“Well, for you, I see no difference. You simply strip your shirts and jump into the water. Me, on the other hand . . .” She shook her head. “I surmise that Charity would be willing to go sea-bathing the way we used to. Where a woman could run from the shore into the water without that small, house-like contraption they’ve created.”
“I wonder if we can finagle some method of sea-bathing that wouldn’t destroy your precious reputations as well as allow for some diversion.”
“If you think of such a thing, I would love to participate.”
They opened the door to the library. For a moment, Logan was immediately transported back to his days at Oxford. The smell of old books and paper and bindings tickled his nose. His fingers itched to open the pages like they hadn’t in many, many years. His pace picked up as he walked the aisles of his father’s surprisingly full library. “Napoleonic papers, even. How do we have those?”
“I think he left instructions to his book sellers to keep updating the library.”
“That’s incredible of him. Even in death, he was hoping to enrich our lives.”
“They were so good to us, our parents.”
“Mother still is, in her own way,” Logan said.
Julia’s soft sigh brought his arm across her small shoulders. “She is lucid now and again. When we return, let’s pay her a visit,” he suggested.
Her silent nod told him more than any response could.
She wiped at her eyes and then moved to sit in one of the two most comfortable chairs in the room, bringing a lantern and candle close. Soon, she was lost again to her stitching, but there was a serenity about her that spread to Logan. He moved down the next aisle. “And these go back. This bit here shows a history of the area in Sussex.”
She didn’t respond, and he knew he‘d completely lost her interest.
“William the Conqueror? Did you know that the Normans built some of this area? That Standish Castle—that was built by William himself?”
“Hmmm.”
He lifted a volume. Did they say they’d inherited the property from a distant cousin? Or the duke had inherited? Logan was immediately intrigued by the history of the place. And he enjoyed the use of his mind. As if he’d dusted off a shelf or two in his memories, old habits of comparing facts and putting things to memory came into play. Before long, he was lost to the puzzle of history.
He and his friends at Oxford had drafted a bill while taking a class on parliamentary procedure and the rule of law in Great Britain. They had all selected Logan as the voice, and then they had debated their bill on a mock floor of the House of Lords. Everyone played a different person. Most chose to play their own family or relations, for those who had them, and Logan had taken on his father’s place, but pushed for a bill that was more forward-thinking than his father had ever been. They had researched for weeks on end, the men willing to stay late hours in the library and to argue with and challenge him until the wee hours of the morning. Until when the day finally came to start holding sessions of mock Parliament, he was ready.
The experience had been one of the most thrilling of his life. When all was finished, they’d passed some of the most valuable laws and changes necessary in Great Britain, more so than had been done in years in reality.
And he’d presented it all to his father, as had the other men on his team. He wasn’t certain the exact response of every member of the real House of Lords, but his own father had nodded and frowned and said things like, “Interesting . . . oh, how droll.”
So much so that Logan had left his office thoroughly deflated. When he had once thought their idea revolutionary and important, he now felt foolish.
He placed a marker in the current history of William the Conqueror in Sussex and pulled out the next book. When he opened it, a sheaf of papers fells out.
As he opened them, he recognized the very proceedings and minutes from their mock parliamentary experience, including the bills they had written and changes they had put into place.
“Would you look at that.” He carried them over and sat in the chair next to his sister. Were his actions trite and naïve? Would they still read with the same importance he’d thought they held so many years ago?
Where were his Oxford friends now? Interestingly, Lord Balllustrade was one. The others were in London, but not present at any of the gambling halls or races, or even at Whites very often. He supposed they might have stepped in to play a stronger role in preparation for their roles in the House of Lords. He had no idea, but thinking of them now made him want to reconnect with old friends. He moved to a desk, still clutching their proceedings in his hand, and pulled out sheaves of paper, a quill, and an inkwell.
By the time he had finished reading his old proceedings and writing each of his old school chums, the candles had nearly burned down, and Julia had left. He pulled a pocket watch out and was stunned at the passage of time.
But he wanted to present himself at the assembly dance that evening. Were any of his Oxford friends here in Brighton? He hadn’t given them any thought earlier and had seen none of them.
He rushed up the stairs, passing Julia’s opened door. She sat at her dressing table, her maid working a familiar style. “Are you going to do a Standish style?”
“Oh, have we named it? Yes. I am going to make my hair to look like Charity’s did at the church. She sat in front of me, and I spent the entire time studying her pins and the curls.”
Logan laughed. “Excellent. I best begin my own preparations.”
“Yes, you best. I don’t wish to be more than thirty minutes late, mind you.”
“I’ll be quick about it. A simple cravat, my normal jacket.” He paused. “Do I even sound like myself?”
“Yes. You sound exactly like yourself.” Her grin filled him with happiness. And then he took off down the hall to find his valet, who was no doubt in a frenzy at the small amount of time they would have to prepare.
Chapter Eight
Kate entered the assembly room with no purpose other than to enjoy herself. She’d seen enough fashion choices to last for weeks of articles and plenty of drawings. She had sent off her drawings from the wedding and ball. And had stacks of ideas for more. Just the appearance of Prinny alone, not to mention the men of his set, could provide any number of fashion plates. She laughed every time she thought of her description of Lord Dennison’s cravat. Would the ton know it was him she described? He would surely know. And would he wonder who had seen it to describe it so precisely?
Amelia joined her at her side. Her teal dress with sparkling jewels and stunning overlay made Kate smile. “Do you suppose there is a lord here to catch your eye?” She patted Kate’s hand. “Besides for the interest in his manner of dress?”
Kate laughed. “I was just wondering that very thing.”
In truth, she was wondering if Dennison would come. What would he wear tonight? She had a particular headdress she was anxious to hear his opinion of. But she didn’t want to admit such a thing to Amelia, or herself. Any number of lords could provide equal entertainment and amusement, and she was looking forward to filling her dance card if possible.
The sisters crowded together with Amelia just off the entrance to the assembly room. Everyone seemed in high spirits and particularly lighthearted.
“Grace, try not to be led away by an earl this time.” Charity placed an arm across her sister’s shoulders. “We could not live without you.”
Though lighthearted, every sister felt the anxiety that Grace’s plight one night when she had disappeared had caused each one of them.
“Everyone is still here.” Lucy’s calculating eyes searched the room. “We shall have an excellent evening indeed.”
“Especially if all we desire is to entertain ourselves. No other purpose.” Kate stood taller. Several lords were looking in their direction, and closer, others were making their way toward them.
“I don’t know what else our purpose could be at such an event but to entertain ourselves.” Grac
e’s gaze flit to Charity. “Unless you are trying to convince the passage of a new bill in the House of Lords.”
Amelia laughed. “Which we can all agree, even the men, is a topic better served in drawing rooms, over card games, and indeed, in the actual House of Lords.”
Charity looked about to argue, but four lords approached with the Duke of Granbury, who claimed his wife’s hand.
A man with hair the color of the rocky pebble beach bowed over Kate’s hand. “Could I interest you in a set?”
“Lord Tipton?” She nodded. “I would love to.”
He placed a hand over hers on his arm and led them to the bottom of the line for a country dance. “Miss Kate. How have you been since the wedding?”
“Excellent. I feel like so much has happened, and yet nothing at all.”
“And they are off on their trip?”
“Yes. We miss them dreadfully. But I am happy for my sister.”
“The castle is so intriguing; I loved our tour. Perhaps I might return for another? Have they completed any more of the rooms?”
“Oh yes. You are welcome anytime.” Was he truly interested? Making conversation in a polite manner only? She could never tell. They continued on in much the same manner. And she couldn’t help but notice that Lord Dennison was not at the ball.
Until he arrived, toward the end of her set with Lord Tipton. The very air seemed to change, and the gaze she felt on herself could only belong to him. She lifted her lashes as she turned in place and then circled with Lord Tipton.
Lord Dennison stood at the entrance to the room, and his gaze stretched across the room to her.
She finished out the set with Lord Tipton. He led her toward the tables and the lemonade. “Would you like one?” he asked. “I find if I don’t remember to wet my lips, I become quite parched by the end of the evening.”
“Yes, thank you. I would appreciate a lemonade very much.” And the drinks were closer to where Lord Dennison stood, now surrounded by a small crowd of men with other ladies looking on.
As soon as Kate lifted a cup to her lips, Lord Dennison stepped through the group and made his way toward her.
“Don’t look now.” Lord Tipton smirked. “The venerable Lord Dennison is on the approach.”
“Oh?” She raised her eyebrows.
“I’ve heard his cravat is somewhat ridiculous, but he doesn’t appear to be sporting it this evening.”
“Ridiculous? I thought it was touted as much revered.”
“Ah, you haven’t seen the latest Whims and Fancies. I have it on good authority—my sister reads every column—that he was quite overdressed. There is a touch, a fine line to playing a complete fop and dressing with precision and style.” He stood taller, and Kate wondered if his actual chest size enlarged.
“Yes, I see.”
The man spoken of bowed at her front. “Miss Kate.” His voice and appreciative tone rippled through her. “Might I have your next dance?”
“Hello, Lord Dennison. It’s good to see you again. Certainly.” She curtseyed low. Then he left her to her lemonade while the instruments prepared for the next set.
“Thank you, Lord Tipton. Do you know where I might get a copy of the latest Her Lady’s Whims and Fancies?” Kate asked.
“I think my sister said there are a couple in the ladies’ retiring room, or perhaps in the foyer entrance on tables, or the rooms for cards?” He shrugged, then bowed. “Thank you for our set. I’d like to come calling.”
“Certainly. Come anytime.”
She left him and moved to stand beside Lord Dennison, who waited on the edge of the dance floor. “I hope I didn’t pull you away from an important conquest?” His eyebrow twitched, and she wanted to laugh, but his question was too bold.
“I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“Hmm. I’m sure you don’t.”
“And what about you? Are you set to conquer any hearts?”
“Me? Not a single one.”
She couldn’t hide her disappointment. Where was it coming from? Did she want a lord such as Lord Dennison to set out to conquer her heart? Certainly not. Did she?
But then his expression changed, and she held her breath, wondering if he might amend his comment. “Hearts can only be willingly given, not conquered or contested.” He stepped closer. “And for a heart willingly given, I am not opposed to such a thing . . .” He hovered near her, his body swaying closer and then back in small, almost imperceptible motions. Then he cleared his throat and looked away, seeming as surprised as she was to have uttered such a thing. “Someday.”
The dancing began down the line, and Kate watched to understand what the lead would choose. Then she turned her attention back to Lord Dennison. “No slippers, no extravagant cravat . . . a simple black jacket? To what do I owe such mundane choices?”
“Mundane? Certainly not. Mundane sounds almost drab. And if you look, the jacket is new, the cravat crisp. I have taken extra care with my boots. And in all ways, I appear the proper gentleman. Mundane.” He shook his head. “I prefer sensible.”
She eyed him for a moment, but before she could respond, he continued.
“And honestly, I wish to talk of other things at this assembly. I have important ideas on my mind.”
“Have you?”
“Yes. For example, when Parliament is next in session, what if I were to work toward actual change?”
Kate had to exhale twice before she knew what to say to him. “That sounds wonderful. What sorts of things would you want to change?”
“I don’t know. So many things. For example, the tenants.”
“Tenants?” She thought of how long she herself had been a tenant.
“They work, upkeep, and farm the land for generations. And yet live day to day at the mercy of the goodness of the landowner. Perhaps there is more we can do for the tenants.”
She almost couldn’t believe her ears, but this new Lord Dennison was a stunning replica of the first. He was superior in almost every regard.
“I’m sorry. Perhaps this type of conversation is as mundane as my choice in clothing?”
“Not at all. No. I am . . . most impressed and am at a loss as to how to congratulate you or encourage you. I wish more would exert themselves as you have.” Kate had to take a breath. “Wow. I should like to assist.”
“Assist?” Lord Dennison tipped his head to one side, in an almost mocking fashion.
“Certainly. Could I not?” She almost crossed her arms in deliberate defiance. “I have an interest in tenants, if you must know.”
“Naturally. I didn’t mean anything by my question. I would love assistance. I shall consider what to do about any of it. Perhaps the most important task will be in the House of Lords itself, won’t it?” His open expression and hopeful tone made Kate smile, an expression full of hope of her own, that this lord was as good as she was hoping him to be.
When it was their turn to go through the motions of the dance, every touch between them seemed to linger, every opportunity to be close, face to face, was more amplified. Her heart called to him, or so she thought, with each sounding thump. And she could hardly school her features as she passed, when others would see, and any of those on the edge of the dance floor would think her ill or in love, neither of which she wanted assumed.
But when they were finished, she was not. And she dreaded the moment he would leave her at the side and she would dance with another.
But he did just that. He bowed over her hand, pressed his lips on her knuckles, and thanked her, as if those moments together had not just altered her entire life.
She sighed. And then another lord, she knew not who, nor cared, bowed over her hand for another set.
The rest of the next two hours was full, every dance taken. Even though it was Kate’s very wish going into the evening, now she cared little for anyone but Lord Dennison. Had his few comments of cares outside of fashion, of hoping to do good by tenants, meant so much to her as to ruin her for any other man
?
It appeared they had.
And she didn’t even mind.
She sought him out as her gaze flitted around the room. And every time she found him, he was looking in her direction. A couple times, he nodded his head, with a small, secretive smile, as if they shared something special together; other times, he just stared as long as she dared look, and the distance between them could have shrunk entirely as her world shifted and her whole being seemed to call out to his.
Of all the ridiculous notions.
Though it was ridiculously delicious.
She could dance no more with anyone other than Lord Dennison, so she escaped the dance floor into a room meant for cards. Many men played at the far end, but closer were tables set for whist and other parlor games, and then other tables where people sat conversing. Papers and flyers were strewn about, and Kate made a beeline for the first, hoping to see the latest Her Lady’s Whims and Fancies.
Chapter Nine
Logan walked into the card room, looking for Miss Kate. But what he saw was something he didn’t often see at an assembly room ball. Three tables of people doubled over in laughter. The other tables of cards had paused, and the whole room was paying attention to . . . something.
He stood still for a moment, trying to make out the cause. Then Lord Ballustrade looked his way, pointed, and shouted to the room, “And here’s the man himself. Let’s ask him who the paper is about.”
All eyes turned to him. He lifted his chin and straightened his shoulders, the old, familiar arrogance settling in. Miss Kate’s worried expression confused him. Out of the corner of his eyes, she looked . . . guilty even.
“What paper?” He stepped forward.
“This one here. Her Lady’s Whims and Fancies.”
Logan snorted. “People accuse me of being in that column every week.”
“True.” Ballustrade lifted the paper. “But this gent here even looks like you.”
“There’s a drawing?”
“You’ve made the fashion plates.” He held the paper up.
Of course, Logan couldn’t see it from across the room, but something about this whole situation was really itching him in just the wrong way. What would the old Logan have done? Laughed? Celebrated? Read it aloud to everyone, certainly. As his gaze flitted through the room, he knew that’s what they all expected of him. But . . . earlier today, after . . . Miss Kate, he just didn’t want to play that part anymore. But this room, these people would eat him alive if he didn’t act like it was his purpose all along. He felt his smile relax into the lazy, bored expression he usually wore. He gestured for a servant to bring him a drink, and loafed over to Ballustrade. “Let’s see what we have here, shall we?”
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