. “I’m not sure I understand your meaning, sir.”
A Hint of Starlight Page 14
