Her Lady's Whims and Fancies: Sweet Regency Romance (Lords for the Sisters of Sussex Book 3)

by Jen Geigle Johnson

  The sisters met in the family sitting room in the upstairs area of the house. Amelia and Gerald had joined them with their children. And Kate thought that life could only be better and more complete if June and Morley had already returned.

  “Is this not the most perfect group?” Grace kicked her foot lazily at Kate’s skirts.

  “And what shall we do today?” Charity lifted another sheaf of paper, her pen flying across the page.

  “You look as though you are quite distracted already.” Kate laughed.

  “I am.” Charity dipped her quill in ink. She kept writing. “Just considering our afternoon. Shall we go walk the promenade?”

  Kate considered. “I think that a lovely idea. While many are still in town, I’d love to go see them all.”

  “And we might see many of the others . . . Is there a dance at the assembly this week?”

  “I think there is one Thursday.”

  Charity continued her writing.

  “Are you working on your novel?”

  She shook her head. “This is in response to Lord Harrison. We were never able to come to an agreement, and there are still some things remaining to be said.”

  “Will you read it to him next you see him?” Grace moved closer to her to look over her shoulder.

  “Probably not. But I feel better once the words are out, even if on paper.” She studied her words. “Perhaps I would send them somewhere. Who knows, but I could have a bit of space in a paper someday.”

  Kate shifted in her seat. She had space in the paper. And what did she use it for? She chided herself. She used it to raise money. And she enjoyed her space, no matter what she used it for. “You might make more enemies than friends if you were to be too bold to too many.”

  Charity paused. “Care I for friend-making? Who needs friends of the wrong variety? Perhaps if I spread my opinions widely enough, I will merely attract those like-minded people who would make a soulmate kind of friend.”

  “Or husband.” Lucy looked disturbed.

  “What is it, dear?” Grace moved over to sit by her.

  “Nothing, I think.”

  “Are you enjoying getting to know Lord Kently?” Kate asked.

  Charity nodded but said nothing. And Kate could scarce believe her.

  “He’s everything he should be, isn’t he?”

  “If you like pompous lords who view themselves supremely above others.”

  “You just didn’t like it that he still doesn’t agree with you, no matter how much you try to convince him otherwise.”

  “That is definitely part of what forms my opinion of him. If a man can’t see reason when spoken plainly to his face . . .”

  “Do you ever wonder if your extreme opinions and desire to be contrary might prevent your ability to marry?” Kate almost wished to swallow back her words.

  Charity shook her head. “No.” Then she continued writing.

  “I think I shall ring for luncheon right here, and then should we prepare for a promenade on the green this afternoon?” Kate asked.

  “Yes!” Grace twirled around the room. “I shall wear my new yellow day dress and bonnet.” She moved to Kate and squeezed her across the shoulders. “I’m so happy you have devoted your life to fashion. We have the most lovely dresses I’ve ever seen on anyone.”

  Kate smiled. But inside, she wondered at Grace’s comment. Devoted her life to fashion. Well, why couldn’t she devote her life to fashion? And the stronger question: Had she devoted her life to fashion? She cared about other things. Her family. She’d devoted her life to her family, in truth, and none of them knew it.

  And now, her work was not necessary. But she continued. She enjoyed the influence. She enjoyed making women and men beautiful. She enjoyed that she had a bit of space in a paper that people read. That was thrilling to her. Perhaps, one day, she’d use it to say a bit of something more.

  Hours later, they exited their carriage out onto the green. The great, round, bulbous towers of the Royal Pavilion rose up in the sky, offering shade to them for a moment.

  “The sun is so bright. I am happy we have brought the parasols.”Kate squinted up into the sun.

  “Yes.” Lucy carefully covered her pale skin. With her raven-dark hair and creamy, soft skin, she of them all needed to take great care in the sun.

  Charity seemed not to care at all. She had a bonnet, but only because it was more shocking than even she would allow to appear outside at this hour without one.

  Lucy raised her hand to indicate a rather large crowd walking about on The Strand. “Goodness. Everyone has come to promenade this afternoon. It looks as though all of our wedding guests have shown up here on the lawn.”

  “And their friends and family.” Kate nodded.

  “And I’m drawn more to the sea. Can we begin over there?” Grace pointed away from the pavilion to the edge of the promenade, which led out to the ocean.

  “Yes, and can we visit the cliffs again? It’s been an age.” Lucy’s skirts were extra pretty, so much so that Kate was admiring them for the second time. The stitches in the hem were whimsical. The colors were so cheery. Kate wished for a few more just like it.

  “I don’t think we’ve been back since the kite-flying and picnic.” Charity adjusted her bonnet.

  “Too true.” Kate shook her head. She’d found it interesting, the clothes women chose to wear on a picnic. And here on the promenade. Bonnets, parasols, and frilly dresses seemed to rule the day. Bright whites, colors in pastels. Nothing dark. And sensible shoes. She smiled.

  “What are you grinning about? All the bright colors?” Charity smirked.

  “Not at all, actually. I was thinking of Lord Dennison’s ridiculous slippers.”

  “As if yours were any less ridiculous. Did anyone else comment on your bells?” Charity had never shown an ounce of interest in anything Kate wore, not really. But she seemed interested now.

  “Not a soul. They were small enough to not be noticed unless attention was drawn to them.” Kate wondered what others would think of her drawings in next week’s Whims and Fancies. She’d included one plate dedicated to Lord Dennison, and the other to herself. But naturally, she didn’t draw either of their faces, or name names, just included the fashion choices of each.

  Then she’d gone ahead and drawn Lord Ballustrade’s vest. Because she knew once she’d described it, Whims and Fancies might include it as well. She had only been given space for two before, but they just might increase it to three with so tempting an offer. And that meant more by way of payment.

  Even though they seemed to be in good stead, even though Lord Morley had promised to care for them all, she couldn’t help but take her own precautions. Kate remembered the moment when her parents had died. Not many of the others knew she still held this memory. But their nurse had come bustling into the school room and nursery. “Gather your things. Everything you most care about. Heavens only knows what they’ll let you take with you.”

  The scared faces of her sisters, the servants, and her nurse made her reach for one thing: her sweet doll her mother had sewn.

  They were hustled out of the home with a single trunk. June had collected what she could of their mother’s and father’s personal items. All jewels had to stay. Even most of her gowns. But the daughters were allowed some of the more personal items: a portrait miniature, a few books, and her mother’s writings.

  The cold days in one home or another, displaced more often than solid, then the arrival of their broken-down and drafty cottage had stuck with her. The injustice of such a disruption, the inability of any of them to make a way for themselves. She had vowed to do something, anything, to help her family.

  And she continued. Never again would she be at the mercy of the wind. She was building a manner in which to provide for herself, and her sisters.

  What if she never married? What if Lord Morley passed on? What if his estate crumbled? There were too many what ifs in the scenario that kept the sisters at the mercy of all others. And
Kate knew how quickly life could be taken from someone she loved, and she knew what happened when careful consideration to the after effects were not adhered to. Was she overly concerned with fashion? Perhaps. Had she good reason to be? Yes, most certainly. Did she love it as well? Yes, she did.

  She giggled as a pair of women in perfectly matching dresses walked by arm in arm.

  “Are they twins?” Grace lifted her chin to point them out.

  “I don’t know. They certainly look as though they are. Sisters, at the very least,” Kate said.

  “Why don’t you dress us in perfectly matching dresses?” Grace laughed.

  “Because she knows we would never agree.” Charity crossed her arms. “And I would never be seen wearing dresses that matched precisely. Do we belong in the nursery still?”

  “And your styles are so different, I couldn’t manage a dress we would all want to match.” She nudged Charity. “But a little matching at a wedding would be in order.”

  “I don’t have a style.” Grace sighed.

  “Oh, you do.”

  “No. For now, my style is younger sister. You always dress me in something befitting my age.”

  Kate laughed. “You know, you have a point. Would you like to be officially out?”

  “I think that decision must be addressed by June and Morley,” Charity said.

  “I’m just asking her. I’m by no means about to determine her position in society.”

  Charity stepped closer. “I know. I’m sorry. I just don’t wish for Grace to grow too quickly, nor for any of you to fall in love. One is enough.”

  “Well, especially since Morley just moved in. If one of you gets married, you’ll leave. And maybe far away. And when shall we be together again?” Grace’s pout grew.

  “You are all too melancholy for me. I wish to think of other things.” Lucy swirled her skirts.

  “I as well. Did anyone bring a kite?” Charity looked up into the clouds.

  “There is close to nothing to do at a promenade. I agree.” Kate had studied every bit of a person she could and had found them all dressed the same, with nothing special to report about any of them.

  Then trumpets blared.

  “Prinny! I didn’t know he was in town.” Lucy hurried her feet.

  “Nor I.” Charity frowned.

  The doors to the Royal Pavilion opened, and servants in red livery poured out of the entrance like red mice.

  “Let’s move closer. I’d like to see what is happening.” Lucy’s eager eyes drank in the scene.

  “Yes, let’s.” Kate linked arms with her sister. In this, they were of one mind. For a firsthand viewing of Prince George’s choice of promenade clothing would be good news indeed.

  They hurried as fast as they could. As they drew closer, the crowd jostled them, and they found themselves quite hemmed in.

  A man stood at Lucy’s side. He was young, and shabbily dressed. But a dimple appeared on his cheek as he said to no one in particular, “Well, this is a fine introduction to all my closest neighbors.”

  Many around him chuckled.

  Another grinned. “Didn’t expect to embrace a town full of perfect strangers today.”

  “Not that I mind.”

  “Some of these strangers are lovely.” The first man dipped his hat to Lucy, who looked away, but the slight pink to her cheeks surprised Kate. Had she been truly affected by a man? Then a commotion up ahead drew all their attention. The prince himself stepped out his door. Kate stood on the tips of her toes but only saw a portion of his clothing.

  Then a voice behind her made her smile. She tried to turn, but she couldn’t manage for the crowd.

  “He is wearing deep reds. Odd for this time of year, and hot. But his gold brocade and tassels make him look somewhat like drapes or an upholstered chair.”

  Kate laughed. “What else? I can’t see.”

  “His slippers are more garish than mine. His hat seems to sit lopsided on his head. It’s more a beret than a true hat. His hands are flashing and glinting in the sunlight. I can imagine it to be rings? And his breeches are very tight.” Lord Dennison cleared his throat. “I mention it because he looks as though he has eaten much more during his mealtimes than the last time I’d seen him.”

  “Anything else remarkable? Something we’ve perhaps not seen him wear before?”

  “Isn’t that enough? He is wearing drapes and upholstery.”

  “I suppose.” She sighed.

  Then his quiet voice continued. “The embroidery on his jacket is of a fox hunt. It is meant to recreate the hunt he went on last season. A flash of red in the forest is the fox that got away. He’s determined to catch him next time.”

  “How can you know this?”

  “He told me so himself.”

  Kate’s heart picked up in excitement. “What else?”

  “He’s gesturing this way.”

  “What?”

  The crowd parted to their front.

  Lord Dennison bowed to her and everyone around them, then made his way to the prince. Dennison had worn matching colors, and had retied his new creation in thick folds beneath his chin.

  Kate told herself that her heart was racing because of the new plates she could draw and further words to add to another package she mailed to London, but something about Dennison’s sudden appearance, the details he must have known she craved, the spark of interest in his eyes as he passed, had something to do with the racing and the fluttering in her stomach.

  Chapter Seven

  After an afternoon with Prince George and all the most fashion-conscious of his set, Logan was ready for something more . . . real. Feelings of unease festered for the next two weeks.

  He’d not felt so dissatisfied in many months. Why of all the time in his life did his superior presentation not do anything more for him than momentarily distract? Why did he yearn for more?

  The picture of Miss Kate’s upturned face returned often to his memory. What was it about her that so intrigued his every thought? And was it her fault he now felt this itch of dissatisfaction? What more was a man to do with his life than to promenade with the prince himself? How many men of his acquaintance would spend their lives hoping for just such a moment?

  He tried to shake off his feelings, but found himself wondering if there was any way to see Miss Kate again.

  Once back to their townhome that sat on the very street of The Strand, he meandered into his sister’s drawing room.

  She seemed to be hard at work with a needle, poking it in and out of the fabric, her face a vision of supreme concentration. Beautiful.

  Logan sat beside her.

  “And to what do I owe this great honor?”

  He chuckled. “What are you making?” He peered over her shoulder at a charming scene. “Oh, I recognize this. Well done. The copse of trees behind the house on our estate.”

  “Yes, the very one.”

  “What will you do with it?”

  “I was planning to gift it to Mrs. Wellsley.”

  He sat back, staring at his sister. “To your governess?”

  “Certainly.”

  “I thought you loathed that woman.”

  Julia shook her head. “I didn’t loathe her. I just resisted anything that required effort on my part. But now I see that all of her proddings were of huge benefit.”

  “And so you are sending a sort of peace offering?”

  “No. I have already thanked her. We are friends. I just know she would appreciate this scene. Did you know she is now older, and lives with her brother and his family?”

  “I didn’t know.” Logan had no idea where his old tutors lived or what they did with their time. Some had been ancient enough when they’d taught him.

  Normally, he would be making his way to the cardroom or to a men’s club in Brighton. He might be visiting the stables at the Royal Pavilion, betting on a horse, or planning the next hunt. But again, nothing seemed to hold the same appeal.

  But sitting next to his sister w
atching her do needlepoint did not seem a good substitute, either.

  “Perhaps we could attend the library?” he asked.

  She paused in her next stitch to look up into his face. “Pardon me?”

  “Or a museum? Is there a place to peruse art in Brighton?

  “Art? A library?” She rested her hoop in her lap. “Have you looked through our own portrait gallery? Have you read even one of the books in our library here in Brighton?”

  “Isn’t this the place where Father sent his historical tomes?”

  “Yes, the very ones.”

  He considered her. “Very good. I shall go sit in the library.”

  Julia said nothing as he left, but soon, the sound of her slippered feet following behind made him smile. “Have you now acquired an interest for the history of warfare in England?” Logan asked.

  “I have a new interest in this side of you.”

  He turned.

  She carried her needlepoint.

  “Excellent. I’d love some company.”

  “I as well. I think our aunt would sleep away the day and night if given the choice.”

  “And so here we are, siblings left to our own devices.”

  “I remember many such times when this opportunity was not lost on our younger selves.”

  “We lived for just such a moment.” He smiled, a portion of that old, brazen youth rebellion lighting an old, forgotten piece of his heart. “You know what we have never done?”

  “What?”

  “Sea-bathing.”

  Julia laughed. “We have sea-bathed.”

  Logan thought for a moment, and then shook his head. “Doesn’t count. We haven’t sea-bathed as adults.”