“I cannot believe she is not betrothed,” Ben murmured, even as he considered the contents of the letters he had reread last night. If the Earl of Torrington’s words were to be believed, Ben had his permission to marry her.
“She is not,” Peters intoned.
Did she intend to remain unmarried? Become a spinster? Given the fortune she was probably due to inherit, she could certainly afford to flaunt convention and spend her days doing whatever she wished to do. Hire a companion and travel. Take up gambling and spend her blunt at a gaming hell. Buy up entire streets of townhouses and become a landlady. Start her own stables and raise racehorses. Build her own observatory and stargaze.
This last had Ben coming to his senses.
“Sir, if I might inquire as to your plans for the holiday?” Peters asked as they made their way down the stairs.
“Holiday?”
“Christmas, sir. Will you be here in town, or will you return to Suffolk?”
Ben entered the breakfast parlor and replied, “I do not wish to be at home in Suffolk.” He would prefer to be as far from his nieces and their mother as possible. He wouldn’t mind spending time with his brother, if only so he could punch Benedict in the jaw for the news contained in his letter. He knew it was unlikely they would get away from the rest of the family, though. “I prefer to be here.” He took a seat as a footman saw to filling a plate.
“Should the servants expect a Twelfth Night celebration?”
Familiar with the idea of serving a cake baked with a pea and a bean to the servants on the twelfth day of Christmas—the two who received those slices would then be king and queen for the night—Ben thought the practice rather silly. “What if I simply gave them the day off? Christmas as well?”
Peters eyes widened a fraction before he could get them under control. “That’s very generous of you, sir. But... what will you do?”
Ben gave a shrug. “If the skies are clear on Christmas Eve, I shall spend the night in the observatory and then sleep Christmas Day.”
“But, what about meals?”
“I can raid the pantry, I suppose. I can boil water. Make my own tea. It’s not as if I’ll go hungry.”
Peters seemed unsure before he finally gave a nod. “Very good, sir. I’ll let the servants know during this evening’s meal.”
After the butler departed, Ben read his correspondence. There was a short note from his brother congratulating him on the telescope, which meant Benedict had received the invoice. As he ate his coddled eggs, he noted his brother made no mention of the matter of his last letter.
Smart man. He had probably paid for the telescope as a bribe.
Next was an invitation to a special auction at Tattersall’s, which promised a diverting afternoon admiring racehorses. Downing a rasher of bacon, he thought it unlikely he would ever have the funds to own a racehorse, let alone the stables and grooms required for such a sport.
The next one was most welcome. That is, until he opened it.
An invitation to Somerset House for the next general meeting of the Royal Society, where twenty Fellows would be elected.
His name was not among those nominated.
Apparently, his discovery of a comet and subsequent knighting was not considered enough to make him a Fellow. Remembering Torrington’s letter and the mention that he should get the honor, he ate another rasher of bacon. Having Torrington as his father-in-law was sounding better, but since the earl wasn’t a member of the Society, he rather doubted he had much influence over the nomination committee.
Disheartened, Ben regarded the last two missives. They appeared identical, except in the manner in which they were addressed. One was made out to ‘Mr. Fuller,’ while the other was addressed to ‘Sir Benjamin.’ He opened both and laid them side by side.
Written in a feminine hand, the invitations gave off a familiar floral scent, and all thoughts of the Royal Society left his head.
Dear Mr. Fuller,
I am writing on behalf of my brother, George, Viscount Hexham, to respectfully request your company at a Dinner Party at Worthington House, Friday, December First, Eighteen-hundred and Thirty-seven, at Seven o’clock in the Evening. The Favor of a Reply is Requested.
Sincerely yours,
Lady Angelica
Post scriptum
The biscuit was indeed a good idea. And it was delicious. Thank you.
Ben blinked before a brilliant smile replaced his sour expression. His attention went to the second.
Sir Benjamin,
Milton, Earl of Torrington, requests the honor of your company at a dinner party to be held at Worthington House, Friday, December First, Eighteen-hundred-and-Thirty-seven at Seven o’clock in the evening. Although the earl will not be in attendance, his son, George, Viscount Hexham, will host in his stead. The favor of a reply is requested.
There was no signature, and given the two invitations, he realized two things at once.
Lady Angelica had no idea he was Sir Benjamin.
Lady Angelica had no desire to meet Sir Benjamin.
For a moment, he wondered how he would respond. As Sir Benjamin? Or Mr. Fuller?
Or both?
If he sent replies that he planned to attend on behalf of both names, there would be an extra, empty chair at the dining table. If he replied as Sir Benjamin, would he then send regrets as Mr. Fuller? Or vice versa?
He quickly finished his breakfast and hurried into his study to pen a response, deciding he rather liked how he was invited in the missive addressed to Mr. Fuller.
He thought of the letters from his brother and the Earl of Torrington, a mischievous grin forming. If he was to court Lady Angelica, he decided he would do so as a commoner. If she spurned him, then he would know it was better Sir Benjamin not consider her for matrimony.
The thought of her spurning him as Mr. Fuller had him almost changing his mind. A knight trumped a commoner, after all. But then he remembered her kiss, and he took pen to paper.
Dear Lady Angelica,
I hadn’t thought to hear from you so soon after our last meeting. So glad the biscuit was of help, although I shudder to think of what might have happened to you should you have been without it. I do hope your brother did not scold you over much. Having an older brother myself, I understand what life with one is like.
Thank you for the dinner invitation. I shall be there in the hopes I am seated somewhere near to you. Until then,
Sincerely yours,
Ben Fuller
Post scriptum
Truly, I am not a Peeping Tom, but I do look forward to seeing you again.
In a second note, this one signed with ‘Sir Benjamin,’ he sent his regrets with a note that he would not be in town.
Satisfied, he folded the notes, wrote The Lady Angelica Grandby, Worthington House on the outside, and applied a puddle of wax where the four corners were joined. About to stamp both with a seal made up of his initials, he instead opted for the one with a crescent moon and stars for his response as Mr. Fuller.
He wondered if she would even notice.
Summoning a footman, he instructed the tall man to deliver them at different times of the day.
Another moment, and he glanced over at the letters from the earls. Perhaps it best he send a letter of introduction to George Grandby. Otherwise, he might not be welcome to set foot in Worthington House.
Invited or not.
Chapter 13
Preparations for a Party
The following day
George regarded the silver salver on the round table, stunned at the pile of white notes that littered it. A quick glance showed his sister’s name on every one of them.
“Your correspondence is in your study, my lord,” Winston said as he placed a vase of hot-house flowers in the center of the table. “And a footman from next door left a note for your attention.”
“Starting her decorating a bit early, is she not?” George half-asked, noting the flowers were far more ornate than what his mot
her favored. Most of the blooms in this arrangement were red and white.
“If you are referring to Lady Angelica, she is efficient.”
“I take it she has already met with the housekeeper and the cook?”
“Indeed.”
When Angelica appeared at the top of the stairs, he glanced up and angled his head to one side. “Whatever is going on in that pretty little head of yours?” George had learned long ago to combine his chiding with a compliment when it came to his sister.
Angelica grinned as she descended the stairs. “Dinner party planning, of course.” When she saw the salver, she hurried over, checking the seals on the backs of the missives. “It appears as if everyone has responded,” she murmured, her gaze stopping on a seal of a crescent moon and stars. “Including our new neighbor.”
George frowned and moved to join her at the table. “You invited our neighbor? The one with the observatory?”
Angelica nodded. “Of course. He lives alone—”
“But we’ve not been introduced.”
“You haven’t met Sir Benjamin, either, but you wanted me to invite him,” she argued.
“Father wanted Sir Benjamin invited,” he countered. He dipped his head then, deciding their argument would only result in a pouty sibling. “You did send him an invitation?”
“I did,” she assured him. “I wasn’t sure where to send it, though. But apparently the footman knew where to go.” She held out a missive with the initials BBF emblazoned in the red wax.
George cocked an eyebrow. “Very good. I’m off to read my correspondence. See you at dinner.”
Angelica watched him go before she opened the note from Sir Benjamin. Although she felt only the slightest disappointment at learning he would not be in attendance, she decided it best she not tell her brother. At least, not yet.
Opening the one from Mr. Fuller, she allowed a huge grin at reading his response. He would be there.
And he looked forward to seeing her again.
She thought of sneaking into his observatory that very night.
If she spied the red light from her bedchamber window, and if her brother was at his club, she decided she would.
Later that night
When Muffin McDuff Paddlepaws barked shortly after dinner, Angelica dismissed her maid and parted the drapes in her bedchamber. The skies were remarkably clear, and a rectangular red light indicated the dome was open.
Donning a redingote over her warmest woolen gown, and pulling on two extra petticoats, gloves and half-boots, Angelica regarded her reflection in the cheval mirror. The extra layers made her bottom half appear almost rotund, but the evening was cold. Far colder than it had been the first night she had paid a call on the astronomer.
She made her way down the back steps, attempting to hold her skirts closer to her body lest she get stuck in the tight stairwell. She could just imagine getting wedged in and then having to wait for a servant to help dislodge her.
Getting through the back door was nearly as difficult, but once her coat was free, she quietly shut the door and hurried out to the back gate. The crisp air had her breaths billowing out in white clouds.
When she made it to the observatory, she slipped through the door, once again having to pull her redingote through the slim opening. When the door was shut, she moved to the base of the stairs and called out, “Mr. Fuller?”
Ben, bathed in the red light, appeared in the opening at the top of the stairs, a top hat and muffler joining his greatcoat and gloves for warmth. A smile split his face. “Ah, my lady,” he said as he waved for her to join him. “I feared you wouldn’t come, but I’m so glad you have. This cold is the best for viewing nebulae.”
When Angelica topped the stairs, she realized at once there might be a problem. With the additional petticoats, her skirts stuck out farther than normal. She seemed to take up all the available floor space. “I fear I may be in your way far more than I was before,” she replied, as she dipped a curtsy. She turned and noticed how there was now a railing along the opening for the stairs. At least she wouldn’t accidentally tumble down the curved stairs should she back up too far. “If you’d rather I not be here, please tell me. I will not take offense.”
Ben shook his head and took her gloved hands to his lips. “Oh, but I do want you here,” he countered. “I rather like the company. Your company,” he stammered as he gave a bow.
Angelica’s eyes widened a fraction. “If you’re sure I’m not in your way—“
“Before the other night, I never had someone pay a call on me whilst I was stargazing,” he said in a quiet voice. “Other than the butler, when he brings tea, of course, but he’s never indicated an interest in even looking through the telescope.”
Glancing in the direction of the instrument, Angelica saw that it was aimed midway up in the sky to the south, right at Orion’s Belt. “You mentioned nebulae,” Angelica hinted. “Is there one in particular…?"
“Oh, yes. Here. Come look.”
He moved to a different chair from the one that had been in front of the telescope before, this one with castors. The original was still there, and he quickly moved it so it was next to the one with wheels.
“It’s all different,” she murmured as she took a seat. The opera glasses were no long strapped to the side of the telescope, and instead a small telescope was attached. A finder scope, she remembered him saying.
“Improved, yes,” he said with a proud grin, taking the chair next to her.
Angelica stared through the eyepiece and inhaled softly. “What is this?”
“The Orion Nebula. I was just about to turn the dome and look for the Beehive Cluster when you arrived.”
She allowed her gaze to linger on the strange sight, staring at the nebula and allowing a sound of appreciation until the pinkish-white flower shape left the field of vision.
Just as she was about to get up from the chair, she realized he had drawn the nebula on the easel-mounted paper. “Oh, you’ve captured it perfectly,” she said in a whisper.
“I’ll add a bit of color on the morrow,” he replied as he stood up from the other chair. He took a hold of the dome-turning handle and gave a push. This time, the dome rotated easily. “Your suggestion works, by the way.”
“Oh?” Angelica stood up and moved to the edge of the room, watching as the wheels turned in their track.
“Beeswax. Even when it’s cold, it seems to do the trick for those wheels that were sticking.”
Angelica gave a nod. “Except that Muffin McDuff Paddlepaws barked a bit ago. That’s how I knew you were in here.”
Ben paused in his adjustments and regarded her a moment. “He probably heard me open the dome,” he replied. “Unfortunately, I don’t think there’s anything that can be done for its track. At least not from down here.” He turned his attention back to the telescope. “I’m looking forward to dinner on the morrow.”
“As am I,” she replied. “I was happy to receive your reply.”
He made an adjustment and then said, “I know the invitation said it was from your brother, but, pray tell, how did he think to invite me? We’ve not even met.”
Angelica blushed, hoping the red light wouldn’t enhance her embarrassment. “I... I may have encouraged him in that regard,” she lied. “Seeing as how you’re our new neighbor and there are so few entertainments in London during the winter months.”
He nodded his understanding and then indicated she should again look through the lens. She leaned forward and allowed a brilliant smile. “It looks like a swarm of bees!”
Ben grinned. “Hence the name, I suppose,” he murmured, taking his turn at the eyepiece. “Pray tell, is this dinner in honor of a special occasion? Or a special guest?”
Straightening, Angelica watched as he continued to make adjustments using the small dials. “There was a guest my father wished us to invite. Apparently he thought it important we meet him.” She decided not to mention why. “But he has sent his regrets,” she added with a
shrug.
“He must have been someone of great importance if your father wanted you to meet him,” Ben remarked, taking a turn at staring through the eyepiece.
“I suppose.” When Ben lifted his head and regarded her with an arched brow, Angelica allowed a sigh. “He thinks the gentleman would make a suitable husband for me.”
He furrowed a brow. “And you do not?” he half-asked, the telescope forgotten.
Angelica gave a shake of her head. “Oh, I’ve no idea. I’ve never met the man, and neither has my brother. Truth be told, we’re both a bit curious, and so we were looking forward to at least meeting him. Perhaps some other time.”
Ben continued to regard her a moment. “You don’t seem particularly... saddened by his having sent his regrets. Was he... perhaps not of suitable rank?”
Furrowing a brow, Angelica shook her head. “I...” Her gaze lifted to meet his. “Whether or not he has a title matters not. At least, not to me.”
Blinking, Ben stared at Angelica and allowed a sound of disbelief. “But... you’re an earl’s daughter. Certainly your father expects you to marry an aristocrat.”
Angelica dipped her head. “Even if I decided to marry a commoner, my father has assured me he would give his blessing. That is, if the gentleman is sincere in his regard for me and not just after my dowry. Father wants nothing more than for me to be happy.”
Ben regarded her for a time before he swallowed. “So, if someone... someone such as me were to ask his permission to court you, he would have it?”
Angelica inhaled softly. “Of course,” she breathed.
“And you would welcome his attentions?”
“Yes. Yes, of course,” she whispered.
When his gaze darted up, her own followed to discover a sprig of mistletoe dangling from the very top of the dome. A moment later, and she was leaning over so her lips could meet his, her gloved hands resting on his shoulders as one of his hands moved to her waist.
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