by Candace Camp
She didn’t meet him as she walked to the building, nor was he waiting outside for her, which was a little disheartening, even though she knew that was illogical. She walked into the hall to survey the room. And there he was. He’d arrived even earlier than she; the audience was still quite sparse. Thisbe noted that he’d chosen one of the seats she would have picked and draped his coat over the seat beside him, which made her smile despite the roiling nerves in her stomach. She felt a sudden, unfamiliar shyness.
Desmond twisted around, searching the hall, and when his eyes fell on her, he jumped to his feet, grinning. The cold lump in Thisbe’s stomach vanished, and she smiled back just as exuberantly. As she drew closer, she could see the look in his eyes, and it was everything she had hoped for.
She took off her gloves as she approached and extended her hand, aware of an urge to touch him. “Mr. Harrison.”
“Miss Moreland.” His hand, warm and slightly calloused, enfolded hers. He looked at her the way Kyria’s beaux looked at her, as Thisbe had wanted, but it was somehow more, something deeper and more intense. “You look beautiful.”
Thisbe felt heat rise in her cheeks. She was not used to compliments such as this. It made her chest swell with happiness, but she didn’t know how to respond. “So do you.” She blushed even more. She was fairly certain that was not the sort of thing she was supposed to say. “I mean, handsome. That is, um, you look very nice today.”
“Thank you.”
She hadn’t noticed that he was still holding her hand until he released it. “I wasn’t sure that you would come,” she told him.
“I wouldn’t have missed it.” Desmond whisked up his coat from the other chair, and they sat down, turning toward each other. “My employer is a good chap. He lets me leave early if I come into work earlier.”
“I’m glad. Though it does seem too bad that you have to spend your days on that when you could be pursuing science.”
“I’d prefer it,” he admitted. “But my work is in the realm of my interests.”
She cast about for something to keep him talking. It was hard to think, sitting so close to him. “What is it you do?”
“We deal in optical instruments and parts—lenses, thermometers and so on. Primarily, I work with kaleidoscopes.”
“Kaleidoscopes? You make them?”
He nodded. “And I experiment on advancements in the area—using different sorts of objects or using them in various ways. Developing new ideas. In particular, I’m interested in combination kaleidoscopes.”
“What are those? I’m not familiar with them.” Her first inquiry had come more from a desire to talk to him, but now her curiosity was piqued.
“You know how a kaleidoscope works—there’s a box containing various bits of colored crystals in different sizes and shapes and so forth. It’s connected to the tube, with an eyepiece on the other end.”
She nodded. “Light comes through the box, and mirrors at various angles create the effect.”
“Exactly. What combination kaleidoscopes do is take away the little objects and instead make patterns in the same way, but using objects around you. A flower, for instance, is fractured, creating patterns. As you turn the box, the patterns shift, making it appear entirely different.”
“That’s fascinating.” Thisbe leaned forward a little. “I’d like to see it.”
“I’ll show you,” he offered. “Unfortunately, I don’t have one on me.” His gaze shifted to his hands as he went on. “Perhaps, if you’d like to see it, you could come to the shop, um, after the lecture. I’m sure it’s not the sort of place you would go normally, but there won’t be anyone there.” He glanced up sharply, his face reddening. “That is I meant, you know, you wouldn’t be embarrassed by going into a shop full of men. But I didn’t think—that’s no more proper. I didn’t mean anything untoward. I wasn’t trying to lure you, um, into a...an indelicate situation. I hope you will not—”
His expression was so stricken, so earnest, that Thisbe laid her hand on his arm. “It’s quite all right. I knew what you meant, but you needn’t have any concern in that regard. Anyone who knows me would tell you that I am not easily embarrassed. I am accustomed to the company of men. I have four brothers, after all, and I am often the only female at a lecture.” She smiled, a dimple popping into her cheek, her eyes beginning to twinkle. Good heavens, she thought she was actually flirting.
Apparently he thought so, too, for his eyes gleamed, and his answering grin was as much flirtation as relief. “I’m glad you didn’t take offense.”
“Nor do I think you have wicked designs on my virtue. I hope I am a better judge of character than that. I would very much like to see your shop and your kaleidoscope.”
In fact, she was delighted to have an excuse to extend her time with him, though she wouldn’t tell him that—she was not that bold. Of course, there was the problem of her driver and carriage. She had tried to persuade Thompkins not to pick her up from the lecture, but he’d stubbornly refused. He took his orders from the duke, not her, and even her absentminded father insisted on her taking the carriage on her solitary excursions. But she managed to get Thompkins to agree not to approach her until she hailed him. Thisbe had confidence he would be able to follow unobtrusively, given how successfully he’d done it last time.
“Will your family worry if you’re not home on time?”
“No, they are all occupied with their own interests, and everyone is used to my ways. In any case, I’m well armed.” She reached up and pulled out one of Kyria’s hat pins, holding it up to show him.
“That should certainly discourage any ungentlemanly urges I might have.” He looked at her hat. “I wondered what held it in place. It’s rather small.”
“I told Kyria it was utterly useless,” Thisbe agreed.
“Perhaps so, but it’s charming.”
“Then Kyria is proven right. It is her hat, you see.”
“Kyria is your sister? A friend?”
“Well, both, I’d say. She is younger than I and not like me. She has no interest in science or books, really. In that way, she’s like Theo.”
“Your twin.”
She nodded. “Theo and I are similar in some ways—I guess you’d say in our character. We’re both single-minded and stubborn, and others sometimes—often—say we are too blunt. But he has never liked studies or reading. Theo wants to travel. To explore. He wants to see everything—I want to know everything.”
“What of the others? You said there was another set of twins.”
“Yes. The babies... Although, I guess they are not really babies anymore. They’ll soon be three. Their names are Alexander and Constantine—we call them the Greats.”
“For the emperors?” Desmond laughed.
“Yes, and they can be quite imperious, too. They’re absolute terrors.”
He chuckled. “You sound very fond of these terrors.”
“I am. Fortunately, they’re as lovable as they are lively. It’s fascinating to watch them. They have their own language.”
“You’re joking.”
“No. Really. When they were first learning to speak, even before they started talking to us, they communicated with each other. We had no idea what they were saying. They still do it sometimes, but what is even more eerie is that they’ll just look at each other and then act in concert, as if they had planned it.”
“You think that they can send thoughts to one another...that they pass through the air unheard?”
“It sounds a bit mad, I suppose,” Thisbe admitted.
“No more mad than thinking it’s possible there are spirits around us who cannot be seen or heard,” he replied, his eyes twinkling.
Thisbe burst into laughter. “Very well. You have me there. I will strive to have a more open mind. Though I cannot imagine how you will go about proving or disproving it.”
&n
bsp; “I’ll show you our laboratory one day. You could see what I’m working on.”
“I should like that.” They were making plans together, an assurance of seeing one another again. What the other day had seemed only a possibility was gaining substance.
“Tell me about the rest of your family. You said your father was an antiquarian?”
“Yes. And Uncle Bellard, who lives with us, is a dedicated historian. He’s terribly bright and very shy. But if you ask him something about history, he’ll talk for hours.”
They continued to chat as the lecture hall filled up around them, oblivious to the rest of the room. Their conversation ranged from Mr. Odling, who was set to give the lecture, to carbon, the stated subject of his presentation, and on to the recent discovery of a new element named helium. Thisbe was almost sorry when the speaker stepped up to the podium, though she had been looking forward to the talk for days.
She had difficulty keeping her mind on the presentation, too aware of Desmond beside her. The Christmas lectures were always well attended and the seats were smaller and closer together than at the Covington in order to accommodate the crowd. There, he had been inches from her; here, his shoulder almost brushed hers. If either of them shifted in their seats, their arms were likely to touch. It was difficult to maintain a calm and attentive expression when every time his arm brushed hers, it sent a sharp dart of excitement all through her.
After the lecture was over, they walked to Desmond’s shop, taking an omnibus part of the way. Her driver followed at a distance, but Desmond never glanced back. The shop was small, tucked in between two other larger buildings, and a sign across the door read Barrow and Sons. By the time they reached it, the light was fading and the shop was closed, but Desmond pulled a key from his pocket and opened the door. Lighting a candle, he ushered Thisbe inside.
The space was small, containing only a short counter and behind it a wooden cabinet. “We don’t have wares out as typical shops do. People generally come to us for something in particular, and often it has to be custom-made,” Desmond explained, crossing to a door to the side of the counter and opening it.
Here, obviously, was the real place of business. Thisbe had never been in a workshop before, and she looked around her with great interest. Shelves of supplies lined the walls on both sides of the long, narrow room. There were several tables, each with a set of two or three stools, most of them holding what looked to be works in progress. Desmond led her to the last worktable and turned on the gas lighting above it. Unlike many of the others, his section of the workspace was tidy, with tools to one side in a shallow tray.
He squatted down to rummage through a box beneath the table and came up holding out a kaleidoscope. Thisbe took it and looked into it, turning the other end to bring up other patterns. “It’s beautiful. The colors are so brilliant.”
“Thank you.” He smiled. “Our lenses are the best. I always like to use vivid colors.” He took out another kaleidoscope. “This is a combination kaleidoscope. Here—use it to look at something on this table.” He set the tools and his key directly under the light. “It’s what I’ve been working on recently.”
Thisbe held the instrument to her eye. “Oh! It doesn’t look like a key at all.” She turned it from one station to the next. “This is wonderful.” She lowered the instrument and smiled up at him.
He was watching her, a faint smile on his lips. “I’m glad you like it.”
“Oh, I do.” She raised the kaleidoscope again, focusing on something else. “This would be wonderful in full daylight, wouldn’t it? You could look at flowers or a scene in the distance or, well, just about anything.”
“Take it.”
“What?” She lowered the kaleidoscope and turned to him.
“It’s yours. I’m giving it to you.”
“Oh, but... No, I didn’t mean... I wasn’t hinting that you should give me one. This must be intended for someone.”
He shook his head. “No. It’s mine—something I’ve been doing on my own.”
“But I mustn’t take yours.” She held out the kaleidoscope to him.
“No, I want you to have it.” He covered her hand on the instrument, pushing it gently back toward her. “Please, keep it.”
He was so close, and he was gazing at her in such a way that it made her breath catch in her throat. Thisbe swayed toward him, and he did the same. Then he kissed her.
CHAPTER FIVE
NO DOUBT IT was only fitting, Thisbe thought, that her first kiss should happen in such a mundane setting as a workshop. But there was nothing mundane about the kiss. It lasted only a moment, but it made her feel as if her heart would burst out of her chest.
Desmond lifted his head, his eyes a little hazy. Then he stiffened. “Oh, my God. I’m sorry.” His hands, which had come up to curve around the sides of her waist, dropped away, and he took a half step back, his words tumbling out. “I shouldn’t have—I never meant—I told you I wouldn’t take advantage, and here I—I’m sorry.”
Thisbe looked into his eyes and said, “I’m not.” She stepped forward and kissed him, winding her arms around his neck.
He made an odd little noise, and his arms went around her tightly. Desmond’s lips were soft on hers, warm and supple, their pressure increasing as the kiss deepened. Thisbe held on tightly, almost dizzy with sensations. How hard his arms were around her, the way his hands spread over her, that indefinable scent of him in her nostrils, and his mouth—oh, his mouth! It was moving on hers, opening her lips to him, his tongue slipping inside. Yes, well, that was a trifle startling and made everything inside her jump, but then—then she was melting into him, pressing up into his long, hard body.
It seemed forever before Desmond broke off their kiss, yet she hated for it to end. He raised his head and gazed down into her face, his eyes dark and deep. “Thisbe.”
How could it be so arousing to hear him say her name? It was such a pleasant thing that she returned the gesture. “Desmond.” She reached up to brush back the strands of hair that had fallen across his forehead, and his face changed subtly in response. How odd, how exciting that her touch should have an effect on him. Experimentally she laid her hand against his cheek, and this time she could feel the rise of heat on his skin.
Desmond laid his hand atop hers, holding it to him for a moment, then took her hand and lifted it, turning to place a soft, sweet kiss upon her palm. “I—we—should probably leave.”
“No doubt you’re right.”
He nodded, but he didn’t step back. Instead he bent his head and kissed her another time, slowly, lingeringly, before he pulled away and thrust his hands into his jacket pockets. He was quiet as they walked through the shop and out the door. Thisbe was, too. There was nothing and at the same time entirely too much to say, the emotion between them too fragile to break with words.
Desmond walked her to the omnibus, where she went through the same charade, finally ending up back in her carriage, heading home. She hugged the knowledge of Desmond’s kiss to herself all the way home. This moment was too private, too new, to share, even with her sisters. Later, perhaps, she would analyze it, consider what it meant. But right now she wanted only to revel in it.
When she walked through the door of Broughton House, Thisbe found her mother standing beside the foyer table, frowning down at a sealed letter on the table. Tall and ramrod straight, one had only to look at the duchess to know what Kyria would look like in middle age. The flame-red hair was now sprinkled with gray, and her figure had thickened a little around her middle, but the bone-deep beauty was still there. She was the most intimidating woman Thisbe knew. Stalwart in her beliefs and firm of purpose, Emmeline rarely let anything get in her way. It was unusual, therefore, to see her looking indecisively, even warily, at a simple letter.
“Mother? Is everything all right?”
“It’s the dowager duchess.”
“Ah.” Thisbe understood now. The duke’s mother was an irregular correspondent, and she rarely wrote her daughter-in-law except to criticize or deliver unwanted advice, usually both. She was also the only person Thisbe had ever met who could fluster Emmeline. “You may as well get it over with.”
“I know.” The duchess sighed and broke the seal. “It was just that today has been so pleasant. Kyria and Olivia spent much of the afternoon chasing Alex and Con around the grounds in back and thoroughly wore out the boys so that they went straight to bed after their supper. It may have saved me having to hire a new nanny. But now here is this letter.”
“At least it’s brief,” Thisbe pointed out as her mother unfolded the single piece of paper.
“There is that,” her mother agreed, holding her hand out a little farther to read the missive. It was one of the duchess’s few vanities; she had so far resisted acquiring spectacles for close work. “She wishes us all a merry Christmas, and then, yes, I knew this would be the case... She bemoans the fact that she was all alone in Bath for the holiday.” Emmeline grimaced and looked over at her daughter. “As if I were the one who made her stay there. I invited her to join us in the city. Thank goodness she didn’t come.”
“Grandmother likes a bit of drama. I’m sure she had a grand time with all her cronies.”
“Of course she did. Oh! Oh, blast!” Emmeline stared at the piece of paper in horror. “She has changed her mind.”
“She’s coming here? I thought she hated the city.”
“She does. Its air is ‘insalubrious.’ Well, to be fair, one cannot deny that. But look!” The duchess waved the note at Thisbe. “It’s worse. She’s coming for the Season! I didn’t invite her for the entire Season.”
“Oh, my.”
“She is positive Kyria is not being properly brought out, given my ‘inexperience in social activities.’ As if Lady Jeffries wasn’t one of the leading lights of the ton as well as a generous supporter of my campaign against child labor. It was quite considerate of Lady Jeffries to offer, and Kyria adores her. I am sure she is doing a far better job of introducing Kyria to society than the dowager duchess, who will, mark my words, alienate half of them within days after arriving.”
