“I’m just happy I get to go.” Grace grinned. “And that none of you are thinking about getting married anytime soon.” She looked from sister to sister. “Are you?”
“I’m certainly not.” Charity adjusted her skirts.
“I don’t have anyone even aware I exist right now.” Kate thought of Lord Dennison’s incredibly rude comment. “And no prospects.”
“I just don’t know.” Lucy clasped and unclasped her hands.
“Perfect. See? No one is getting married anytime soon.” Grace swung her feet.
The carriage pulled in front of their home.
“I love this castle.” Grace skipped inside. “I’m going to the kitchen for a luncheon.”
“We could ask them to bring us food out to the dining room”
She shrugged. “Who needs that?” She skipped faster.
“Remember to start getting ready with three hours to spare. These things always take longer than we think they will.”
Everyone seemed to hear and moved off in opposite directions. Kate was left to herself. So she headed for the library and her drawing materials.
They had found a priceless group of trunks and crates full of books in an unused, broken-down section of the house. June and Morley had immediately created a library, and now, it was one of Kate’s favorite rooms. She kept her magazines in there and had designated a desk and portion of the room to her drawing.
She would send a report of the wedding as her written piece to Whims and Fancies. She already knew what she would say, which dresses she would mention, and how she would describe June’s dress. She’d designed it. But now, she wanted to draw Lord Dennison. Her hurt returned the minute she thought about him. But she tried to put aside her emotion and consider what Whims and Fancies would most want to see. His cravat was a statement if nothing else, and she knew it would be of interest to the Whims and Fancies readers. As soon as she started drawing his jawline, his jacket, and then worked on the cravat itself, she became lost to her work. It took several attempts and much concentration, but eventually, she got the cravat more or less as he’d worn it.
Amelia’s soft voice in the doorway made Kate smile.
“Do I see some drawing going on?”
“Come and see. I’d love your input here.” Kate had seen Amelia’s work. Her Grace was exceptional at capturing faces.
“Oh, these are good. Kate, I feel like I am seeing it right in front of me. Did he really have a knot that large?” Amelia studied the paper closer. “That’s a rather remarkable feat.”
“I thought so, too. Overdone, honestly. It detracted from . . .” She cleared her throat. “His other features.”
Amelia laughed. “Other features? I noticed the drawing cut off. I can’t tell if he is young or old.”
Kate pulled out another paper and started roughly drawing him from the hair down. Remarkably, she recreated very specific details about the rise of his hair, the specific waves across, and his nose. It was easy to sketch his nose and mouth. She paused at his eyes.
“Eyes are difficult unless you imagine their expression. That usually helps me,” Amelia said.
Kate nodded, biting her lip in concentration. She pictured him as she had last seen him, looking over her shoulder when the sisters had left their pew to walk out of the church. She frowned. He had just insulted her, and his look of contempt was clear in her mind.
As she got closer to finishing, Amelia clucked her tongue. “So he isn’t the nicest man you’ve ever met?”
Kate paused and held the drawing out to see the whole picture. Then she shook her head. “He said something unkind. And this is the last view I had of him.” She shook her head again. “I don’t like to see him like this. It brings back the moment too clearly.” She almost tossed the paper, but Amelia reached for it.
“I understand the desire to toss it to the fire, but this is incredible. So real. Tell me. What did he say?”
“Nothing I want to think about again. He is just as you see there, contemptuous of others, displeased, and highly judgmental of me.”
“Of you?”
“Yes. He . . . he is of the opinion that I am . . . well, apparently, I’m just like every other woman here, care nothing for anyone but myself, wrapped up in my own presentation, with probably naught but straw in my head.”
Amelia’s gasp was gratifying. “Does he know you heard him?”
“I don’t think so, but no matter. It is better I know his real feelings.”
“Why? Were you hoping to know him?”
“I . . . was interested in talking to him. He’s a paragon of fashion, and I’ve been intrigued by the things written of him.”
Amelia nodded, watching her a bit too closely.
“But, besides a bit of hurt pride, I cannot be affected too deeply. I don’t know him at all.”
“Hmm. Well, I have now decided we must never like him. Anyone who thinks such things about you does not know you, and if he is so willing to form such a negative opinion without knowing you properly, then . . .” Amelia tsked. “He is not worth our time.”
“Precisely. I just need to get his cravat down and whatever garish jacket he will wear this evening. That is all I care to see in him.”
“The gown you designed for me is the most amazing I’ve ever owned.”
“Oh, I’m so glad. The modiste was impressed with my suggestions. I was glad for the opportunity to have some influence.” Kate had thought it one of the most fulfilling and entertaining moments of her life to lock herself up with the modiste and drawings and material and help design each of the dresses.
And it was worth it. When the sisters all arrived together into the great assembly hall of Brighton, Kate knew the night was going to be a success. Lord Dennison stopped mid-stride, mid-sentence to openly stare at their group. And Kate knew that moment alone would stay in her memory for weeks on end.
But then, he began to walk in their direction. “Oh no, oh no.”
Her sisters turned to her. “What is wrong?” Charity stepped in the line of sight between her and Lord Dennison.
“Nothing. I . . . I’m going to hide.”
Chapter Three
Logan moved toward the Standish sisters without even meaning to. Whoever he had just been talking to was so far back in his brain, he didn’t bother to try and smooth over his abrupt departure from them.
The sisters stood together in a clump of beautiful gowns and stunning hair, the style he knew the other women in the room would imitate for months on end. And they seemed to be utterly unaware of the effect they were having on the room, and certainly on him. For though the lovely one he’d insulted had certainly seen him, she was no longer even in his sight. The women had circled together in an impenetrable mass.
He told himself he was seeking her out to apologize, to make right his horrifying comment. A disgruntled, hurt reaction meant to be spoken under his breath had reached an innocent woman who no sooner deserved the repercussions of Olivia’s rejection than a dove. And she reminded him of just such a bird, come to think of it. But he had no inkling how to make right his supremely rude comment without perhaps further hurting her feelings. For how much of his words had she heard? And how to bring up such a conversation? And truth being, he was being honest, however brutally so. A woman so consumed by the intricacies of fashion could have no other meritable pursuits. He knew, for he’d been in that exact situation for over a year now.
But Logan’s movement in their direction had little to do with his need to apologize. He was drawn to them like he had been to no one else. His feet moved of their own volition.
He knew he should not attempt any conversation with her until he’d figured out his manner of apology, but his feet simply did not obey.
But she seemed to have disappeared.
The sisters moved apart, and she was nowhere to be found. The others stepped out into the ballroom, not a single one paying him any mind, and he was left standing alone near the entrance to the room.
Julia stepped to his side. “You were rude just now, walking away in the middle of the duchess’s story.”
“Was that the duchess?”
Her eyebrow rose.
“Certainly, I know it was the duchess now that you mention it, but at the time . . .” His voice trailed off.
“You need an introduction.”
“Pardon?”
“An introduction . . . if you wish to meet Miss Kate.”
“Is that her name?” Kate rolled around in his mind, a soft sort of pleasing impression.
The emcee announced, “The bride and groom. Lord and Lady Morley.”
Everyone in the room clapped.
Logan tried not to frown at how incredibly, sickeningly happy they looked.
“It’s not healthy, you know,” Julia said.
“What’s not?”
“To feel so many things at once.”
“How can you know what I’m feeling? I’m merely proud of my slippers, and not a soul has yet mentioned them.” He stepped forward, just enough that his pink, green, and blue slippers with the pointy ends would be in his line of sight.
Lord Tanner approached. “Dennison.”
“Tanner.”
“I just barely caught up with your cravat from last month.”
Lord Tanner lifted his chin.
“My compliments. It is masterfully tied.”
“Thank you.” He eyed Logan’s. “That one seems almost impossible. It’s ingenious.”
“It took Wiggins weeks to master and two hours to tie.”
Julia cleared her throat.
“Oh, excuse me.” Lord Tanner bowed to his sister. “Lady Julia, would you like to dance?”
“Yes, I’d love to.” She put her hand on Lord Tanner’s arm and said to Logan, “Just maybe think before you do anything.”
He shook his head. Why were they once again reverting back to their childhood days, where she knew everything and told him what to do?
Emotions all awry, he tried to regain his control over the room, or himself, or something. Off-kilter, he went in search of someone who would appreciate his new slippers.
He made a quick work of the room with his gaze and then grinned. As expected, in a happy group in the corner, standing out as the brightest, most colorful in the room, were just the men he was looking for.
His steps dragged for a moment as he wondered where Miss Kate had gone, but he forced the forward motion and was soon standing in front of the most dandified men at the party. He posed, standing with one foot forward, waiting. Any moment now. He smiled, anticipating their response.
“Lord Dennison?” Her Grace, the Duchess of Granbury approached.
He turned from the others and bowed. “Your Grace. How are you this evening?”
She always dressed simply. But with much class and charm.
“I am well. I couldn’t help but notice your singularly gorgeous slippers.”
He grinned. “Did you notice? I almost didn’t wear them, but then after the wedding today, I knew that the ball would most definitely be a fantastically outstanding slipper occasion.”
“I can see why a wedding would do that to a person.”
Logan started to laugh, but saw that she was serious, and so he just nodded, feeling uncomfortable with a sudden and sincere conversation.
“I wonder, might I introduce you to the Standish sisters?”
His mind spun with every possible option he could fathom as to why he could not be introduced just then, but nothing would suffice. “Certainly. It would be my pleasure.”
“Come.” She put her hand on his arm. “Any one of them would be a delightful dance partner . . . and not step on your slippers.” Her smile made her all the lovelier.
“I see we are of one mind regarding my slippers.” His eyes darted back to his friends, who had just now noticed him, and then returned to their front, where they approached a small group of the sisters.
The duchess curtseyed to them, and he bowed. She placed her other hand on his arm to join the first. “My lovely friends. Might I introduce Lord Dennison to you? Miss Charity, Miss Lucy, Miss Kate, and Miss Grace, and of course, you saw their beautiful sister, Lady Morley, as she was married just this morning.”
He took the offered hand from Miss Charity and bowed over it. “I’m delighted to make your acquaintance.”
Miss Charity eyed him, as if to ask, “Are you really?” But she only smiled the most demure smile he’d seen on a debutante and nodded. “This is a special day for our family. Thank you for celebrating with us.”
“My pleasure. And now I wonder, do you all have free sets to dance? Might one lord dance with each of you?”
They curtseyed. Miss Kate looked away.
“Miss . . . Kate is it?”
Her head snapped back to look at him so quickly, her eyes so challenging, he almost stepped away. “If yours might be the first?” He bowed to hide his own fear of this woman he’d insulted.
Get it together, man.
When Logan lifted his head again and held out his hand, he’d regained something of his usual temperate demeanor. His mouth curled up in his laziest smile, and he waited.
The battle of emotion was much more obvious on her face than he hoped was visible on his own, but she mastered herself in a relatively short space and nodded, placing her hand in his own.
The music for a waltz started, and he almost laughed at her small groan.
“Am I that abhorrent? Or is it the waltz you don’t care for? Have you had much opportunity to learn it?”
“I have been sufficiently instructed.” Her small chin, raised in defiance to him, charmed him more than intimidated. Somehow, knowing her lovely, small frame would be in his arms helped him feel more in control of his emotions.
“Pleased I am to hear it.”
As she moved, a small tinkling sound intrigued him. They stood facing one another. Before he placed his hand at the small of her back, moving in closer for an almost embrace with a woman who had good reason to hate him, he wanted to say something to put her at ease. “Your sister was the loveliest bride I’ve ever seen. I’m so happy for them both. I’m sure Lord Morley will be blessed his life through.”
A spark in Miss Kate’s eyes softened as she nodded. “Yes, I believe they are the happiest couple I’ve yet seen.”
He stepped closer.
Her soft intake of breath washed through him as the raging rapids on the river behind his estate, tumbling over rocks and disturbing his peaceful state. Was she affected by him?
His arms ached to pull her closer. But he distracted himself by studying the glorious hair design just below his chin. Her brown curls rose up in a tower and cascaded down around the top of her head.
They moved about the room in quiet, Logan considering the best manner to go about correcting his insulting words.
She said nothing for so long, he wondered if all conversation would be left to him. Then she lifted her chin, her warm brown eyes sparkling at him. “Tell me about your fabulous slippers.”
He couldn’t have been more surprised. Or more reluctant to talk about something so off subject as his slippers. This was not creating the easy in that he might have hoped.
But he would always lean on his presentation as a manner in which to strengthen his resolve. “Did you notice? I’m quite proud of them.”
“How could I miss them? You are the only man in the room to have pink and blue slippers with pointed toes.”
He laughed. “I suppose that is so. Although . . .” He winked. “I suspect others might be seen wearing them at a later date.”
“I suspect you might be right.” She made a pretense of deep thought, and he wondered what she was about. “As clever as they are, I wonder if you’ve noticed a missed . . . opportunity?”
He frowned. “Missed opportunity? In my slippers?”
“Certainly.” She looked down toward her feet, and her slipped poked out for a moment as they moved. A tinkling sound carried up.
�
�Yours have bells.”
She nodded, aware of her triumph.
“Another touch we might see on many a slipper moving forward,” Logan said.
“I suspect you are correct,” Miss Kate replied.
He studied her. “You’re a fashion paragon. Do you . . . Do you dress as you do on purpose?” Could she be like himself, distracting his greater sorrows by becoming a master at disguise? Before he could fall at her feet in hopeful questions, he reminded himself that it was more likely she simply enjoyed fashion, had an eye for it.
“I make a study of fashion, yes, and I enjoy the result.” She dipped her head. “Perhaps some would consider it frivolous or . . . unimportant.” She looked away, but not before a subtle, soft quiver of her lip caused his heart to clench in guilt.
“The study of fashion has a most important place in our society. I myself spend hours at a time mastering the more subtle arts.”
“Your cravat for instance.”
“Yes.” He eyed her. “This knot is a result of weeks of careful imagining and practice of my valet. Once mastered, it takes two hours to create.” As he said the words, by rote, he recognized the superficiality of his words, and for the first time in over a year, he wanted to be real. “In truth, the study of fashion aids me in my effort to endure social events such as this one.”
Miss Kate stiffened.
“Perhaps if you were in more elevated company? I know we don’t boast as varied a crowd as say, London, but you are among those most notably ranked higher than you. Surely, you can see we are not so far beneath you.”
“Not at all. I am making a bumble of my words. The truth of the matter is, I asked you to dance so that I might apologize.”
She looked about ready to bolt, so he spoke quickly.
“I know some might call our particular hobby, our interest in fashion as . . . empty-headed and signifying a baser understanding.”
Her eyebrows raised. “Some would?”
“I myself have been known to say such things even while in the very act of emulating a fashion-conscious behavior.”
“Hmm.”
“But the truth is, I would never want those words to be overheard. A private conversation with my sister is meant to be just that. And were my words spoken in reaction to something else entirely to be overhead, the listener might arrive at the most incorrect assumption of my regard.”
Her Lady's Whims and Fancies: Sweet Regency Romance (Lords for the Sisters of Sussex Book 3) Page 3
