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

by Jen Geigle Johnson

  Amelia laughed. “Oh, I don’t think you’re in a bind at all, nor is it terrible.”

  They all gathered in close on the bed; Kate leaned back against the headboard. “Lord Dennison is going to propose.”

  Their happy squeals and bouncing on the bed made Kate smile. For a moment, she responded as though the news was such that deserved well-wishing. She received their hugs and laughed in a bouncing, girly celebration. But then, she shook her head.

  “You don’t seem as happy as I would have thought.” Charity looked from Amelia to Kate and back.

  “We were caught . . . in the library.”

  “Caught?” Grace’s eyes widened.

  Lucy gasped, and Charity looked like she wanted to laugh out loud.

  Kate felt much worse about her words in Whims and Fancies than being caught kissing Lord Dennison, but they could think what they would for a moment. All would be told. “You are going to think me the worst sort of person.”

  Charity studied her face. “For what?”

  She sighed. “All that time spent eating turnips and relying on the goodness of others for our well-being? I just can’t ever do that again.”

  “Who says you will have to? Things are better now.” Grace’s concerned frown made Kate wish to protect her from her own worries, but she had to tell someone what she’d done.

  “I started to work.”

  “Work?”

  “Yes, I submit things to the Morning Star paper, and they print them, and I get paid.”

  No one said anything for a long enough time that Kate started to feel uncomfortable. Then Charity nodded. “Her Lady’s Whims and Fancies? That’s you?”

  The others gasped again.

  “Oh, you don’t have to be so horrified.”

  “But Lord Dennison.” Lucy shook her head. “And today, at dinner. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault. How could you know?”

  “Why didn’t you tell us?”

  “I didn’t know if it would come to anything. I still don’t make enough to support anyone, not even myself, but I thought I could make it grow.”

  They sat in silence again.

  “Think about it. People die. No provisions are made for us. And we are cast off.”

  “But I know our parents had to have made provisions.” Lucy had always said so, no matter so much evidence to the contrary.

  “We’ve talked about this before. And how would we ever know? The estate is with whatever cousin inherited the entail, and we were put in the care of Uncle.” Charity frowned.

  “Who died.” Kate grimaced. “I don’t mean to sound morose, but haven’t we learned that nothing about our care is certain? Things happen. Mistakes, careless things, even selfish things. And I . . . I am afraid.” She hugged her knees, realizing for the first time how deep-rooted were her fears. “I can’t . . . I can’t go hungry again.”

  Grace moved closer and put her head on Kate’s shoulder. The others’ moods were somber.

  Lucy rested a soft hand on Kate’s arm. “But if you marry Lord Dennison, you will be a marchioness. Surely, that comes with it certain assurances.”

  “Not to mention your dowry, and when Gerald works out the marriage settlement, he will ensure you are cared for, including in the will in case of Lord Dennison’s untimely death,” Amelia said.

  Kate nodded. “You can do that?”

  “Certainly.” Amelia squeezed her hand.

  A portion of her angst lessoned. “So I only need continue at The Morning Star if I wish to?”

  “Sounds like it to me,” Amelia said.

  “And I will, of course, care for each one of you,” Kate told her sisters. “June will as well, and we will have this castle.” She felt all the knots in her body begin to loosen. But then she dropped her head to her knees. “I have to tell Lord Dennison. He must know. From me, before he discovers I’ve written about him.”

  “What is he going to think?” Amelia’s question burned inside Kate as one she most desperatey wished to know.

  “He might not want to marry me once he finds out. He really wants to be able to trust his wife . . .” She sighed. “It is the worst possible quandary. “And he’s attempting to do good, for tenants. He has a possible law he’s written and everything, which would help protect tenants.”

  “Is such a thing popular with the House of Lords?” Charity’s skepticism did not surprise Kate.

  “You know it’s not, but he is not without friends. A group from Oxford, but they might not take him seriously. He’s been such a fashion paragon for so long, it does put him at a disadvantage among those whose respect he would hope to win.”

  “What if you start a whole new campaign before you quit? What if you divert their attention? Focus on some other than his being a fashion paragon?” Lucy’s calculating expression had everyone on the bed leaning closer.

  Lucy sat taller, bolt upright. “What if . . . you create a fictional person who is even more outlandish than Lord Dennison ever was—a competition to Brummel himself? And write about him. Place him far away from here, put him in Bath. Perhaps they’ll leave well enough alone with our dear Dennison.”

  Lucy’s idea brought such a sense of hope, Kate smiled. “And perhaps I won’t have to tell him at all?”

  The others looked away. Amelia shook her head. “You should tell him.”

  She closed her eyes. “I suppose.” But inside, she wondered if she could divert the attention well enough, if there wouldn’t even be a need to explain she’d been the creator of Whims and Fancies, and then she could set it aside and perhaps write other things? Her mind spun with possibilities and the hope that all in her life was not in fact lost, making her heart flutter with light. Her smile began weakly, felt wavery, but it grew. “Thank you, sisters. What would we do without each other?”

  They folded in toward each other again, Amelia as well, and their hugs and tears were a balm to Kate’s hurting heart. When they pulled apart, Kate laughed. “Who’d have thought I’d be forced to marry.” She sniffed, indignation rising. “In fact, I’m not okay with that.” She crossed her arms.

  “What do you mean?” Amelia studied her face.

  “Who wants a man that had to be forced to marry them?” She looked from each sister to the other. And no one seemed to have an answer.

  “What if I say no?”

  “He might be sad . . .” Grace’s kind eyes gave Kate pause.

  But she waved her hands. “No, what if I say no, and then we continue on as before until we’re ready to take that step?”

  “Again. He might be sad.” Lucy’s expression was intent.

  “I wouldn’t advise such a thing. Or at least talk it through with him. Perhaps in the same conversation where you let him know about Whims and Fancies?” Amelia’s voice was gentle, but the more Kate thought about her options, the more disgruntled she became.

  “Why does it even matter? We are family. All of you know I’m not ruined. We wouldn’t tell a soul. I feel that we are free to act.”

  No one seemed to agree with her. Even Charity’s expression was concerned, and Amelia smiled her gentle, but suddenly now aggravating, smile. “We’ve talked about this. There is more to it than that.”

  Kate sighed. “I know. It’s just not a good situation to be in, is it?”

  “Talk to him. You two can figure this out.”

  Kate nodded, but she couldn’t admit that a part of her hoped that she would be able to fix the Whims and Fancies situation enough that Lord Dennison would never know she’d done such a thing. The other part of her knew she’d only rid herself of this awful guilt if she confessed, accepting the consequences even if he were mad at her forever.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Logan shook hands with His Grace. “I’m not just doing my duty by her. She is the choice of my heart. I love Miss Kate.”

  “And what about the disrespect I saw happening right in her own home?”

  “Disrespect? That was not disrespect. That was my heart
speaking to her heart.”

  The duke’s eyebrow rose.

  “And a little bit of me not being able to resist such a beautiful woman, but Your Grace, sir, I love her, and like I said, I’m happy to ask her to marry me right now.” Logan couldn’t dim his smile, even though he knew he must look like a simpleton smiling so large at the duke. But it couldn’t be helped. He was happy. He loved Kate. And she loved him. He could tell. No woman would kiss him like that if she didn’t love him. With just that one moment, she’d wiped out any worry of her ever turning him down, any worry that she might not return his love. She was all in. Even if she’d never said it with her words, she’d said it with her lips, and he’d never been happier.

  “You know, she might not be happy about this situation.”

  He shook his head. “No, she’s happy all right.”

  The duke smiled. “I’m not saying she doesn’t want to marry you. I’m saying, she might not like the idea of you being forced to do so.” He straightened his jacket. “So, I’m not forcing you. You do what you want to make this right. And to keep her happy. You need to talk to her.”

  “She’s happy about it. I—I can tell.”

  “She ran from the room.”

  He was about to counter with something, anything else, but then he considered. The duke was right. Why had she run from the room? “Is she unhappy about this?”

  “I think it might be embarrassing. And I’ll just give you one bit of advice. Every woman wants to know she’s the choice of your heart.”

  “How could she not know that?”

  “Just make sure she does.”

  The next day, Logan and Julia were once again sitting together in the library. She’d already chastised him for kissing Miss Kate, and then squealed in happiness that he was going to get married. And now they read lazily, each in their favorite chair.

  A footman came in bearing a tray. “We have received some correspondence.”

  “Very good. I’ll take it here,” Logan said.

  He handed Julia her letters and then tapped on one of his own. “A card from the prince.”

  “Oh?” Julia only half-heard. She looked to be deep in a letter.

  Logan opened it. “The prince is having another ball.”

  “Hmm.”

  “He wants me to come wearing a new cravat. And he wants to know the knot beforehand so that he might wear it, too.”

  She put down her letter. “That’s quite a statement.”

  “I know.” Logan read it again. “He’s inviting a core set of us to attend with him.” He tapped the card again. “This could be a good thing.”

  “It’s definitely great for your new cravat. Is it good for your new bill? Your goals?”

  “I think so.” Logan stood. “How could it not be? Prinny is what Prinny is, but he also has great influence. If he came forward in support of anything—my bill, for example—that would have sway.” He paced. “My . . . popularity could have a good use after all. I’ve attracted the prince’s attention. And now he . . . he wants to be seen wearing one of my original cravats . . . How much time do we have? This much be a masterpiece.” He hurried to leave the room. “I must call Wiggins. We have to get started. It must be stupendous!”

  Julia laughed. “I can’t wait to read Her Lady’s Whims and Fancies.”

  “I think the prince can’t, either. He hasn’t been the subject in that column for weeks.” He stepped out of the room and asked the nearest maid to call for his valet.

  Later, Logan put down his sketching materials. He and Wiggins had finally come up with something spectacular. “Ensure that if we use any printed cloths, that the prince has the same print. We have but a week, and must not waste a moment.”

  “Very good, my lord. I will obtain the necessary items. And might I ask, could we begin practice tomorrow?”

  “This evening.”

  The valet nodded. Then Logan sat at his desk and pulled out a paper and quill. “I must respond to the prince.” Once finished with a lavish and complimentary response, he pulled out a new sheaf. “My Dearest Kate.” One benefit to being caught in a compromising situation was that they were almost engaged, and no one would think twice to his sending a letter.

  Once finished with his letter, Logan gave a servant instructions as to its delivery and which flowers to send, and then he descended the stairs to meet with his tailor. They had work to do, and the man would faint in ridiculous ecstasy when he heard of this next jacket’s use, and then he might faint in worry when he learned that Logan needed it in one week’s time.

  But it couldn’t be helped. The ball was the perfect reason to have a new jacket. In truth, it would be an insult to His Highness for Logan to show up with something he’d worn somewhere else.

  The sisters all gathered around Kate’s desk.

  “So this is where you design all those plates?” Lucy sifted through her papers. “These are magnificent.” She ran her finger along a sketch of a new turban Kate was working on. “I would love to wear this.”

  “You could.”

  “Do I dare? It is such a statement piece.”

  “Certainly, you dare. There’s nothing to it.”

  “Back to our purpose. For our imaginary distraction, we must create something even more ostentatious.” Charity flipped through the cards that Kate had already created. “I can’t believe I’m saying this. What if he were to create a brand new cravat and had a jacket to go along with it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Something new, bold, never done before in the design? And a color that’s never worn.”

  “Yes, I agree. But I would need to be vague about the details of the cravat. I don’t know enough about them . . .” They all shared a look. “And yes, I know Lord Dennison knows, but we cannot tell him.”

  Charity’s continued stare forced Kate to say, “Yet.”

  “Fine. How about a new cut? Can you guess in what direction the cuts of men’s jackets are going and pre-empt the next phase? Aren’t they getting shorter around here?” Charity indicated her midsection. “With a vest, like Lord Ballustrade?”

  Kate nodded at her sister. “You could be the next author of Her Lady’s Whims and Fancies.”

  “No, thank you. Not unless the editor allows me to print my opinions about some of the new laws Parliament is trying to create.”

  Kate considered her sister. “Not entirely what they’re looking for, but you’ve caused me to think more in this light; I wonder if there’s a way to mention it in a palatable manner.”

  “Only you would know about that.” Charity said the obvious.

  “So what if we also describe his hair? Something entirely different from what Lord Dennison usually does.”

  “And a different color.” Lucy nodded.

  Grace giggled. “Feathers. Can he wear feathers?”

  “Yes, with a cap or something, right here.” Lucy indicated that it should sit at an angle.

  “Oh, that’s most excellent.” Kate tapped her quill on the end of her chin. “Breeches.”

  The sisters smiled. Lucy shook her head. “Do you dare?”

  “Of course, I dare. A woman can mention breeches without blushing.” She felt her own cheeks warm. “Though I seem to find it impossible.”

  They laughed, and Kate sketched. She wondered why she hadn’t involved her sisters from the very first moment. Success or failure, the whole experience was better with them involved.

  Once they’d decided on the man’s new look, Kate was pleased. “This is more genius than we realized. It really is the direction fashion is moving. I wouldn’t be surprised to see more men dress like this, with or without Whims and Fancies.”

  A servant stepped into the library carrying a very large vase full of fresh flowers. “A delivery for Miss Kate.”

  “Thank you. Please set them on that table there. And Finnis, could you send this express? To London?”

  “Yes, miss. Very good.” He bowed and took their new gossip out of the room.
>
  “Well, it’s done, then.”

  Kate moved to the flowers.

  “Those are so beautiful.” Grace looked like she wanted to swoon herself.

  Kate laughed. “They’re from Lord Dennison.” She lifted a paper, sealed with his signet. She ran her finger over the hardened wax. “I do love his coat of arms.” The sisters gathered round. A tall horse up on its hind legs faced a large cat. Two swords crossed in the middle.

  “Oh come, we aren’t going to get anything out of Kate until she reads her letter.”

  “Wait, what’s this?” Lucy lifted another letter Kate hadn’t noticed. “It’s from the Royal Pavilion! Prince George.” She broke the seal immediately. “A ball. We’re invited to be a part of his special consort at the ball in one week’s time.” Her eyes shining, she grinned at Kate. “I think we can thank you for this.”

  “Perhaps, Lord Dennison.” Kate stepped away.

  Charity turned to go. “We can discuss our clothes for the ball tomorrow. I’ve had enough fashion to last me . . . probably forever.”

  Kate hardly heard as they faced away. She lowered herself into her most comfortable chair and broke the seal.

  My Dearest Kate,

  With great sadness, I must go about my next few days without seeing you. But I console myself knowing that we will both be at the ball. Prepare yourself—the prince has dictated our clothing choices, and I will have several surprises that I hope you of all people will appreciate. I know we have much to discuss, and I long to do so. At the duke’s request, I will go to my solicitor this afternoon, and hope to talk more with you when I have the particulars.

  While I know some might consider our actions regrettable, I cannot find them so. What could be more beautiful than something that binds me closer to you? Though I will attempt to behave in a more gentleman-like manner in the future if you so desire. If not, I am at your disposal.

  Kate gasped. And then felt her face heat.

  I am teasing. As the duke suggested, I must behave myself with a greater amount of respect. I hope to see that beautiful red I know is overtaking your creamy skin right now. Until we next see one another and ever after, I am yours.